"Granger—I refuse to refer to her as my brother's wife—is a liar and a cheat. Viktor and Hermione were perfectly happy when I met her in 1957 and they were ecstatic at their engagement in 1956. She cheated on him with a You-Know-Who and then had the gall to take advantage of my brother's love for her and resume their relationship after she ended up on the losing side of the war. She turned my own brother against me and he won't speak to me—and perhaps it is for the best if she is having such a strong influence on him."
—a translated quote from Ivanna Krum while she spoke to a friend
Viktor,
Honestly, I address this chapter completely to you. Honestly, I have never understood why you never questioned why I ignored our engagement and ended up with Tom. I wasn't sure if it was because you forgave me or because you didn't want to know the answer. Over the years I have been accused of marrying you later after the war as a way to escape, which you knew about. Your defenses were honorable and I couldn't love you more for them. Let me assure you, now, where I have nothing to hide, that I did not marry you for any reason except my deep affection for you. When we were young it simply was not the right time for me-and I think you as well. We didn't even know each other, our romance built on letters and a handful of meetings over the years. Our relationship was so much more solid the second time.
But, let me tell you what happened before you arrived in Britain in 1957 to propose. As you, and our family, know, I have a rather good memory. The conversations may not be exactly as said, but they will be incredibly close:
I received my Head Girl badge two days before you came to visit me the summer before my eighteenth birthday—I remember distinctly because despite the fact that my family threw a party to celebrate, we were more concerned with making sure the house was clean for when he came over. Not that it had ever really been dirty ever—my family was as meticulous as I—but mother was overly concerned with how you would view us.
"You've made it clear that wizards don't think well of non-magical people," she said, continuing to buff the already gleaming silver fork. "And this is his first visit here, so I want him to get a good impression." I could hear my father turning a page of the paper in his chair, only a few feet away in the living room with the door open between the living room and the kitchen to let the air circulate. He had tried to calm my mother down about the house—"Spotless as always, Maria"—but he'd eventually given up.
I was sitting across from her at the dining room table, helping her polish the silver that had been bought second hand. "He's not judgmental like that," I insisted, more focused on using my nail to get the dishrag into the ridges of the platter than on her. "His grandfather was killed for openly supporting Muggles and Muggleborns by Grindelwald. His family has always been pro-Muggle. He's never judged me for my heritage."
She quirked an eyebrow at me. "He may not always understanding, even if they don't mean to be. He's a white, pureblood, wealthy wizard—and while your father does fine at his job, you're going to be in a completely different world when you marry him."
I stopped cleaning the platter and glanced up at her. What she had said, in that moment, seemed such a non sequitur that I couldn't help but pause. "Marry him? Mum, I'm not even done with school yet." I heard a grunt of agreement and approval from my father in the living room, giving away that he had he been listening in.
Mum threw a disapproving look over her shoulder, despite him being turned away from her, and then glanced back to me. "Hermione, why else do you think he's coming to visit? It's undoubtedly to propose. You two have been a pair for almost three years now, so why wouldn't he? And you'll get married when you graduate."
"But I'm going to be an Unspeakable," I said, it spilling out of my mouth too fast. I have never been the most socially astute person unless I think long and hard on something, and this was even worse in my teenage years. So suddenly the Viktor is coming to visit until I leave for school turned into Viktor is planning to propose and my anxiety began to grow. "He knows I have career plans. I've talked about them with him."
My mother opened her mouth to retort, but my father beat her to it, cutting her off with the rustle of the paper being put in his lap. "Hermione didn't work so hard to be top of her class to go and get married off right away. Perhaps for most girls that's their best option, but she's too bright to not do something with her mind before settling down."
"And then what will Viktor do for the few years that Hermione is working in Britain and he's traveling? He's a great match and will take care of her. But if she leaves him hanging, he'll leave," she snapped, now facing my father completely, buffing another fork as earnestly as she was speaking. Their snippy tones suggested that they had already discussed this issue in private and had not come to an agreement.
It wasn't uncommon for them to tune me out of arguments that were about me as if I weren't there, but in that one I couldn't stay out of it. "He's not going to leave me. I'm going to learn Bulgarian after school, and then once I marry Viktor I'll transfer to the Bulgarian version of the Unspeakables department. We haven't discussed it since he hasn't asked and I haven't even graduated but of course he'd be okay with it."
The thing about this was that this wouldn't have unsettled me so if I didn't have my own anxieties about the situation. The courtship had been a very public thing that had been discussed in the papers any time we were seen together, with either him visiting me or the time I visited him and his family. I didn't have any friends at the time, just acquaintances, who encouraged me to pursue my career—but there were lots of my classmates who said nicely that Viktor was a great match and they'd take him in a heartbeat or said meanly that I was beneath Viktor and that he'd hopefully wise-up soon. Add in fitting the tone of rising tensions about blood supremacy and a pureblood wizard being interested in a Muggleborn was seen as him being a traitor to his own kind—and they would rather take it out on the mudblood whore. I had faced that already, but I knew it would only be worse once I was engaged.
Considering the brutal attacks on Muggleborns reaching the papers it was a real and deep concern for me.
On top of that, my teachers, as well, had not seemed particularly supportive of my desire to do research. Professor Slughorn seemed to be more impressed by my romance with the famous Quidditch star in Slug Club far more than by my ambitions. Flitwick, my Head of House, had supported my ambitions by telling me what classes to take, but also had pragmatically told me that as a woman and Muggleborn that it would be incredibly difficult—he didn't say impossible, but implied it-for me to get a coveted Unpseakables spot.
To say that I was devastated by his warning is an understatement. But I refused to give up. Or, had, at least. I was less sure after that conversation.
I barely slept that night, the ringing on the clock in the hallway telling me how much time passed and how the morning hour that Viktor would arrive drew closer. It was less thast I was scared of seeing Viktor so much as the future that I feared. I didn't even consider talking to Viktor about it because who assumed, in those days, that any man would think your career aspirations and your own identity valid? I had been taught better by my parents than most girl were lucky to get, but I didn't expect the same of others. Most girls would have been over the moon to be in my shoes yet I felt like the possibility to growing up, getting married, losing my identity to a man and become a wife and mother akin to a prison sentence. In those days you couldn't imagine life in which you were your own person and a wife and mother too.
It is perhaps the greatest irony of all, sadly, that I have been defined by my relationship with Tom for nearly my whole life, him alive or in the grave. But I can say for certain that it was Tom who gave me the idea at all that not only could I do all of those things—work, be successful, be a wife, be a mother-but that it would be a waste of the greatest sort if I didn't. But that is a theme for later.
Finally after six am I just gave up trying to sleep and got up for the day. I put on my bathrobe and trudged downstairs to I find my mother in the kitchen, cooking even at this time of the morning.
"Did you sleep?" I asked, sitting down at the table.
"Oh, no, I couldn't sleep," she said. "I gave up and decided to cook instead. Even if we go out to dinner then we'll have this for the rest of the week, you know?" She bustled around, draining a pot of potatoes, and asked, "Did you sleep?"
"No," I admitted.
She sighed and went over to the percolator and poured me a cup of coffee. British that we may be, but my mother lived on coffee and was determined to pass that on to my father and I. I loved her too much to tell her I didn't care much for coffee so I always drank it.
"It is nothing to be scared about," she said gently, sitting down at the table with me holding her own cup. "I know it's a very big change for you to think about going to school and then next thing you know to have a life and house of your own, maybe even one taken care of by one of those house elf things." I bit my tongue to resist discussing the issues of house elves and slavery. "It will be good, though. There is nothing I'd wish more than for you to be taken care of and having a good life. I grew up having a hard life, Hermione, and I got very lucky when I married your father. To think that not only may you have a life like mine, but maybe even better, gives me such a peace of mind that it's difficult to imagine. Though Lord knows that I'll miss you all the way in Bulgaria."
"Mum...I don't want to be taken care," I said quietly. "I can take care of myself."
"I know," she said, giving me a smile and reaching across the table to take my hand in her own, "but this world is harsh and we can't do everything on our own. We need the support of people around us, especially when the world would like to crush us underfoot. You'll find yourself able to do things to make yourself happier and be happier if you know and are assured that you'll be secure."
I didn't think that was true, at least for me. I knew it was true for my mother and she knew herself better than anyone else but...I had never been my mother. I had her meticulousness, her attention to detail, her anxiety, her love of rules, and her big head of hair-but she was always happy to fit into the broader society and be "normal" and secure. I was happier trying to make things better, even if it was harder for me. At seventeen, though, the words of your parents are powerful things even if teenagers don't wish to admit it.
"You're a magical girl, Hermione," my mother continued, "even more than any wand can make you. Viktor knows that and that's why he's happy to be with you. A good man knows a good woman when he sees one. Don't throw this away just because you're so stubborn that you'll throw out the baby with the bathwater. You can work out your life together once you get together, all right?"
"...Okay," I said, reluctant.
"Hermione, you'll see I'm right someday. I wanted to be an artist when I was your age. I was so sure that I could make it on my own, then I got pregnant with you when I was seeing your father-you know this story, I've told it to you-and I was lucky that he was more than happy to make an honest woman of me and make sure you had a beautiful home to be born into. Honestly, I have had an amazing life, one far greater than I ever anticipated and it is the very things I thought I wouldn't want."
She'd told me this story before and I had no idea how much it would reflect me of the future. I had no idea, later, that she told me, an old woman on her deathbed, that she regretted not pursuing her art more and that she wish she'd tried to do both. But she had felt cowed by expectations placed upon her to give up what she loved in order to take care of her home and family. Homemaking is often smothering, even if society doesn't think so. Back then, it was and it was the job a woman was expected to have above all others.
But she didn't tell me that then or she didn't realize the regrets in her heart until the end of her life. Satisfied she'd convinced me, she just went back to cooking and left me to ponder as I drink the bitter and tasteless coffee. Mum and I watched the kitchen turn from a morning blue to bright white, the small pastel accents starting to brighten up as the morning went on. Around eight my father came down and glanced around the kitchen.
"What's with all the long faces?" he asked, kissing my mother on the cheek and ruffling my hair, ignoring my habitual protest. "You'd think we're meeting debt collectors, not Hermione's beau."
"We didn't sleep well," said Mum, handing him a cup of coffee.
I saw him wince when my mom's back was turned, but drank it like I did to make her happy. "Well, you both better perk up. I'm sure Maria has more coffee where this came from. We need to meet them soon and we don't want this young man to think that we're not punctual." As if we'd ever be anything but perfectly on time, but this caused my mum and I to panic and begin to get ready.
An hour before we needed to be ready Mum and I looked spotless and presentable. Mum kept trying to tame my hair somewhat, having never liked I resisted fighting my bushy and frizzy when she'd always managed to tame her coifs into more appropriate curls. Father, though, always was proud of me keeping my natural as he'd always tell me "You look adorable" whenever Mum would give up trying to fix it frustration.
He didn't get the chance to give me such reassurance that day, though I could have sorely used it.
I strangely don't remember what dress I wore or if I wore makeup. Considering everything else I remember, it was a rather large missing piece to my memory. I remember Mum and I spending ages looking for something suitable to wear for when he arrived and to wear as well for my portrait sitting as the Hogwarts Head Girl. However, someone will have to find that picture-if it hasn't been vandalized or retired—if you want to know.
The drive into London was fairly happy and my father was excited. He was one of those rare and slightly disturbing people who likes to drive in heavy traffic. My son got that trait from my father, though you are not quite the adrenaline junkie you think you are, dear. It's cute though.
But we arrived, and my stomach was roiling less now that we arrived plenty early. The portkey station was crowded, smart young women in the bright greens and oranges of the era mixed with tradition robes and severe attire of business and government officials. I had to carefully lead them towards the portkey stations from Eastern Europe as many parts of the station were not visible to them.
"Wands, please," said the security guard at the gates leading into the portkey gates.
I took a deep breath and presented mine. "This is my wand. My name is Hermione Granger, and these are my parents. We're waiting on my beau to arrive and he'll be staying as our guest. They're Muggles, however, and don't have wands to present."
It is a testament to that time period that they used wands for identification at all. Since the war and the Squib Rights movement there are alternate ways to identify the the people who come into wixen places. However, it was a chaotic time and while I knew I might have to work to convince the guard, I didn't really expect his look of pure hostility.
"Then they can't come in. They'll have to wait here," he said.
"That's absurd," I said. "We are all British citizens and we are all meeting him. There are no regulations barring my parents from going in as long as they have a magical escort and legally under our Statute—which, as my parents, they are."
"You are a magical citizen," he said, "but they are not. The Muggles need to stay on this side of the barricade. It's for our protection."
I could see my father's face in the corner of my eye, the complexion of his face becoming blotchy as he became more upset and enraged. My father was the man who'd fight for justice-but he was far more likely to fight for others before himself. My mother, when I briefly glanced over, had her lips in a thin line.
"Go, honey," she said quietly. She clearly didn't want to cause trouble.
"No," I said. "You're my family and Viktor wants to meet you both as much as he wants to see me." I glared at the security guard. "Where is the station manager? I can vouch for my family and present other identification but we all have the right to see him when he arrives."
The security guard clearly didn't want to deal with his boss coming over so he just shooed us on, but I heard the "Filthy mudblood," under his breath.
Those simple words knocked the breath out of me and filled me with dread. I hurried my parents along, knowing they were probably more shaken than I was by the incident. Hard not to be, when I had a wand and they had to trust that these hostile magical people wouldn't attack them. And the newspaper reports made it clear they very likely would. I just hoped they hadn't heard that man's slur.
Finally, we made it to the Bulgarian gate and sat down. Immediately my father put his arm around my mother's shoulders. She was shaking.
"I'm sorry," I said, feeling powerless-and I really was in that moment. What could I have done? We all knew it could have gone badly. I probably knew even better than they that it could have gone much worse, considering I knew the extreme and high levels of anti-Muggle sentiment currently in the wizarding world now. But, God, we were just supposed to pick up Viktor and then get him out. It should not have gotten so violent—and it was violence, even if no wands had been drawn or spells fired.
"That wasn't your fault," my mother soothed even as she calmed down. "People can be terrible. However, we're meeting a nice young man who sees your worth so that's all that matters." My father, always buoyed by my mother's perseverance, kissed her temple. He sent me a smile, dim but real. I returned it weakly, and realized I was shaking a little as well.
I couldn't imagine how they felt, considering the fact that at least I had a wand. My parents had nothing except me to protect them, the ability to run, and the hopeful (and honestly false) trust that the witches and wizards around them would not harm them.
That incident brought back all of my fears for my family about the political situation. I didn't know what to tell them or if I should tell them anything at all. I had, after all, done everything I could to protect them. They hadn't really believed me before when, the previous summer or even earlier that current summer, when I'd tried to discuss the dangers. They had not completely taken me seriously. Perhaps they would believe me then, but I discarded the idea of bringing it up then.
"I'm going to get us something to drink," I said. My parents did their usual assertions that it wasn't necessary, but I just went a little ways away and bought three glass bottles of pumpkin juice. I passed them around and sat down.
"That was terrible rude of him," said my father finally. "That's the bigoted sort of wizard, isn't it?"
I paused for a moment, weighing my words. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and if I had known then what I knew even a year later then I would have told them much more than I had before and not be moved to downplay it to reassure them.
"Yes," I said. "But that sort are rotten apples. The whole orchard isn't like that." However, the harvest had a blight.
My parents took my word for it and became calmer. My mother put an arm around my shoulders and we all talked a bit. My father was making jokes as we waited for Viktor while mother asked me questions about whether Viktor would want to go out to eat or whether he'd like to eat at our house with us. My father was saying something about how we didn't scour the house for him to not step inside it when, from the Bulgarian portkey landing, came the sound of my name.
To this day, I remember the teenage wash of panic at hearing not Viktor's voice but that of his middle sister, Sofija's, voice. And when I turned I saw his parents, Yosif and Nevena Krum, first, followed by Rositsa and Ivana. Viktor was the youngest member of the family and the only boy-however, Sofija had always been so energetic that no one would assume that she had two siblings younger than her and was a solid twenty-seven instead of a solid seventeen.
She reached me first, even before Viktor, and caught me in a large hug as I got up and went over to greet them. "Hermione! We all decided to surprise you and Viktor and come to," she said, and gave me a quick wink as she leaned back from the forceful hug. "Ignore my brother's grouchy expression. He's mad at us for not telling him-not about anything to do with you."
"You certainly did surprise me, and I'm sure them as well," said Viktor, coming over to me. He gave me an apologetic smile. I still remember it too. I'm sure that he'd been so annoyed at his family just barging along, but the Krum way is to barge over any of the decisions of the youngest boy.
"Oh my, you didn't tell me his family was coming," said my mother politely.
"Oh, don't worry, Viktor was insisting on coming alone but we couldn't resist taking the opportunity to meet all of you," said Nevena, who had the ever-present sweetness that is deeply inherited by Viktor. She took my mother's hands in hers. "Please, don't worry, we will be treating all of you while we're here. We wouldn't do any less to make up for coming along. But Viktor can be such a private young man and we probably wouldn't meet you until we are all old and gray if we waited for his invite."
"Mother," said Viktor, a tad pained, but still smiling.
"But, please, allow us to introduce ourselves," said Yosif, who has Viktor's looks, especially back then before he lost his hair, and Viktor's quiet demeanor.
And, as the two families became familiar with one another, Viktor quietly took me aside a couple of feet away. "I'm sorry, they told me they were going to go buy the portkey and pick it up for me and I didn't realize that it was for all of us until literally three hours ago. I am so, so sorry for the trouble. I'll apologize to your parents to when I have half a chance."
I had been internally panicking, especially at Sofija's wink, knowing there was only one real reason that they would ALL come at once and impose their presence upon us despite us not knowing. They knew Viktor's plans, or at least guessed them, and wanted to do the traditional pureblood ceremonies that went along with such a big event.
"It's okay. They about gave me a heart attack at first, but I am glad to see them now. They're sweet so I'm not worried," I told him. He smiled and gave me a small kiss.
It hadn't been anything major. Goodness it had been barely a peck, but wizards were even more formal and distant than they are even now and there was a loud click followed by a white flash from several feet away. We both turned and found a reporter, a Daily Prophet sigil on his breast robe pocket, who was coming over this way.
"This might be our moment to leave," said Ivana, who was ever the most sensible of the siblings. My parents had understood logically that Viktor was a popular and successful Quidditch star and very famous, but it became real as Nevena and Yosif expertly steered my parents away from the approaching reporter. Viktor gave a smile that even then I knew to be his "a smile for the reporters but please go away" expression before he took my arm and left with me as well. Luckily it was almost afternoon so it was crowded enough in the portkey station to not be caught up with immediately by the Prophet reporter.
"Goodness," said my mother, once we got out of the station and were outside in the midst of London.
"We've gotten used to it over the years," whispered Rositsa. "You should have seen me when I was pregnant and outpacing the reporters. Viktor had only been sixteen then and I had never seen a boy more camera shy so we had to drag him away or he'd just be frozen like a startled deer."
"No, please," begged Viktor quietly and I had a laugh behind my hand. He gave me a brief betrayed glance.
"Oh come now, it's sweet," Rositsa said. "And goodness knows I've never been to London! Don't spoil our fun by being embarrassed."
"Well, you're working hard to do so," said Ivana.
"I try," she said, grinning at my mother. "That's what families do, right?"
Viktor sighed.
"Have none of you been to London before?" asked my father, who had been talking with Yosif before. I had secretly expected his support in the "it's a bit early to be engaged" situation but he already looked ready to play tour guide to the entire Krum family. The Krums were endearing, to be fair, but oh how lacking in support I felt I had!
"Ivana worked with Gringotts for a time," said Nevena, "and I went with Viktor during his Quidditch travels before he came of age at seventeen so I have."
"Oh, we'll have to show you around," said my mother, perfectly charming hostess as always.
"The Muggle side we haven't seen so that'll be very fun," said Sofija.
Viktor's face was pinched in what seemed to either be annoyance or embarrassment-honestly, probably the later, as even at that age Viktor had a deep sense of honor and his family unexpectedly pushing themselves on mine would have bothered him. I didn't know him well enough to know his expressions then, though. All I knew is that he looked like I was feeling.
"Perhaps we should invite the Grangers for lunch," said Viktor. "They didn't anticipate so many extra people and it would be polite considering." The slight rebuke was clear, even though he said it in his usual calm, severe tone and with a similar expression.
"Oh, of course! We'd never have done anything else. Have a bit of faith in us, Viktor," said his father. "Please, pick anywhere you'd like and we'll treat you. Hermione is a lovely young lady and we want to show some appreciation for the people who raised her so well."
This led to the usual parental sharing of your child is so wonderful as well that I tuned out, my nerves making me sick to my stomach. How was I going to eat? I was so horribly nervous.
Also, I could guess why they had come and I couldn't exactly tell my parents about this custom. I had not assumed the Krums would follow through with the tradition of the families of the potential engaged couple meeting to arrange the details and get permission from each other as well as figure out the familial ceremony details, who would pay, etc. There was really no other reason they would be here otherwise, especially overriding Viktor.
Ivanna came over to me as we walked, my parents discussing a nearby restaurant that was lovely for lunch and had large portions, which Viktor's mother heartily approved of-she was a slightly larger woman and unabashedly loved food. She also was the smartest dressed pureblood woman I'd ever seen-Vikor has confessed to me once that his gift to his mother for travelling with him as a kid before he came of age was now he funds her very expensive fashion habit that makes her happy.
He has always been so sweet and loyal and I really don't deserve him, though Viktor has always verbally expressed his disagreement at that.
But regardless, Ivanna whispered. "You look nervous." Viktor had been caught up in conversation with my parents so it was just me and his sister quietly talking with perhaps only Sofija paying attention.
"Why would I be nervous?" I asked, not really wanting to lie. I wasn't sure if it would pass. Also, she might confirm for me.
She gave me a small smile. "Don't be. Everything will work out. It's always nerve-wracking to meet your boyfriend's family and for your parents to meet them, but our family is very open. We'd never be cruel to them and honestly they're wonderful like you."
I smiled, but realized she hadn't answered my question.
Sofija, however, did. "I think I know why you're so nervous," she said, with a grin. "And don't worry, if it makes you feel any better, he's as terrified as you. Look at him, he's so green around the gills. I haven't seen him this bad since the first world cup."
"Sofija!" hissed Ivanna, and said something quiet but angrily in Bulgarian. Sofija answered back in Bulgarian, and the conversation ended.
But I looked, and it was true. Viktor was as tense as a board and it made me ten times more anxious. It was taking all of my self-control not to begin breathing heavily. Most people were happy at this time. Most people wanted to be engaged. Most girls would kill to have the opportunity to marry Viktor-sweet, wealthy, pureblood, and devoted. I didn't understand, at the time, the complete reasons for my panic. It didn't even cross my mind that I wasn't ready to be engaged yet. I was not ready to consider marriage or, even more terrifying, the prospect of children.
Yet I realized that all of the Krums saw me that way-Ivanna walking next to me, having looped her arm through mine and Sofija coming around to loop hers through the other. I was going to be their sister-in-law, the mother of their nieces and nephews, the wife of their youngest sibling and only brother. All of the sisters were married-Ivanna to a governmental politican in Bulgaria who was a pureblood, Sofija to an actor and opera singer, and Rosista was married to the owner of a series of bookstores in Bulgaria and reaching out to Albania. They all had at least one kid each, but Rosista had three. And I'd be expected to do the same.
Their arms with mine was meant to be comforting and loving, but all it made me was sick to my stomach. And as the nerves kept rising and roiling in my stomach, and hint of resentment rose too.
Why couldn't I want a career? Why did I have to be engaged now? Why was it so important that Viktor's dreams come before my own?
I hate to say that I swallowed the societal pressures and ideals of the time. In that era, women went to university often to find husbands and often did not work once they got married. It was not considered normal to not stay home if you had the means to be supported, and it was even worse in wizarding society-let alone Bulgaria, which is still very traditional. The fact that I was a Muggleborn would matter to some, but as the wife of the son I'd still be the next matriarch of the family and I'd be expected to act like it.
But we walked. It was a beautiful day, not too hot. I remember because walking was so nice, except for my shoes, which were hurting me. They were new and a lovely little heel, something my mother bought for this day, gleaming and a bit high-my mother's idea of a hint of sexiness ("it will elongate your legs and you are short but have a lovely figure"). And I couldn't regulate my walking to prevent pain with the sisters looping their arms with mine.
Focusing on the pain in my feet was a distraction from my nerves, though I dreaded the blisters and rubbed off sores on the back of my heels later.
The place my parents picked for us to eat was a cafe we often went to when we went into the city and was close by the portkey station, just a mile and a half of walking (though in terrible shoes it feels like forever). But the Krums were immediately charmed and we all crowded into a couple of tables that the staff pushed together to fit the party of nine. The Krums, from a different culture, ordered everyone alcohol and wine with the lunch. Luckily I managed to share a look with my parents, and they didn't comment on the drinks at such an early hour for lunch.
The staff had trouble understanding the Krums with their accents, and it was often my mother and I translating it for the waiter. My father occasionally had trouble understanding the Krums with their accents, especially Rosista and Viktor (though he had finally learned to say my name as right as he could with his accent).
I think it is a testament to the fact that Viktor and I didn't know each other that he didn't notice how nervous I was during lunch. I did, admittedly, work to hide it-I worked through to eat my sandwich and drink the glass of wine and water in front of me. But I could tell, a bit, that Viktor was slightly nervous.
It is a shame that I learned later that he'd been horribly nervous-the kind of not sleeping the night before, sweating all over, headache and nausea sort of anxious. And we didn't see the depths of it because we simply had not spent enough time in the other's company and that was a shame. I wish that I knew then what I know now about how essential it is to know a person well in order to build a relationship and life with them.
"So this will be your last year at Hogwarts?" asked Nevena from her place near the other end of the table. And, like that, the conversation centered on me.
"Ah, yes," I said.
My father grinned. "She got her Head Girl badge two days ago. Brightest girl there and we're sure she'll do just as well this year."
I felt even more panic, this time at my parent's expectations of me more than anything. It wasn't that they demanded it or that I would get in trouble if I did not. Perhaps some disappointment? Probably. They would have worried too. But mostly it was all me assuming things from their words that were not really there.
Sofija laughed. "Is anyone surprised? She's brilliant. Congratulations, Hermione!"
The others did too, and Yosif was ordering me a chocolate dessert as a treat and I didn't have the heart to tell him I just couldn't eat it. However, the biggest smile at the table-even bigger than my parents, who had never quite connected to Hogwarts and the prestige of doing well there as they would have a private girl's school as they'd hoped to send me too-was Viktor's.
"You deserve it. I can't think of anyone who works harder at her studies and would do a good job taking care of the other students," he said. I felt a wash of warmth in my stomach, soothing some of my anxiety. Viktor was never a demonstrative person nor a very verbal person, which is not a fault, and the fact he said it with such quiet feeling was better than any huge hugs and gifts and laughter.
I should have known then that he'd have never asked anything of me that I couldn't give or that would kill my spirit.
But the dessert arrived and was set before me and the Krums began asking me, again, about Hogwarts. We'd had the discussion, briefly, when I had visited Viktor and his family in Bulgaria the year before. And it was happening again, only this time it was more focused on what my duties were as Head Girl.
"I coordinate the prefects, make sure the rules are followed, am there if any of the students or prefects need me. I also aid the professors.
I also aid the professors in preparing their lessons, running errands, or other things they might need help with. We, the Head boy and I, will be representing the school to any school governors, Ministry officials, or anyone else that might arrive and need student escorts. We'll also be visiting ministry departments and other things to see directly how the school is run outside of the classroom-it's actually going to be really interesting and I look forward to it. I have since I overhead an old Head boy named Percy Weasley telling his girlfriend about what he got to do about it."
"Viktor didn't get class representative," said Nevena. "But Ivana did in her year."
"Viktor was busy with his Quidditch career," said Rosista. "Sofija and I had no excuse except we never could keep our mouths shut when we had someone telling us what to do."
My mother, my poor mother, who loves authority and always told me to have the greatest deference for it even when I disagree with it, was privately scandalized. My father, who was less endeared to authority, looked greatly amused.
"Sounds like Hermione. She follows the rules, but once she thinks someone or something is doing something wrong she always fights back," said my father. And, much to my humiliation, and as much as I tried to gesture with my hands for him to be quiet, he began telling about my disastrous third year attempt at SPEW.
The Krums looked surprised, and a bit awkward, before they noticed my embarrassment. Yosif was the first to laugh.
"I think it's a cultural misunderstanding," he said, taking a long swig of his beer. "House elves are connected to their families and die if they remain out of service. They aren't quite normal creatures-they fade in and out of existence. They're elves...fae? Something of that sort."
"Oh," said my father, looking equally surprised as the Krums had when my father had begun telling them about SPEW.
"Most families have house elves," said Nevena. "They like to go into service for magical families or, sometimes, places such as Hogwarts or Durmstrang. It's been that way for as long as we can remember. They are easily mistreated and while the etiquette for treating house elves kindly has been slowly lost, our family has not. We take good care of ours."
My parents nodded in understanding, though I knew they didn't really and accepted that "magical" meant that they weren't slaves and trapped in an awful system. I had completely messed up my campaign before in that year-I was so zealous that I alienated the house elves-but I still believed it unjust. But you can't tell that to wizards. It's too alien for them.
"Pay is a good option, I think, as Hermione suggested," said Viktor. "They are servants and helping make sure they're safe is important." He gave me a tiny smile, almost not visible, before he went back to his more typically stern expression. But that small bit of support gave me the confidence to defend myself.
"I did not organize SPEW right. I was only fourteen and didn't quite understand-however, I still believe that they could use protections and safety nets. It is too easy for families to have no oversight for how they treat their houselves, they have been taught to hurt themselves for punishment, and they have no recourse if the family dismisses them whatever the reason. I am working on it now and planning it more-hopefully with the input of house elves themselves." I decided to ignore the fact and not mention that the Hogwarts house elves were still ignoring me.
Rosista smile, but it was one of those polite smiles that meant very little. "It seems that you are very passionate about helping people and beings and what else would we hope for in someone our brother is seeing?" There was a chorus of general agreement but I felt the dismissal keenly.
But I felt a very careful hand touch my knee just for a moment-not improperly but just a quiet show of support from him. To be fair, even at that time Viktor and I had slept together a few times before so the touch was not as shocking as it would be if we had never had such intimacy. He met my eyes and I saw that he, at least, respected my interest.
A lot of those things that day, and his support, made me rationalize my anxiety and feelings of panic about being engaged away.
"You're just nervous. It's one of the biggest and most important decisions you'll ever make in your life. It's a big step and I was not prepared for it happening till a few days ago. It is fine. There is nothing wrong or strange with Viktor asking me to marry him and me saying yes. Why wouldn't I? He's good to me and I love him. This is just the natural progression of our relationship," I thought, reassuring myself as I took bites of the dessert.
I ignored the conversation that the Krums were having with my family about their work, asking questions, and listened to Viktor explain to them-quietly, thank god-about Quidditch and how it worked. My father, at least, seemed interested in the whole thing. Sadly, my mother was not a sports person and was just nodding as if she were paying attention. If Viktor noticed or was offended then he did not show it. I only interjected comments on occasion to show that I was listening and there, but my nerves were keeping me from being deeply involved now that my mind was realizing it was the end of lunch and would we be leaving soon? Would Viktor propose then? I didn't know. I really hoped he didn't do it in front of his family. I'd rather face it alone than have it be a public spectacle.
Once we were both clearly finished, I said. "Why don't Viktor and I meet up with all of you for dinner?"
Viktor, for a moment, looked relieved. "I am going to go to Diagon with Hermione and make reservations at The Cosmos for all of us," Viktor said with a small smile. The Cosmos, which closed in the 70s, was the nicest restaurant in wizarding London. Viktor, being famous, could actually get us reservations for that evening.
"There'll be reporters," I noted.
"Running from them is pointless, and it is a very nice place," said Viktor. "Nicest restaurant in wizarding Britain. You'll like it."
My parents smiled, looking faintly unsure, but everyone's enthusiasm at the idea of eating there that night convinced them.
"You two have fun," said Viktor's mum, getting up and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. He blushed a little but smiled all the same before he held out his arm to me. I took it and we left, waving to our families as we left the restaurant. Getting out and being away from them immediately was a relief.
"I am so sorry, again," said Viktor. "I wish that they'd at least let you and your family know if they weren't going to tell me they were coming."
"It's okay," I said. "They are good people and my family will appreciate that." I knew it to be true-Mum loved the respectability they'd give me and security. The more they talked about their life the more she had seemed-for my future, probably.
"Let's take a walk?" he asked.
I knew he'd barely eaten anything but it was just an excuse. And I felt my stomach drop all over again, and my lunch now a heavy rock making me miserable, that we were alone and the adults had all but shooed us out.
"Sure," I said, and god I knew my voice was weak and nervous. I hadn't been able to hide it.
Viktor hadn't known me as well then as he'd come to, but he definitely noticed my anxiety. And whatever nerves he felt, clearly, did not matter as soon as he noticed my own because that is just the sort of man he is. I was too young to appreciate this, though, at the time.
"Let's go to the park. There's one nearby, right? I think I read about it."
"There's several," I said. "But let's head to Hyde Park. It's the most famous." It also was big and I felt like this was the place of my doom.
Viktor stood near me as he walked, the closest thing he has ever had-even now-to being publicly affectionate. It's strange, really, because Tom was always cold but he never minded having an arm around my shoulders or taking my arm in public. I'm not sure if it was me or his charisma and charm made him less self-conscious and aware that no one would find it odd.
How different the men are that I married, truly.
We walked towards there, for a while, till finally Viktor noticed my nerves and finally was like. "Hermione, let's sit down, okay?"
"It's not a big deal-"
"Yes it is," he said, shockingly earnest. "Please?"
I couldn't really find any reason to say no so I did. Viktor sat down next to me, but gave me some space.
"You know why my parents came and what I hoped to do," he said. "You are far too bright to not notice."
Oh God. Oh God.My brain spun with anxiety.
"But if you're unhappy, Hermione, I won't press. But I'd really like to marry you. You are the most amazing woman I've ever met and I love you."
I had never seen Viktor look so vulnerable or hopeful and it was so painful. It pulled at my heartstrings. He carefully took my hands, holding them with the same carefulness he would a snitch. "Hermione, would you consider being my wife? I believe we would be very happy together."
I believed him, in that moment. Viktor is not a demonstrative man but, when he is, it always shakes you to the core with his seriousness. I believed then that it could work out and be okay. I was moved by his earnest declaration of love for me-and, embarrassingly, had certain teenage vanity, I think, that most people grow out of where you love the attention someone gives you more than the person. It wasn't that I didn't care for Viktor so much as, at that time, my feelings did not have the same intensity as his.
"Yes," I said to him. It seemed less awful, the potentials of being trapped, when Viktor was looking at me so hopefully. And with his hands shaking even as he held them, and just a choked, relieved laugh came rumbling out of his mouth. His laugh had always been so attractive to me, even then, and I swooned a little.
"I hadn't wanted to ask you on a park bench but we both got too nervous. I don't think I could have made it the whole walk there," he said, looking sheepish. But he reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a small box.
"This belonged to my grandmother and my grandfather had it made for her. He died defending Muggleborns and Muggles from Grindelwald's tyranny and he was one of the biggest inspirations for the Bulgarian resistance. And, quite frankly, he'd have adored you," he said, opening it up. It was a fairly large emerald surrounded by diamonds. He didn't put it on my finger, though, but put it in my hands.
On the inside, very carefully carved on the tiny band in Bulgarian was "миличка." I didn't understand enough Bulgarian yet to know what it meant, except that it was not a word that I'd learned in my basic Bulgarian language books.
"It translates something like 'my dear' into English," he said. "They had known each other since childhood so they were close. She would have thought it quite right for me to give this to you," he said with a smile. "I hope you don't mind me using something in my family. It's not a signet ring or anything-we're not that old fashioned-but I thought it was nice. If you want something new then I can get you anything you'd like."
My eyes got a little wet looking at this. He'd understood so much of the symbolism and what it would mean to me-and how could I say no to this? How could I even consider turning down a man who loved me and I loved back?
Or so I thought then.
"No, this is perfect," I said, my voice thick with repressed tears. "It means so much more than a new ring. Thank you for sharing it with me."
"Oh, don't cry," he said. And, shocking me, he reached out and hugged me, his strong arms thick and comforting. He always gave the best hugs, and in that moment of excitement I hugged him back.
"I'm crying because it was so sweet," I said. "I'm emotional-just engaged, after all."
And I felt him hold me tighter in that hug, and say, "We are engaged, aren't we?" he said and the tone of pure happiness in his voice just pulled at every heartstring I possessed.
And we just pulled apart and laughed, and Viktor looked at me like he could barely believe I was real. I didn't understand the significant difference in our feelings at the time, and when he leaned in and kissed me both with passion and tenderness I responded in kind but I had no idea that I was missing the overwhelming, bubbling happiness and euphoria that he was feeling, most likely, and what I felt at the second time he proposed to me.
Or the overwhelming passion of Tom's proposal, but that's another tale for later.
I wasn't ready to be engaged, but I said yes. That was the first of my many mistakes.
Rita Skeeter, Editor's Notations:
Hermione brought to this chapter a sense, probably quite painful to her husband of several decades, that she felt pressured into her engagement societally and through her family. She paints both she and Viktor as the victims of social pressures to marry and start families young, often sacrificing the ambitions of the wife in the process. However, there is a lot about Hermione's assertions in this chapter that do not add up if you look elsewhere.
However, school records show that her professors were doing the opposite of discouraging her—there are many letters of recommendation writing glowing praises of her talents and brilliance. Merrythought, the Defense professor before You-Know-Who and a famous female auror in an era far more constrained than Hermione's, actually wrote a recommendation letter post-retirement for her, saying "You would be a fool to not hire her."
It's interesting that Hermione, once an engaged woman, started applying to jobs without consulting her fiance though she assumes he wanted to marry immediately—and the first and most glowing of those recommendations is from her former professor, the Dark Lord that she eventually married. In the 1956-1957 Hogwarts yearbook it listed her goal of life after graduating as doing magical research—and your goal is collected at the beginning of your seventh year, before she began her relationship with You-Know-Who but after her engagement to Viktor.
Hermione as a woman, even at a young age, was bossy and, as many would probably begrudgingly admit, controlling. I honestly cannot imagine that she would ever assume that anyone could bully as brilliant a mind as herself into what she saw as the drudgery of housework (ignoring it as a beautiful and rewarding profession to take care of the next generation). No, I believe that she planned to take a job and marry him either when she felt ready, never, or after she convinced him to relocate to Britain. Or perhaps she decided to accept the engagement and see if something better came along while he was away from her? Someone like the Dark Lord?
It is probably said best in her own words her feelings on her husband versus You-Know-Who—words written many years before writing this manuscript. It was a letter from Hermione to her mother, which was also seized by Edict 364. It was Hermione in explaining about her interest in You-Know-Who to someone in a letter in the midst of the war:
"It's hard to compare Tom and Viktor. Viktor is brilliant, kind, and sweet, and Tom is the last person I'd describe as caring. However, he completes me in a way that I can't imagine Viktor ever doing. He goads me, moves me, impassions me, and breathes life into me. Sexually, I don't think I can even say I was deeply attracted to Viktor if I look at my sexual interest in Tom. I should be ashamed, honestly, and I am that it's Tom that moves me so rather than a guy like Viktor. But Viktor is a dear friend that made my heart flutter while Tom is both a lover who made my knees weak just looking at me and a teacher who taught me to grab life at the horns—though I'd never do it to even a tenth of the extent that he did."