Author's Note: None of this belongs to me. This story is based on Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling and will feature "offstage scenes" as well as scenes from the book reinterpreted from Viktor's point of view. (This is a companion piece to "Hermione's Fourth Year".)
Thank you to Zsenya for betareading, and to Jedi Boadicea and Arabella for brainstorming and supporting and making helpful comments.
Moody Slavic Man
By Elanor Gamgee
Part 7: Suspecting Her
If Viktor thought that Karkaroff would maintain his glowering silence, the next day showed him how wrong he was. Viktor had gotten up early to fly—he found that he needed this more than ever in the wake of everything that had happened on the day of the second task—and was returning to his cabin to change when a cold voice behind him stopped him in his tracks.
"Viktor, I would like a word with you." It was Karkaroff, and his voice was completely devoid of the unctuous, patronizing tone it normally carried.
Viktor turned around sharply. Karkaroff was standing in the shadows at the end of the corridor. It looked as though he had been waiting for Viktor to return.
"I need to change," said Viktor shortly, "I have been practicing." He held up his broomstick to emphasize this. He wasn't sure why he stated the obvious; perhaps he wanted to remind Karkaroff just whom he was dealing with. It was an obnoxious thing to do, really, but Viktor found that, at the moment, it made him feel better.
Karkaroff's eyes narrowed. "I am aware of that," he said, his tone even colder now. "But there are important matters we must discuss." He pulled out a piece of parchment and held it out to Viktor. "You will, perhaps, recognize this?"
Viktor looked down at the parchment derisively, then froze as he recognized his own handwriting upon it. "Dear Hermione…I am writing to tell you that everything will be fine..." Viktor looked back up at Karkaroff's face, which was now twisted into a satisfied grimace.
"Come with me," said Karkaroff, and he turned down the hall toward his own cabin. Viktor followed, his mind racing. How had Karkaroff gotten that letter? And what was Karkaroff going to do to him? It struck him as distinctly odd, and somehow ominous, that Karkaroff had been waiting for Viktor himself; normally he sent one of the other students to do his errands for him.
Karkaroff reached his cabin and muttered a spell to unlock the door. He swept inside and waited for Viktor to follow, tossing the piece of parchment onto the bed. Viktor stared at the paper.
"How—" he began, but Karkaroff cut him off.
"Do you think me a fool, Viktor?" said Karkaroff, arms crossed regally over his chest. Viktor thought it best not to answer that question; instead, he stared back at Karkaroff defiantly. Karkaroff continued, glaring, "The disgrace to Durmstrang! You, swooning over that…that…" he broke off disgustedly. "Do you think it so easy to lie to me?"
Viktor's hands had clenched into fists at Karkaroff's reference to her. He glared at Karkaroff, the embarrassment and disappointment of the last twenty-four hours welling up into fury inside his chest. "How did you get that letter?" he asked in a low, dangerous tone.
Karkaroff threw a disdainful look toward the parchment. "Your owl," he said frostily, "has more sense than you do, and brought it straight to me."
Viktor knew, in an instant, that Karkaroff had put some sort of enchantment on his owls. Has he always done this? he thought, Or did he suspect something was happening?
"Though it makes little difference now, I suppose," Karkaroff continued, "as the truth has been announced to the entire wizarding world."
Viktor winced. He had heard nothing but snide comments about "the thing he would miss the most" since the task had finished.
Karkaroff had noticed him wince, and was now staring at him with mounting disgust. "You're no Durmstrang champion," he said scathingly. "So busy worrying about your little Mudblood that you couldn't even succeed in the task. Third place, Viktor. What kind of work is that?"
Viktor's jaw clenched. Karkaroff's words had hit home—he had been distracted from the task. He had been more worried about impressing her than anything else. And now he had managed to foul everything up.
"And to carry on with that girl in plain sight, Viktor," Karkaroff continued, now pacing the length of the cabin. "I have told you before, I don't care if you want to have a bit of fun. But this—" Karkaroff stopped and pointed at the parchment. "This is unacceptable. Does the honor of Durmstrang Institute mean nothing to you? You couldn't even keep your little crush on the Mudblood quiet?"
Viktor stared over Karkaroff's shoulder, at an ornate cabinet in the corner. He certainly would have preferred to keep his feelings private. It wasn't as if he had asked to have them announced in front of everyone. But still, it could have been worse. He remembered that awful reporter dragging Potter away for an interview at the Wand Weighing Ceremony. He supposed it was only a matter of time before all of this got out…but this had no bearing on his Quidditch playing, so perhaps the press wouldn't be interested.
"Did you hear me, Viktor?" Karkaroff was sneering, "Or are you too busy daydreaming about your girlfriend? I certainly hope you found it all worthwhile—"
The implications behind Karkaroff's words broke Viktor's determination to stay quiet. "It is my business," he said quietly.
Karkaroff stared at him, then let out a short, harsh laugh. "Your business! Your business indeed—" He resumed his pacing, a strange light in his eyes. "You think you can do whatever you like, is that it? You have no idea what is at stake! Your actions have consequences! Consequences!" Karkaroff clutched his left forearm as he spoke, and almost maniacal look appeared in his eyes. "You can't hide from it—no matter where you hide, it finds you. Even when it's impossible, and it is impossible. It can't be possible," he muttered.
Viktor stared as Karkaroff swept up the length of the cabin once more, not entirely sure that the Headmaster was even addressing him any longer. He had never seen the cold, polished Karkaroff…unhinged like this. Viktor sensed fear in the room; he could feel it the way he felt it sometimes on the Quidditch pitch, from opposing teams. On the pitch, he knew how to harness that fear to his own advantage, but here, it just confused him.
Karkaroff was still pacing like a madman, but his muttering had grown unintelligible. Not knowing what else to do, Viktor took a step forward. "Professor—" he began.
This seemed to snap Karkaroff out of his state. He stopped pacing and stared at Viktor, the look of disgust once again fixed on his face. "Get out of my sight," he said venomously. Viktor was taken aback by this abrupt shift, but he turned and went to the door gladly. His hand was on the knob when Karkaroff's voice stopped him. "Stay away from her or you will regret it," he said softly. Viktor pushed the door open and left the cabin without looking back.
Viktor gripped the handle of his Baranof tightly as he made his way back to his own cabin. He wasn't sure which made him angrier, Karkaroff's words, or the fact that they didn't matter. He wouldn't have many chances to get near her again anyway, not after the mess he had made of things the day before. Viktor cringed as he thought, for the thousandth time, of her face as she had pulled away from his kiss. Nothing Karkaroff could say to him could hurt as much as that had.
Viktor reached his cabin door and was greeted by a delighted humming at his feet. Looking down, he saw Belenko, rolling happily back and forth. Viktor sighed and started to nudge the Puffskein aside with his foot, then thought better of it and scooped her up in one hand. He entered his cabin and propped his broomstick in the corner, then sat down on his bed and examined the Puffskein in his hand, which was humming steadily. Viktor brought his other hand up to pet it, and its
tongue came out to lick his hand affectionately. Viktor smiled slightly and stroked its silky fur, glad to have found at least one creature that was glad to see him today.
*********************
The attitude of most of the other Durmstrang students, and nearly all of the Slytherins, toward Viktor in the wake of the second task seemed to follow Karkaroff's; there were many sidelong glances and knowing looks whenever Viktor appeared for meals or in classes. Pashnik and Edina were the only ones who were really friendly toward Viktor. Of course, since he hadn't been exactly friendly with any of them before the task, things weren't very different. But even he could sense that the raised eyebrows following the Yule Ball had become waves of disapproval. No one said anything to him, however; he was still Viktor Krum, and that seemed to count for something.
None of this bothered him nearly as much as the fact that she hadn't spoken to him since that disaster in the empty classroom. She smiled nervously at him whenever he caught her eye in the Great Hall, but she had been conspicuously absent from the library all week. It was agony knowing that he had made her uncomfortable—that he had, without even knowing it, hurt her. The memory of her stricken expression as she pulled away from him was painful enough; knowing that he had caused it was nearly unbearable. He didn't know how to fix it, or even if he could. He only hoped that she would be able to forgive him.
Then one Friday in March, Viktor entered the Great Hall for dinner, only to see a knot of students bent over something at the end of the Slytherin table. Dorek Landau and Draco Malfoy were among them. Viktor couldn't see what it was they were looking at, but, as he entered, Landau looked up with a delighted grin. Viktor was fairly certain he didn't want to know what that was about.
He dropped into a seat next to Pashnik and began to pile chicken on his plate. Before he could start eating, however, he was interrupted.
"Excuse me," said a too-sweet voice from across the table. Viktor looked up. One of the girls from the mysterious group was standing across from him, holding something out to him—a magazine. The girl was rather short and unattractive—her face was flat and her eyes small and beady. Viktor couldn't remember her name—Begonia, or Posey, or something like that. Some ugly flower name.
Viktor looked quickly down to the other end of the table. Landau, Malfoy, and the others were watching him expectantly. This couldn't be good.
"I hate to be the one to tell you this," the girl was saying, her eager tone belying her words, "but I think you should read this." She put the magazine down on the table in front of him. It was open to the middle—to a large picture of Harry Potter over the headline, "HARRY POTTER'S SECRET HEARTACHE". Viktor started to push the magazine away in disgust, but then the words "Hermione Granger" caught his eye. He stopped and looked quickly up at the girl, then pulled the magazine closer and began reading.
A boy like no other, perhaps--yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss.
Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgaria Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has 'never felt this way about any other girl'.
However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms
which have captured these unfortunate boys' interest.
'She's really ugly,' says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, 'but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it.'
Love Potions are of course banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart upon a worthier candidate.
Viktor gripped the magazine tightly, staring unseeingly at it for a moment after he finished reading the article.
"Viktor?" came Pashnik's voice from his left. "What is it?"
Viktor turned to look over at the Gryffindor table. His eyes sought her out, and there she was. With Potter. Leaning across the table engrossed in conversation. Not even caring what happened to him.
Viktor dropped the magazine onto the table and pushed his chair back abruptly, all thoughts of food forgotten. He stood and walked as quickly as he could towards the doors, not trusting himself to do anything but get away.
Footsteps behind him in the Entrance Hall told him he had been followed.
"Viktor, what is it?" said Pashnik's voice.
"What happened?" said Edina's voice, right behind him.
Viktor didn't turn around or break his stride. "Leave me alone," he said rigidly, and continued to the front doors of the castle. Pashnik and Edina did not follow.
He'd been an idiot from the very beginning. She'd been with Potter the whole time, and she hadn't bothered to tell him. She had…led him on, letting him care about her, when the whole while she had been spending all her time with Potter, and worrying about Potter, and helping Potter. He remembered the private looks they had shared at the Yule Ball and his fists clenched in fury.
But the worst part was knowing that she was no different from the rest of those girls. He had thought she liked him for who he was, but now he knew—she had used him to get a bit of attention for herself. The thought sent a wave of nausea through his stomach. She had even talked to that reporter—had told her all those private things he had said to her by the lake. She had betrayed him, just to get what she wanted. And he had been so worried about hurting her or making her uncomfortable. She'd been making a fool of him the whole time.
Before he even realized where he was heading, Viktor was in his cabin, picking up his broom. He went out to the bank, mounted, and soared out over the lake towards the Forbidden Forest, releasing his fury into sharp turns and dives.
************************************
When Viktor finally woke up on Saturday, the late morning sunlight was streaming through his window. He groaned and rolled over, not wanting to leave the quiet comfort of sleep. But it wasn't long before his disordered thoughts of the night before came rushing back. It seemed as if every part of his body hurt. His fingers were sore from gripping the broom handle, his back ached, and his leg muscles were on fire. He didn't mind though; it had somehow felt good to push himself like that, as if it had moved his feeling outside himself. He had spent hours on his broomstick—he didn't even know what time he had finally come in, only that it had been long past moonrise and the other students had already disappeared into their cabins. The only good thing about it was that he had been so exhausted that he had fallen asleep immediately, and had slept long and hard.
He pulled himself into a sitting position, rubbing his face. The senseless fury of the evening before was gone now, and he found it had been replaced with a curious, empty feeling. He didn't want to believe that she was capable of something like this, and, for the first time, he found himself trying to come up with a defense for her actions. Maybe he had misjudged the situation after all. Maybe it was merely a case of the press blowing things out of proportion; after all, that first article about Potter had made it sound like he was the only Hogwarts champion, and that hadn't been true. Viktor remembered the time that Quidditch Today had reported a rumour that he was in negotiations with the Heidelberg Harriers. Conrad had been furious, and Viktor had had to reassure him every day for a month that it wasn't true. So Viktor knew firsthand what damage the press could do.
This was different, though. This was private emotion on display. And it was his personal feelings. No matter how many times he went through it in his mind, he couldn't come up with any explanation for the article's quoting his own words spoken to her by the lake—other than that she had told the reporter.
That was it—he had to see her. He had to talk to her, today. Maybe she hadn't seen the article last night. But she would surely know by now. And surely she would want to offer him some explanation. He felt fairly certain that he at least knew her that well. He hoped he did, at any rate.
Viktor got dressed and headed toward the Great Hall for lunch, realizing as he did so that he was incredibly hungry. Of course, he had slept through breakfast, and he hadn't exactly been in the mood for dinner last night. But when he arrived in the Great Hall, he paused by the door and looked to the Gryffindor table.
She wasn't there.
Disappointment flooded through him, along with some other emotion he couldn't quite name; whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant. He turned quickly, ignoring the group of girls giggling at a table nearby, and strode to the Slytherin table. Sitting down next to Pashnik, he began piling food on his plate without speaking.
Pashnik gave him a sidelong look. "So…how are you this morning?" he asked tentatively.
Viktor shrugged and didn't say anything. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pashnik exchange a look with Edina, who was sitting across the table from him. For some reason, this irritated Viktor.
"We thought you'd never get up," Pashnik went on, grinning. "I wanted to try transfiguring your bed into a porcupine, and see if that would do it, but Edina wouldn't let me." Viktor turned to give him an impatient look, and noticed that Pashnik looked as if he hadn't slept very well. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his normally over-cheerful expression seemed to be toned down a notch. Viktor wondered briefly at this, then dismissed it, thinking that Pashnik had probably been up late with Edina, doing…Viktor didn't like to think about the kinds of things they would be doing late at night. He turned quickly back to his lunch.
Viktor ate quickly, and then headed for the library. It was the obvious place to find her, even on a weekend. But she wasn't there. In fact, no one but the old librarian was there when he arrived, and she looked downright irritated that he had interrupted her solitude. Still, he didn't know where else to look for her, and she would certainly come here to find him. She always had, when they'd met in the past. And, he reasoned, he needed to do more research for his Potions project anyway.
Viktor was just settling in at his usual tables with a stack of books when the library door opened and Pashnik and Edina walked in, both carrying their schoolbags. They came over and sat at his table without asking.
"Thought we'd get some work done today too," said Pashnik cheerfully. Viktor looked at them in surprise. They had never joined him in the library before—in fact, he was rather surprised that either of them even remembered where it was. He certainly didn't want any company, not today of all days, and least of all Pashnik's prattle. But they had already made themselves comfortable and started pulling parchment out of their bags, so Viktor couldn't really say a word.
They stayed there all afternoon, scribbling on their parchment and occasionally throwing Viktor strange looks whose meaning he couldn't quite discern. He had the feeling they knew something he didn't. It made him uneasy. He was surprised, however, that they actually did seem to be working. He had imagined that the two of them were always flirting and showing off when they were together. But then again, he realized, he hadn't really spent that much time with the two of them, except at the Yule Ball, and occasionally at mealtimes. And even then, he'd hardly paid attention to what they were doing.
No, his attention was always drawn to the other side of the Great Hall, watching whatever she was doing, he thought bitterly. And here he was, as usual, waiting for her. She didn't even care enough to try to explain, to find him and tell him the truth. Well, he'd be damned if he would sit there one moment longer like an injured puppy. He would confront her; he would make her tell him what was going on. He would do it, even if he had to do it in the crowded Great Hall.
Viktor shut Plodding with Potions with a snap. "I am going to dinner," he said, standing. It was a little early for dinner, but he was determined to get out of the library, and if she was avoiding him, she would probably eat early anyway.
Pashnik and Edina exchanged another one of those infuriating looks. "We will come too," said Edina, shoving her parchment into her bag. "I am hungry—aren't you, Ivan?"
Pashnik nodded and gathered up his things as well. Viktor still wasn't certain what was going on here, but he was fairly certain he didn't like it. In any case, it was the least of his worries at the moment. If they wanted to follow him, fine. But Viktor was determined to have this out, now. He walked quickly from the library and went toward the Great Hall, Pashnik and Edina trailing behind him.
When he arrived, there were quite a few students already eating. He stopped in the doorway once more and looked defiantly over at the Gryffindor table, ready to confront her…but she still wasn't there. Viktor angrily pushed back the surge of powerlessness he felt, and marched over to the Slytherin table. Very well, he thought, I will wait. But I will speak with her about this.
Viktor ate his dinner stonily, ignoring Pashnik's attempts at conversation. When he finished eating, she still had not shown up. Viktor wasn't at all surprised that Potter had not appeared either. Wherever they were, they were probably together, doing things…things he didn't want to think about. Again he remembered her breaking away from his kiss, but this time it made him angrier than anything else. No wonder she hadn't wanted to kiss him, if she was saving her lips for Potter.
Viktor caught sight of the red-haired girl he had met at the Yule Ball—her friend. Before he'd even realized what he was doing, he had stood up and crossed the hall. He tapped the girl on the shoulder. She turned around, looking surprised.
"Excuse me, do you know where Hermione is?" he asked.
The girl's eyes grew wide for a moment, then she said, sounding rather uncomfortable, "Er…I think she went to Hogsmeade today. I don't think they're back yet."
Viktor nodded, but inside the empty feeling just grew stronger. Of course. How stupid of him. He might have known that she would be off having fun today, relaxing while he was spending the day looking for her. And with Potter, of course—for there was no doubt in his mind whom the girl meant by "they". And to think that only the day before, he had been hoping she would forgive him for making her feel uncomfortable. Disgusted with himself, Viktor swung around and made his escape through the doors into the Entrance Hall.
**********************************
Viktor turned another page of How to Tell if You're Under a Spell. He was angry with her for putting him in this situation, he was angry with the reporter who had broadcast his private thoughts to the world, and most of all, he was angry with himself. He had acted like a fool, following her around like some lovesick puppy. He didn't know why he had thought she was any different from the other girls—maybe she had been planning to use him all along, even when she'd pretended not to notice him in the library. In a way, it would have been comforting to know that the article's claim was true, that she had been using a Love Potion on him. It would mean that it wasn't entirely his own fault. It would mean that he had someone besides himself to blame for the pain he was feeling.
However, the more he read on Love Potions, the more he realized that none had been used on him. Which was unfortunate, as he would have liked nothing better than to find an antidote for the way he was feeling right now.
He still felt helpless, and he hated it. He had returned to the ship after leaving the Great Hall, but had been accosted by Pashnik and Edina almost immediately. He had told them he was going for a walk, but his steps had led him, inevitably it seemed, back to the library. He hated himself for being here, and he hated himself for wanting to see her despite his anger. Nevertheless he was here, and he was fairly certainly she would come here eventually. If he even knew that much about her.
The door opened and Viktor looked up. There she was, standing framed in the doorway. Her cheeks were pink and she looked a bit windblown. She looks beautiful, he thought, and was immediately annoyed with himself. He looked quickly back down at his book, ignoring the thumping in his chest and his earlier resolve to confront her.
He pretended to be absorbed in his book, but out of the corner of his eye he saw her say something to the red-haired boy, who was with her. The boy nodded and disappeared into some bookshelves, and she turned back toward Viktor's table. She hesitated a moment, then walked over to him. Viktor didn't look up.
"Hello, Viktor," she said brightly, after a moment.
Viktor finally looked up, incredulous that she could pretend that nothing was wrong. "Hermione," he said, knowing his tone was icy and not caring how he pronounced her name.
Her smile faltered a bit. "How are you?"
Viktor stared at her for a moment. Well, if she wanted to pretend that nothing had happened…fine. He could do that too. But he'd hardly be friendly about it. "I am fine," he replied, as though to a passing acquaintance, "And you?"
She looked a bit flustered now. "I'm fine. Well, you know, it's been a busy week…"
Viktor couldn't help himself. "So I've heard," he said bitterly, in something of an undertone.
This seemed to take her aback. She looked at him for a moment in surprise, then drew herself up slightly. "You've read that article," she said calmly.
Viktor stared at her again, wondering how she could possibly think that he wouldn't have. He wanted to tell her how it had hurt him, how she had hurt him, and how he had spent the last twenty-four hours waiting for explanations that had never come. But all that came out was, "Yes."
"Then you should know," she said hotly, "that it's a pack of lies. Harry and I are just friends. Everyone knows that."
Viktor continued to look at her, wondering if he could really take her word for that, now. And besides, it didn't explain everything. "Well," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "I know that at least some parts were true."
He had hit a nerve. She winced and flushed, and this pleased him, somehow. Maybe because it showed that he did have some power to affect her, after all. "Look, I don't know how she heard you saying—what you said…" she said quickly, her words rushed.
"You did not tell her?" Viktor asked, forgetting his icy tone in surprise.
She looked up at him open-mouthed. "No, of course not! Did you?"
Viktor shook his head. Did she really think he would do that? "No," he said emphatically, "I would never tell anyone about that."
"Then how did she—"
"I was looking for you earlier," Viktor interrupted. "I wanted to talk to you."
She looked away. "Oh, I was in Hogsmeade, with Harry and Ron."
He had known this, of course. But he was surprised that she would admit it, just like that. He wasn't sure he even needed any further proof that the article had been correct. Viktor looked back down at his book, but the words blurred before his angry eyes. "Of course," he said, not caring if she heard the bitterness in his voice now.
"Viktor!" she said, in a tone of reproach. He didn't look up. He didn't trust himself to.
"Fine," she said a moment later, a hard edge to her voice. "I'm going to do some research." And she stalked away.
Viktor struggled with himself for a few moments, telling himself that he was better off without her, and that he should just let it be. But, in the end, he stood up and followed her. Maybe it was because he really wanted to get to the bottom of things. Or maybe it was because he knew that she wouldn't come back to talk to him again, if he didn't follow her.
He found her in the Magical Creatures section, flipping through the pages of a large purple book. He was slightly pleased to see that she still looked flustered, as if what he had said had actually mattered to her. He watched her for a moment before speaking.
"Hermione?" he finally said softly.
She turned around hesitantly, as if afraid he would yell at her.
"I am sorry for the way I acted," he said, and was immediately annoyed with himself. This hadn't been what he had meant to say at all, but when she smiled at him, he was glad he had said it, true or not.
"And I'm sorry that article hurt your feelings," she said. "I wasn't lying earlier. Harry and I are just friends, that's all."
Viktor still couldn't bring himself to believe this entirely—it simply left too many things unexplained—but he found himself hoping that she couldn't see the doubt in his eyes. He nodded and stepped closer to her. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I do not really mind that other people know what I said to you." And he was surprised to realize that this was the truth. It didn't matter what other people knew, now that he was standing here close to her. What mattered was that she knew, that she understood.
She blushed and looked down at the book in her hand, as if trying to decide how to answer him. Viktor's heart fell a little.
"Hermione, I'm ready to go. Are you finished?" said a loud voice from the end of the aisle. Viktor looked up, startled, and saw the red-haired boy standing there looking expectantly at her.
She turned away from Viktor abruptly. "Yes," she said, sounding a little out of breath, "I'll be there in just a minute." The red-haired boy nodded and strode away, completely ignoring Viktor's presence. "I've got to go," she said to Viktor, sounding anything but sorry about it.
Viktor nodded stonily, feel his anger rise again. He was always interrupted, it seemed, whenever he tried to tell her how he felt. But this time, he'd seen for the first time how relieved she'd been at the interruption. "I will see you later," he said woodenly, turning back towards his table.
"Goodbye, Viktor," she called behind him, but he forced himself not to turn around. It was enough that he felt like a pathetic soul who kept showing up where he wasn't wanted; there was no reason to act like one too. He went back to his table and began poring through Is She Really Beautiful or Is It Just the Potion?: 101 Common Love Potions and Their Antidotes. He sincerely hoped he could find something in this book to help him, but, as he was painfully aware of the brown-haired figure signing out her book at the librarian's desk, he doubted he would.
************************************
By Monday morning at breakfast, the cold empty knot in his stomach seemed to have doubled in size. He had spent a solitary Sunday in his cabin, driven there by Pashnik's relentless attempts to draw him out. And now he was sitting glowering at his plate, determined not to look towards the Gryffindor table. He didn't need to, really. He knew what he would see: her, leaning across the table to talk to Potter, turning those serious brown eyes and beautiful smile on him. Why should he torture himself?
Viktor was sitting next to Pashnik again. He couldn't remember when he had started sitting with Pashnik and Edina voluntarily, but he had. Irritating though Pashnik's prattle could be, they were the only two people at the Slytherin table who didn't eye him with veiled hostility. At the moment, that seemed the best he could hope for.
A disturbance at the other end of the Great Hall made Viktor break his resolution not to look at the Gryffindor table. He looked over and saw her opening letter after letter, with several owls perched on the table in front of her. Well, he thought, it looks as if she's gotten what she wanted. She's the center of attention. People from the other tables were starting to turn around and look towards her now. Viktor was thankful that his owls were trained to deliver mail directly to the ship.
Suddenly she leapt up and ran from the Great Hall, sending the owls scattering into the air. A pang of concern rose in Viktor, but he pushed it down. He didn't care, he told himself, and he didn't want to know. It didn't matter. She wouldn't tell him anyway.
Over the next few days, mail continued to arrive for her. On Tuesday, the subject of the letters became very clear when a Howler exploded at the table, shrieking, "You foul, evil girl, thinking you can play Harry Potter false like that! You deserve to be boiled in anything that will get hot enough—" Viktor stopped listening after that. The rest of the people in the Hall stared at the Gryffindor table while the voice went on, but Viktor went back to his breakfast, stabbing viciously at his eggs. More Howlers came the next day, but Viktor didn't even look up when the voices blared through the Hall.
On Thursday, three Howlers arrived. The first two were much like the others had been, and Viktor again ignored them. But the third one was different. It went on for five full minutes. And it mentioned Viktor.
"How could you, you horrible girl? An international star turns his attention to an undeserving thing like you, and you repay him by breaking his heart! Shame, shame on you! There are plenty of girls out there who know how special he is and would give anything to be in your shoes, and you just throw him away...not to mention that poor Harry Potter. Oh you horrible horrible girl!..."
Viktor looked over at her without meaning to. She was staring up at the ceiling, her face red and her hands clenched into fists on the table in front of her. He told himself that he didn't care, that he should look away, but somehow he couldn't. He knew this was dangerous; he felt incapable, at the moment, of disguising his pain. The Howler finished its tirade and burst into flame, and the regular noise and chatter of the Hall gradually came back. Viktor still couldn't tear his gaze away from her. She looked down at last, and met his eyes. Her expression was a mixture of apology and pity. Unable to stand either one coming from her, Viktor finally looked back down at his plate.
"Ready for the test in Potions, Viktor?" said Pashnik brightly from his left.
Ordinarily Viktor would have given him a withering look at a moment like this, but right now he was glad for the excuse. "No," he said, standing. "I need to go to the library before class."
And he left the Great Hall quickly, needing to get away from her, from Pashnik, and wishing he could just get away from everything.
