Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter but I do own this Original Character… or OC… she'll make her appearance here. Yes, it's a girl…

CHAPTER TWO

Sightings

Despite its sheer size, it was slowly becoming hard for Bulgarian wizards and witches to practice magic in the Bulgarian evergreen forests. There was always a patrolling helicopter overhead, wary of illegal loggers. Bulgaria was slowly repairing itself from its communist days, but repairing is slow. The Bulgarian Department Of Magic had recently enclosed a large portion of forest and made it unplottable for the sole practice of magic and Quidditch Matches. Nonetheless, the forest retained its usual danger level.

"Chelsea, come help your mother with the bacon," called Milton Dominick, his forehead and shirt drenched in sweat. "We didn't go all the way to Bulgaria to stare at some trees!" Milton took up the axe again and started swinging at the wood.

Chelsea sighed. Her father was a loving man, but he never appreciated her gift in art. He did, however, try to incorporate magic and Muggle ethics in the family life. Like locking up his and her wand and taking her on an all-Muggle camping trip in Bulgaria, far away from England. She replaced the charcoal pencil onto her sketchpad and positioned it reluctantly on the fallen trunk she was sitting on. She walked ever so slowly to the small campsite her parents had set up. Her father was chopping some wood, while her mum watched their lunch. She thought about how different being a half-blood was. At least the wizarding world will never have the luxury of a fine paper sketchpad and charcoal pencils, Chelsea thought to herself cheerfully as she sat down beside her mum. Her mum was a Muggle, as wizards would put it, but Chelsea loved her just the same. One thing was definite, though: her mum wasn't the perfect oh-look-I-bake-great-oatmeal-cookies kind; Constance Dominick did burn her cookies four out of five times she tried.

Chelsea had taken up a lot after her mum, sharing Constance's blonde hair, blue eyes and thin frame. She even acquired the prominent dimples her mother's side had.

"Could you take the pan for a while, Chels?" Constance asked her daughter, wiping her long blonde locks out of her sweaty forehead.

Chelsea stared apprehensively at the innocent pan of frying bacon and nodded. Constance lifted herself up from the log her husband had placed near the campfire and said, "I daresay this Bulgarian weather is going to get hotter, so why don't we stay out of our tents for a while tonight?"

"But there are creatures in the forest," Chelsea said, looking up from the pan.

"We just have to take our chances," Milton said, putting his axe down. "That's what I enjoy about these Muggle trips. The great outdoors, no magic, doing everything manually—this is the life."

"And you still won't allow me to explore," Chelsea said, grinning. "Dad, I want to get some good sketches. I can't when all I can see is the trail and the trees. I want to get a good view—possibly from a mountaintop."

"It would be a good idea to go on a hike after lunch, when the day cools down, Milton," Constance said, walking around the campfire, fanning herself.

"I guess it would be a good idea," Milton said. Chelsea broke into a grin. Her father took a deep breath and stared at the tall trees around them. "Bulgaria has the most beautiful nature—what's that smell?"

Chelsea's grin faded as she looked down at the pan. The color of the bacon was now close to black and the strips were curling up on the pan, and there was a lot of smoke.

"Hold on, honey!" Constance said, running forward as Chelsea held the pan, eyes still glued to the burning bacon. "I have water!" And she threw the liquid onto the pan in Chelsea's hands. The bacon burst in flames.

"Aguamenti!"

Chelsea stood drenched in her clothes, staring at her father, wand outstretched, and her mother stared at the bottle of cooking oil she was holding. "Terribly sorry dear," Constance said, placing the oil on the ground. Chelsea's eyes darted back to the bacon. All that was left of the six juicy strips were a couple of ashes.

"Sorry," Constance said, rushing to her daughter. "I guess take-out would be a great idea now, would it?"

Viktor Krum sat on an elevated cliff in the eastern Balkan Mountains. The sudden drop gave him a clear view of the Kamchiya River, which ran beside the Balkans, and where it met the Black Sea. He clutched his broomstick, and looked over the cliff ever so slightly, where he could see his leather Quidditch boots dangling over the rock immediately over the straight drop down.

He looked up again, allowing his eyes to squint at his view of the port cities of Varna and Burgas. How he loved this spot. The tranquility was soothing to him, and how he longed to bring a special someone to share this little cliff with. Only one name entered his mind. Her. He had met her three years back in England. He wasn't able to pronounce her name correctly then, he could tell, and he had spent the entire of the next year trying to. Hermione. He could still remember her bushy hair, and her eyes. He stared at the Black Sea almost angrily; saddened he could not share this special view with her.

Ah, Hermione. Sweet, intelligent, charming, magnificent Hermione. There were no adjectives to describe her wondrous splendor—

"That vould be it, Viktor," a voice said. "Ve 'ave got ze picture."

Viktor reluctantly got up and walked over to the crew of photographers waiting for him. This had to be his third shoot for the week. It was hard being a star Quidditch player. If only they had let him reminisce a while a longer…

"Great progress today, Viktor," the head photographer, a man with a large brown moustache, said, taking his quill and writing on a piece of parchment. "Ve might be able to capture ze other scenes. Ve're quite ahead of ze scheduled itinerary."

Viktor merely nodded. He slouched as he walked down the slope, hands in his pockets. Not much had happened since he met Hermione in—where was that—Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament. Sure, Bulgaria let the precious World Cup slip away two more times, one to Romania, and the second to Paraguay. Viktor felt no guilt, as he was partially injured in the semifinal match against Tunisia prior the Paraguayan match, and he failed to get the snitch. It didn't matter, anyway. The fans, the popularity—and the thoughts of Hermione stayed the same. She had forgotten to write after a while, and Viktor didn't want to seem desperate, so he stopped as well.

"Vud you fink that ze slogan, 'Visit Bulgaria And See Its Vunders, Viktor Krum Endorses' vud be appropriate?" Once again, the voice of the annoying head photographer disrupted his thoughts. How he longed to punch the stocky man square in the stomach and watch him writhe in agony.

"Vell? Viktor? Are you still listening?"

Viktor looked at the photographer and said, "I don't think I vud like to do ze other shots zis week."

The head photographer looked quite abashed and stepped in front of Viktor. He barely came up to Krum's shoulder. "Then vat, I vud like to ask, vud you like to do ze rest of ze week before Quidditch Season starts?" he asked pompously.

"Maybe rest," Viktor said, maintaining the slow tone of his voice. "I vud like to go back to the inn in Sofia (1), saynk you."

The photographer stared at Viktor in utter disbelief and nodded slowly. Satisfied, Viktor walked down the path, ahead of the chattering group of photographers.

Chelsea couldn't believe her eyes at the sight of the valley between the Balkan Mountains, which the Kamchiya River so delicately cut through. She immediately retrieved her charcoal pen and sketchpad from her satchel and found a comfortable spot to start sketching. She wished she had a sunset to draw, but it was still way too early.

"This might be a good spot to have a picnic," Constance said, catching sight of her daughter silently sketching the Kamchiya River.

Milton nodded and set the blanket farther away from the sunlight and the spot where Chelsea was drawing, but near enough to keep an eye on her. He sat down on a tree stump and took out his pipe. He could see that his daughter was enjoying herself with the simple but beautiful view. He lay down for a short nap.

Viktor Krum sighed in the boutique. It was his picture on the cliff, moving like all other wizard pictures, endorsing the nature of Bulgaria. He could see that the pompous photographer had chosen the slogan, 'Visit Bulgaria and its nature! -Viktor Krum, World-Famous Bulgarian Seeker'. The company had even placed his signature without his consent. He stood near the candy section of the shop, staring forlornly at the low-grade poster.

Outside, Chelsea was saddened that the trip had ended so fast. Part of the 'Muggle Trip' her dad organized was to take an airplane back to London. They had a few hours before their flight departed, and her family had decided to visit Argnos Bend, the Bulgarian equivalent of Diagon Alley in Sofia, Bulgaria's capital city. She wandered into the near-empty boutique, scanning the shelves for a glimpse of some familiar English candy.

"Excuse me."

Viktor felt a slight tap on his back. He turned to find a blonde-haired girl who was quite short, but looked around fifteen or sixteen. She was wearing Muggle clothes, and Viktor surmised she was half-blood because she had a comfortable stance in the shop, much unlike Muggle-born wizards, who still felt uneasy in all-wizard places. He knew what to say. "If you vant my autograph, zen you must 'ave some parchment and a quill. I don't sign on anysing else."

"Excuse me?" Chelsea repeated, confused. She certainly didn't want this guy's autograph. She stared hard at the face, the hooked nose, the messy hair and the slouch. She recognized him now. He had been at Hogwarts when she was in her third year, for the Triwizard Tournament. It was the famous Viktor Krum from Durmstrang. She had been a Cedric supporter, being in Hufflepuff, and she knew most of her classmates would perform an Unforgivable Curse just to get Krum's autograph, even now. But she didn't need one. "I just want some Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans," Chelsea told Krum. "You're uh, blocking the shelf."

Krum stared hard at the girl in disbelief. This had never happened to him before, unless the person already had his autograph. But even people with his autograph wanted more.

Feeling deeply embarrassed, he nodded and stepped out of the way. He watched the girl marvel at the shelf, somewhat declaring, "I'm in civilization again! English candy!" and grabbing about five packs. As she turned, she smiled at him and made her way to the counter. Krum scowled. Who cared about her anyway?

"Ow! Watch where you're going, mister," Chelsea said.

Viktor turned around. A tall man wearing robes of deep black, with sunken eyes and a weird grin, deliberately bumped into Chelsea. Krum was about to dismiss it as rudeness, and was about to turn around when he caught a glimpse of a familiar mark on the man's left forearm. Chelsea walked to the cashier, and after paying for her candy, left the shop. Krum stood in the shop for a few more minutes, keeping an eye on the man, who seemed to be waiting for someone.

Krum knew about Voldemort's side. In the Triwizard Tournament, he was placed under the Imperius Curse by one of his minions, forced to attack Cedric Diggory with the Cruciatus Curse, but was thankfully stopped by Harry Potter. Harry and Cedric went on to finish the maze, only to be transported by the portkey Triwizard Cup to the graveyard where Cedric was killed. He heard news during the past years that Voldemort had come back, and that his forces were congregating all over Europe. Rumors were that his followers were strongest in the forests of Britain, near the coasts of Wales and Ireland, up north in Scotland, in the plains of France, the mountains of Austria and Hungary, the dark forests of Germany and Poland, and in the Balkan Peninsula, including Albania, Romania and Bulgaria. Many arrests had been made, but many murders had been committed as well. Both sides were both gaining and losing. And Krum knew that it wasn't a coincidence that he had spotted one in broad daylight, as if the man was making it known that Voldemort was gaining power again.

At last, the man, looking impatient, left the shop. Krum knew better than to be looking for Voldemort's followers, but his past experiences pushed him to follow the man. On the way out, he passed a group of giggling girls, who squealed as he brushed past.

He followed the man as he weaved through the crowd, keeping his distance, but after a few minutes, it appeared the man had lost the girl. Krum hid in an alley, watching the man carefully. He met up with one of his friends, another shady-looking man. Krum pretended to queue up for some ice cream as he eavesdropped.

"What are The Dark Lord's orders?" said the first man. He had a distinct British accent. "I have seen the girl he was describing. She left the Parkoff Confectionery a few moments ago."

"The Dark Lord said to follow her," his companion said, furious. "The Dark Lord said she will lead us to Harry Potter. We will have to pursue her then—in England."

"I don't understand," the first man said. "The Dark Lord knows Potter is going back to Hogwarts for his seventh year. Why is he having us follow this Mudblood?"

"You know better than to question the Dark Lord!" his companion hissed. "I have a hunch, though. This girl, seemingly innocent, will be useful. I just know it."

Krum watched the two men walk away. He needed to warn her. By the looks of it, though, she already left. Krum decided he would have to go to England and pay an old acquaintance a visit. And he knew how to get there faster than the girl, or the Death Eaters.

Durmstrang Institute hadn't changed much since Viktor left it. It was still the same small castle, and the lake that fronted it hadn't changed either. He looked for the Durmstrang Ship. He needed it now.

Krum strode down the familiar stone halls of Durmstrang. He knew where he was going. As if he was still a student, he maneuvered the corridors expertly, until he arrived at a small office. He knocked on the door.

A small man, gray with age, opened the door. Upon seeing Krum, he looked surprised and confused, but soon straightened up to face him.

"Viktor Krum!" the old man said. "Long time, no see!"

"Yes, yes," Krum said, shaking the man's hand. "Garkiff, is ze ship still functional? I 'ave an emergency, and I need to get to Britain."

"Ov course it is!" Garkiff beamed, and he led the way to the sea gate of the school.

"How's ze school been under Yestin?" Krum asked.

"Fairly good," Garkiff said. "Alvays better zen Karkaroff, zat's for sure. Here ve are!"

Krum stared at the magnificent hull of the Durmstrang ship. He hoped he still remembered how to operate it. This would be a one-man journey.

Chelsea looked out of her plane window. Plane rides always made her sick, so she was given the window seat. She stared out into the view of the cloudless sky above the Balkan Peninsula, above the numerous islands of Greece, above the Black Sea, above the Carpathian Mountains and the Balkan Mountains. She accepted the juice the flight attendant had given her, oblivious to the upcoming adventures she would be facing.

Author's Note: There! My second chapter for all of you to see. I'm sorry if I left Harry and the others for a while. I'll be highlighting Bill and Fleur's wedding next chapter. Now, I have a few points to ponder. First of all, (my sister made me do this) this is NOT a Krum-bashing fic. It was never meant to be. I was just getting back on the affection (should I call it affection?) of Krum toward Hermione. Second, pardon my knowledge in Geography, because Sofia is not a girl Krum knows. Sofia happens to be the capital of Bulgaria, in which I mention a lot of times. All rivers, mountains and cities here are factual. Thank you.