She should have known Ron would be mad. He had a terrible temper, but she hadn't thought he'd be upset that she'd been spending time in Bulgaria given that he'd had his own adventures in Egypt and also attended the Cup. It appeared, however, that there'd been some kind of error with the tickets they'd been sent, so instead of spending the match in the Minister's Box, they'd ended up in the stands just to the left of it, which had an equivalently good view.
But that didn't seem to matter to Ron, who'd been extremely upset about the error and sulked mightily about it for most of the night, according to a low voiced report from Harry once she'd arrived at the Weasley's tent. It had really surprised everyone that he was acting this way, especially since his pick, Ireland, had won the match, and it appeared that his immature antics were only set to continue, though this time they were centred around a new topic: her.
"You never seemed like the kind of person to change just so other people would like you," Ron sneered, the expression sitting harsh and ugly on his face, "but then again I s'pose it's a good thing you did, 'cause otherwise you'd be alone and friendless just like you were at Hogwarts until Harry and I took pity on you."
"Pity?" she had repeated, her lip beginning to tremble mutinously despite her best efforts. She'd been through so much in the last few days and had managed not to lose it, but one acidic insult from Ron and all her confidence was slinking back from whence it had come.
"Yeah, pity. Poor little Hermione Granger, annoying, bushy haired, buck toothed Granger, who—"
"Oh leave off it, Ron." Harry cut him off. "It was true I didn't like her at the beginning, but she's been a good friend to the both of us, and you know it. Who's been helping us pass our classes?"
At that, Ron sputtered, but then George of all people came up and slung a companionable arm around Hermione's shoulders, giving her a squeeze as he said loudly, "He's just jealous. Seeing you in the papers really made him and Mum go a bit round the bend."
"You believe that rot about me wrecking Kosta's marriage?" Hermione scowled as she remembered Viktor's recounting of Islov's reaction to one of the articles.
"Oh, Kosta, is it?" Ron had gone that mottled red colour that meant he was well and truly incensed. "He'd never even show the time of day to someone like you, you bloody little uppity mu—"
"That is quite enough." Bill Weasley, who Hermione had briefly met a bit earlier when she'd come into the tent, collared Ron around the neck and stopped him in his tracks. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, I am ashamed of you! Apologise right now. And don't think I missed what you were going to say. Mum and Dad are going to hear about that one."
Mutinously, Ron stared down at the ground, refusing to say a word. Hermione's heart sank even further as silence spooled out between them, years of friendship growing taut as he denigrated her once more.
"Right." Bill blew out a breath. "Right, then. Ron, I can say with complete seriousness that I'm ashamed of you right now. Let's go. Maybe a long walk with me will help set you to rights about the girl who has been one of your best mates for years." Darkly, he went on, "It'll certainly make you reconsider the word that you were about to use, that's for sure. What were you thinking?"
The tent flap, charmed to look and act like a door from the inside, slammed shut decisively as the two of them exited in complete silence, George and Fred refraining from any jokes.
"What's all this, then?" Ginny asked as she emerged from somewhere in the back—perhaps the loo, Hermione thought dizzily, amazed that the entire confrontation had taken place in a short enough time span that Ginny had missed it all.
"Ron being a right prat," Harry said angrily, shoving a hand through his hair. "You'd think he knew well enough that the papers always publish rubbish."
"Is this about what that Skeeter lady published in Society Sensations International?" Ginny frowned. "I know they had a spread about the players every week, but she seemed particularly mad about Viktor for some reason. Called him the Bulgarian Bon Bon and all that." Grimacing, she glanced over at Hermione. "She rather raked you over the coals for being remotely near him, and since you were around him quite a lot, she mentioned you pretty often."
George, whose arm was still companionably draped around her shoulders, squeezed her tight before releasing her and giving her plait a tug. "Granger'd never do something like that. She's too busy reading books, isn't that right Gred?"
"Too right, Forge," Fred agreed instantly. "Our Granger's more interested in knowledge than anything else, let alone men." He said the last word like it was dirty, winking at her. When a dull flush crept over her cheeks, his eyes widened. "Why Forge," he said gleefully, "I do think our resident bookworm has been holding out on us. Is there something between the two of you? I can see the headlines now—Bashful Bookworm and the Bulgarian Bon Bon Blissful."
"There's nothing between us!" Hermione wriggled out of George's hold as she hotly denied Fred's accusations. "Nothing. We're just—we're just friends. That's all."
"Oh, 'just friends', eh?" Fred winked at her. "That's the oldest line in the book, Granger. Pull the other o—"
The door slammed open and Mr Weasley charged in, his demeanour frantic. "The grounds are under attack. We have to go."
"An attack?" Harry asked uncomprehendingly. "An attack on what? Why?"
"The campgrounds. I don't know why. We've got to go." As Mr Weasley catalogued who was in the tent and came up short, he asked, "Where are Bill and Ron?"
The mood turned serious very quickly given Mr Weasley's apparent worry. "Bill's with Ron," Ginny reported quickly. "Ron was being an absolute git so Bill took him on a walkabout."
Mr Weasley digested that, made some kind of inarticulate noise of worry, and gestured at them to follow him out. "Molly's gone to find Charlie. I'll send her a Patronus to round up the other two, but we've got to get to the Portkey. Stay close, and for Merlin's sake, stay together. Fred, George, you're responsible for Ginny, right?"
The two of them nodded seriously, not a trace of laughter on their faces, and left the tent with Ginny in between them. Hermione gripped her wand in hand, following them out—
Only to emerge into a sundrenched, grassy field by a waterfall. Several people were there that she didn't recognise, all of them standing in a line across from her garbed in those menacing black robes with pointed hoods and elaborate silver masks.
As one of them stepped forward, their mask disappeared suddenly and she recoiled at the sight. It was Ron, his mouth twisted and eyes hateful. "This is what you get," he taunted, "for being such a pain in the arse, stuck up mudblood. Isn't that right, Sirius?"
Sirius? Her blood ran cold as one of them, whose mask depicted a mouth sewn shut, drew up next to Ron and took his own mask off, revealing the wizard she'd had so many problems with all summer.
"If you could've just stayed out of it," he sighed, "none of this would've been a problem. Ron's right. You really are a pain in the arse, and pain in the arses deserve to be punished. Now, Ron, watch how I do this so you can do it next, right?" He raised his wand, a slim, grey ash, and cracked his neck. "C—"
"No!"
The denial exploded out of her as she woke in a panic, thrashing as she fell out of bed as she fought the ropes that sought to bind her and trap her. She flailed about for a moment longer before realising the ropes she was trying to get out of were simply her sheets, which she had become so tangled in that she couldn't find her way out, and that she was no longer in the clearing at all but was instead in a large bedroom with flooded with early morning light.
She was safe. She wasn't being attacked. It was okay.
Letting her head hit the floor with a small thud, she stared at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath as adrenaline pumped through her veins. It had just been a nightmare. A terrible, horrible nightmare. Ron had said many of those things, that was true, and Bill had taken him out of the tent, but obviously Ron hadn't been part of that group of strangely masked people who had attacked the fairground, and Sirius hadn't been either.
"Clearly the events of the events of the past week have gone straight to my head," she muttered, throwing an arm over her face and covering her eyes. "That's all ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous."
A timid knock at the door. "Missy Mia? Is you alright?"
Hermione lifted her head and stared at the door. "I'm fine." The words came out as a croak, and she repeated more loudly, "I'm fine, Mippy."
She wasn't certain how silence could sound doubtful, but somehow Mippy managed it. "If Missy Mia says so," the house elf said at last. "Mippy made you breakfast."
"I'll be down in a few minutes," Hermione promised, even as she let her head fall back to the ground and stared at the ceiling once more, her bones aching and exhaustion pressing in on her like a wet blanket. Yesterday's events had taken a lot more of her reserves than she thought. She needed a break.
Eventually she managed to haul herself off the floor and freshen up. Thankfully, Mippy—or perhaps Nippy, her much less visible counterpart—had cleaned her clothes at some point, which meant she at least had something fresh to wear. Feeling marginally presentable, she made her way downstairs and tucked herself into one of two deep, cushioned chairs that faced each other over a small square table.
Mippy, who was watching her with an eagle eye, instructed, "Missy needs to eat all the food Mippy made after such a long night."
"Mippy," Hermione protested, staring at the heaping plate of food in front of her, "that is completely unreasonable. There's enough food here to feed the entire Quidditch team!"
"All the food," Mippy repeated stubbornly, her arms crossed and her gaze fierce.
"I bet you didn't make Viktor do this," Hermione muttered as she stabbed a piece of fruit.
"No, Missy Mia," Mippy said triumphantly, "Mippy made him eat more."
Hermione closed her mouth with a click. There really was no arguing against that, was there.
Halfway through a rasher of bacon and feeling marginally more awake, Hermione paused midchew and looked up, realising the silence felt loud for a reason. "Mippy," she said slowly, "where is Viktor? And Harry?"
Mippy, who had been washing a spatula, simply pointed out the window with the kitchen utensil. "Flying."
"Ah. I should've known." After all, it was what Viktor did when he was upset, but it was also what he did when he needed to think. Although, with Harry here now, it was possible they were just messing around.
Whatever worked, she supposed, so long as they were ready for the day ahead of them. It was a bit bizarre that the events planned for the day still appeared on track to proceed as normal, despite all the things that had happened yesterday—and the day before, actually, and the day before that—but life still continued forwards inexorably whether one wanted it to or not.
An owl knocked at the window politely, and Hermione opened the window. It flew in, deposited a paper, and left with no fanfare, leaving her to pick up The International Times.
SCENES OF TERROR AT QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, one headline blared, with a rather gruesome picture of a terrible skull with a snake slithering out of it hanging over the campgrounds. Beneath it, another article said, BRITISH MINISTRY FACES INTERNATIONAL INQUIRY: MAGISTER TO SPEAK AT ICW. Yet another, adjacent to the first, declared, THE QUIDDITCH GAME THAT WON'T BE FORGOT.
Hermione winced at the last one, though a quick skim revealed the Quidditch match wasn't the focus at all. In fact, it was barely mentioned. The mess afterward was the focus of the article and, really, the entire paper, she soon found out. It wasn't until page four that she found any kind of discussion of the match at all, but she wasn't put out by it, knowing as she did that the team would prefer that yesterday's match slide into quiet obscurity.
The door to the outside opened, and Hermione lifted her head just in time to see her boys troop through with disheveled hair, bright eyes, and big smiles.
"Hey Hermione," Harry greeted brightly, "did you know that I could get magical contacts or even get my vision corrected? Viktor told me there's a potion I could get, and then I wouldn't have to worry about my specs anymore when I play Quidditch! I could get some goggles, and then it'd help when it's raining so I could see more."
Amused, Hermione looked at her friend, who was almost bubbling with excitement. She hadn't seen him acting like this since...well, in quite a long time, really. "Is that so?"
"Yes!" he exclaimed. "I think I'll look into it as soon as we get back to Britain. I bet I could get it owl-ordered—Viktor told me he could help me get some, actually—"
Hermione glanced over at Viktor, who was watching Harry with the air of someone who had expected to find a faulty broom and instead found one of good quality. As Harry prattled on, Viktor's gaze switched to hers, and she shared a look with him.
"That's wonderful, Harry, really. I could perhaps even brew it for you, if it's not beyond me," she offered, "though I think a Healer might be best. It's not good to mess with things that could damage your eyes, after all."
"I could get Demetrius to do it," Viktor said thoughtfully as he carefully leaned his broom against the wall and took off his gloves before sliding them into the waistband of his trousers. "I'll send him an owl."
"Demetrius is the Krum's Healer," Hermione told Harry, who was looking a bit confused. "He's excellent."
If possible, Harry's grin grew wider, the expression making him look boyish. He was relaxed in Viktor's presence in a way that he hadn't been the night before, though Hermione thought that it wasn't a fair comparison. Nobody had been relaxed then.
"How long were you out? Did you have a good time together?" she asked curiously.
"Only an hour or two," Viktor replied as he flicked his wand and pulled the other chair close to hers."We were all exhausted from yesterday, I think." She stilled as he took a seat, his thigh pressing up next to hers, and suddenly found the fruit on her plate extraordinarily interesting.
His fingers brushed hers as he asked in a voice low enough that Harry couldn't hear, "How are you feeling?"
She stabbed another piece of fruit, her entire being focussed on the heat of his leg pressed next to hers. "Fine. How was flying with Harry?"
"Potter—Harry," Viktor corrected himself as he spoke in a tone loud enough for Harry to hear, "is talented. He's good."
"At flying?"
She felt the heat of Viktor's eyes as he stared at her intently. "Yeah."
"Well." She cleared her throat, distracted by his closeness. "He's—well—he's-he's an excellent player. He was the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in a century, actually."
"Is that so?"
Hermione nodded. "He, um, he just—well. Harry," she looked up at her friend desperately, "why don't you tell him?"
Harry was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before, an unholy light of glee dawning on his face. Luckily, he took pity on her and replied, "It's true. I had to chase after a ponce who stole one of my friends' remembralls. One of the professors saw, thought I had a decent seat, and that's that."
Her lips quirked, and she finally, finally peeked up at Viktor out of the corner of her eyes. "The ponce was Malfoy," she offered.
"The same one who you punched?"
"That's the one. Actually," and here she caught Harry's eyes, "I saw him at the Cup, Harry. He was...pleasant. As a matter of fact, he lent me his Omnioculars."
"Malfoy, pleasant?" Harry scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous."
"No, really," she insisted, "and Lord Malfoy, too. It was rather—"
A clear chime sounded, and Hermione and Viktor looked to the fireplace before rising and heading toward it. Harry followed a moment later belatedly as a disembodied voice announced, "Lazarov Cottage."
"Allow entrance," Viktor said immediately.
A bare moment later Krasmira came through, the floo powder flowing off her robes as she unfolded and beelined straight toward Hermione. "Are you alright?" she demanded without preamble. "Clara told me where you were—"
"Are you okay?" Hermione interrupted. "I was with my friends before Viktor and Clara and Pyotr found us and took us away."
"Hermione." Krasmira placed both hands on her shoulders and levelled her with a look. "That's not how this works. I am the adult. I ask about you, though I thank you for your concern. I was with Aidan. I'd taken him back to Ireland to get settled, but I had come back and was set to come to the player's lounge when everything unraveled. I tried to find you—I was frantic to, in fact—but Clara sent me a Patronus as I was looking for you and told me you'd come back with Viktor, so I stayed to help with the injured."
Casting a critical look at Hermione, she continued, "You look rather peaked. Yesterday was far too much, especially with your—" She stopped abruptly as she noticed Harry for the first time. "Viktor, is there somewhere Hermione and I can speak more privately?"
"Of course." He directed them toward a small library off the main living area, and in short order both Hermione and Krasmira were safely ensconced behind a closed door.
"Are you really alright?" Krasmira asked once more. "On top of the match, the…excitement of last night is far more than what I would want for you given you're still recovering. Here, let me just take a look at your vitals—"
"Truly, I'm fine," she cut the Healer off, a bit exasperated. "I'm a bit tired, but honestly, who wouldn't be after last night?" When Kasmira still looked unconvinced, she repeated again, "I'm fine. Really."
Krasmira fixed her with a look and cast the spell regardless, making a thoughtful noise at the results even as Hermione made a sound of exasperation. "Like I said, I'm fine. How many times must I say it?"
"You're still exhausted, your levels are still abnormal, and you still need time to recover," Krasmira snapped. "You're not fine. Stop trying to pretend otherwise. How are the tremors?"
Hermione tucked her hands behind her back. "Not too bad," she reported, thinking about how her hands had shaken while she got dressed but steadied later on. "It's getting better."
"I hate that you still have them. I hate it, and yesterday's events would have slowed anyone's recovery, let alone someone who had been subjected to what you were. Honestly," Krasmira muttered, "I should've just told Oblansk no, shouldered the consequences, and prohibited your participation at all. That way, you would've been safe at home recovering instead of running for your life through the grounds!"
"It wasn't quite all that bad," she tried to reassure Kramsmira. "Really, it wasn't."
She thought of the screaming, and the fires, and the terror of not knowing where anyone was, and of how she'd been unable to use her magic to even defend herself, and of the wizard—that strange, masked wizard—who had held her at wandpoint before decisively turning away from her, and decided to keep all of that to herself.
"Besides," she pointed out, "it's not like you could have predicted something like this."
"I don't think anyone could have predicted something like this," Krasmira said darkly, "though I hope that there will be an inquiry of sorts about the complete security failure that occurred. Something like that shouldn't have been possible. Honestly, the Ministry should be ashamed of themselves."
Hermione hadn't particularly considered the hows of what had happened, being far too focussed on the particulars, but now that Krasmira had brought it up, she couldn't help but agree. "I'm sure it was some kind of accident that made it possible, but I'm not too familiar with any of that."
Krasmira paused, then shook her head. "Of course you aren't. Why am I even talking about this? The fact of the matter, Hermione, is that I let you down yet again. This isn't acceptable. First, your situation at home, then the—the incident, and now this. And I wasn't able to prevent any of it."
Her brows furrowed, Hermione told her, "You can't blame yourself for any of what happened. It was all out of your hands."
"I don't like it. I don't like it at all. Well. At the very least I can ensure that you are safely delivered to your school." She frowned, idly tapping the toe of one of her shoes against the floor. "Perhaps I should see if there's a position in Britain that I should take so I can be closer. I only signed with the team until their series was over, so I am, theoretically, a free agent as of last night. I'll need to wind a few things up, but I can easily move."
"You'd move all the way to Britain? For me?" She couldn't keep the disbelief out of her voice.
Krasmira shrugged. "I don't see why not. I do have some other duties, but I can easily work on my own or find work. My reputation precedes me. In fact, I wonder if the position at St Mungo's is still open. Doubtful, but worth an owl."
"What would the position be for?"
"Oh," she said dismissively, "they asked me to head the entire thing a year or so back. It was right after I signed with the team, so I couldn't take it even if I were inclined to."
"The entire hospital?" she squeaked.
Kramsira smirked. "Yes. I initially turned it down as I dislike administrative work and hate the politics of a position such as that, but I think it would serve nicely. If that's not available, I might just tell them I'd like the Long Term Spell Damage Ward since it gives me more time to work on my research, which I would like to focus on. Old Bertrand should be about retirement age now, I think."
"I...see." She swallowed. Knowing Krasmira was internationally renowned was one thing, but hearing it in concrete terms like this and bandied around so casually was quite another. "Well," she said tentatively, "it would be nice to have you around."
The idea that someone would move across an entire continent and uproot their life just to be closer to her was almost incomprehensible. In a flash of insight, she suddenly understood what it must have meant to Harry to have Sirius do everything he had this summer so they could be together. To have someone care for you enough to make such a concerted effort was truly extraordinary, and she found it rather hard to believe she was worth the effort.
Krasmira's expression softened momentarily. "I would not wish to be that far from you either," she said, her tone fond. "You've turned out to be quite an acceptable apprentice, and your assistance this summer has been rather beneficial. Oh, close your mouth. I'm capable of giving compliments where they are due."
Her tone turned brisk a moment later as she continued, "And if that's not enough, I am your Mistress. More than that, I am overseeing your education, and that is a responsibility I am unwilling to abdicate any further than I must. So, to Britain I will go. Now, to more immediate logistics. Shall you come back with me to my house to stay there?"
Still reeling, Hermione replied thoughtlessly, "I—well. I'd rather stay here."
"Would you?" Krasmira's brow arched. "I'm not sure that's proper, and considering all that's happened to you in the last few days—or really, the entire summer—I'd sleep easier having you at the Cottage with me."
Hermione blushed terribly at the first bit. "It's not like that at all. It's just that Harry and Viktor are having a lot of fun, and I feel like if I go, then Harry would have to come with me. Besides, I wouldn't want to impose on asking you to host him as well."
"Harry? Is that your friend who came with you? The one who was out in the living room?"
"Yes," she affirmed. "We were with the Weasleys—they're my friend Ron's family—and we got separated from them in the mess of it."
"This wouldn't happen to be Harry Potter, would it?" Her gaze was shrewd.
"I...yes?" Hermione didn't quite know why she felt like squirming, but she did.
Krasmira sighed. "That solves a lot of people's questions. They've all been frantic to discover where he went."
"They have? Who's they?"
"The English Ministry, for one," Krasmira said blandly. "It doesn't reflect well on them that their underaged, national hero somehow disappeared in the middle of an international event that they were hosting that went terribly awry."
"Oh."
"Oh, indeed," she said with asperity.
Hermione winced. "We...didn't think about that? Really, we weren't trying to make any trouble. We were just trying to get to safety."
"I'm sure that it will be fine," Krasmira dismissed out of hand. "They really can't penalise him without looking horribly gauche. He's a boy. He doesn't know better."
A thought occurred to her. "Minister Oblansk was grateful to you and I for helping heal Alexei. Apparently he's the Minister's nephew? I had no idea."
"Is he now."
"Yes! You know," Hermione said thoughtfully, "now that I think about it, their profiles actually look kind of similar."
Krasmira pinched the bridge of her nose. "Zhiva protect me," she muttered. "Of course you've somehow become friendly with Oblansk."
Hermione frowned. Was that a bad thing? "He seemed rather nice."
"The Bulgarian Bastard is 'rather nice'," Krasmira repeated, disbelieving. "Right. Not touching that. Back to the matter at hand—I understand your concerns about Harry and all, but my house is large enough for the both of you, and given all that's happened to you in the last few days, I want you close to me where I can keep an eye on you to make sure trouble doesn't find you once more and to ensure that should you be feeling ill, I can help you."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest and shut it with an almost audible click when Krasmira levelled her with a stern look. "Very well," she conceded. "I do still need to get my things from the house Magellan and I shared, though, regardless. Luckily, I was almost finished packing my things."
"Summon Jankae and she'll help you," Krasmira told her. "I still don't want you using magic, even to fold the clothes."
"I was going to take Harry," Hermione said, a bit bashfully. "I wanted to show him where I've been staying. I thought he might like it."
"That's fine. Get Viktor to lend Harry a few items of clothing to tide him over for the next day or so, if he hasn't already, until we return him to Britain. Ah, and speaking on the topic of Mister Potter—" he voice turned dry, "I'll owl your new friend Minister Oblansk and tell him that Harry is visiting the two of us so his office can convey it to the British Ministry. I'll also tell him to tell them that I'll deliver Harry to Hogwarts when I take you as well. That way we won't have to deal with the headache of acquiring an international portkey and chaperonage for him as well."
Hearing all the complexity Harry's presence added to things made Hermione feel a bit abashed, but it wasn't like she could have left him there. When she said as much to Krasmira, the other witch waved off her concerns, uninterested in hearing her apologies.
After rejoining the others in the living room and hammering out a quick plan, they all ended up going their separate ways rather quickly, Krasmira back to her house to prepare for Hermione and Harry's impending, albeit very temporary, residence, and Hermione and Harry off to the home she and Sirius had spent the summer in. Once they got her things, they'd floo to Krasmira's house before attending the team dinner with Viktor and everyone else.
Knowing that the summer was officially almost over—really just two days left, now—made it both strange and sad to go back to the house she had shared with Sirius these last few months, she thought as she stepped out of the fireplace. Sad because it truly drove home the fact her time in Bulgaria was at an end, and strange because Harry of all people accompanied her. She would never, not ever, pegged him as the person to be there as she closed out this chapter of her life. In fact, she rather would have thought it would be—
"Sirius?" Harry choked out, his eyes fastened on the figure coming down the stairs.
At the sight of Sirius coming down the stairs, a strange chill ran down her spine. She hadn't really seen him since...well. She hadn't seen him recently, and the fact that he could look so normal and unchanged when everything had changed so drastically and quickly in both her own life and between them made the entire situation feel a bit unreal.
The wizard in question stopped mid-step for the bare hint of a moment as his gaze flicked to her before fastening on the black-haired wizard at her side, his expression lighting from within. "Harry. Harry, my boy."
She watched as the two of them collided, arms going round each other in a tight embrace. Sirius pressed his face to Harry's hair, murmuring something in his ear before pulling away, his face positively glowing as he looked Harry over. That, however, turned to a dark scowl rather quickly as he took in his godson's thin frame.
"I swear," he growled, "if I ever get my hands on Petunia and that moron she married, they're going to regret every minute of their idiotic behaviour towards you."
Harry laughed, the sound a little wet. "It doesn't matter," he told Sirius, eyes shining. "Not if I can come live with you now. I mean, if I can come live with you after you're cleared, of course."
"Oh, Harry." Sirius pulled him in for another embrace. "I've almost got it all cleared up, you see. All I have to do is visit Remus—er, Professor Lupin, you know—and get him to give me the memories of Pettigrew confessing in the Shack. While I was here, Pettigrew confessed the entire ordeal to someone I know, so that's the other memory I need—"
"He did?" Hermione burst out, stepping forward in her excitement. "Oh Sirius, that's wonderful. To think that this whole summer was worth it after all!"
As she came toward him, his expression seemed to crumple in on itself before it smoothed out. "It was, wasn't it? Hermione, I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am for the trouble I caused," he apologised seriously. "There's no excuse for my atrocious behaviour. Truly, it's unforgivable."
That was one word for it. She thought of all the times he had let her down and all the strange things he had said or done that couldn't be explained, and she wanted so very badly to say something about it all. But there was Harry, standing there, his expression glowing with happiness as he stood a handsbreadth away from Sirius, and she just couldn't. She couldn't do it.
Besides, she asked herself, what were some minor hardships along the way so long as it all came out right? After all, they'd both managed to accomplish their goals, and nobody had been hurt in the meantime.
She shook her head. "We were both under a lot of pressure. It's understandable."
"What's all this, then?" Harry asked, looking between the two of them.
Hermione shrugged. "Oh, we just had a bit of a row a few times. Nothing to worry about."
When he continued to stare at her, brow furrowed, she insisted, "Really, Harry." She forced herself to smile. "It's nothing."
But even as she stood there, Sirius's apology fresh between them, she still felt that strange unease curling within her. It wasn't surprising, of course, that all her emotions from the events of the summer had finally manifested in a more concrete feeling, but it was extremely unfortunate that it had happened now at the end.
Thankfully, Sirius had gotten what he'd needed, it appeared, and considering he hadn't mentioned it, he didn't seem to harbour any lasting ill will about the events in the Healing Hall with the aurors. Truthfully, she really didn't recall much of that morning—most of that day, actually—in any great detail, instead relying on Krasmira's recounting of the events to piece it together.
Besides, Sirius wouldn't have done something like that to her, no matter what anyone thought. Despite all his strange, unexplained behaviours, she knew he wouldn't harm her. He just...couldn't. He wouldn't do something like that.
"I've only got a few things left to do," Sirius was telling Harry when she returned to the conversation at hand. "I've got to give a, hm, a present to one of my acquaintances before I leave, and then I'll be off to Remus's and then to the ICW. They tend to move fast on things like this, especially with the proof I'll have. The complaints I intend to lodge against the Ministry," he added darkly, "I would expect to take longer. I hope the sorry sods suffer every step of the way."
The pure vitriol in his voice made Harry blink, but he replied, similarly heated, "I hope the people who were involved in your wrongful imprisonment get sacked." A moment later he tilted his head, considering. "Or worse."
The clock on the wall in the kitchen chimed, and Hermione's eyes went wide as she realised what time it was. "Merlin, Harry, we've got to go or we'll be late for dinner! I've got to finish getting my things together, but it shouldn't take long."
She scrambled up the stairs and summoned Jankae, who efficiently clicked her fingers and set Hermione's belongings to flying about as they all flew into her trunk. Hermione was amazed at how quickly the house elf set things to rights, taking her trunk with her back to Krasmira's house with a pop.
When she returned downstairs and told Harry they had to go, the black haired wizard was visibly reluctant to part from Sirius, who looked rather torn as well. Trying to make the parting easier, Sirius said bracingly, "I'm sure it will only be for awhile, yeah? And remember to keep owling me. I'll always answer."
"Yeah." Harry sucked in a breath. "And we'll be free to see each other whenever, right? Maybe you could even meet me at Hogsmeade? And holidays?"
Sirius smiled down at him. "I wouldn't miss it. You're the most important thing in the world to me, Harry. You're the reason why I want so badly to clear my name. I want us to be a family, just like your mum and dad always wanted."
Harry's eyes glittered behind his specs. "A family." He said the term like it was something unfamiliar and foreign. "A real family. I...I want that."
"You'll have it," Sirius said firmly. "The two of us, Harry, and your friends as well. Remember what I told you."
"Friends are family," Harry recited, and Hermione raised a brow, thinking back on how Harry had treated her in the past. But he seemed to believe it, given the way he had replied so instantly to Sirius, and she wondered if perhaps his treatment of her would change now that Sirius was around, and, apparently, telling him things like that.
Given everything else that had occurred this summer, she really hadn't considered things like Sirius and Harry's relationship at all. It was clear they had been writing to each other. What, exactly, they had been saying was something she wasn't privy to, but it made her think of Sirius' potential impact on Harry. It would be huge.
Merlin but she hoped she was making the right choice in not saying anything to Harry. She just had to hope that Sirius would be better to Harry than he had been to her.
"We've really got to go," Hermione cut in a bit apologetically as she looked at Sirius. "I'll...we'll see you soon, right?"
Sirius made as if to come toward her, his arms beginning to open in the prelude to a hug, but stopped halfway through, his eyes dropping for a moment. "Yeah," he said faintly, then, clearing his throat, repeated, "Yes. Of course. You're welcome where I am any time, Hermione." The corner of his mouth quirked. "Kitten."
A startled laugh burst from her. "Don't call me that!"
"I just do it because I know it brasses you off." His smile reached his eyes this time.
"After all I've done for you, and this is the thanks I get?" She sighed theatrically.
Sirius stilled. "No," he said softly. "I could never repay you for this summer. Never. What you've done for me...what I've done with you...it's worth beyond measure. I would never have been able to gather the evidence I needed to prove my innocence without you. I owe you more than I can ever repay."
His sincerity made her flush. "It's what anyone would do," she replied self-consciously, "but you're welcome. Truly. Although," she said wryly, "I'm not certain we make very good housemates. Or relatives, actually."
Sirius barked out a laugh. "Yes, well. Perhaps we're better off as friends?"
She stepped forward, extending a hand, and Sirius took it without hesitation. "Absolutely," she said firmly, ignoring the disquiet that stirred within her. "Friends. And if what you told Harry about friends being family is true, then I suppose we're family as well. Harry's family."
Sirius' grey eyes met hers. It appeared they were in accord for once on this: Harry always came first.
As she stepped into the floo after more protracted goodbyes, she turned around and looked out once more. Sirius was standing with an inscrutable expression on his face and his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers as his robe, a dark, ebony velvet, flowed to the ground in clean lines. It struck her, suddenly, that he was a Pureblood. This was the first time he'd looked like it in all the time she'd known him.
"Until later," Sirius said, lifting a hand.
She lifted a hand back. "Until later."
And then she was gone, arriving in the living room of Krasmira's neatly appointed home where her Mistress was awaiting them.
"Welcome to Lazarov Cottage," she said, the niceties coming out a bit impatiently. "Did you get everything you needed?"
She nodded and said quickly, before Harry, who had arrived behind her moments later, could potentially say anything incriminating about their encounter with Sirius, "I'm all fixed up. Sorry it took so long to get it all squared away. If we don't leave now, we're going to be late! I gave Harry a translation charm earlier to use during it so he'll not feel left out. It's best, because I'm not sure how good everyone's English is, and I'm sure nobody will be carrying a charm with them to use. It's just supposed to be the team, after all."
"Good. Have you experienced any issues?" Krasmira asked Harry.
"No." Harry shook his head. "It is really strange hearing myself talk in Bulgarian though."
Krasmira laughed. "That is how I felt when I first started using them when I was travelling for work, but you become accustomed to it."
"It makes my mouth and throat feel weird," Harry confided, "so I hope so."
The three of them Side-Alonged to Pavla's, the restaurant where Hermione had had her first lunch with the team at the beginning of the summer, with no incident, though it made Harry sick once again.
"Ugh." Harry wiped the back of his mouth and Krasmira Vanished the mess on the ground. "Does it ever get better?"
She grimaced sympathetically. "Yeah, it does. I promise."
He still seemed a bit more off than being sick warranted, and she pulled him off to the side a little after surreptitiously motioning for Krasmira to go ahead. "Are you alright, Harry?"
Her friend nodded. "Yeah. I mean, no. I mean, yes, of course I am. I mean—look, Hermione, I'm about to meet some of the most famous Quidditch players on the planet! Do you think I'd be alright? I'm bloody terrified."
Blankly, Hermione looked through the window, where Clara was stealing a piece of bread off Pyotr's plate while he laughingly tried to grab it back. "Terrified?"
"Petrified, even."
Right. "Let me tell you a little bit about them," she offered. "I think that will help. They're my friends."
Harry's mouth worked for a moment. "Friends?"
She nodded. "Yes. Well..." They were, weren't they? More strongly, she repeated, "Yes. I've gone shopping with Clara and I danced at the Quidditch World Cup Ball with most of them."
"You...have." Harry was looking at her with dawning suspicion. "Hermione Granger," he said, tone accusatory, "I think you've been leaving quite a few things out of your letters."
Sheepishly, she fiddled with the hem of her shirt. "Perhaps a few."
"More than a few?" he asked knowingly.
She coughed. "Maybe."
He sighed. "You always tend to do this, you know. Tell a little but hide a lot, and then I only find out for some other reason other than you deciding it was a good idea to tell me."
"I—"
"Definitely do that." Harry gave her a look.
"Don't you want to hear about the Quidditch team?" she asked brightly, changing the subject in an attempt to not have that conversation, which, in all honesty, was a bit more true than she'd like to admit. "I think it would give you a good idea of who everyone is so you're not nervous."
His face somehow brightened while also slightly falling at the reminder, and she quickly launched into a couple of quick stories that she hoped would highlight their personalities and make them a little less imposing. Harry, faced with the prospect of meeting the team, dropped his inquiry, and she was able to chivvy him inside without much issue.
Hermione took the open spot next to Viktor without issue, leaving Harry sitting between her and Alexei. As she sat, Viktor arched a brow at her in question. Everything okay? She quirked the corner of her mouth in reply. Just fine. To the table in general, she said, "I'm sorry we're tardy. Harry was feeling a bit under the weather after he apparated here."
"She says this as if she didn't also do the same." Pavla, the proprietress of the shop, appeared carrying a glass of ginger ale and put it before Harry, just as she had done for Hermione near the beginning of the summer. "It's common, boy."
Casting a glance at the large window that everyone had apparently been watching them though, Harry replied wryly, "So I've been told."
"Don't worry," Alexei said cheerfully. "The first time I Side-Alonged, I threw up on my uncle's shoes in front of the press. They talked about it for days."
Harry winced. "That must have been terrible."
"Oh yes." Alexei nodded. "It was horrible. The tabloids are always out for sensationalist news, and that was pretty good. It was the picture that did it, I think."
Imagining the picture of Oblansk, the uncle Hermione assumed Alexei was talking about, she shook her head. "They're horrible. I wish they didn't exist."
"Pyotr here is an expert at playing them," Clara said, patting the Beater's shoulder from her position next to him. "Why, just the other day, it feels, I saw an article about him doing—"
"Nothing in particular," Pyotr interrupted quickly. "So, Harry, why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself? I assume you like Quidditch? After all, you did go to the match."
"Harry's an excellent Quidditch player himself," Hermione put in proudly. "He's the Seeker for our house at school."
"Oooh." Vasily leaned forward. "Viktor, you've got some competition."
"I'm not nearly as good as Viktor," Harry said quickly, his cheeks turning ruddy with color. "He's...he's amazing."
Next to her, Viktor shifted uncomfortably, and Hermione stifled a smile. It seemed Viktor did about as well with admirers as Harry did: not well at all.
"I played with him this morning, and he has quite a bit of potential," Viktor replied, reaching for his water glass and taking a sip.
Harry's eyes went wide, and he pinked. "Really? Thanks. That means a lot coming from you."
"Are all British boys so good at flying?" Clara asked.
"No," Hermione replied thoughtlessly, thinking of poor Neville. Next to her, Harry turned and flashed her a grin, likely thinking of their first year flying lessons. "Definitely not."
"I would like to hope at least some of them are good," the Chaser said. "I might be seeing more of them in the future after all."
In the future? Hermione frowned. What did that mean?
Right then, Pavla and a few of her waitresses descended upon them with their food, and the conversation was momentarily diverted by everyone tucking in.
"I'm really going to miss this," she said around a mouthful. "It's delicious, and there's nothing like it back home."
"Yeah." Alexei looked at his plate with a mournful expression. "I must say, the Japanese have a lot of good food, but there's just something about this place."
"The Japanese?" Harry asked curiously.
Alexei nodded. "I play with the Tengus during the regular season," he explained. "We all play for different teams during the regular season, but for the Cup we come home and play for our native countries."
Vasily made a first and shook it in the air. "For Bulgaria," he intoned, sounding suspiciously like Islov.
Down the table, Ivan cracked up. "That's the worst impression I've ever heard."
Looking affronted, Vasily balled up his napkin and threw it at his friend, who kept laughing. "Do better, then."
Ivan stopped dead and looked Vasily in the eyes. "Is that what you call a pass? That's what I call pathetic."
As half the table got involved in increasingly unrealistic imitations of their coach, laughing all the while, Krasmira, who had taken a seat next to Clara across from them, leaned forward. "So, Harry, has Hermione told you that Viktor might be joining you next year?"
The look Harry shot her was full of betrayal. "What?"
"He's not the only one," Clara murmured. "You're going too, right?"
Krasmira levelled her with a look. "It's under discussion, yes."
Hermione's heart positively leapt at the concrete assertion that Krasmira might be coming to Britain. For her. She would be moving for Hermione.
"What would you be going to Britain for?" Pyotr, who had been listening with half an ear, asked Viktor. "You've got another year at Durmstrang—though really, you don't need it, what with all the offers already coming your way—I heard the Nordic team might have an opening?"
"As if he wouldn't finish at Durmstrang," Clara retorted, flatly disbelieving. "He's got his nose in a book more than our Mia does!"
At that pronouncement, Harry's expression grew speculative, and he slid her a glance. When she kicked his shin under the table in response, he yelped, and she smiled smugly into her water.
"It's for a tournament," Viktor was telling Pyotr, "although I have been receiving offers. But I want to finish at school before I go fully professional. I'm not sure if I'll even be able to play at all this year, even if I found a team that would take me part time."
"'If I found a team that would take me part time'," Alexei scoffed. "Viktor, you're the best Seeker in the world, or were you not at the Cup?"
Viktor rubbed the back of his head and ate another bite of lunch. "Yes. But I'm still young and inexperienced. One season doesn't make me an expert."
Clara rolled her eyes so hard Hermione was surprised they didn't fall out of her head. "Stop being modest. You're the best. We know it, you know it, Mia knows it, Harry knows it—"
"Do I ever." Harry was nodding.
"Exactly!" Clara exclaimed, holding out her fist to Harry. After a moment, he realised what she wanted and bumped it back as she barreled on, "So stop pretending."
"Alright, alright." Viktor held up his hands. "I'm good. I'm very good. But it doesn't matter. I'm not sure if the school year this year will permit it."
"That's rubbish," Harry said. "School's important, yeah, but don't stop flying for it. Even Duncan Inglebee, who's good enough to get scouted, is going to play this year and it's his N.E.W.T.s year."
"It's not that," Viktor replied. "It's the tournament."
"What tournament?"
"The TriWizard Tournament," Viktor said, throwing a baffled look at Hermione as if to ask, doesn't he know? When she shook her head, he went on, "It's the tournament that Hogwarts is holding."
Hermione almost squirmed at Harry's glare. Okay, perhaps she'd left rather more than she'd thought out of her letters. Sorry, she mouthed.
You'd better be, his eyes said.
"Since Hermione here didn't tell me anything about it," Harry said pointedly, "Why don't you tell me?"
Across the table, Clara smirked. "I like you," she pronounced. "I now proclaim you one of my friends."
"Good riddance." Pyotr slung an arm over the back of Clara's chair, his fingers resting on her far shoulder. "I wish you well now that you've been assimilated."
When Pyotr yelped a moment later, it was Krasmira's turn to smirk into her drink. "Stop making it sound shady," she scolded him. "As if you're not assimilated, too."
"Mila," Pyotr picked up her hand and kissed the back of it, "I wouldn't wish to be anywhere else."
Clara's eyes went a little round, and Hermione was treated to the first ever actual blush from the older witch she'd ever seen.
"Wait." She spoke before she realised, looking between the two of them, "Are you—are you two...together?"
"You don't know?" Clara asked in surprise, then blanched. "That's right. It happened the morning you fell ill, didn't it?"
Wide-eyed, Hermione listened to Clara's reenactment of the morning, including all the betting that had occurred. Though the story was entertaining, what truly caught her attention was the Pyotr's entire disposition changed in minute ways as he watched Clara: his expression was a little softer than usual, his eyes relaxing at the corners, and his mouth curled into the faint hint of a pleased smile as his fingers idly flirted with her hair.
Hermione wondered, for a moment, what it would be like for Viktor to look at her or to touch her like that. Her hand lifted to touch her hair, up in a half plait that left the rest free, before she caught it, and she swallowed as she quickly reached forward to take a sip of water.
All the while, she was painfully conscious of Viktor's presence next to hers, which felt hot like a brand. Just like this morning, he had ensured he was so close that the heat of his body radiated into hers, and it was terribly distracting.
"That's wonderful," she managed with a mouth gone dry. "Truly, I'm happy for you both."
"I'm not sure what I was thinking, pairing off with this idiot," Clara snarked, but she was grinning, her happiness writ clear on her face.
Sagely, Pyotr nodded. "You were making the smart decision, that's what."
Dinner wound down eventually, with Harry becoming more and more comfortable with the team as they all tried to make him feel welcome. Clara, in particular, seemed to make a special effort, with Pyotr chipping in. It was only as they were about to stand that Hermione realised it was the last time she would see many of them for a long time, if she ever saw them again at all.
"I—" she cleared her throat, her voice small as she battled a sudden case of nerves and emotion, "I wanted to thank you all."
Her remark went mostly unheard initially, Ivan and Vasily arguing about the velocity of a barrel roll while they demonstrated with their forks, until Alexei slammed his hand down on the table loudly. "Hey! Tüpaks! Pay attention," he barked. "Mia's trying to say something."
Fork held in mid-air, Ivan slowly lowered it as Vasily said, "Yeah, Ivan, shut up."
Hermione grinned at the two of them. She'd miss them all dearly, but she hadn't realised just how dearly until she was faced with the prospect of leaving them. "I just wanted to say thank you for making this summer unforgettable for me," she told them. "I was so nervous coming into it—terrified out of my wits, really. But you all have been so kind and welcoming to me, and I'm really going to miss you all."
"It's not like it was hard to be nice, Mia," Alexei said, reaching behind Harry to pat her shoulder. "You're one of us. No, seriously, you are."
Vasily nodded. "Team puppy."
"You are She Who Helps Cures our Ills that also makes Viktor over there work even harder so he can show o–Ow!" Pyotr glared at Viktor as the latter accidentally slammed his water glass down on the Beater's hand. "What was that for?"
"What I think everyone is trying to say," Clara said, "is that you'd best not think you've heard the last of us. I don't think you're going to get away that easily, Mia." She smirked evilly. "It's like a cult. Once you're in, you're never out."
Hermione thought it sounded like the best thing in the world. "A cult?" she repeated, her chest growing warm. "It sounds more like a family."
"Ha!" Ivan pointed his fork at Vasily. "As if I'd be related to this idiot. But you, Mia, I'd take."
Next to her, Viktor's hand inched across the tabletop until two of his fingers overlaid hers. "You're one of us," he said simply. "There's no other way I would've rather spent the summer than with you. Not a single one."
Well.
There wasn't much a girl could say to that, was there?
I am so disappointed in Ron, I can't even tell you. I guess several months of consuming false news articles and a terrible temper leads to incorrect assumptions, and absolutely atrocious behaviour, but I'm sure he'll regret it eventually, just like he always does. His mouth sure does get the best of him, doesn't it? For now, though: I AM ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED — I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS—
Just one more chapter and an epilogue to go before we wrap up the first arc! *confetti toss*
Edit 23/3/21: Changed Oliver's name to Duncan Inglebee (our boi Ollie graduated last year, duh) and changed an erroneous Sirius Magellan. Shout out to Kallanit for pointing that out.
Next time: "We could always go outside," Viktor suggested, seeking to regain control of the situation. "It's a lovely day. Besides, I wanted to ask you something. Several somethings, in fact."