Again, thank you all for waiting! I had some lovely reviews for the last few chapters, and it's keeping me plugging away at this story. I know I've taken a lot longer to post than I did when I first started out, but for me it's essential that I take that time for this story to go the whole way. Hold onto your (witches) hats — things get taken up a notch here!
Term had barely begun before Umbridge's agenda was made quite clear to Hermione. It was just as she'd feared on laying eyes on the Ministry official for the first time — Hogwarts was under surveillance from the inside, and the staff were powerless to resist her clutches on the castle. However, this time Hermione wasn't going to still still and watch it happen. Not after last year.
Her plan to go toe to toe with Umbridge, or Project Toad as she coined it henceforth, first began to piece itself together on the night that she, Harry and Ron were huddled in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room. Sirius Black's head floated unnervingly in the flames.
'Our information on the inside suggests Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat. Too much of a risk.'
'A risk?' Hermione hissed. 'Me passing my O.W.L is a risk?'
'Trained in combat!' Harry repeated indignantly, talking over her in his anger. 'What does Fudge think we're doing here at Hogwarts? Forming some sort of wizard army to oust him?'
Harry's anger increased tenfold. However, this heated exchange with Sirius became nothing more than a faint murmuring of words in the background whilst Hermione's mind ticked away. An army. If she didn't firmly believe in the foolishness of Divination, she might've said that Georgi Krum had predicted the future. Without their conversation weighing on her mind throughout the beginning of term, she mightn't have made the leap towards just that in the moments that followed. It wasn't an army they needed to negate Umbridge's negligence right now, but a group of people who could fight back when things inevitably got worse. The prospect of rebellion right under the toad's nose was exhilarating.
Hermione's plan took shape over the week that followed. With every class that Umbridge interrupted — under the guise of inspecting the teachers — Hermione's desire to go behind the High Inquisitor's back was ramped up until it culminated in her finally bringing Harry and Ron in on her idea.
As she and Ron had sat anxiously awaiting Harry's return from his detention with Umbridge, Hermione had contemplated telling Ron beforehand. Deciding against giving him the opportunity to burst her bubble, she'd roped him into joining her on a mission to source Murtlap essence from the Hospital Wing. The worsening state of the wound on Harry's hand hadn't escaped her notice. It had been a letter from Ana that sparked her into action; her proposals for a new research project had covered the healing benefits of Murtlap tentacles, and Hermione was left feeling foolish she'd not considered it sooner.
'You know, I was thinking today…' She cast Harry a nervous look and sat up taller in her armchair. 'Maybe the time's come when we should take matters into our own hands. Geor — someone reminded me this summer that in times like this we've got to go with our gut instinct. Well, my gut instinct says we should do it ourselves.'
'Do what ourselves?' Harry said suspiciously, shooting a look at Ron that suggested he thought he was in on the 'joke'.
'Learn Defence against the Dark Arts.'
'Oh come off it —'
'No,' Hermione snapped. 'I'm serious. Look what happened last year! I know you're going to roll your eyes and tell me I'm just using any opportunity to talk about my boyfriend, Ron, but Viktor knows a lot about DADA from Durmstrang and look how vulnerable he still was in the maze,' She resolutely avoided making eye contact with Harry, knowing the topic of that night was still out of bounds. 'But we've got to be prepared. We've got to be able to defend ourselves, to not be vulnerable. I think… Viktor was susceptible, because like most of us, he'd learnt this stuff in a classroom or from books. And, we've passed the stage where we can just learn things out of books,'
Ron was staring at her with his mouth agape.
'We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use those spells. Someone… someone who's been there and experienced it. Someone who's experienced real threat and knows what it's like to truly defend themselves from the Dark Arts.'
'Who?' Harry frowned at her. 'We can't get any of the Order in here; their cover would be blown.'
'Well… you, Harry.'
Hermione couldn't have expected the eruption that followed. Together she and Ron listed the achievements that had piled up since Harry's first year. It was impossible not to agree with him that many had been accidental successes, accompanied by pure, dumb luck, but it was undeniable that Harry had a natural aptitude for defensive magic. He'd always outshone her there. None of this appeased Harry, though, and soon his angry shouts were reverberating around the common room.
'Just think about it,' Hermione pleaded quietly. 'Please?'
Harry watched her cooly for an unsettling moment and then jerked to his feet, bidding them both goodnight in an empty, vacant voice. It was only when the sound of his footsteps on the staircase had ceased did Ron turn to Hermione.
'Well I thought it was a good idea.'
'Thanks Ron,' Hermione said with genuine appreciation. There was a lump in her throat, and she had the overwhelming urge to hug him.
'Maybe the memory of the maze set him off 'gain. Was…' Ron hesitated, and then continued in a falsely nonchalant tone. 'Does Viktor talk about what happened that night much?'
There was no fooling her. Ron wanted to know more about what had happened just as much as Hermione did. Nowadays it was especially hard to get details out of Harry without provoking a storm.
'No, not since I visited him in the Hospital Wing afterwards. Actually, it's one of the few things he's still tight-lipped about nowadays,' Hermione sighed, recalling the days in the early stage of their relationship when she'd known that Viktor was keeping things from her out of habit. 'But that night, when we spoke, I could tell he was really scared. He thought he was going to go to hell for what he'd done.'
She didn't notice the confusion that passed over Ron's face at her turn of phrase, instead looking down at the necklace that Viktor had gifted her and thinking sadly of his fear as he admitted what he'd done to Cedric and Fleur. On reflection, when she'd returned home alone at the beginning of the summer holidays, Hermione had known that they'd overcome their first big test as a couple. If she could forgive him that, despite the niggling voice that insisted he was strong enough to resist the dark arts, then there wasn't much she couldn't forgive him.
''Would've thought he'd seen some action though, what with his family history.'
'The opposite,' Hermione said absently. 'For that same reason. Viktor told me his father always kept him away when his work posed a threat, or if he thought his family could be in danger. So he was always sent to stay with his Grandparents. Ironic really, he was bullied when he first joined Durmstrang because everyone assumed the same — he was weaker in the Dark Arts because he'd been sheltered from it.'
'Woah, can't imagine Krum being teased for anything.' Ron grinned impishly at her.
Hermione rolled her eyes at this but his grin was contagious; after Harry's outburst it was good to release some of the tension. For that she could always rely on Ron.
'He's a lot like Harry in that respect. Despite what you think Viktor hates being in the spotlight, and he's as normal as you or I —'
'So not really normal then?' Ron asked as he delved into an opened box of what appeared to be fudge. His grimace a moment later suggested he'd accidentally come across another invention of his brothers, and he put it back hastily.
Ignoring his teasing, Hermione voiced something that had been playing on her mind since the events of last term. 'I don't ever want to feel that helpless,' She whispered aloud, mostly to herself. 'Harry's our best option. Like he said, he's faced V-Voldemort and he can teach us what the books can't,' Hermione grinned this time when Ron sniggered. 'Shut up! This is serious! I want to be able to stand beside Harry when the time comes and know how to defend myself and those I care about from those — those — those — bastards!'
Ron's eyebrows shot into his hairline. 'Woah, calm down there 'Mione. He'll come round. We've just go to treat him like Buckbeak: slowly but surely.'
'And bribe him with treats?' Hermione's anger vanished almost as quickly as it had taken over.
'Exactly, but homework instead. Could start with Snape's essay, now you mention it?'
They were still laughing when Harry re-appeared at the bottom of the staircase some ten minutes later. He looked sheepish now, and rubbed the back of his neck as he apologised, pausing before he asked Ron if he was coming up anytime soon.
'See you in the morning,' Hermione said brightly, 'I'm going to enjoy the peace a little while longer.' Waving her latest letter from Viktor at them, she watched as the boys' forms receded into the darkness of the staircase.
Boys, she thought fondly as she tucked her legs underneath herself and produced a fresh sheet of parchment from her school bag.
It was time for Viktor to hear about Project Toad.
…
Harry remained closed to the topic of DADA over the next week. Whenever he returned from Umbridge's detentions, the wound on his hand scarring now, he'd sit in a gloomy silence with Harry and Ron until one or the other slipped away to bed. The only topic that pulled him from his brooding was Quidditch — as usual — and Hermione was all too happy to share her Quidditch supplement with him whenever it arrived with the morning owl delivery. That was, after she'd skimmed it over for any mention of Viktor and the Wasps.
On Sunday morning Hermione left Harry and Ron debating the Cannons' chances in the upcoming friendly match with the Wasps and headed for the library. She'd taken to slipping on Viktor's national squad sweatshirt once she'd settled into their old spot and not before, knowing that rumours wouldn't help their cause right now. What she, Ron and Harry needed was to stay firmly off Umbridge's radar… a memo Harry had apparently missed.
However, as she began the process of removing her books and setting up her study space, the sleeves of the baggy jumper rolled up to her elbows, she sensed a presence behind her. Two flashes of red hair darted past her, and then Fred and George were stood before the desk. The mischievous looks on their faces made Hermione narrow her eyes — only last night she'd docked them points for testing the latest iteration of puking pastilles in the common room when she'd been trying to read.
'Good day to you Hermione,' Fred said cheerfully. 'Nice jumper.'
Hermione pulled at it self-consciously but refused to be embarrassed. She loved wearing it.
'What are you two up to?' She asked suspiciously.
'Studying,' George said without missing a beat. 'And bringing you the good news.'
'What good news?'
The Twins pulled two chairs round from the opposite side of the desk and perched either side of her. She had the distinct feeling she wasn't going to like their good news. Ignoring the panicky feeling that came with being cornered, Hermione accepted the scroll of parchment Fred then produced from his bag. It was thick and of a quality Hermione had coveted in Flourish and Blotts on her last visit there.
'Came through this morning.' George said, sounding thoroughly pleased.
Hermione recognised the handwriting in an instant. She was currently amassing a small mountain of parchment with that very handwriting on in her trunk, protected by a complex charm Ginny had taught her in the first week of term. Fred's finger pointed her to the paragraph they'd been impatiently waiting her to come to, and Hermione swiftly realised just why they were so happy.
'You had Viktor draw up a contract for you?' She cried out, turning the parchment in case she'd been mistaken.
Ever since she'd heard of Sirius being sent to Azkaban without trial she'd promised herself that one day, when she had the means and the power, she'd lobby for the introduction of wizarding lawyers. That day was too far away to save Viktor from the lunacy of buying into the Weasley twins' business.
'Of course,' Fred said, 'Your boyfriend knows a good investment when he sees one.'
'Agreed to sponsor us when we've got things up and running, endorse our first range of products and stuff. This'll be huge for us!' Fred added gleefully.
'But why does this contract state that he's sponsoring you starting this year?' Hermione asked in an undertone. 'You have to finish school first. That's nonsense.'
Fred and George exchanged a comical look and then Fred pulled the slip of parchment out from underneath her hand. 'Keeping our options open.' He said airily, though she didn't buy it.
'You best not be taking advantage of Viktor's kindness boys.'
'Us?' Fred said, as though wounded. 'The guy's a good businessman, what can we say. Could've chosen any sponsorship but he's supporting us. We won't forget that, will we Georgie?'
'Nope. Anyway, a family like his doesn't get rich making bad decisions. You'll see.'
Hermione felt her cheeks colour. That was one direction of conversation she would veto at all costs. 'Neither his money, nor his family's money, is any of our business.'
'You aren't even the littlest bit curious?' Fred said. He was watching her with interest now.
'No, I've never thought about it. And neither should you.'
Fred and George shrugged in unison, and her eyes tracked Fred returning the contract to his jean pocket; he did this with surprising care and she knew, at that moment, just how serious Ron's brothers were about the empire they were planning to build.
'Don't believe you,' Fred said, and then added thoughtfully. 'I'm sure it's written in a book somewhere. It's public knowledge over here how all the filthy rich Pureblood families came into their wealth. Bet it's the same for the Bulgarians —'
'Oh yeah! D'ya remember Dad telling us about how the Flints used to smuggle in _ way back when?'
Folding her arms in what she hoped was a menacing fashion, Hermione set her best glare on the Twins.
'Fred, unless you'd like me to confiscate the stash of Fainting Fancies currently in your robe pocket I suggest you two make yourselves scarce. I've got homework to finish.'
And, with a long-suffering sigh, Hermione collapsed into her seat.
…
The Wednesday before the Hogsmeade weekend Professor McGonagall asked Hermione to stay back after Transfiguration. At her stunned glance the boys shrugged and loped out of the classroom, leaving her to shuffle forwards to McGonagall's sparsely covered desk.
'Miss Granger,' Professor McGonagall said, 'It has come to my attention that you may have plans for the first Hogsmeade weekend that could give our High Inquisitor cause for concern.'
Panic flushed through Hermione's body. She knew. But how could Professor McGonagall know about her arrangements for the Hog's Head? There was no reasonable way the Transfiguration teacher could've known that, after a week of gentle niggling, Harry had finally agreed to at least consider the idea of sharing his first-hand DADA knowledge with a small group of their friends. In her dismay, Hermione almost missed the infinitesimal raising of Professor McGonagall's thin eyebrows.
'I am, of course, referring to Viktor Krum.'
'Oh,' Hermione squeaked, relief and mortification coursing through her in equal measures. 'Right.'
It didn't surprise her one jot that her Head of House read the Quidditch section of the Daily Prophet. Professor McGonagall made no secret of her passion for the sport, particularly when the house team came up against their Slytherin counterparts. The fact, however, that McGonagall had read into Viktor's interview and knew that his reason for coming was Hermione… that made her eyes water as she forced herself not to break contact.
'I have been a teacher for a long time, Miss Granger. There aren't many secrets our students can keep from us, although they make think it possible,' Professor McGonagall said. Her lips had thinned somewhat, but there was a lilt to her voice that suggested a humour Hermione hadn't often heard from their strict, no-nonsense Professor.
McGonagall flicked her wand and two wooden blackboard dusters zoomed into action, removing the incantation and wand movements for the class that had just gone. Hermione's Goldfinch, a plump, tufty thing, had become a textbook Golden Snitch, and Hermione's delight had been subdued by the memories of Viktor that soon followed. With a sharp look at the doorway, McGonagall continued.
'I trust I don't have to warn you to be especially careful where the High Inquisitor is concerned?'
'No, Professor,' Hermione replied, 'We were warned before we left, er, our summer home that letters and post might be monitored this year. Everything I've sent to Viktor is safe, in a code that only we know. He talks about his new team mostly because there's not much I can share in writing that we can risk. And, anyway, he's coming in disguise.'
Professor McGonagall appraised her momentarily and then nodded sharply, with an air of finality. Turning as though to leave, Hermione paused to add: 'I know how the Ministry feels about his father. Viktor won't come if there's a risk, not to our cause. We agreed to keep his name and Harry's unconnected for as long as we can.'
Her eyes sought that of her professor's and for the briefest of moments she thought she saw McGonagall grimace. Whatever her reaction had been, pained and puzzled as it had seemed, the carefully disapproving mask had returned.
As Hermione sped back into the hallway, grateful to see the boys had waited, a quiet voice in her head hoped she was right about Viktor. No matter how much she missed him, and he claimed to miss her, she had to trust he wouldn't come if the risk was too great. The pain at that possibility was like a punch to the gut.
'Alright?' Ron asked.
'Yeah,' Hermione nodded, 'I think you're right — McGonagall really doesn't like old toad face.'
…
Nervousness intertwined with anticipation in Hermione's stomach like Devil's Snare. The first Hogsmeade weekend of the year was finally upon them. It was near enough two months since she'd seen Viktor and the desire to hug him and bury her face in his neck — to be enveloped by the scent his sweatshirt no longer retained — had become almost unbearable as she counted down the days to the fifth of October. In that time they'd grown impossibly closer, despite owls being their only line of contact, and Hermione once again found a confidence in writing down what she sometimes found herself too inexperienced or too shy to say in person. Late at night, those words flowed without hesitation from her quill, even if she had to choose each and every one carefully as not to arouse suspicion from a potential interceptor.
That morning she dressed with unusual care before either Lavender or Parvati had woken and was first to the Great Hall for breakfast. Professors Snape and Hooch were the only staff seated at the staff table; the latter acknowledged her arrival with a weary jerk of her head. The ball of excitement in Hermione's stomach rendered eating impossible, so she settled for tea instead, almost spilling the mug twice as she twisted her wrist to check the time every few minutes. This behaviour appeared to rankle Ron when he and Harry appeared some time later and his mood grew blacker as Harry politely enquired about her plans, culminating in a derisive huff when he failed to understand what was so funny about the idea of Viktor in muggle disguise. After trying to describe the hilarity of a fuzzy eyebrow, nose and glasses fancy dress prop for five minutes, Hermione sighed in exasperation and the threesome fell into a loaded silence.
'See you at the Hog's Head at three then?' Hermione said when the hall finally began to fill.
'Yeah,' Harry said with an air of resignation. 'See ya.'
Any other day Ron's indifference to Viktor might've irked her, but not today. Today she would be able to fling herself into Viktor's arms and forget the worries that had been plaguing her for weeks. To be able to talk through her speculations about Umbridge with someone — anyone — other than the boys would put her at ease, and she was becoming increasingly aware of how immature and naive the boys could be, particularly when they were blinded by dislike. The phrase 'a problem shared is a problem halved' was never truer than when she'd opened up to Viktor in the past; he was patient and understanding in a way the boys weren't, and he challenged her views with tact — a skill Ron lacked, and that Harry too was missing of late.
Hermione passed Professor McGonagall on her way out of the castle. The Gryffindor Head of House was dressed in a thick emerald travelling cloak that clashed alarmingly with the tartan scarf that had been wrapped multiple times tightly around her thin neck, making her look comically festive, three months too early. A stern look was the only hint that McGonagall thought anything of Hermione signing herself out of school ahead of the rest of the students. She felt the weight of the Professor's eagle-eyed stare as she made her way across the grounds, the castle growing smaller in the distance as she edged closer to Hogsmeade village.
Burying her hands deep into her pockets, Hermione tipped her chin into her scarf to temper the brisk wind nipping at her cheeks. Underneath her robes she wore Viktor's jumper and the neatly embroidered name V. Krum on its chest seemed to burn against her, reminding her that with every step she was nearing him. Would he be glamoured in the same manner he had chosen in Bulgaria? The platinum blonde hair and light-coloured eyes reminded her of Malfoy, but she'd not had the heart to tell him that in summer — not when he'd changed his appearance for her sake.
She wandered for some time through the maze of thatched cottages and inviting shopfronts, bracing herself every time she removed her gloved hand from her pockets to check her watch. It was eerily quiet for a weekend, and those who had ventured out flittered from shop to shop, too cold to linger when there was warmth on offer. Doubtless because of their time apart, Hermione's mood vacillated between unfounded anxiety and a constricting excitement at the prospect of her and Viktor's imminent reunion.
In retrospect, it should've been impossible to miss him. He stood outside Honeyduke's with his back to her, examining a display of cakes and sweets new for the autumn. A sign in the window advertised their warming qualities — for the witch or wizard longing for the heat of summer. It was the shock of white-blonde hair that stopped her first, and then his slouched posture that held her attention. The stranger, impervious to the cold, was wearing a jet-black, velvet travelling cloak and a familiar pair of navy jeans. He was taller than Hermione remembered Viktor being, and his shoulders were broader: more filled out and thicker. But, as he manoeuvred his tall frame in order to move on, Hermione was left in no doubt that this was her boyfriend in disguise. The lopsided grin that spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes and sending a flush of affection fizzing through her system, was undeniably Viktor's. A shadow of stubble lined his jaw making him appear older; but it was him.
Hermione was running before she could stop herself, the frosty ground underneath her trainers causing her to slip and slide as she coasted towards him. And then his arms were around her, and his body warmth — a heat comparable to dragon's breath— was surrounding her and his lips were on her forehead, gentle in a way that made her heart ache.
'You changed your eyes.' Hermione said after an extended silence, where neither spoke and their energy was spent on the movement of their lips against one another.
'You didn't like the grey or the blue.' Viktor said softly.
After months of waiting Hermione found herself at a loss of what to say. The silence stretched on as Viktor's fingers held firm around her waist, his thumbs ghosting over her hips in a motion that send a burst of warmth through her.
'There was so much I wanted to tell you and now my mind's gone blank,' She laughed nervously, 'It's like you being here has obliviated everything.'
Viktor laughed, and it was a deep, rich sound that made her reach out to cup his cheek and bring his mouth down to hers once more. Where words were failing her for the first time in her life, this instead managed to convey everything she wanted to say. Caught up in the sheer happiness of the moment, she'd found a boldness inside her that had so often been absent before in his dizzying presence.
'What wizard wouldn't want to hear that?' Viktor mumbled into her hair and she giggled, surprisingly unembarrassed by their public display.
'Your English has gotten really good,' She said. 'You're beginning to use contractions… but what is that accent?'
'Lots of the guys in the team have strong west coast accents,' An abashed look passed over Viktor's face, pink from the wind. 'Or so I am told. Maybe it's a right of passage thing for a newbie. Either way, I find it harder to understand than your Head of House. Sometimes I am thinking they're speaking another language.'
Viktor slipped his hand in Hermione's then and she prized herself away, though her hip remained glued to his for body-heat, or so she told herself. Without telling her where they were going, nor interrupting the hushed flow of the words now tumbling from her lips about school, Harry and Umbridge, Viktor steered them away from the quiet High Street and down a side road, stopping a little while later before the gaudy exterior of a tea shop.
Hermione had never been to Madam Puddifoot's before; she'd never had a reason, nor the inclination. She'd heard about it on multiple occasions, often when Lavender or Parvati were gossiping about the latest student couple, especially around Valentine's Day. The concept of Viktor knowing the associations Hogwarts students' had of this establishment was dubious at best. Nonetheless, Hermione plastered a smile on her face and snuggled further into his side, unconcerned where they spent their time as long as he remained here, in the flesh.
However, as Viktor pushed the door open for her and a tinkle of bells announced their arrival, he was too slow to mask the alarm that crossed his face. Hermione stifled another giggle.
'Er, I think I have made a mistake,' Viktor said awkwardly. 'When I asked my team for recommendations —'
'Hello dears! Table for two?'
Panic flickered across Viktor's dark eyes. A dumpy, rosy-cheeked witch had materialised in front of them wearing a cheerful expression and an ankle-length dress that sported as much frill and bow as the cramped tables visible behind her ample body.
'I have a… special booking.' Viktor said slowly, carefully avoiding Hermione's inquiring gaze. She bit back another wave of giggles.
'Oh! Mr Illianov for anniversary tea? You should have said. Right this way, please.'
They were led to a private booth in a far corner of the tea shop. The plush seating was covered in cushions and Hermione couldn't help but giggle as Viktor shoved them along awkwardly to make room for his large frame. Madam Puddifoot lingered momentarily to take their order, and left swiftly when Viktor ordered tea and a selection of cakes. And then they were alone.
'Sorry we couldn't be together for our one-year, or your birthday. I hope next year will be different.'
Viktor nudged her gently with his warm thigh before she could refute his apology and draped an arm over her shoulder.
'So, tell me something about your month that I don't know. Something that you didn't put in your letters.'
Hermione licked her lips thoughtfully and smiled when his other hand wriggled into hers. She cast her mind back to every letter she'd sent him over the last three or so weeks — anything that wasn't incriminating she'd shared freely, which, she supposed, was why he had asked. It was his way of telling her he wanted to know about the unimportant stuff just as much as her many, all-consuming worries.
'I've started to learn how to knit.'
'K-nit?'
Hermione mimed the action of knitting and Viktor's mouth twitched.
'Don't suppose you've had much reason to learn that word before,' Hermione smiled back at him, 'Mum saved some of my Grandma's patterns. I've been trying my hand at making hats, socks, that sort of thing.'
'For yourself?' Viktor asked politely.
'Ah,' Hermione felt the tips of her ears turning pink, 'No, well. That's the thing. I've been making them for… the elves. The ones that work in the kitchens at Hogwarts. I thought if I left them around the common room then they had the chance for freedom if they wanted it. I'm just giving them a choice, that's all.'
Hermione half expected to receive the same derision she'd suffered from Ron on revealing her plan to free the house-elves employed at Hogwarts. Instead, Viktor brought her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly, drawing out the sensation. The skin there tingled when he withdrew.
'Single-handedly liberating elves. That's my witch,' She could see the amusement in his eyes and she was infinitely grateful that he hadn't shut her down like Ron had. 'Could I ask one thing?'
Feeling mildly guilty about the hat she'd stuffed under a pile of washing, Hermione nodded.
'Could you k-nit some things for wizards too? I think I might lose some fingers and toes before the season has even officially begun. Playing for an English team is… colder than I imagined.'
Hermione laughed. 'Yeah. Think I can spare some yellow wool. Your turn now.'
They continued like this for the rest of the morning, lost in their closeness and the pleasure of being together once more, taking turns to share something mundane about their new, separate lives. Neither paid Madam Puddifoot much notice when she appeared at their table with a tray of small cakes and a pot of tea, nor did they observe the fond look she gave the couple who sat with their heads together; their fingers interlaced and their eyes locked.
By the time Hermione became aware that they were no longer alone in the tea shop it was gone two in the afternoon. Their tea had been refreshed four times and Viktor had worked his way systematically through the cakes, all of which looked comically tiny in his big hands.
'So you think people will come this afternoon?' Viktor prompted.
They had to, Hermione thought. It had taken a lot to get Harry to agree to meet a 'few friends' in the Hog's Head to discuss private lessons, and she privately hoped they'd get a generous turn out. Harry needed the boost and she was more concerned about the repercussions of her plan failing that she cared to admit.
'I really do. There's plenty of people who're on our side. I just hope they've not agreed to come just to ask Harry questions about… the maze.'
At the mention of that memory Viktor looked away and aimed his gaze on the kitchen door that was swinging exuberantly as Madam Puddifoot squeezed through it. Hermione reached out and covered his hand, squeezing it gently. After a minute he spoke again, this time in a hushed voice.
'My father asked me to say sorry that he hasn't replied to your letter.'
'Oh,' Hermione blinked in surprise. 'I'd forgotten I sent him that. I figured any reply he might've sent had been confiscated.'
'We suspect he is on your Ministry's — how to say? — black list? Any letters he is sending to the United Kingdom are checked first because they think he's conspiring with Albus,' The twitching of his lips told her just what he thought of that suspicion, though he sobered quickly. 'We think someone is following my mother and Ana when they aren't at home. Father is… working on it.'
Faced with the prospect of not seeing Viktor again for months, and having to correspond in riddles, Hermione threw caution to the wind and fixed him with a determined stare.
'Viktor, do you know what Illian is doing for…' She glanced nervously over her shoulder, but none of the couples in the now busy tea shop were paying them any attention. '…your family friend.'
Viktor stiffened temporarily, and she watched as he worked through her question in his mind. She knew the moment he decided on his response as a smile ghosted his lips, and then he was pulling her into him, so close her chest was squashed against his. A squeak of surprise escaped her. Surrounded by couples no one would think twice of their cosying up. Hermione could feel his warm breath on the shell of her ear as he pressed his cheek against hers and whispered:
'He is hunting the Death Eaters. Because of Harry your… people know about the Dark Lord's inner circle, but not their supporters or the wizards and witches who're feeding them intelligence,' In spite of their proximity Viktor lowered his voice even further and Hermione had to fight the desire to scratch her ear where his breath was tickling her. 'Your spy either cannot share this information, or he doesn't know. My grandfather once told me that in the first war your Dark Lord had factions. These people didn't know who was in the other groups, he covered his vulnerabilities shall we say. This time around he has less supporters… but father thinks, knows, that he has been recruiting beyond his inner circle and we don't think they know.'
There was no need for pretence anymore. Hermione captured Viktor's lips in a slow, sweet kiss and let the relief of his honesty wash over. She'd come ever so close to telling Ron she thought Viktor was keeping something from her, and now she knew he trusted her completely. Kissing him unabashedly, Hermione snuggled into his chest and blocked everything out; this would be the memory she'd savour when he left.
'Thank you.'
Viktor looked dazed when she eventually broke away, his eyes smoky and his lips swollen.
'No, thank you.'
…
Hermione rode the high of her success in the Hog's head for the rest of the weekend. Seeing Viktor had given her the strength to return to class on Monday with a feeling that some things, at least, had been put back in their natural order.
That sense of order lasted little more than the duration of their History of Magic lesson. This time it wasn't Umbridge that disrupted the peace, but rather the arrival of a woefully unhappy Hedwig. Something — or someone — had intercepted her recent return from 12 Grimmauld Place and had subjected her to a heavy handed search. A number of her soft feathers were crumpled.
'Is Hedwig okay?' Hermione asked later that afternoon, after Harry had taken flight from the classroom with his snowy owl tucked inside his robes.
'Yeah,' Harry said distantly. 'But listen to this; I bumped into McGonagall first and she reckons Umbridge is searching the post.'
Ron appeared stunned by this suggestion. Hermione, however, looked down at her feet. She'd assumed Filch was doing the dirty work all along, not Umbridge herself.
'Did she use those exact words?'
'Well, no, not exactly. Just that she believes all the channels into Hogwarts are being monitored. Don't think she could mention toad face by name.'
'Welll…' Hermione said quietly. 'She warned me too — about my letters to Viktor.'
All of a sudden Ron laughed and looked to Harry to share his amusement. Harry, on the other hand, was gazing at her curiously, as though something had just clicked in his mind.
'But why would Umbridge be interested in your love letters?'
Hermione detected an edge of bitterness in Ron's words. Sighing, she stepped closer to the two boys and lowered her voice.
'Viktor and I do not write love letters. We've developed a pretty good system actually, even if it takes me half the evening to decode them. He's trying to keep me up to date on the truth of what's going on,' She huffed as if to reinforce her point. 'I'll be damned if we're getting an ounce of truth from the Daily Prophet. And… it's not much, but he's been sharing some stuff he's gotten from his Dad.'
'And you didn't think to tell us this before?' Ron said angrily.
'Shush!' Hermione hissed, looking over her shoulder to where a group of fourth-year Hufflepuffs were floating past them. 'I'm not keeping this from you, if that's what you're insinuating. I just —'
Both Harry and Ron looked angry now. She could see the flash in Harry's eyes that signalled one of his outbursts was imminent.
'Oh forget it,' She snapped. 'I thought you had enough on your plate already, if you must know. I didn't think it'd be all that reassuring to know that Professor Dumbledore has no clue what Voldemort's planning. I was going to tell you as soon as I had something… concrete.'
This year Hermione refused to feel guilty for anything she did to protect her two best friends. Her younger self might've been brought to tears when they shunned her for perceived grievances, but not fifth year Hermione Granger. Now that Voldemort was back, she wasn't taking any chances.
'I'm going to find Ginny. Come and find me when you've gotten over yourselves.'
She didn't look back.
…
'Oi, Krum! Ya ready t' go?'
Inside his chest Viktor's heart was thumping at a rate that made his entire chest ache. His breaths were coming in staccato gasps, and his head was pounding. He knew he was the last to enter the changing rooms, the last player to present themselves for the first friendly match of the season. As he was sprinting circuits of the players' village he'd seen the crush of fans surging into the stadium and old nerves had returned.
There was so much for him to prove. He was no stranger to that pressure, but he felt it now like a leaden weight on his shoulders. The need to show he was worthy of their support — their faith — was so great it was suffocating.
Striding forward to where his new match-day kit was hung up, Viktor managed a meek smile at those of his team who slapped him on the back. Recently, he'd considered that he might one day consider some of them friends, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that that was reliant on his success. Had it been the right decision to leave Bulgaria? He'd had something good there. Vasily and Levski both played for the Vultures and he'd known their Coach since he was small; he would've been welcomed with open arms. Maybe he should've played it safe.
Hermione's delicate features appeared in his mind's eye. She'd looked positively angelic the day they'd met in Hogsmeade, though her kisses had been anything but. It had been hard to leave her, knowing the next time they'd seen each other was so uncertain. Right now he wished, above all else, that she was in the crowd, cheering for him like she had that night in the maze. He could almost see her riotous curls bouncing as she danced from one foot to the other, her voice carrying over the crowd as she bellowed his name in support.
'Start of season nerves?'
Viktor blinked. Someone had placed a hand on his shoulder — it was Coach. And, no wonder Coach had come over to see what was going on; he'd been stood in front of his name plaque like a deer in the headlights. Great first impression, Viktor thought.
'A bit,' He said quietly. 'Just different.'
He'd been careful to keep his vulnerabilities away from his new teammates over the last month or so. They needed no reminder how young he was, or to stoke the undercurrent of bitterness towards his success that he wasn't sure if he was imagining. Tonight he had to live up to that name, not pretend it meant nothing, like he'd been doing since he'd stepped foot in the pub all those weeks ago.
'Well, a little birdie tells me there's someone in the stands for you tonight.'
'Yeah?' Viktor's gaze snapped to his Coach.
'Someone by the name of V. Sechev wrote to me directly and demanded the best seat in the house for your first match. He seemed to think he was something of a good luck charm for you, and how was I to refuse that?'
It was the clap round the head that Viktor needed to withdraw himself from his reverie. Valentin had never let him down before, and it seemed tonight was no different. Buoyed by the knowledge that his audacious best friend was probably, at this very moment, queued up at the fast-food stall, Viktor took the final step to where his pristine yellow and black jersey was waiting for him. Hesitating no longer, he slipped it off the hook and shrugged out of the old, sweaty t-shirt he'd been warming up in… only to let both slide through his fingertips. Removing the jersey had revealed the bare wall behind, painted a garish yellow, and underneath the new addition of his name on a mahogany plaque… was the sign of the Deathly Hallows. His mark.
Viktor could hear a chorus of animated voices around him, dulled by the roaring in his ears. His feet were frozen to the spot and his throat had dried to the texture of Erumpent skin. The symbol stared back at him as though it were alive, the scorch masks from the wand fresh and still glowing.
A buzzing next to him turned out to be the anxious voice of his Coach. Was he okay, Viktor considered the question, detached from the uproar going on around him. Right now he couldn't comprehend what it meant. The story of his two Grandfathers was common knowledge, as well as the association of Grindelwald's stain on his family, but gut instinct told him that wasn't why seeing the symbol had stunned him so much.
'Viktor.'
Coach's voice was becoming clearer. He was shaking him now, wrenching him from his shock and bringing him back to the moment. The moment that Viktor didn't want to acknowledge.
'Какво? Sorry, what?'
Viktor was suddenly aware he was stood, bare-chested and with his clothes in a heap at his feet. A sheen of clammy sweat had prickled over his pale skin and he was trembling. Without looking at Coach, he swept up his jersey and hastily yanked it down over his head.
'As you were!' Coach called out to his teammates. Each and every one of them was staring at him, or at the symbol. They'd made the connection too.
The minutes that followed were lost to Viktor. He dressed himself on auto-pilot, pulling on his protective gear without conscious thought of how he was doing it — he was always so meticulous, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to worry about his arm guards lining up anymore. Outside the anticipation of the crowd was growing, and their chants — including his own name — were increasing to a thunderous tempo that shook the changing rooms. Coach blew his whistle and Viktor stood to attention with the rest of the team, his Firebolt slung over his shoulder. The walk through the corridors to the stands felt like the longest of his life: longer even than that of the world cup. He'd felt sick then too, but for an entirely different reason.
Viktor had just mounted his broom at the back of the line when Coach placed a hand on his shoulder once more. The stony look he gave him told Viktor this wasn't the end of it. Taking a long, shaky breath Viktor kicked off from the ground and then the air was rushing past him as he followed his teammates out into the inky evening sky to a rapturous applause. It should have been exhilarating. Except… all he could see was that symbol.
Someone was mocking him, and that someone had had access to the changing rooms. He needed to speak to his father, and that meant ending this match as quickly as he could.
Viktor's glare sharpened and, all of a sudden, everything was in high-definition.
Get the snitch. Get out of here. Get him.
Well, there we go! I hope this was, in some way, worth the wait.
