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".)
Thanks once again to my incredible betareaders, Zsenya and Arabella. And Happy Birthday, Sugar Quill!
Moody Slavic Man
By Elanor Gamgee
Part 8: Losing Her
Viktor stiffened as the library door opened. He stared down at the book in front of him. It was her, he knew. Six months of waiting in this library for her to appear seemed to have given him some sort of special sense—it was almost as if the air in the room changed when she entered. But he still didn't look up.
He shouldn't be here, anyway. He didn't want to talk to her, or at least that was what he told himself. It had been over a month since that article had appeared, since the last proper conversation he had had with her. But he had continued to spend time in the library, both hoping and dreading to meet her there.
It was stupid, he knew. He shouldn't be doing this to himself. Or to her. But it was too much, wondering if she might talk to him if he were there. She always did. She always approached him, even though he wouldn't answer her with anything more than a nod or a "fine". Why he kept coming back, he didn't know. Maybe he hoped that one day her manner would be different, that she would be truly crushed instead of only slightly disappointed when he didn't answer her. And maybe knowing that she even cared enough to be disappointed was enough to keep him hanging onto his hope. Or maybe, in some twisted part of himself, he enjoyed punishing her this way.
But really, he was only punishing himself.
"Hello, Viktor," she said in a subdued voice. "Mind if I sit here?"
Viktor looked up. She was standing on the other side of the table, a large stack of books in her hands. Of course. She was returning her library books. She never came here just to see him. Viktor shrugged and looked back down at his book.
She placed her books on the table and sat down. There was an uncomfortable silence. Viktor didn't look up. Why should he make any of this easier on her?
She gave a little cough. "So…how are you doing?"
She said the same thing every time, as if he was just some friend she hadn't seen an awhile and wanted to catch up with. He knew what she wanted from him; she wanted him to talk about normal everyday things, to go on about schoolwork or something else that didn't really matter, and to ignore the giant issues looming between them. To ignore the way she had hurt him and somehow alleviate her sense of guilt.
Well, he wasn't going to do it. Why should he?
"Fine," he said noncommittally, still looking down.
"Oh," she said. "So…how is your schoolwork?"
Viktor shrugged again and didn't say anything.
"I see," she said, disappointment plain in her voice now. Viktor glanced at her. She was looking down at the table and biting her lip, and her fingers were twisted into a worried mass in front of her. She took a breath. "Well, I suppose I should go…"
Viktor's pride warned him to stay silent and let her go, but the expression on her face was too much for him. He couldn't do this to her. Even if she didn't care about him. But she was here, wasn't she? She had kept coming back, even when he wouldn't talk to her. That had to count for something.
"Weather controlling spells," he burst out, making her freeze as she started to rise from her seat, "have been very interesting."
She looked at him gratefully, and Viktor was at once glad of his decision. She lowered herself back into her seat, looked quickly down at her hands, then smiled up at him. "Tell me about them."
So he did. He described the Rain Spells he had learned, and even told her about how Poliakoff's Blizzard Charm had nearly ruined Professor Flitwick's classroom.
She appeared to be torn between amusement and disapproval at this story. Viktor looked at her, unable to believe how much he had missed her. He knew he should probably look away, but he couldn't seem to. He wondered if she knew how much this meant to him, just being here with her.
She looked up at him and smiled. "I've missed our talks," she said warmly.
Viktor smiled back. "As have I," he said.
The library door opened again, and she turned toward the sound. Viktor followed her gaze and saw Potter and the red-haired boy entering. They looked around the library, and when Potter saw her, he motioned to her to come over.
She turned back to Viktor, her face slightly pink. "I have to go," she said, sounding flustered.
Viktor looked down again. Of course she had to go. Potter was calling her.
She stood up and gathered her books. "Viktor, it's not…" she said, a slightly pleading tone in her voice. "You know it's not…"
Viktor raised his head and met her eyes. Her expression begged him not to be angry. "You have to go," he said, trying to keep his voice even. "I understand."
A look of relief passed over her face, and she smiled at him. "We'll talk again soon," she said, and then hurried away to join her friends.
********************************
Viktor couldn't remain in the library much longer after that. He couldn't concentrate. He knew he shouldn't be thinking about her, or allowing himself to hope…but then, she had looked awfully relieved that he wasn't angry with her…
Such were his thoughts as he walked back to the ship, hardly noticing the rain that was drenching the Hogwarts grounds. If he had been paying attention, he might have tried the handy Umbrella Charm that Professor Flitwick had taught his class the week before. As it was, he was soaked by the time he reached the ship, and absentmindedly cast a Drying Charm on his robes as he opened the door to his cabin.
The sight that greeted him was enough to check the beginnings of the good mood that had been lurking in his mind. A huge pile of mail lay on his bed, and Viktor was sure he knew what it would contain. The mail had been the same for the past month. Everything from "That wretched girl…how could she?" to "You used to be my favorite Quidditch player, but now I will boo whenever I see your picture. How dare you steal Harry Potter's girlfriend?" and even "Good for you! It's time someone took Potter down a few notches." He had been certain, after he'd heard that Howler she had received mentioning him, that letters like this wouldn't be too far behind, and he had been right. He had worried, in the beginning, about how to respond, but then he'd realized that it didn't really matter anyway, so he'd put these letters in with the others to receive the standard "Thank you for your letter. Here is a picture."
Viktor approached the pile cautiously and cast a quick Revealing Charm. The air around the letters shimmered yellow for a moment, then went back to normal. No hexes there. Viktor took the top envelope and opened it, gripped by a kind of morbid curiosity. A thick wad of parchment was inside.
Dear Viktor Krum,
You are the best Quidditch player and I have always admired you. I read about that girl you are with in "Witch Weekly" and I had to write to you to tell you that she is all wrong for you. Of course, I do not know anything about her, but I can tell you that I am much prettier and would be better for you…
The letter went on in this vein for nine pages. Viktor tossed it aside and reached for the next envelope. This one was smaller and skinner, and the address was scrawled untidily across the back of the envelope. Inside were a short note and a picture.
Dear Mr. Krum—My name is Ricky Davis and I am one of you BIGGEST fans. I play Quidditch with the kids in my neighborhood and I always play Seeker, just like you. We pretend to be famous players and I always pick you. My mom took a picture of me on my broomstick and she said I should send it to you. I'm wearing my Vratsa Vultures robes in the picture—my mom and dad gave them to me for Christmas last year. I know you are really busy and all, but if you get this could you send me a picture? And could you tell me how to become a real Quidditch player like you?
Sincerely,
Ricky Davis
Viktor looked at the picture. It showed a sandy-haired boy of about twelve, hovering on a broomstick a few feet above the camera and waving madly. He was smiling broadly, his face exuberant. Viktor recognized that look. It was the look of someone who loved to fly, who was doing just what he wanted to be doing, and had nothing but hope that he would continue to be able to do it. Viktor thought back to the picture of himself that had appeared all over the Bulgarian tents at the Quidditch World Cup—the surly one that he had always hated. When had he lost that exuberant look? He found himself very much hoping, for Ricky Davis' sake, that this boy would never become a professional Quidditch player. That he would never lose that joy.
"Viktor!" came Pashnik's voice through the cabin door, accompanied by some sort of drumming on the wood. "Ready for dinner?"
Viktor tore his eyes away from the photo. "Coming," he said, and carried the pile of mail over to his desk, where he set a quill to scratching out standard responses. Ricky Davis' letter he put aside, however; perhaps he would respond to that personally.
Another drum roll pounded against his door. Viktor went to it and jerked it open, leaving Pashnik's hands with only empty air. "I said I was coming," he growled.
Pashnik grinned. "Just giving you some encouragement."
Edina, who was right behind Pashnik as always, giggled and shook her head. "Let's go," she said, "I think the rain has finally stopped." Pashnik linked his arm through hers, leading the way off the ship.
Viktor trailed behind them, tuning out their constant stream of playful banter. He tried to remember when it had become normal for him to walk up to the Great Hall with them. It had happened sometime after the article had appeared, he knew that. They had begun following him everywhere, and showing up at his door before every meal. It had just seemed easier to give in and walk with them. After all, he was going in that direction anyway.
It had crossed his mind then, and the thought still lingered, that the two of them might be doing Karkaroff's dirty work. Spying, keeping an eye on him and watching to see who he spent his time with. It was unnerving the way Pashnik and Edina watched him, and occasionally exchanged those knowing glances, as if they could see something Viktor could not. Viktor had heard rumors that Pashnik's father had been involved in the Dark Arts, but Pashnik himself hardly seemed the type. Annoying, yes, but evil? Viktor didn't think so.
Besides, Viktor found that their presence often acted as a sort of buffer against the sideways glances and barely-concealed smirks he often saw at the Slytherin table. He would never admit it to either of them, of course, but he found their presence almost…comforting.
At that moment, Pashnik spun Edina around and dipped her, making her squeal. He said something to her that Viktor didn't catch and kissed her quickly before pulling her upright.
Viktor grimaced. Comforting, had he thought? He rolled his eyes and kept walking.
*********************************************
The next few weeks passed quickly. Viktor spent afternoons in the library, hoping to catch her there. She continued to talk to him whenever she came to the library, but it was painfully obvious that she only came when she had other things to do.
Viktor had been so distracted with thoughts of her that he had almost forgotten about the Tournament entirely. It came as a surprise on the morning on May twenty-fourth when Dorek Landau approached him at the breakfast table, smirk firmly in place.
"The Headmaster says you are to go to the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch at nine o'clock tonight to learn about the third task," he said, as if issuing a summons. Viktor looked toward the staff table. Karkaroff was seated next to Professor Sprout, who was talking animatedly to him. Karkaroff, however, looked as if he were trying to get the attention of Professor Snape, who was at the other end of the table. Snape either didn't see Karkaroff or was ignoring him. Karkaroff had been acting even more oddly lately, but Viktor couldn't help feeling it no longer had anything to do with him. He remembered the way Karkaroff had acted after the second task, going on about consequences.
"When did you become the message boy, Landau?" Pashnik was saying, drawing Viktor's attention back to his own table. A few of the other Durmstrang students snickered. Pashnik had a grin on his face, as though he was only joking, but Viktor knew that real animosity lay under that smile. Pashnik had never liked Landau in all their years at Durmstrang. Viktor got the impression that they had known each other before they had started school, and that something that had happened in the past had been responsible for the bad blood between them. It occurred to him now that he had never bothered ask Pashnik exactly what had happened.
Landau narrowed his eyes at Pashnik. He leaned forward and said, in an undertone, "The same time that you became a jester and a lackey. I'm sure your father is very proud."
Pashnik's grin faded. Edina laid a hand on his arm and said something softly to him. Pashnik nodded at her and looked over at Viktor.
Viktor realized suddenly that he was supposed to do something. He didn't know what. So he nodded and said, "Nine o'clock. Fine. Is that all?"
Landau straightened up, looking disgruntled. "Yes," he said, somehow sounding both imperious and plaintive at the same time. He swept back down the table.
Viktor was surprised to see Pashnik grinning at him. "What?" he said irritably.
Pashnik shook his head. "Nothing." He went back to his breakfast, but Viktor could see a smile still playing on his lips.
*********************************************
That night, Viktor left the ship early to take a leisurely walk toward the Quidditch pitch. The pitch was still one of his favorite places at Hogwarts, and he thought idly of bringing her here with him sometime. Maybe he could convince her to go flying with him. The thought of being on a broomstick with her, his arms wrapped around her to keep her safe, flying against the starlit sky…yes, perhaps he would ask her.
He had known that something was happening at the pitch, as he had seen the beginnings of hedges of some kind there during his morning flights. Now, as he came out through a gap in the stands and onto the field, he realized that these hedges must be the beginnings of a maze. Of course, he thought. A classic task for the Tournament.
Viktor stepped over several of the low hedges and made his way out to the middle of the field. No one else had arrived yet, so he stood looking around at the high Hogwarts stands and wishing he had brought his broomstick. It was a beautiful evening for flying, with just enough of a wind to provide a challenge.
A moment later, the quiet was broken by Ludo Bagman's voice. "Ah yes," he was saying, "I think you will all enjoy this task immensely."
"Of course, Meester Bagman," purred Fleur Delacour. Viktor grimaced. That girl was quite beautiful, of course, but she was also entirely too aware of that fact. She wasn't his type of girl at all, not like—
"Mr. Krum! Excellent!" came Mr. Bagman's voice as he and Fleur climbed over the hedges to join him. "Now we only need Mr. Potter and Mr. Diggory."
A few minutes later, an indignant voice came from the far end of the pitch. "What have they done to it?"
"They're hedges!" came another voice. Potter's voice. Viktor felt an instinctive clench of his stomach at the sound.
Mr. Bagman was laughing softly. "Hello there!" he called out cheerily.
Potter and Diggory came into sight, climbing over the hedges to join them at the center. Viktor saw Fleur giving Potter an admiring look. Wonderful, he thought bitterly, so he's got Fleur too, the same way he has—
"Well, what d'you think?" Bagman said as Potter and Diggory approached. "Growing nicely, aren't they? Give them a month and Hagrid'll have them twenty-foot-high. Don't worry, you'll have your Quidditch pitch back to normal one the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we're making here?"
That much was obvious. Viktor waited for one of the others to say it, but when no one did, he finally spoke up. "Maze," he said.
"That's right!" beamed Bagman. "A maze. The third task's really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks."
"We seemply 'ave to get through the maze?" asked Fleur.
Bagman smiled broadly at her. "There will be obstacles. Hagrid is providing a number of creatures…then there will be spells that must be broken…all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champions who are leading on points will get a head start into the maze." Viktor frowned as Bagman beamed at Potter and Diggory.
Third place, Viktor. What kind of work is that?
Bagman went on. "Then Mr. Krum will enter…then Miss Delacour. But you'll all be in with a fighting chance, depending on how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?"
Viktor gave a peremptory nod and glanced sideways at Potter. Potter was nodding at Bagman, looking thoughtful. He was probably thinking that he'd get to go back and tell her all about the third task now. Viktor's hands involuntarily clenched into fists.
"Very well…" Bagman said. "If you haven't got any questions, we'll go back up to the castle, shall we, it's a bit chilly…"
Bagman led the way out of the maze, sticking close to Potter. Viktor followed, his thoughts fixated on how unfair it was that he would be going back to the cold ship, while Potter would probably be going to sit by the fire and talk to her…did he even realize how special she was?
Before Viktor had even made the conscious decision to do so, he had reached out and tapped Potter on the shoulder. "Could I have a word?" he said, trying to keep his voice low.
Potter turned, looking surprised. "Yeah, all right."
Viktor nodded. "Will you walk with me?" If he was going to have this out with Potter, he certainly wasn't going to do it in front of other people.
Potter gave him an odd look. "OK," he said.
"I'll wait for you, Harry, shall I?" said Bagman. Viktor's hands clenched into fists again. Why did everyone seem to love Potter so much?
"No, it's OK, Mr. Bagman. I can find the castle on my own, thanks."
In another situation, Viktor might have smiled at this. Instead, he turned abruptly and led the way down past the gamekeeper's hut. He purposely stayed away from the Durmstrang ship, as he suspected Pashnik and Edina might be waiting outside for him, and he did not want to have to offer explanations to anyone.
"What're we going this way for?" said Potter behind him.
"Don't want to be overheard," replied Viktor.
Viktor led him all the way past the Beauxbatons carriage and stopped in the shadow of the Forest. He turned and took a deep breath. "I want to know what there is between you and Hermione," he said, and was immediately aware that his words had come out much more threateningly than he had intended. Or maybe he had intended them to be threatening after all.
Potter appeared to be speechless for a moment. "Nothing," he finally said, and Viktor didn't believe him at all. "We're friends," Potter added hastily, "She's not my girlfriend and she never has been. It's just that Skeeter woman making things up."
This tallied with her story, at least. But it still didn't explain everything. Viktor eyed Potter suspiciously, remembering the second task, and the Yule Ball, and all the conversations where his name had come up. "Hermione talks about you very often," he said.
"Yeah," said Potter, "because we're friends."
Viktor thought about this for a moment. It was true that he didn't really have friends, not the way that she did, at any rate, so maybe he had misunderstood.
"You have never…" said Viktor, still unable to completely believe Potter's claims, "You have not…"
"No," said Potter, his voice firm and final, and Viktor couldn't help but believe him. Viktor stared at him for a few moments, unable to fathom how anyone could be that close to her and not realize how incredibly special she was, but glad of it at the same time.
Viktor realized that he should say something, that Potter was waiting for him to respond. He cast around for something normal to say. "You fly very well," he finally said. "I was watching at the first task." He had thought of telling Potter this directly after the first task, but other things had distracted him. And then, at the Yule Ball, he had had other things on his mind…
Potter drew himself up and grinned. Viktor was inexplicable reminded of Pashnik for a moment. "Thanks. I saw you at the Quidditch World Cup." Viktor remembered her saying that she had attended the Cup with her friends, and the briefest of doubts flitted through his mind again. But Potter was still talking. "The Wronski Feint, you really—" Suddenly Potter broke off and grabbed Viktor's arm, pulling him around to face the trees.
"What is it?" said Viktor in alarm.
Potter stared at the trees and shook his head.
A moment later something staggered from the trees. Viktor took an instinctive step back. It was a man, an old man, with ripped robes and messy hair. He looked as though he had been out in the wilderness for days, and he was muttering under his breath and waving his hands wildly. Viktor stared at the man, and was shocked to realize that he recognized him.
"Wasn't he a judge?" he asked. "Isn't he with your Ministry?"
Potter nodded and began to walk toward the man. Viktor hesitated, then slowly followed him. All of his instincts told him to go quickly in the other direction.
"Mr. Crouch?" said Potter tentatively. The man continued to talk to a tree, giving it orders, it seemed, and a moment later he staggered and fell to his knees.
"Mr. Crouch?" repeated Potter loudly. "Are you all right?" Crouch didn't say anything. Potter looked up at Viktor.
"What is wrong with him?" said Viktor. He had never seen anything quite like this, and the situation was unnerving.
"No idea," Potter replied. "Listen, you'd better go and get someone—"
"Dumbledore!" gasped Crouch. "I need…see…Dumbledore…"
Viktor stared at the old man in alarm. This was no crazy muttering. Something frightening was going on here.
Potter was talking to the man in a low, soothing tone. "OK, if you get up, Mr. Crouch, we can go up to the—"
"I've done…stupid...thing…" Crouch gasped, and his eyes rolled in his head. He reminded Viktor of a mad Crup he had seen once. He stepped back again. "Must...tell…Dumbledore…"
"Get up, Mr. Crouch," Potter said again, more loudly this time. "Get up, I'll take you to Dumbledore!"
"Who…you?" whispered Crouch.
"I'm a student at the school," Potter said. He looked to around at Viktor.
Crouch was now whispering so low that Viktor couldn't make out his words, only Potter's responses.
"No…that's right…I'll get Dumbledore if you let go of me. Just let go, Mr. Crouch, and I'll get him…"
Then suddenly Crouch began talking to the tree again, issuing orders in the same deranged tone he had used when he first stumbled out of the Forest. Viktor took another step backwards in alarm.
Potter turned to Viktor quickly. "You stay here with him! I'll get Dumbledore, I'll be quicker, I know where his office is—"
Viktor stared down at Crouch. "He is mad," he said, not at all liking the idea of being left alone near the Forest with this lunatic.
"Just stay with him," said Potter impatiently. He made to leave, and the movement caught the attention of the old man. The madman seized Potter around the knees and pulled him back down to the ground. A series of gasps escaped his throat, and he began whispering madly again. Viktor couldn't make out the words.
"I'll get Dumbledore if you let me go, Mr. Crouch!" said Potter loudly. He looked to Viktor, apparently expecting him to do something. "Help me, will you?" he said furiously.
Viktor took a step forward and squatted down next to the old man. He didn't want to, but he wasn't about to be shown up by Potter either.
"Just keep him here. I'll be back with Dumbledore." With that, Potter ran off into the night.
"Hurry, won't you?" Viktor called after him. He started to pull out his wand, but then the old man grabbed his arm and started gasping madly. Viktor was shocked to see tears running down the wrinkled face. "So…wrong…I should have…oh…my son…"
Viktor looked apprehensively in the direction that Potter had gone. He couldn't see anything, so he pulled his arm free of the old man and stood, straining his eyes to see if Potter had made it to the steps of the castle.
And then the world went black.
******************************************
Something gold glittered above him as he woke. It was dark, but a face loomed above him, and it took a moment for Viktor to recognize Professor Dumbledore. He started to sit up, but Dumbledore put a firm hand on his shoulder and made him lie down.
Viktor ran over what had happened in his mind. He had been looking for Potter, he had turned, and…
"He attacked me!" Viktor put a hand up to his forehead, which he suddenly realized was throbbing. "The old madman attacked me! I was looking around to see where Potter had gone and he attacked from behind!"
Dumbledore looked grave. "Lie still for a moment," he said.
A moment later, the ground began shaking with enormous footfalls. Viktor raised his head to see the enormous gamekeeper coming into sight, a huge crossbow in his hands and an enormous hound at his heels. Hagrid looked around at Viktor lying on the ground, and at Potter and Dumbledore bending over him. His eyes grew wide.
"Professor Dumbledore! Harry! What the—"
"Hagrid," said Dumbledore calmly, "I need you to fetch Professor Karkaroff. His student has been attacked. When you've done that, kindly alert professor Moody—"
But a wheezing voice and a shuffling gait announced Moody's arrival. "No need, Dumbledore," he said, "I'm here. Damn leg. Would've been here quicker…what's happened? Snape said something about Crouch—"
"Crouch?" said Hagrid.
"Karkaroff, please, Hagrid!" said Dumbledore sharply, and Viktor was surprised at the note of command in his voice. He had always taken Dumbledore for a rather kindly old Headmaster, quite different from Karkaroff.
"Oh yeah…right y'are, Professor…" said Hagrid, and he turned and disappeared into the trees.
Dumbledore turned to Moody. "I don't know where Barty Crouch is, but it is essential that we find him," he said in a low voice.
"I'm onto it," growled Moody, and he too disappeared into the Forest.
Viktor rubbed his head and looked up at Dumbledore and Potter, who were both crouched beside him. They both had looks of alert anticipation on their faces, and Viktor wondered if Potter somehow knew what was going on. He himself had no idea.
A few moments later, Hagrid returned with Karkaroff, who was running to keep up with the larger man. Karkaroff stopped short when he saw Viktor on the ground.
"What is this?" he cried indignantly. "What's going on?"
Viktor was strangely glad to see Karkaroff. It was not a sentiment he ever would have expected to experience. He sat up and rubbed his head. "I was attacked!" he said. "Mr. Crouch or whatever his name—"
Karkaroff took in a sharp breath. "Crouch attacked you? Crouch attacked you? The Triwizard judge?" He drew himself up and pulled his sleek silver furs close around him.
"Igor—" Dumbledore said soothingly, but Karkaroff cut him off.
"Treachery!" he shouted, pointing a long finger at Dumbledore. "It is a plot! You and your Ministry of Magic have lured me here under false pretences, Dumbledore! This is not an equal competition! First you sneak Potter into the Tournament, though he is underage!" Viktor looked back and forth between Karkaroff and Dumbledore. Karkaroff seemed to have grown smaller, somehow, even as he had drawn himself up and started this rant. Dumbledore was watching him calmly, as if waiting for him to finish so that he could speak.
But Karkaroff wasn't finished yet. "Now one of your Ministry friends attempts to put my champion out of action! I smell double-dealing and corruption in this whole affair, and you, Dumbledore, you, with your talk of closer international wizarding links, of rebuilding old ties, of forgetting old differences—here's what I think of you!" With that, he spat on the ground at Dumbledore's feet. Hagrid immediately grabbed the front of Karkaroff's robes and slammed him against a nearby tree.
"Apologize!" Hagrid snarled, his face inches from Karkaroff's. Viktor could hear Karkaroff gasping for breath. It was a horrible sound.
Dumbledore was on his feet, his eyes flashing. "Hagrid, no!" he said, the tone of command even more evident in his voice now.
Hagrid took his hand away, and Karkaroff slid to the foot of the tree, collapsing in a heap at its base. He took several deep breaths, but didn't say a word. Viktor could see his eyes gleaming at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore, however, didn't seem to notice. "Kindly escort Harry back up to the castle, Hagrid," he said sharply.
Hagrid seemed reluctant to go. He cast a dark look at Karkaroff. "Maybe I'd better stay here, Headmaster…"
"You will take Harry back to school, Hagrid. Take him right up to Gryffindor Tower. And Harry—I want you to stay there. Anything you might want to do—any owls you might want to send—they can wait until morning, do you understand me?"
"Er—yes," said Potter faintly.
"I'll leave Fang with yeh, Headmaster," said Hagrid, obviously referring to the huge dog at his heels. "Stay, Fang. C'mon, Harry."
Hagrid marched off into the darkness, Potter following a bit reluctantly.
When their footsteps had died away, Dumbledore bent over Viktor again. "How are you feeling, Viktor?" he asked, his voice kind.
Viktor stared up at him, not expecting this tone after what had just happened. "I am…fine," he said stiffly, though his head still ached and his thoughts were swirling. Dumbledore peered at him anxiously through his half-moon spectacles, as if trying to read his very thoughts. Viktor shifted uncomfortably.
A low growl drew Viktor's attention toward the dog. Karkaroff was getting up, and Fang was staring straight at him, standing stock-still but emitting a warning growl. Dumbledore cast one more swift look at Viktor, then pushed himself to his feet with much more agility than Viktor would have expected.
"Heel, Fang," he said sternly. The dog stopped growling at once, and lay down on the ground. Dumbledore walked over to Karkaroff and offered him a hand. Karkaroff ignored it, pulling himself up off the ground and disentangling branches and leaves from his furs.
He faced Dumbledore. "This is an outrage, Dumbledore," he said loudly. "How dare you—"
A low growl from Fang cut him off. Karkaroff looked fearfully over at the dog, which had raised its head and was staring at him.
"Igor, there has been a misunderstanding, that is all," said Dumbledore gently. "I do not know exactly what has happened here, and I regret that Viktor was attacked, but I assure you that there has been no 'double-dealing'."
Karkaroff made a sound very much like a snort. "I would expect no other response from you, Dumbledore," he said angrily.
Dumbledore sighed. "Igor, I do not know how else to assure you of my friendship. Indeed, I fear that what has happened here tonight has caused far greater damage than we know." He glanced quickly over at Viktor, then leaned closer to Karkaroff and said, in such a low voice that Viktor had to lean forward to catch the words, "Do you not have any ideas about what might be happening, Igor?" He gave Karkaroff a searching look.
Karkaroff drew back as if Dumbledore had Hexed him. He pulled himself up. "I do not know what you are talking about, Dumbledore," he said indignantly, but Viktor was fairly certain, from the way Karkaroff's voice shook slightly, that he did know exactly what Dumbledore meant. Viktor himself had no idea what either one of them was talking about.
Dumbledore held Karkaroff's gaze for a long moment, then took a step backward. "Very well," he said mildly. "Then you had better get Viktor back to the ship. I will inform you if Professor Moody finds anything that can shed some light on all of this. Good night, Viktor. A good night's sleep should make your head feel better."
Viktor nodded and got to his feet. He followed Karkaroff out of the trees. Karkaroff didn't say a word until they reached the dark expanse of ground in front of the ship.
"What happened?" he said sharply, stopping abruptly and not looking at Viktor. "Tell me exactly what happened."
Viktor stopped as well. "I was talking to Potter and the old man came out of the trees. He was talking to himself—I think he is insane. He told Potter that he wanted to see Dumbledore. Potter told me to stay with the old man while he went to get Dumbledore. When I turned around, he attacked me."
Karkaroff turned and eyed him suspiciously, as though he thought Viktor was hiding something. "Why were you talking to Potter?"
Viktor shifted uncomfortably; he really didn't want to tell Karkaroff that. "We were…just talking," he said.
Karkaroff's lips thinned, as if he had guessed exactly what was going on. He turned and started walking again. Viktor followed.
"You will tell no one what you saw tonight," said Karkaroff in a low tone, without looking at Viktor. "Do you understand?"
"Yes," said Viktor. Honestly, he himself wasn't entirely sure what he had seen tonight, so he would have had difficulty telling someone else about it anyway.
The ship was dark and quiet when they returned, and Viktor was relieved to escape into his cabin and just go to sleep.
*******************************************
It was fortunate that Viktor didn't really expect an explanation for the events of that evening, because he never did receive one. Seven years of being a student at Durmstrang Institute had taught him that, when someone told you that something didn't happen, you had better forget about that something or you would regret it.
One thing did bother him, however. What if Potter told her how he had been attacked? Or worse, how he had been afraid? He couldn't bear to think of her knowing about that weakness in him.
But he did feel better knowing that she wasn't Potter's girlfriend after all. She had told him so, of course, but really, what was she supposed to say? Somehow hearing it from Potter had made it more real, had made him truly believe it. Perhaps because Potter had sounded so firm about it, as if the mere thought of her being his girlfriend was ridiculous. And really, Potter wasn't so bad, when it came down to it.
But she didn't come to the library at all for the next few days, and Viktor could have sworn that she was avoiding his eyes in the Great Hall. He was certain that Potter had told her about his cowardly behavior. What was he going to do?
By the next Monday, he had made a decision. He would talk to her. He would confront her. He knew that he had resolved to do this in the past, but this time he would do it, absolutely.
At dinner, he watched the doorway like a hawk, waiting for her to arrive. When she walked in, she seemed to feel his eyes on her. She turned and nodded at him, her expression unreadable. Then she went and sat down with the red-haired boy. Potter, he was pleased to see, was not with them.
Viktor ate slowly, watching her. This was it. He was going to speak with her after dinner. He finished eating, then walked slowly towards the doors of the Hall, waiting for her to look up at him. She finally did. He gave her a long look, then raised his eyebrows at her and left the Hall. He hoped she would get the message.
Viktor made his way through the Entrance Hall slowly and out through the doors. He sat down on the stone steps. He wondered how long he should wait here for her, and why he was always the one waiting for her to come and be with him.
A memory flashed through his mind of the Yule Ball, of finding her here at this very spot. He remembered how she had said she was only getting a breath of fresh air, and how he hadn't believed her. He still didn't know what had upset her that night, and he wondered, hollowly, if he would ever be the person she confided in.
The door behind him opened, but Viktor didn't look up. He didn't have to.
A moment later she sat down beside him on the step and folded her hands in her lap.
"Will you walk with me?" Viktor said, his eyes trained on the ship in the distance. He remembered all the times she had said no to this request, that she had too much work to do, and he somehow felt it was very important that she say yes now.
She glanced at him quickly. "All right," she said, "but I can't stay out here long. I need to get back to the common room soon."
Viktor nodded. This was the most he could hope for, it seemed, and the most he would ever get from her. He stood and started towards the Quidditch pitch. She followed.
They walked in silence for awhile. It was fine and clear out, and the sun was sinking toward the horizon. It was actually quite romantic, but Viktor felt now how wrong that was. Romance wasn't what this was. No matter how much he wanted it to be.
She stopped suddenly and turned to face him. "Viktor," she said. "I'm not very happy with you at the moment."
Viktor stopped too, but in surprise. This was the last thing he had expected her to say. "Why is that?"
"Because," she said, her voice rising slightly, "I told you that article was rubbish, and you didn't believe me."
Viktor blinked. "I did," he said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew it wasn't true. He hadn't believed her, not really.
"Clearly you didn't!" she said angrily. "Otherwise, why would you go asking Harry what was going on? What, you believe him, but not me?" Her cheeks were pink now, and she was clenching her hands into fists at her sides. He couldn't ever remember seeing her direct this much emotion towards him. It was disturbing, but strangely satisfying.
"I...I just wanted to make sure..." he muttered.
"Then next time, ask me," she snapped.
Viktor frowned. She had to admit, at least, that he had had good reasons for suspecting her. "Well, I knew you were avoiding me. And you spend all your time with--"
"With my friends. Ron and Harry are my friends. My best friends. Of course I spend time with them. And if I was avoiding you," she looked away, "it's because you were making me feel so uncomfortable."
Viktor stared at her, feeling like she had slapped him. There it was again: "uncomfortable". He saw the word now for what it truly was: code for "I don't care about you." Abruptly, he turned and started walking again.
She followed. "Viktor..." Her voice was as pleading now as her eyes had been that day in the library, begging him not to be angry, begging him to understand.
Viktor stopped again near the Quidditch pitch. He gestured toward it. "Here is where the third task will be," he said.
She looked up at the hedges, which were now several feet taller than they had been when Mr. Bagman had told the champions about the task. Viktor could only just see over the tops of them.
Viktor stared at her. "Will you cheer for me at this task?" he asked, somehow needing to know the answer to this question. As if it were the question that mattered.
"Of course," she said, still gazing up at the growing maze.
"You did not at the second task," he said simply.
She flushed and looked down. She knew as well as he did that he was only speaking the truth.
And it was time he faced that truth.
"I told you before that I do not mind people knowing how I feel about you," Viktor said quietly. He took a step closer to her, his throat growing tight. "But I wish that you felt something like it about me."
She looked up and opened her mouth, then closed it again without saying anything. She stared at him, her eyes unbearably sad and pitying. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "I told you before, I'm not ready for all that, and I'm not. But I want us to be friends."
Viktor nodded with some difficulty. "We are," he said through the lump in his throat. He took a deep breath and forced himself to step away from her. He looked up at the darkening sky as an excuse to hide his eyes. "You should go," he said, trying to make his tone as normal as possible. "It is getting dark."
"Yes, I need to get back," she said quickly. "I'll talk to you later?"
Viktor nodded again, but couldn't look at her. "Goodbye, Hermione," he said sadly.
"Goodbye, Viktor." She turned and made her way quickly toward the castle steps, as if she couldn't wait to get away from him.
Viktor watched her go, then turned and walked towards the Durmstrang ship. He looked back once and saw her flitting up the steps. Viktor pushed down the urge to follow her and turned back towards the ship, walking on through the darkening night.
