FIC: First Kiss 1/1 (Firebolt Ring Series)

Title: First Kiss
Author: Sare Liz
Series: Firebolt Ring
Disclaimer: Belongs to JKR and associated people.

Pairing: HG/VK, Hermione’s pov.
Word Count: 4,619
Warnings: R for serious sensuality
Notes: This is fic number two in the Firebolt Ring series. Fic number one is Passing Notes. I’d like to thank my two lovely and brand new betas, Angelictears and Victoriana, as well as my best friend Rakaiagirl for their reading, commenting, and general cheerleading. My story is much better for their redaction.




*

Charms practice was the excuse Hermione used to cry off hanging about between Harry and Ron today. The idea that she was working on improving her Charms wasn’t far off, in the metaphorical sense, and being the buffer between the two feuding boys was getting old – fast. Really, she needed a break.

But en route to the greenhouses, Hermione did once again wonder just how much before lunch was “before lunch.” Was he talking three minutes before lunch? An hour before lunch? Directly after breakfast? In the end, she cut the difference between the two most likely and aimed for thirty minutes. It was the easiest solution by far to the many quandaries before her, each one begging for some sort of resolution, each one seemingly far out of reach.

There was the issue of the deadly and wrongly named Tri-Wizard Tournament, with its four champions. Two of which were near and dear to her.

There was the unknown issue of Viktor’s headmaster. Apparently he was even odder than previously suspected. Just how odd would he turn out to be, and would it be a harmless sort of odd or a dangerous sort of odd?

There was the issue of Ron and Harry’s ongoing argument, which was rather infringing on her possible flirting time with Viktor. Not that flirting with Viktor was more important that her longstanding friendship with Harry, of course… but she needed to draw a line or two. And she had no idea how, or where to do so.

And of course, there was Viktor. Or rather, there were her feelings regarding Viktor. Or perhaps more appropriately (since her feelings for Viktor were pretty clear at the moment – definitely liked him, wished to find out more) there was the matter of her hormones regarding Viktor; the situation was completely out of control.

It had been wonderful on his broom, until the very end. She had been happy, abnormally relaxed for being on a racing broom, and she’d even been a little excited. But she couldn’t stop the excitement. The more time had passed, the more it felt like her nerve endings were on fire. When he finally stopped the broom back at the castle, she just… She didn’t want to get off. Hermione had in fact told herself several times to just get off the damn broom and she herself had entirely refused to do it.

It had been a completely insane situation. And it was one she wished would happen again sometime very soon.

Hermione had never in her life wished to bodily crawl into a boy’s lap, and just… nibble. The urge to perhaps nibble on some convenient body part like a neck, or a chin, or maybe an ear was quite strong whilst on that broom, however. There she had been – already in just such a lap, poised for nibbling. It was the lap of a handsome boy, a strong boy, a smart boy, a boy who was very interested in her, as a girl, being in his lap. Was it so wrong to not want to leave? She had shown admirable restraint – no nibbling occurred.

But if I don’t leave in a situation like that, what is the alternative? Fall asleep cuddling on a broomstick?

Hermione had meant the question as a rhetorical exercise, but found the obviously unacceptable answer rather appealing. The logistics of being found in the morning – or worse, in the middle of the night by Filch – were less appealing in reality, but the idea was already flying far and wide in her fantasy world where she and Viktor already had three small children and a cottage in the Pyrenees.

But reality was looming, and it took the form of the greenhouses with their plants, monstrous and benign, mostly contained within the glass walls. With the buildings beginning to fill her view and the knowledge of some of the resident flora, Hermione found it harder and harder to entertain such fantastic ideas. The very concrete world around her was suddenly coming into the focus of the present. The second greenhouse was back near the castle wall, and that was her destination. It contained not a fantasy figure from a romantic novel, but a boy with whom some tandem broom riding did occur just a few days ago.

Hermione wondered where Professor Sprout was, and whether the greenhouse was occasionally empty at this time, or reliably so. As she neared the door, she saw a figure pacing inside. Her heart clenched when she thought of him waiting in here, maybe not being sure she would come. How long had he been waiting?

Her hand on the door made the slightest amount of noise and his head jerked up. Any more than that she couldn’t see through the warped glass. He was coming toward her, though. That was clear, even before she had opened the door and stepped inside.

“Hermione,” he said in a relieved tone. She let the sound of her name roll over her. Viktor made it rich with the ‘r’ he always rolled and the vowels he made feel like dark chocolate.

“I think that maybe you don’t vant to meet me after all.”

They stood just inside the doorway. She looked up into his slightly worried eyes and fingered the strap of her book bag.

“No!” she protested. “I just… wasn’t sure, um, when to come.” Hermione realized that she wasn’t really breathing, and tried to do that once or twice. “I’m sorry,” she added.

He looked like a weight had been taken off his shoulders. “Is okay. Come, I take your bag.”

Part of Hermione rebelled at the implication that she might not be able to carry the bag she’d been hauling about for the last three years, but he was blocking the way. And she’d inadvertently made him wait and caused him stress. And he looked so… earnest.

In the end she forked over the bag without so much as a peep.

Hermione followed him on a slightly winding path through the various and innocuous-looking plant life of the greenhouse to a small bench at the back corner. Viktor put her bag down next to his, and indicated for her to sit. Hermione had a brief moment when she wondered if both of them would actually fit comfortably on the bench, but other priorities were calling to her.

“First things first,” she said, mustering the courage of her house and stepping up to him to wrap her arms around his neck. His arms immediately came around her waist and she soaked in his stunned expression even as she placed a small kiss on his cheek. Pulling back slightly, she smiled. “Congratulations on being selected. I’ve wanted to tell you for days.” His arms tightened around her.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said, leaning down to briefly rest his forehead against hers.

“Are you still happy about the choice?” She had no intention of keeping the worried tone from her voice.

His brow furrowed slightly. “Vhy would I not be happy about such a thing?”

“It’s dangerous, Viktor. People die.”

He shook his head as he responded. “The tournament is no more dangerous than playing Quidditch. Different skills, yes, but I am ready, and there is time to prepare before each trial.”

She was unconvinced; Hermione had very little doubt that it showed in her face.

Viktor squeezed her gently, his tone coaxing. “Hermione,” he drawled softly between them. “Von’t you be happy for me? Or, at least proud of me?”

Her heart softened immediately. “I am proud of you, Viktor.” She gazed up into his eyes and was momentarily content just to dwell in the darkness of them. “I am,” she confirmed. “You were the best choice of all the proud sons of Durmstrang,” she said with certain emphasis.

“There’s quite a lot going on in here,” she said, sliding one arm from around his neck and softly rubbing his temple with her thumb, “And in here,” she continued, putting her palm over his chest, resting it on the brown wool of his uniform. “I can’t wait to find out what you’re like – other than…” Her eyes darted away, “Utterly charming and interested in me.”

Viktor sighed in what seemed like a very contented way, and took her hand that rested over his heart into one of his warm ones. Catching her attention with her hand, he raised her open palm to his lips and placed a small lingering kiss there.

It was possible that Hermione was not actually breathing in that moment. She wasn’t entirely sure. She was flashing back to her intense desire to nibble. It was a sort of all encompassing feeling that seemed to be focused in her belly, her heart, and her kissed right palm.

A moment later he took her hand and stepped back.

“Ve have much to discuss, you and I. Let us sit and begin.”

Hermione looked over at the smallish bench that was obviously their destination. “How are we…” she trailed off. Viktor sat down, but he sat on one end, straddling the bench, like he might a broom. She would have plenty of room, provided she didn’t have any qualms about cuddling up to him.

It was a good thing she didn’t.

Because of the angle of his legs, she found herself facing slightly away from him, but leaning right up against his chest. One of his hands came around her back and was starting to gently stroke her upper arm. His other hand brushed against the pleats of her wool skirt that draped over her thigh.

“Don’t you get cold?” Hermione looked down at her skirt. She could see her knee from here.

“Sometimes,” she replied, placing her hand over his. Viktor rested the weight of his hand on her thigh, moving his thumb slightly in a tiny caress, even as her fingers explored the back of his own.

Hermione turned to look at the head that was just above her right shoulder. “But I’m not cold right now.” It was the worst time for it, but she shivered. Truth be told, she was toasty warm – the shiver had a lot more to do with Viktor’s hand on her thigh than anything else.

He just looked at her.

Finally her eyes darted away and she took a deep breath. “So what’s going on with your headmaster?”

“Karkaroff, he…” Viktor trailed off. When Hermione glanced over her shoulder to look at him, he looked significantly troubled.

“I don’t know how to say in polite vay in English.” Viktor sighed. “I don’t… trust him.”

“What do you think he might do?”

“I don’t know,” he said, and Hermione could feel him shaking his head slightly. “But he is cruel. Not vith me, I matter too much,” he said. From his tone, Hermione was beginning to understand the loathing Viktor felt for his headmaster. “And he is entranced vith Dark Arts. Too much, my parents say. I think… maybe… he could be ruthless in right situation, but that might not be. I… I do not know. I do not vish to make false accusation.” His sigh was a heavy one. “He is different, this year, even before ve came. And now that I am the school’s champion, he focus on me even more. At first I think that it gives me more room vith him, but now I think it gives me less. Do you understand vhat I try to say?”

Hermione nodded her assent and tilted her head slightly, so she could see him out of her periphery, without craning her neck painfully. “What do you suspect him of, Viktor?”

“It vas after Vorld Cup,” he said very softly, as if imparting a secret. “I did not take him seriously. I vas… angry… and distracted. I did not think about this until this veek. Karkaroff found me at finals, after you saw me in the Top Box. I vas in the medical tent, still hours to go before the attack. He varned me to leafe,” Viktor said, barely audible. “I did not listen.” With much more strength and feeling, he continued after a moment’s pause. “How could he hafe known vhat vas to occur? I… My parents say he vas Death Eater vonce. I think he is Death Eater, still.”

Hermione curled her fingers between Viktor’s and squeezed. There was a war going on inside of her, and she didn’t know what to do. On the one hand she wanted to take very seriously what Viktor was saying. He was obviously worried, and objectively speaking his worry was not unwarranted. On the other hand, this sounded really familiar. Two words came to mind, actually: Professor Snape. And he always turned out to be good in the end. Might not Karkaroff be in some sort of similar situation? But back to that first hand, if she was wrong about that, it meant that her boyfriend’s headmaster was a Death Eater. And her boyfriend had the particular attention of his headmaster… “Okay, so, worst-case scenario: What if he is a Death Eater? What does that mean for you?”

“I do not know. But I do not trust him to act in best interest of anyvone but himself.”

“He warned you, though. At the final. He warned you, even at the risk of you figuring it out.”

“That does not make me feel better, Hermione,” he said slowly and deliberately.

She turned so she could look at him full. Odd, how she could feel so safe and warm in his arms, and yet he was in such turmoil. “I know,” she said. “You’ve got good reason to worry, but there’s something else that’s going on. Even if your headmaster is a Death Eater, Professor Dumbledore is the only wizard the Dark Lord ever feared, and he’s here, too.”

She could feel his full body sigh. “That does make me feel better.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Viktor continued. “There is something else, too. Karkaroff is… I do not know the vord. Somevone who appreciates only pure-blood vizards.”

“A bigot,” Hermione supplied helpfully, and with some venom.

“Yes,” he said calmly. “Karkaroff is a bigot. He vould take no pleasure in finding out that ve are dating. Maybe he vould do nothing. But I do not trust him in this matter, either.”

Hermione sighed. “Yes, you make a good point. I’m not sure I trust him either. You think we should keep it underground, then?” Viktor gave her an uncomprehending look. “I mean, you think we should be discreet?”

“Not forever,” he responded. “But for a little vhile. At least until ve get a better understanding of vhat is going on.”

“I can agree to that. Besides, your fan club might come after me if they realized we were dating.” Hermione smirked and snorted at the same time. “It’s just as well.”

There was a small period of silence during which Hermione busied herself with tracing the lines of the back of Viktor’s hand, and attempted to ignore how nice it felt to be nestled between his legs.

“You said there were many things you wanted to discuss,” she pointed out. “What’s next?”

“You are never alone in the library anymore. I do not know vhether it is okay for me to pass notes to you.”

“Oh, that,” Hermione said, sighing and scrubbing her face with her free hand. “Yes, Harry has been around a lot. Ron is in a strop with him because Ron thinks that Harry entered his own name into the Goblet without telling Ron, which is a completely ridiculous idea. And Harry is angry right back because Ron won’t believe the obvious truth that Harry’s not idiot enough to enter his name. – Not that I think you’re an idiot for entering your name. I think you’re probably pretty prepared for what you’re going to meet. I don’t feel that way about Harry. It’s bloody insane, is what it is. – So, anyway, they’re not speaking, or being within ten feet of each other, on purpose. It’s a bit annoying, really. So Harry is avoiding the Common Room, and since there’s no quidditch this year, he’s spending a lot of time at the library.” Hermione took a breath. “Anyway, I think it would be perfectly lovely if you passed me notes. And it’s nice to know you’re there, even when we don’t get a chance to talk. But, um, what do you think?”

“Now that I know how you feel, I can tell you that I prefer to be vith you, than not be vith you. Passing notes, flying, talking in the greenhouse – vhatefer.”

Hermione looked up and over her shoulder, a tentative smile blossoming on her face. She caught her lower lip between her teeth while she gazed into his eyes.

“I really like being with you, too. That’s sort of the everyday tragic part of your headmaster and your fan club. We sort of have to be indifferent to each other in public.”

Viktor’s response was a rumbling groan of assent that gave Hermione the shivers again. “I’m not certain how indifferent I can be in public.”

Hermione’s awareness of Viktor’s body around her suddenly increased with his soft, growly response. Every point of contact seemed to prickle. His broad chest against her back and shoulders, his legs firm against her rear and thigh, his hands hot on her arm, and her thigh all seemed to be suddenly intense to the point of risqué.

Viktor rested his forehead behind her ear, and she could feel the warm air of his breath as he exhaled heavily. Then he spoke. “I’ve never felt like this. I don’t vant to hide it. I vant to tell everybody. Especially girls in the library.”

“But we probably should,” she said with a certain fatalism. “Hide it, I mean. You know, at least for now.”

In the brief silence that followed, Hermione’s stomach took the opportunity to rumble, loudly. She groaned.

“And ve probably should get to lunch, and feed you.”

“No,” she whined. “We’ve only just begun talking.” Hermione turned her head to look at him again. “I don’t want to go yet.”

His smile was small, but present. “I vas hoping you vould say that. I brought provisions.”

“You did?”

Viktor gave a little rumble of assent as he pulled away and rooted around in his bag with one hand. He pulled out a huge orange. “You like?”

She nodded, and his arms came around her once more. As he started to very carefully and methodically peel the orange, attempting to get the rind off all in one long strip, Hermione decided that now was the time to get some information out of him.

“What are your favorite things, Viktor?”

“Hmm, my Firebolt. Quidditch. My parents. Arithmancy –“

“Arithmancy?” Hermione asked, rather shocked.

“Yes, Arithmancy,” he said in a tone that brooked no challenge. “Arithmancy and Charms, actually. I like to know vhy things vork, and make my own. I like Transfiguration, too, but not as much as Charms. And music. My mother plays the cello, and I grew up listening.”

“Do you play?” she asked, even as she accepted the long strand of peel so he could section off the orange.

“A little. But never at school. Just growing up, and on holiday now.”

“What instrument do you play?”

“My mother’s cello. Here,” he said, handing her a slice, and taking one for himself.

They ate in silence for a bit, and when the orange was finished, he took the peel from her and pushed it into a pocket of his bag.

“I love oranges, but my hands are always so sticky afterwards…”

“Here,” he said, holding his hands out in front of Hermione, inviting her to put her hands in his. She did, and was slightly surprised when his hands encompassed hers, and he said, “Evanesco.”

Her hands were clean.

“You know wandless magic?” she asked in disbelief.

“Not for all magic, but for a few charms, yes.”

“That’s brilliant,” Hermione breathed, entirely impressed.

“And useful,” Viktor pointed out practically. “For life, for house. Charm to clean, to repair, to summon, to provide light. For these, my mother thinks, no vand should be necessary. Should be like breathing.”

“So your mum taught you wandless magic?”

“And to play cello. Both, like breathing, for her.”

“Wow. What’s it like, growing up with wizards for parents?”

Viktor shrugged. They now held hands, both sets resting in her lap. “Apparently different from growing up vith Muggles as parents.”

“Tell me something, then, about your childhood.”

Viktor collected his thoughts for a moment, and then told her about his first toy broomstick that he got for his fourth birthday. Hermione listened in rapt attention as he spun out the story in his slow, melodic way, letting not only the words and their meanings, but also their very sounds wash over her. It was like being lulled – not into sleep, but deeper and deeper into the forest by a will o’ the wisp.

That awareness was coming on her again, creeping like a fine mist over the glen. She shifted slightly in hopes that the awareness might slough off, but to no avail. The sensation only got more intense, as Viktor unconsciously shifted around her, even as he told his story. Hermione could feel the muscles in his thighs clench and release as his body moved ever so slightly around hers.

In the pause of a thought forming, Hermione heard the soft chime of Viktor’s watch. Could the time have possibly passed so quickly?

“Lunch is over,” Viktor sang out softly.

Hermione shifted in his embrace, turning toward him as much as she could – which wasn’t much – putting her hands on his shoulders, letting her forearms drape down his chest. She looked into his eyes and smiled a little smile before getting lost in his own dark eyes.

“I’m really glad you asked me here, Viktor,” she whispered. The moment seemed so close, so intimate that a normal voice seemed like too much, too big for the small space between them.

“I’m glad you came,” he responded in a similar tone, which seemed almost reverent. As she had turned, his arms encircled her waist, but just now his left hand came up and pushed a stray lock of her hair back, tracing down the side of her face as he went. As Viktor’s thumb reached her chin, it floated gently back up to the center of her bottom lip, and slowly traced her now parted and gasping lips.

Her breath came out in a shudder, and she watched as his eyes seemed to glaze over. She watched him watch her breathe, and Hermione hadn’t ever in her life seen anything sexier. She could see his chest rising and falling now, visibly and rapidly. He met her gaze, and his thumb found its rest at the corner of her mouth. He licked his lips and it looked like he wanted to say something, but he also looked as glazed as Hermione felt.

“May I kiss you, Hermione?” he whispered, staring into her eyes.

“Yes,” she breathed out. “Please –“ but his lips were already there. A soft, cool, tentative pressure against hers, and then he was gone.

Hermione leaned forward and tilted her head slightly, and the soft, cool pressure was back, and she could feel it from the base of her spine to the top of her neck. It made her gasp a little, and when she opened her mouth, so did Viktor. And then an entirely new world opened as well.

Oranges. And Viktor. And heat. The heat started with his breath in their open mouthed kiss and quickly spread to her entire body. Her arms came more fully around his neck with a mind completely of their own. The leg of his that rested against her own shifted down and Viktor gently swept Hermione closer, sliding her legs over and on top of his lowered one.

His hand stayed half way up her bare thigh, supporting her position half on his lap. Where her wool skirt might otherwise be keeping her warm, his hand burned into her skin. It made her breath catch in the midst of her kiss, and made her arms tighten around his neck.

Her world spun on its axis around her in the most dizzying fashion when she felt his gently questing tongue against her lips. She moaned, and her breath came in much smaller pants as her tongue touched his. Slick and strong, her tongue slid against and around his.

Oranges, and Viktor, and heat.

She felt squirmy, and pressed herself into his chest. As his tongue met and met hers again, darting forth and then retreating back, she followed him in the dance, never quite being able to get enough of him. Her entire body was on fire, and it was all pouring out in her lips pressing against his, her tongue tangling with his, her arms around him, her fingers rubbing at the scruff of his so very short hair. It wasn’t enough. She didn’t know what would be enough, but she broke off their kiss and drew in a shaky breath.

Her head fell back with a little moan, her chest heaving, and she just shook for a moment in his arms.

Viktor did not stop kissing her. When her chin tipped up, his lips left a gentle, hot trail down her neck to her collar, and then back up again.

“So beautiful,” he murmured near her ear, just before he kissed it.

“Viktor,” she sighed, holding him close to her, thoroughly enjoying his physicality.

“You have class, I’m thinking,” he rumbled in her ear, even as his hand massaged the outside of her thigh.

Hermione licked her lips and tried to engage her brain.

“Class? Yes, class. I should, um…” Instead of getting up, Hermione collapsed quite happily in his arms, her head on his shoulder.

“Wow,” she breathed. “I didn’t know a kiss could be like that.”

“Me either,” he said, nuzzling into her neck. “But I hoped,” he added, and Hermione didn’t need to see his grin to know it was there.

She giggled. “We’re going to have to discuss that sometime, Viktor.” Her energy was coming back to her, and with it a sort of playfulness she didn’t realize she had. She gave him a tiny kiss at the sharp corner of his jaw and pulled back.

“I do have class,” she said, staring boldly into his eyes for the first time.

Viktor released his hold on her legs, and pulled her skirt back down to a reasonable level. She had no idea it had been so high, but couldn’t really bring herself to be overly bothered by the new information.

“Vould you go flying vith me again? Next veek? Thursday or Friday, same time?”

He got up with her and handed her the bag she’d brought, settling it gently on her shoulders before reaching down and taking up his own.

She nodded. “Thursday? By the pumpkins?”

“No. Beauxbaton carriage is there, now. I’ll pick you up at the castle door.”

They made their winding way to the door of the greenhouse. Hermione grinned and tossed a glance back at him. “This isn’t an excuse to avoid me until Thursday, you know.”

Viktor made a little disgruntled noise. “Just try to keep me avay, and see how successful you are.”

As her hand touched the door handle, his had touched hers. She paused and looked back at him. Viktor brought her hand up to his lips as he bent over it slightly.

Oranges, Viktor, and heat – she could still taste him.