Hermione didn't like to admit it, but rigid routines were comforting. To have so many of the daily routines at Hogwarts disrupted was off-putting and had left her in a veritably foul mood, snapping at anyone who dared to so much as breath too loudly. By Monday morning, the Gryffindor table was full of red, yellow, and blue ties. A few of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons girls had taken to congregating together at the end of the Gryffindor table with the Head Girl and talking loudly about which boys were the cutest. While it was probably a good thing that the students were mingling freely—Hemione had often thought the house system created unnecessary tension at times—it was decidedly different and would take some considerable getting used to.

Even the library was no sanctuary, for apparently saintly Viktor Krum had taken up residency there every evening after dinner. If it had just been him, she probably wouldn't have noticed, let alone cared. But the obnoxious girls that followed him everywhere had found him already, and they didn't seem inclined to leave any time soon. Their twitters and giggles and playful shoves were distracting in the extreme, and made concentrating nigh impossible.

She'd taken to glaring at him over the top of her books, trying to shoo him out of the library so his followers would leave too. But besides staring back at her in confusion, he didn't seem to get the message that he wasn't welcome.

By the time Friday evening rolled around, her nerves were on their last leg. Catching him staring at her again, she decided to stare right back, her eyes narrowing slightly when he didn't have the manners to look away. What a strange boy. Man. Whatever.

With a huff, she tried to turn back to her task at hand: finding Bertha Jorkins in the school's file of graduates. She'd been looking all week, using every moment she wasn't studying or researching house elves to comb through the files one by one. It was tedious work, for the seventh years were nonsensically arranged by house and then academic rank rather than alphabetically, but she was making good progress. Today she was looking through 1975 when she finally—finally!—found her.

Looking down at the page, she almost couldn't believe it. Staring back at her was a girl nearly her own age, Hufflepuff, a bit on the heavy side, and obviously not academically inclined based on her ranking. But she looked decidedly normal. Like a student she could have just passed in the hall. For the first time, Bertha Jorkins seemed real. Which made her murder feel all the more real, too. A shiver ran down her spine.

Hermione glanced over at her watch, realizing it was time to pack up if she wanted to get a front row seat at Professor Dumbledore's first lecture on Alchemy. She'd have to wait until tonight to tell Harry and Ron about her discovery.

Pushing back from her chair, she almost stumbled right into Professor Moody, instead tripping over her own feet in surprise.

"Careful there, Ms. Granger was it? You should watch your surroundings. Never know when a dark wizard's going to creep up on you." His regular eye flicked down to glance at her study materials while his magical eye rolled entirely backwards to point at Viktor Krum where he was packing up his belongings. Was he trying to warn her about something?

"Yes, professor. I'll be more careful." She shoved her books into her bag and shut the Hogwarts yearly to return it to the cart.

"See that you do," he grunted, stomping off deeper in the library towards the restricted section. Once he was out of sight, she shivered a little. Mad Eye Moody may have been an accomplished auror, but he also gave her the creeps.

=/=/=

Hermione collapsed at an empty table in the second row of the third floor classroom, her bag hitting the floor with a solid thunk. Professor Moody's interruption had delayed her just long enough to miss out on the first row, which was filled with Ravenclaws and a significant number of Beauxbatons students. Glancing around, she saw only a few students in her own year: most seemed to be older students who had already passed their OWLS, although she recognized a couple of Ravenclaw third years.

"I sit here?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, sure." Hermione didn't even bother looking up from where she was rooting through her bag. As always, her favorite quill had fallen all the way to the bottom, in danger of being crushed by her potions textbook.

As she finally grasped the quill and located a bottle of ink, she heard someone set their things down beside her. A thick woolen cape brushed against her arm as it was hung over the back of the chair next to her. A quill, perfectly folded stack of parchment, and an ink bottle were laid out neatly on the table.

Looking up, Hermione was taken aback to see Viktor Krum settling into the chair next to her. He turned to look at her and inclined his head, offering her a small, tight-lipped smile.

Whatever was he doing at her table? She tried to surreptitiously glance around to confirm whether this was the only seat available, but it wasn't. In fact, there was an opening a row back that was occupied by a lone Durmstrang student who stared at her intently for a moment. He'd obviously chosen to sit here. Perhaps he liked being close to the front? This was the only seat open in the first two rows.

"Hello. My name is Viktor." His accent was quite strong, but she found him easier to understand than she'd expected. The tongue flip at the end of his name was something she knew she'd never try to replicate.

She smiled back at him, although if she was honest it probably looked more like a grimace.

"I know."

His expression became slightly less guarded as he looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

"My name's Hermione."

It was like she could physically watch the gears in his head turn her name over and over. He silently mouthed the first couple of syllables several times. Finally, with a creased brow he looked back at her.

"Could you write down? Am not sure how to say."

"Oh!" She paused, startled and strangely pleased. Smiling more widely, she pulled out her quill and proceeded to write her name in block letters as neatly as she could. He leaned over and looked at the writing for a moment before sliding the parchment closer. His hand smoothed over the words on the parchment, and Hermione felt a slight crackle of magic. Looking back down, she was shocked to see that her name had rearranged itself into unfamiliar Cyrillic characters.

"How did you do that!?"

Viktor smiled broadly at her excitement. "Practice."

It was the first time she'd ever seen him actually smile—not that she'd been purposefully staring at Viktor Krum, but he was hard to miss with how Ron went on—and it utterly transformed his face. Hermione flushed, suddenly embarrassed as she realized she found the quidditch player remarkably handsome when he smiled. Averting her eyes for a moment, she didn't see the flicker of interest flash across his face as he watched the blood flush her face and neck.

"Your name. Is Greek, yes? We have this name in Bulgaria also. But not common."

"Really? I've never met anyone who recognized it."

"Da. In Bulgaria, we pronounce Hermione." She was certain she blushed even harder when he said her name. The 'H' was rather guttural, and the r flipped nicely off the tip of his tongue. All together it sounded like he'd called her "Herr-MY-oh-neh," and she found that she rather like it.

"I like it. I don't think I could say it, but I like it."

"Good. Is good to meet you, Hermione."

"It's good to meet you, too."

A pause. He'd chosen to sit here, and Professor Dumbledore had impressed upon them the need to show hospitality to the foreign students. No matter how flustered he made her.

"So what made you take Alchemy?"

"Dumbledore is well known alchemist. Is great honor to learn under him. And alchemy is subject I did not get to study at Durmstrang."

"Oh, do they not offer it at Durmstrang? This is our first year with it. I do hope they offer it again next year. Especially if the Headmaster teaches it. He was taught by Nicholas Flamel himself, you know."

He gave her another smile as he watched her wind herself up. Normally by now her friends were already starting to tune her out, but Viktor seemed content to listen to her talk.

"Is taught at Durmstrang. Every year. But did not fit my schedule. Did not get to take."

"That makes sense. I'm a bit jealous really. I wish I'd gotten the chance to really study alchemy. Not that this won't be studying of course, but it's not an actual class with exams and grades."

Glancing back up, she saw that Viktor was still listening, his body turned towards hers and his eyes on her face. "So what else do they teach at Durmstrang?"

"Can't go giving away all our secrets. Perhaps someday I tell you."

As Dumbledore began his very first lecture on the history of alchemy, Hermione briefly contemplated that the corners of Viktor's eyes crinkled when he smiled. Ron would be so jealous that she knew that.

=/=/=

Magic was amazing! The things alchemy could accomplish; she couldn't believe that so few wizards ever studied it! Her mind chugged away happily as she thought of all the different avenues that alchemy could open up in her studies.

Packing up her bags, she reminded herself that it was her duty to be polite to her new classmate.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Viktor. I'm off to the library! I've just got to check out that book Professor Dumbledore referenced today. I can't believe I never knew Hogwarts had a copy of Agrippa's original manuscript on the transmutation of matter." Beside her, Viktor chuckled quietly.

"Da, have seen you in library many times. Always head in book. Except when you glaring at me."

Biting her lip, Hermione tried not to sink all the way through the floor.

"Sorry. It's not you. It's just, well that gaggle of girls that follows you around. They're always giggling and they're SO loud. It's very distracting."

Viktor rolled his eyes, his expression one of contrite exasperation. "They will get bored soon. I hope."

Hermione paused for a moment, debating whether or not she wanted to share her favorite study spot with the Bulgarian boy. The painfully awkward expression on his face made her mind up for her.

"You know, there's a section towards the back of the library. If you head towards Human Transfiguration and turn left and then turn right at Sumerian Sums, there's a couple tables tucked in the back. Maybe you could hide from them, there?"

"Do you study there?"

"Sometimes."

"And I would not bother you? If I joined you in back table?"

"Not at all."

"Could you show me tables? Perhaps tomorrow? Is Saturday, but have studying and library is nicer than ship."

"Sure! I love to spend my Saturday mornings after breakfast in the library. It's so quiet and peaceful. I always get so much work done."

"Da. I see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

Hermione waved as they parted ways in the hallway, mind already back on the text Professor Dumbledore had referenced. It sounded fascinating.

=/=/=

Harry and Ron weren't hard to spot when Hermione finally climbed through the portrait hole that first Friday night. The two boys had snagged a couple of chairs off to the side of the roaring fire and were engaged in a—what she assumed was a decidedly one-sided—game of chess.

As she approached, she could hear Harry's pieces groan in embarrassment before a rebellious bishop broke ranks and sprinted across the board to throw himself bodily at Ron's knight. The two boys broke out in laughter as the two pieces tussled.

It was good to see Harry looking so happy. It had been a rough few years for him at Hogwarts, and with the new students it looked like Harry was finally going to get to have a year out of the spotlight. It would do him good to relax and focus on his studies.

Hermione flopped down in a chair next to them and set her bag down before stretching her feet out in front of her. While it had been unseasonably warm for September in Scotland, it was starting to get quite chilly at night and the crackling fire felt delicious against her legs.

"So. You'll never guess what I found in the library."

"A book, I imagine," sniggered Ron.

"It's what was in the book, Ronald. As you well know."

"Well, you going to tell us then, or do we have to tell you how brilliant you are first?"

God but Ron was getting prickly and hurtful these days. She would not let him ruin this for her. Or for Harry. It was important and she wasn't going to let Ron and his foul attitude blow her off course.

"If you must know, I found—" Hermione leaned in closer, eyes darting to see if anyone was paying attention. "Bertha Jorkins." She finished in a whisper.

Harry's eyes grew comically wide. "Really? What did you find?"

With a self-satisfied smile that was just a touch brittle at the edges, she proceeded to tell them what she'd found. "She was a Hufflepuff, not a great student but not a terrible one, and graduated in 1975."

"1975," Ron repeated. "Too old for Bill or Charlie to know her. Too young for mum or dad."

"Wait. What about…Snuffles? He'd have been at school in '75, right? Maybe we can owl him. He sent me a few owls over the summer. Er, tropical birds really. Did you know that toucans can carry letters?"

"Toucans? Really?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, do you think it's a good idea?"

Hermione paused for a moment, deep in thought.

"Well," chimed in Ron. "If we want to find out anything quickly, he may not be the best person to ask. Who knows how long it'd take to get a letter back?"

Harry sagged. "You're right, I guess."

"What about Professor Lupin?" Hermione asked. "He would have been in school then, too. And he's still in the country, I imagine. I'm sure he'd love to hear from you, Harry."

Harry perked up at this idea. While Lupin was no Sirius Black, he'd taken Harry under his wing last year and Harry thought very highly of him. In the dark of the night, Hermione might admit that since watching Professor Lupin transform into a rabid werewolf at the end of last school year, she was somewhat afraid of him. The nightmares from that encounter had lasted weeks.

Their course of action settled, the three friends continued to chat about their first week long into the evening. If Hermione chose to keep a few things to herself, she figured that was her prerogative.

=/=/=

"We're going to play a pickup game of quidditch outside. Do you want to come watch?" Ron shoveled a large spoonful of eggs into his mouth.

"I'd already planned on going to the library after breakfast."

"Already? But classes have hardly started. The only homework we have is in potions."

"The only homework the two of you have is potions. I also have ancient runes and arithmancy essays. And I want to do some more reading for alchemy so I understand next week's lecture better."

"Only you Hermione." Harry gently shook his head, a soft look in his eyes as he observed his friend. He looked at her more closely for a moment, quickly glancing over at Ron to see that he was occupied trying to figure out if Krum was at breakfast. Mind seemingly made up, he leaned in towards her. "Do you know if there's still time to sign up for Practical Magic?"

"Oh. I think so. The first class doesn't start until later this week. Mondays for our year, from six to eight. I think I saw the sign-up sheet still in the Common Room." Hermione paused to draw breath. "Are you thinking of signing up?"

"Yeah. I thought about what you said. That maybe it would be a good class for Muggles like us."

She smiled softly at him. "I hope you sign up, Harry. It'd be really fun to take it together."

"Yeah," he replied with a bit more enthusiasm. "It would."

"Think we can get Krum to join us for quidditch?" Ron suddenly interjected as he spotted Krum standing up from the Slytherin table and walking towards the entrance hall.

Somehow, Hermione doubted it.

She got up, stretching her back before grabbing her bag from under the table. "Well, I'm off to the library. You boys have fun. See you at lunch?"

They both nodded, turning to each other as Ron asked Harry to borrow his broom to "even things out." Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Scurrying up to the library, Hermione pretended that she wasn't equal parts excited and anxious at the idea of showing Viktor Krum around. It felt fantastical that of all her friends, she was the first to make an actual connection with one of the foreign students: and the famous one at that. Part of her wondered if she should tell Harry and Ron, or at least Ginny, about her new acquaintance. But then she thought better of it. Ron seemed determined to ruin everything these days. This friendship was hers and hers alone. Ron could find his own Bulgarian.

As she gently closed the library doors behind her, something inside her relaxed. This was the one place in the entire castle where she truly felt at home. She was safe. She was in her element. She belonged.

And Viktor Krum was waiting for her, shoulders hunched and awkwardly shuffling from foot to foot as he looked around the library. His face brightened when he spotted her.

"Hermione." He bowed. Honest-to-goodness bowed. For the first time, Hermione wondered about his blood status. Were his manners so different because he was Bulgarian or because he was a Pureblood? Was he a Pureblood? Would he care that she wasn't? Was he waiting for her to do something in return? Was she supposed to curtsy? She pasted a smile on her face and tried to hide her sudden anxiety as she stepped towards him.

"Good morning, Viktor. If you just follow me, I'll show you the hidden tables before they find you and follow you again."

Turning on her heel she did her best not to look at him. But she could hear him following her as she wound her way through the stacks. It took a couple of minutes, but she finally got to a small passage between two shelves that opened up into an alcove hidden in one of the castle's turrets. Soft morning sunlight slanted through the arched stained-glass windows, casting dappled patterns in multi-colored light across the two small tables. The chair she'd dragged in front of the windows last year was still there, and she immediately wanted to curl back up in it with a good book.

She heard the soft thud of Viktor's bag landing on the table. Now that she looked, it seemed almost as stuffed as hers was.

He looked at her quizzically. As if he could sense her unease.

"Thank you. For sharing this with me. I can tell, is special to you. I can see why."

He glanced around appreciatively before pulling out a chair and standing behind it. It took Hermione entirely too long to realize that he'd held it out for her. That he thought she would be studying here, too. Glad none of her friends could see her blush, she nodded silently and settled into the chair, startled when Viktor gently pushed it under her as she sat, as if he were some butler out of a movie.

Entirely wrapped up in her own discomfort, she barely noticed Viktor sit directly next to her and begin to pull books and a planner out of his bag.

"Is that an undetectable extension charm?"

Glancing over at her, he paused for a moment and considered her words. She truly understood for the first time that he was probably translating in his head. That he was navigating all of his classes and interactions in a foreign language while living in a foreign country. He probably needed help. And a friend.

After another moment, he nodded slowly. "Is not difficult. Do not have time to go to ship and get more books. So have to bring them all."

"That is quite a lot of books. Are you studying for your NEWTS?"

"Newt? That is…lizard, yes?" He was looking at her like she'd grown a second head.

"No, NEWTS. Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests. You know, the ones you take at the end of seventh year."

"Ah. No."

"Really? You are in seventh year, aren't you?"

He smiled at her. "Do not worry, Hermione. To come to Hogwarts and compete, had to finish tests early. Over summer."

"You've already taken them? All of you? A full year early?"

"Da."

"But," she paused, uncertain how to continue without sounding insulting.

Viktor laughed, smiling broadly. It wasn't a mocking sound, but instead was the fond kind of laugh shared between friends. He tapped his temple. "Is not all snitches."

"I didn't. I mean, I didn't mean."

Oh dear, she'd gone and implied she thought he was stupid. To his face. The impulse to bury her head in her arms and hit her forehead against the table was strong.

He smiled at her again before opening one of his books, letting her stew in her embarrassment. But without making it worse. Or mocking her for it. Or taking offense. Crinkling her brow, she tried to remember the last time that had happened.

"I'll be right back. I have to grab a couple of books."

=/=/=

"Will you teach me that translation charm? I've never seen something like that before. And wandless. And nonverbal."

Viktor looked up from the essay he was writing and set down his quill on a small holder he'd brought with him.

"Depends. You read other language?"

"You mean, can I speak another language? Not really. I know a little French from spending holidays there. But not much."

He shook his head a little sadly. "Then no. Spell not that good. Need to know both language first."

"Oh. That's too bad."

A few minutes later, Hermione stood up to stretch. As she arched her back, which released an audible pop!, she stepped in front of the window. It was getting towards lunchtime, if the sun was anything to go by. The day had turned a little overcast and the wind was beginning to pick up, shaking the branches of the trees. In the distance, she could just make out the game of pickup quidditch out on the pitch. She huffed a little, wishing her friends wanted to spend time with her on the weekends, instead of running off to play on broomsticks where she couldn't join them.

"Ok?" Viktor was looking up at her from the desk, his brows raised in question.

"Yes," she said, sitting back down in her chair, grateful Viktor hadn't done something strange like try to pull it out for her again. "I was just looking out the window and saw my friends playing quidditch." The derision in her voice was obvious, even to her own ears. Remembering who she was talking to, her face flushed and she stammered, trying to make this better somehow. "Not that there's anything, well, wrong with quidditch. Exactly."

"You don't like quidditch?"

"Honestly?" she sagged inward. "Not really. Sorry."

"Why? No need be sorry. Is…nice. To know someone who does not want to talk about quidditch." She breathed a sigh of relief. "Although. Thought you looked very pretty in Bulgaria scarf."

Every thought in Hermione's brain stuttered to a halt. If she'd been less mortified she'd have taken a moment to catalogue the novel feeling of an empty, quiet, thoughtless brain. As it was, she could feel her entire face and neck burst into flames.

"Oh god. I'd really, really hoped you didn't hear me. Or remembered that."

He bent to catch her eye, grinning lopsidedly and chuckling. "Of course I remember pretty English Vitch in Bulgaria scarf shouting I was 'just quidditch player.'" He chuckled again as he packed his bags. Standing up and shouldering his bag, he walked behind her, the heat of him branding her back. He leaned over so his mouth was near her ear. The timbre of his voice sent shivers down her spine.

"Perhaps you wear again, da?"

She was never going to be able to meet his eyes again.

=/=/=

Author's Note: Finally, our two main characters actually meet. I tried to do Viktor's "Bulgarian" accent (let's be real though, JKR's wasn't particularly authentic) but it was just too much. It felt kind of kitschy and took WAY too long to write any dialogue. Instead, I based Viktor's speech pattern after a Bulgarian professor I had in college.

See you next time!