Chasing You (Viktor Krum X Reader)

Chapter 4: Oh My God, Is Anyone Else Seeing This?

Wind screams in my ears and tears at my cheeks, drawing warm tears from my eyes as it whips across my face. My cheeks are cold and getting chapped. My hair is swept up as the wind braids small snarls into my scalp. I close my eyes and slow down, nearly coming to a complete stop in the air.

And then I fly.

I swoop and spin and maneuver, yanking on the handle of my broom and twisting my body in time with each jolt of the broom. I become the broom, the air, the night. I am flying. Not my broom, but me. I am the one who soars. I carry the broom.

I wish I had a quaffle. The hoops on either side of me beckon to me. I wish I could answer them. I fly instead.

I'm upside down. I'm right-side up. I'm sideways. I'm giggling as I catapult through the air. The night is dark now. I am alone.

I come to a stop hundreds of feet into the air. I hover above the ground, letting my legs dangle beneath me. I turn my face up toward the sky and let the breeze kiss my cheeks. I am home.

I sigh and glance toward the castle. Curfew is nearing. I slowly return to the ground and cup my hands around my mouth, warming them with my breath, broom tucked under my arm. It's getting darker and darker, and I wish I could stay outside all night. Perhaps if it were summertime.

"I saw you flying."

I jump so hard that I swear my feet leave the ground.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

I squint to see him in the dark, but I know by the voice and the accent. I could pick it out of a chorus.

"It's okay," I breathe, and I meet Viktor's eyes.

"You fly well," he says.

"Oh, thank you."

"Are you cold?" he asks and falls into step beside me as I continue to the castle.

"Yeah, a little. I forgot my wand in my room. But I'm okay."

The robes fall around my shoulders before I can protest, and then I'm drowning in warmth and a clean, musky smell.

"Oh, thanks," I say.

"I am always warm," he says. "The cold does not bother me much."

"Thanks," I repeat. "So, uh, are you nervous for the first task?"

"No, but I think I will be," he says. "It seems like a long time until the task yet, does it not?"

"It does."

"But I suppose there is no use being nervous, seeing as being nervous will not make me do any better."

"That's a good point. But I'm still a little nervous. I've never seen a dragon before."

"Ah, you know about the dragons?" he asks. My cheeks heat up.

"Harry Potter told me."

"That was nice of him."

"It was," I say, and then I stop and face him. The clouds that leave our lips mingle together when our eyes meet. "I shouldn't drag you all the way into the castle."

"I don't mind," he says.

I smile and shrug out of his robes, immediately cursing the atmosphere for its oppressive chill. "But I do. Thank you for walking with me, and for the robes. If I don't see you before the first task, good luck."

"I am hoping to see you before then." He doesn't take his robes when I hold them out.

"You know where to find me."

"And maybe we could play together? Quidditch, I mean," he says.

"Maybe, but I'm not sure I could hold my own against you."

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"I, uh... I know who you are," I say, and it comes out awkwardly.

"Well, that isn't fair," he says, and I open my mouth to explain that I'm not some crazy stalker. "You know me already but all I know is your name."

"I-"

"Y/N Y/L/N," he says, testing each syllable on his tongue. "I want to know more about you, Y/N, Y/L/N."

"Oh."

"If you'll permit it, of course," he adds.

"Yeah. Uh, maybe another day? We can get to know each other a little better?"

"I would like that very much, Y/N. Goodnight." He takes the robes from my hands, and the smile that grows on his lips is nothing short of breathtaking. My breath catches in my throat as he folds the robes over his forearm and nods his head in form of bidding me goodbye.

"Goodnight," I breathe.

I slip into the castle before I have time to glance at his retreating back. It's dangerous to entertain these thoughts. Who knows what will come of nurturing them instead of suppressing them? That's what I do. I pretend that I don't notice the feelings until they become nothing more than background noise, and then a distant memory.

But this... This is different. He is different.

My cheeks are aflame as I trudge to the Hufflepuff common room, hands pressed on each side of my face to cool the heat that festers there. I crave the cold from before if only to remove the guilt that resides on each cheek. How can I lie to myself and say he has no effect on me when the evidence lies on my own face?

I need to pull myself together. I have bigger things to worry about than a boy. Way bigger.