Work Text:
It has taken years but Hermione is finally ticking off a huge item on her bucket list. She's bought a house in a little village near where she grew up. While the house itself is neither large nor ostentatious, it does have one glorious feature: a library.
Hermione's new library has high windows and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, all open and freshly polished, longing to be occupied. She sits in a cosy chair that she's just Transfigured, countless boxes of books piled all over the floor, and lets her mind wander, trying to decide how best to organise her collection, dreaming of future days spent curled up in here, sipping a glass of French wine, losing herself in new worlds and brilliant ideas.
A plainly wrapped package sits by her feet and she picks it up. It had arrived while she was eating dinner and she'd nearly forgotten about it. Sturdy brown paper with neat corners and heavily penned lettering make her smile. Her favourite pen pal.
A well-worn collection of myths from around the world peeks up at her and she smiles. He's always had the best taste. She cracks open the leather binding and sees a note nestled between the cover and the first page.
A warm feeling washes over her and she runs one callused finger across smooth parchment, over an illustration of the goddess Persephone.Dear Hermione,
Welcome home. I hope you are enjoying your library. Here is an old favourite of mind for you to add to your shelves. I cannot wait to see them myself.Yours Always,
Viktor
He's coming back to England. Ostensibly, he's moving here for work—he's part of a team that is rewriting the International Quidditch Rulebook. Hermione can't be sure, but she thinks there's more to his relocation than a new job. Or perhaps she just hopes ...
In the past year, their letters have become more frequent and more intimate. Hermione tells Viktor everything, even things she's not comfortable sharing with her closest friends. They've started meeting up for dinner once every few months, usually choosing somewhere in the middle—Paris, Zagreb, Milan. Although their meetings are technically as friends, Hermione feels the slow shift.
There are hints of something hiding behind his dark, serious eyes, though she can't quite be sure. His smiles appear more often now, brighter, wider, happier. She can't be imagining the electric charge that courses through her whenever his hand innocently brushes against hers.
She bites her lip and takes a deep breath. He's due to arrive in London in just two days' time and then she'll be able to get to the bottom of this. She's waited years—what are a few more days? For now, all she can do is relax in her library, enjoy her wine, and read her new book.