Kaamos: Polar night, period of darkness north of the Arctic Circle and south of the Antarctic Circle when the sun does not rise over the horizon.

Chaos ruled the St Mungo's Magical Accidents and Maladies ambulance. Several very angry witches and wizards were shouting at the Mediwitches and Healers, who were trying to dismiss them with various versions of "there is nothing more we can do for your patient". As Viktor pushed through the swarm of people, looking for Hermione, he heard numerous faint "it is Viktor Krum" murmurs. In such situations his tall, broad frame and famous face came in handy, as after half a minute a young Mediwitch called his name, grabbed him by the wrist and led him to a room, closing the door behind her as she left.

"Viktor, you're here, thank god!" Hermione gave him a brief but fierce hug. For a moment, Viktor considered if there was a word in any language he knew to describe the awkwardness of meeting a person very soon after saying a long goodbye. His eyes wandered to the bed. Harry sat on the edge with his face in his hands, still wearing his Auror uniform. He saw the sadness that oozed from Hermione's eyes, and it wasn't hard for him to guess what had happened.

"Was there another attack?" He was startled by the hoarseness of his voice, like a cockroach was stuck in his throat.

Hermione nodded.

"How many victims this time?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not many, not as many as last time, at least, but I am not sure. It is just…it is all a bit much at the moment."

"Where is Theo?" Viktor couldn't imagine that Theo would leave his husband alone in a time like this.

"I told him not to come." Harry raised his head and looked Viktor straight in the eye. There was something in those eyes that made Viktor shiver. It wasn't anger, it wasn't sorrow, it wasn't defeat… Just for a moment, Viktor thought that he was looking at hollow eyes, with nothing behind the pupils, like the eyes of a carp in a fish marked that one decides against buying because it has been out of the water one day too long. Viktor didn't look away. He couldn't do that to Harry. "Hermione will take me home later. Theo doesn't deal well with hospitals. Besides, there is no one to take care of the kids, and I definitely don't want them here."

Viktor nodded and pulled a chair beside Harry. Hermione stood in front of the door with her back pressed against it, her face pale against her dark curls and her pink lips pulled to a tight line. Viktor didn't ask anything. Harry kept staring at him intently, as if trying to prove that he was still there somewhere behind his eyes. Viktor looked back, hoping that the expression in his own eyes was one of understanding and compassion, not fear and doubt.

"Ron and George went home. Mr and Mrs Weasley took them home a few minutes before you arrived." Hermione broke the silence.

"George? Why was he there?"

"He was going to join the demonstration. He was unhappy that his shop was closed, he doesn't take kindly to being told what to do." Hermione's voice was barely a murmur. "There were several other business owners; I saw Arianna Ollivander, late Mr Ollivander's granddaughter, as well as the two shopkeepers at Twilfitt and Tatting's. I think Leaky's new mixologist was here as well, apparently he lost his job due to the lockdown."

"Mixologist?"

"Yeah, they've started to serve cocktails."

"Oh." It did sound like quite a few people had been involved. They needed to find out the extent of this disaster. They? Harry hadn't said anything, but he didn't look like he was fit to work. Did he still have a partner?

"How many Aurors were there?"

"Six." Harry reluctantly answered.

"Are all of them affected?"

Harry nodded. "We saw the people gather around the Knockturn Alley. First, they were in groups of two or three coming together from different directions, so we split to talk to the groups individually. And I don't know what the actual fuck happened," Harry suddenly raised his voice, "but George and Ron started to argue, because, you can't have two Weasleys civilly discuss something, can you?" Viktor was rather fond of Bill Weasley, but the rest were indeed rather hotheaded. "Things escalated from there, and I tried to talk to them, I really did, but people were so pissed, they were yelling that Shacklebolt is a bloody dictator, and I am his tool and… I tried not to lose my head. At least it didn't get violent, there were lots of shouting and slogans and I just let them speak, I thought we could work it out. Then, it happened," Harry stopped briefly to wipe the tears from his eyes on is sleeves, but rejected Viktor's handkerchief. "It was… Oh god, it was like nothing I have ever experienced before, and I have been Avada'd before, let me remind you that." Harry let out a bitter laughter that made Viktor's heart constrict. "It was like a cloud with teeth. My eyes stung, so much so that I just wanted to tear them out. Everything went blurry and the world was spinning around me like... 'Mione, do you remember that one time when we finished a bottle of Chinese moonshine?" Hermione smiled sadly and nodded. "It didn't last very long, though, I mean, it felt like hours, but it can't have been more than a minute or two. Then it was all back to normal, except…" He scrunched his eyes closed, and sighed deeply. Viktor found no words of consolation to offer.

"When did it happen?" Viktor asked.

"It was around… half past two, I guess?"

Viktor looked at his watch, it was close to five. At half past two, he had been snooping around in Blankley's house. "Why didn't you call me immediately?"

"I couldn't "call" anyone so easily, you know. It was chaos. Almost as bad as Cardiff, except that in Cardiff there was more confusion than anger, since people didn't know what was happening to them. Some protesters started to run in all directions to look for the culprit or whatever the fuck for, others threw themselves to the ground, wailing; one of them, it was the mixologist bloke, I think, got in a fist fight with Auror Hendricks. We got everyone to calm down, called for help and got people transferred to St Mungo's, and, well, here we are. I had them get Hermione here as soon as possible, I knew she would contact you."

"Still, if you had called me immediately, I could have tried to catch the attacker. Now he must be long gone." Viktor was aware that there was nothing heroic about chiding someone in distress like this. Still, he couldn't help it. This could have been their one chance to get hold of one of the terrorists, and it had slipped away, yet again.

"With all due love and respect to my fellow victims, mate," Harry turned his eyes back to Viktor, his expression stern and sure, "when I realized what had happened, I knew it was too late for us. Calling in help sooner or later would not have changed anything. I also knew that the attacker was long gone, and there was nothing I could do without magic, or hell, even with magic, to track him down. Of course, if I had called you straight away, if you had been able to come, maybe, maybe we would have been able to trace him, but... since we figured out that this thing, whatever it is, is a gas or aerosol, I couldn't risk other people being affected, too. So I tarried, to make sure that all traces were dissipated. The St Mungo's team came in special suits, but even then I didn't want to risk it by calling them in too early. I couldn't risk other people's magic for a maybe."

Viktor was in awe at Harry's explanation, his bravery, how he had been able to think so rationally in the middle of a crisis and how he had, maybe, spared him a terrible fate. They sat in silence for a while. Viktor tried to think of something to say, but words didn't come. He had always been of the thought that everything became just a little different when spoken out loud, a little trivial. Even then, there was no way for Harry to read his thoughts, was there? By not saying anything for fear that the words may not be adequate, he was denying his friend one little comfort that he could offer. Coward. Coward coward coward.

Say something, you coward.

A loud knock on the door startled everyone. Hermione moved away from the door, which opened to let in none other than the stately form of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic. Viktor stood up, and so did Harry.

"Harry, I came as soon as I could. How are you?" Kingsley Shacklebolt embraced both Harry and Hermione, and shook Viktor's hand.

" Hey Kings. I am fine, the Healer told me that I can go home, which I will do in a bit."

"Do you need any assistance? I can have someone…"

"No, Hermione will take me home, and stay for the night."

"As long as he needs me to," corrected Hermione, her hands on her hips, "I will stay as long as Harry needs me to." This was news to Viktor, but he didn't argue. Kingsley nodded in understanding. The Minister looks more wretched than the three of us together, thought Viktor.

"Won't you take a seat, Minister Shacklebolt?" Viktor offered him the chair where he had been sitting. He then went to stand beside Hermione, who had resumed her guard in front of the door.

"I assure you, Harry, we will find who did this." There was no hesitation in Shacklebolt's voice. "We will find them, and they will pay. I swear upon my wand and my honour." Harry shook his head, but didn't say anything. The Minister put a large, reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder. "There are already Potioneers and Charms Masters all over the world, working on a cure. It will be no time before your magic is back. You just need to hang in there, and not let yourself go. You must have hope. You are the Boy Who Lived. You can't give up now." At that moment, Viktor didn't feel so bad about his earlier lack of words, even with Minister Shacklebolt's soothing voice and eloquent choice of words, it all was cold comfort.

Harry nodded again, "I won't, I promise." It was clear, at least to Viktor, that he was trying to dismiss Shacklebolt and go home.

"I will take my leave for today," said Viktor, looking at Harry to see if he had any objections. He didn't. "Harry, I will come check on you tomorrow, if that's fine?"

"Yeah, that'd be good."

"I'll walk you to the Floos," Hermione slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, "Kingsley, will you stay here for a few minutes till I'm back? I will take Harry home, then."

"Of course I will." The Minister rose from his seat. "Viktor, can I expect you in my office tomorrow? I'd like to hold a crisis meeting and discuss the next courses of action, if that is agreeable to you."

"Certainly, Minister Shacklebolt."

"Ten a.m.?"

Viktor gave him a sharp nod and stepped out with Hermione. The halls were emptier now, most victims and their relatives had already gone home. The space that had accommodated the desperate, angry people some minutes ago was now filled with a thick fog of helplessness and fatalism, which Viktor found it even harder to push through, despite the presence of Hermione beside him.

"I can't bear to see him like this. Did you notice his eyes?"

"I noticed, yes. I am not sure how to describe what I notice, but I noticed." They walked down the stairs to the Floo Hall, arm in arm.

"It is no use regretting now, right? Regretting that I didn't try to convince Harry?"

"Convince him not to do his job? I don't think it would have been fair to him."

"It is all their fault. If only those idiots had stayed home as they were told, Harry would not be in this state."

Viktor stopped in the middle of the staircase. He was two stairs below Hermione, their heads were level, and he could look straight at her. "The only people who are responsible for what happened are the terrorists. Not the victims. They were maybe short-sighted, yes. But they are not guilty."

"That's bollocks!" Hermione yelled, and was promptly scolded by a Mediwitch to be quiet. "You are telling me that the people who gathered there have no responsibility?" she hissed between her teeth, seething with anger, "The shops are closed, the streets are empty. If it hadn't been for the demonstration, what would have been the motive in organizing an attack on an empty street? The attack only happened because of them."

"Stop there," Viktor lifted a finger, though he knew Hermione hated it when he did that. "I will give you another example. A man is walking at night in a neighbourhood that he knows is dangerous, wearing a golden watch and expensive robes. He gets mugged and beaten. Is it his fault?"

"Of course not! But it is not the same."

"How is it not the same? He was aware of the danger, he even invited a dangerous situation by making himself more attractive to potential criminals. But he still chose to do it. It is careless, but it is not his fault that he got mugged. If an Auror saw him, tried to help him, and got injured, this would also not be his fault. The only person who is guilty is the mugger."

Hermione was not convinced one bit, "But they breached the State of Emergency!"

"Yes, they did, and they should be prosecuted for it. But that's it. They are not guilty of the attack, they are not guilty because of what happened to Harry and the other Aurors. It is our duty, and the duty comes with the occupational hazard. Harry knew this risk when he became an Auror, and he agreed to it, just like I did." With these words, Hermione's features softened.

"Aren't you ever scared, Viktor?"

At that moment, a Healer lightly coughed to attract their attention.

"Anthony!"

"Hello, Hermione, it's been a while."

"Indeed, it has been, way too long!" Hermione hugged the blond, curly haired wizard, who Viktor assumed was Anthony Goldstein. Viktor knew him only by reputation. He and a few of his colleagues had published a paper where Hermione had been a co-author, helping with data analysis. It was Hermione's only paper that Viktor had actually been able to read and follow, an interesting study investigating the correlation between the strength of protection charms cast by witch mothers, and the blood levels of a hormone that Viktor couldn't remember the name of.

"Do we need to stand in the middle of the staircase? I mean, as you wish, of course." Anthony winked. Viktor was aware that they had been blocking the stairs and attracting the odd irritated glance.

"No, no, I was just escorting Viktor to the Floos." Hermione took Viktor's hand before she introduced them. "Viktor, this is my former schoolmate Anthony Goldstein, maybe you remember his name? Anthony, this is..."

"I know who he is," Anthony smiled, grabbed Viktor and Hermione's arms, and gently but firmly led them down the stairs and through a corridor into what looked like a small break room, before any of them had the chance to object.

"I am sorry to drag you down here, but I need to talk to you, in private." Anthony gestured to them to take seats. Hermione's eyes were dilated, a mixture of curiosity and fear that yet again something terrible had happened radiated from them. "But first, I need to know. Krum, Potter told me that you are working on this case now. Is that correct?"

"It is, yes." Viktor was still not quite sure what was going on, or what the young Healer had to do with "this case".

"And you, Hermione? I was told that you are assisting with this case. Are you sworn to secrecy?"

"I am, I have signed a consultancy agreement with the ITF. Anthony, what is this about?"

"Sorry, sorry, I just had to make sure. You know, I am not supposed to disclose confidential information about patients, but I have a piece of information that may help with the case. It is a big maybe, but I still think you should know."

Viktor agreed internally. At this point, any little hint was welcome. Hermione responded by pulling her hair together in a bun and fastening it with her wand, like she did whenever she prepared for a long reading marathon.

"A few days ago, we admitted two of the older victims of the attack, wife and husband. They are both suffering from advanced macular degeneration."

Viktor had no idea what that was, and it must have showed on his face. "Macular degeneration is a muggle eye disorder. The macula, part of the eye that clears the vision, is damaged in old age due to various factors that are not well understood. I have to admit, I am not an expert, it was just mentioned in passing during Healer training. I did consult a muggle ophthalmologist, though. He said it normally starts out with milder symptoms, and advances slowly, especially left unmanaged. Unfortunately, there is no treatment, but some medications can slow down its progress. For the couple that was admitted here, it advanced from mild blurry vision to near-complete loss of eyesight within two days."

"This is suspicious, indeed," Viktor tried to understand what exactly was going on. "You said it is a muggle disease? You mean magical people do not get it?"

Anthony shook his head, "No, they don't. There are other diseases in the wizarding population that cause impaired eyesight: cataracts, refractive errors, glaucoma… But macular degradation in our world is not a thing. It is rather easy to diagnose, though, once you know what you're looking for. This fast progression is also certainly not natural. It doesn't end there. The following days, we admitted more victims, all somewhere between fifty and seventy years old, all suffering from the same condition. I am guessing they won't be the last ones, either. It seems like the older victims develop the condition earlier. I sent word to all other victims to contact us immediately if they have any symptoms, but, honestly, even if they do come earlier, I am not sure if I can help them. I gathered a ton of literature and have been reading day and night ever since, but there is no known cure, I am afraid. The best we can do is to slow the progression of the condition, if that." Anthony rubbed his face, "I highly doubt it, though"

Shit. Shit shit shit. For a second, Viktor couldn't find any other words to think, let alone say. He turned to Hermione, who was as pale as limestone.

"Are you aware of any poisons or chemicals that may cause such a condition?" he managed to ask.

The young Healer yawned into the crook of his elbow, "Sorry, I haven't had much sleep the last days. I thought of that, too. In muggles, the disease is age-related. As far as I understood, it also has a strong hereditary component. I've found no instance of it being caused by chemicals, and our Potions team hasn't even heard of the disease. So I can't help you out there, I'm afraid. Hermione, maybe Headmaster Snape knows something? He was raised muggle, right?"

"Anthony, are you saying that not only the victims have become squibs, but they are also turning blind? Does Harry know?" Hermione's voice turned hoarse towards the end of her cruelly factual summary.

Anthony nodded gravely. "I had told him before when the first case happened. He is the one who told me that you're working on the case."

Hermione did not answer Anthony's question, but stood up, "I need to go back to Harry. Why didn't he tell us anything?"

Viktor also stood up and grabbed her hand to prevent her from darting out of the door. "Thank you for the information, Anthony. We will contact the Headmaster and the other specialists we have in the Force."

"Sure, say hi to him from me. I am sorry I can't give you better news." A Healer probably uttered these words many times, every day, but looking into the compassionate hazel eyes of the young man, Viktor did not doubt his sincerity for one second.

When Anthony left, Hermione did not dart out of the room. Her hand twitched in Viktor's, her eyes scanned the room deliriously, but her body remained fixed, as if in a state of sleep paralysis where her brain whirled incessantly, but her body just would not move. When Viktor pulled her to himself and pressed her head against his chest, she cried. She cried and cried, and as she cried, she melted away like Snegurochka. When she pulled back a few moments later, Viktor wiped her cheeks with his handkerchief and held it to her nose, which she blew, laughing. That laughter somehow did nothing to remove the lump in Viktor's chest.

"I am crying again. I was hoping that I had grown out of it. I guess I will always remain a crybaby."

"You have never been a crybaby." Viktor stuffed the slimy handkerchief into his pocket. "You are passionate, yes. But not a crybaby."

"I used to be, though, when I was a teenager, back in Hogwarts," she paused to breathe through her mouth, her nose still clogged, "it was a difficult time. But I can't afford to be one now. Harry needs me."

Viktor kissed her salt-encrusted cheek. "If you have to cry, you cry. It is human to cry when your friend is in distress. If you keep it all in, you'll get sick." They exited the room and tried to figure out where exactly Anthony had led them, before finding the sign to the Floo Hall.

"Go to Harry, I will find my way from here."

"I will. But… I need to ask you something. We never spoke about the protection charm. I managed to write down the contents of the… thing," Hermione scrunched her nose with the discomfort of thinking about it, "but you never told me what it was, or to research how to replicate it."

"No, I didn't. It is not going to be possible."

"Such a charm could save the entire population from this terror."

Viktor nodded.

"So, I am guessing that the price for it is too high."

"You are guessing right."

"Does it have something to do with Peggy Warrington?"

Viktor felt silly for trying to spare his girlfriend, who had fought a war at eighteen, the gruesome details of how he thought the protection bundle was forged. Still, he couldn't bring himself to say it, not when everything was already so messed up.

"You will come to the NottPott Manor tomorrow?"

Viktor let out a very unmanly giggle, "What is a NottPott?"

"Well, they won't stop calling me 'Mione, so I gave them a nickname, too," Hermione said, trying her best to look nonchalant about the ingenious nickname that she was obviously very smug about. "I have to go now, but this conversation is not over."

Rain hammered onto Viktor's umbrella as he took one slippery step after the other on the cobblestone path that led to the house of Amalie Zephyrine Blankley, Parzival Blankley's niece, an hour later. The Black Sea region was notoriously rainy, too, but the rain in England was different; it had a sticky, hostile coldness to it that seeped to his bones and joints no matter what he wore. Hermione had often told him that there was no difference, that rain was rain. Maybe, the English rain was just mean to strangers. As he arrived at his destination, Viktor found himself about to knock on yet another foreign door, and meet yet another stranger. If his shy, withdrawn teenager self had known that this would be his life one day, he would probably have seriously considered flying away until he found Ilmarinen in his heavenly seat.

"Good evening madam, my name is Officer Viktor Grigoriev Krumov from…"

"Viktor Krum!" his full name did not manage to distract this particular witch long enough to get into the conversation before she associated it with his Quidditch name. "I am living the dreams of hundreds of Quidditch fans. The great Viktor Krum at my door, and at this time of the day. I wonder what it is about…"

Amalie Blankley tilted her neck to the right as she spoke, like a dog that didn't quite get what his master had just said. Her voice was deep and monotone, and didn't sound curious at all.

"Excuse me for disturbing you so late in the evening." it was not that late actually, barely half past seven, but Viktor thought an apology would maybe earn him some sympathy. Maybe he would even be invited inside. He tried to hold his black umbrella at such an angle that it would hold off the bulk of the rain, but he could still look the witch in the eyes while he spoke. "I am here to inquire about…"

"The attack today, right? Such imbeciles. Are you going to interrogate all Identitarians till one of us confesses? Are you going to shut down our magazine for reporting about the attacks? For publishing the official Identitarian statement when no other publishing channel in wizarding Britain will do so? Minister Shacklebolt would be ever so pleased, wouldn't he? What better opportunity to remove all serious opposition, eh? What a lucky man, that even such a tragedy plays right into his hand." Her voice was mocking, and she didn't shy away from Viktor's eyes.

"Please, Ms Blankley," Viktor raised his free hand. Ms Blankley looked rather old to be Parzival Blankley's niece, she was probably around fifty. His brother must be quite a few years older than he is, thought Viktor. She was rather tall, with dark hair and eyes, clad in a silk kimono-like robe. There was something about her that Viktor couldn't just put his finger on. "I am not here to discuss politics or place accusations. If I have been informed correctly, your uncle Mr Parzival Blankley has been missing for some days. He may be in danger. If you have any idea about his whereabouts…"

"I don't." Viktor had hoped to be invited in, but the witch made a move to close the door instead. "It is no wonder that he is gone, though, the Minister seems to have made his mind. He will find a way to place the blame on the Identitarians, and eliminate all opposition."

"Ms Blankley, wait," Viktor was not authorized to even put a foot inside the doorway without being invited or a warrant, so he just hoped that his plea would be enough, "I have reason to believe that your uncle may have been kidnapped. Is there nobody else that we can talk to, who might know where he is?"

"There is no one who could have a motive to kidnap my uncle, Mr Krum, he is not a very wealthy man, nor does he have enemies. He works from home most of the time. You may ask his old neighbour, he visits her almost every day."

"What about his associates?"

"How did you find me, Mr Krum?"

Now that was an odd question. "I am an Auror, Ms Blankley. I have my methods."

"So, use those. Good evening, Mr Krum." As Ms Blankley closed the door, the fold of her kimono parted ever so slightly, and Viktor, for a fraction of a second, saw a small, oval tattoo on her breast. Before he could properly look at it, the door was already closed to his face, and he was left outside in the deafening rain.

An oval drawing with a dot in the middle, looks like an eye, Hermione's note on the contents of the bundle had said. He had no option to check this, he could hardly break in and yank her collar open to take a closer look. He stared at the closed door for a moment of confusion, and Apparated back to the Ministry.

When Viktor finally made it home after a long detour to his office, he found Tsvete asleep on the armchair, with Pebbles on her lap, snoring lightly. He conjured a faint light and prepared himself something to eat. Just as he was about to go to bed, he was startled by Pebbles biting his heel. The small cat was looking at him with intense, green eyes that gleamed in the dark of the room.

"Are you awake, cat?" He tried, first in Bulgarian, and then English. The cat didn't answer, but looked at him, occasionally blinking.

"Do you miss Hermione? She will be back in a few days." The cat still didn't answer.

"Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight? I promise I won't crush you." She turned away and left the bedroom. Viktor took the towel that Hermione had slung over the door after shower in the morning, nuzzled up to it, and fell asleep shortly after.

When he woke up later that night, he was lying on his back with Pebbles curled up between his knees over the blanket. He longed to roll over and lie on his tummy, but didn't have the heart to wake up the sleeping cat. He closed his eyes. It was a long while before he fell back asleep.