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".)
Special thanks to Jedi Boadicea for her random esoteric knowledge, to Arabella for betareading and for assistance with spells, and to Zsenya for betareading.
Moody Slavic Man
By Elanor Gamgee
Part 9: Missing Her
"Nervous, Viktor?" asked Pashnik as he dropped into the seat across the table.
Viktor shrugged. Nervous didn't describe how he felt at all. Mostly he was glad that the day of the third task had finally arrived, and that he would be able to get it over with.
The last month had been difficult, to say the least, and Viktor was looking forward to getting away from Hogwarts and all it represented to him. Since that last conversation with…her…nothing had been the same. A hollow, empty feeling had taken over his stomach. Even the Hogwarts food had a bitter taste to him now.
To make matters worse, there was only one place he felt truly comfortable at this school, and that was the library. So he had continued to spend time there, telling himself that it would be cowardly to avoid it just because she might be there. But she hardly ever went there, lately, and Viktor tried to avoid wondering where, and with whom, she spent her time instead.
The library was also a convenient place to escape from Karkaroff's eagle eye; Viktor had felt that Karkaroff had been watching him carefully ever since the night he himself had been attacked. Perhaps Karkaroff was afraid that he would tell the other students about the events of that night. But Viktor wasn't really interested in Karkaroff's secrets or in spreading rumors, and he found Karkaroff's scrutiny more irritating than anything else.
"Of course he's not nervous," said Edina, sitting down next to Pashnik. "He will win for certain." She flashed him a warm smile, and Viktor ducked his head, slightly embarrassed. Edina seemed to have been going out of her way to be nice to him recently, and this unnerved him slightly. He glanced up and saw that Pashnik was grinning at her. Viktor wondered why Pashnik didn't seem to be at all jealous when Edina made comments like that; he certainly would have been annoyed, in Pashnik's place.
Viktor looked over Pashnik's shoulder toward the Gryffindor table, and saw her sitting at one end of the table with Potter and the red-haired boy. She was holding a newspaper, and the three of them were deep in conversation. It struck him, at that moment, that he could almost see a kind of force field around the three of them, keeping everyone else out.
"At least he doesn't have to worry about exams," Pashnik grumbled. "That doesn't seem fair."
Viktor tore his eyes away from the Gryffindor table and looked back at Pashnik. He shrugged again. Actually, he almost missed taking exams. It gave him a sense of closure at the end of the year, and he found that he very much wanted closure on this year in particular.
A shout from the other end of the table drew his attention. "Hey, Potter! Potter! How's your head? You feeling all right? Sure you're not going to go berserk on us?" Draco Malfoy was holding up a newspaper and sneering in Potter's direction. Malfoy and his two thuggish friends began making faces and laughing. Viktor shook his head and frowned. He didn't know what it was about this time, and he truly didn't care. He was tired of it all. He just wanted to go home to Bulgaria.
"Another article?" said Pashnik, and Viktor didn't even need to look at him to know he was exchanging a meaningful look with Edina. Viktor didn't respond, but turned back to his own breakfast.
As the other students began filing out of the Great Hall to go to their exams, Professor McGonagall approached the Slytherin table.
"Mr. Krum," she said, "the champions' families are arriving.
You may greet them in the chamber off the Great Hall when you have finished eating."
Viktor nodded. "Thank you, Professor."
"Your parents are here, Viktor?" said Pashnik keenly. "Will we get to meet them?"
Viktor looked at him for a moment, surprised that Pashnik had never met his parents before. But then, he had been away during so many of the events that parents normally attended at Durmstrang, playing with the Vultures. Pashnik had been at the World Cup, he knew, but it hadn't occurred to him to introduce them there. He had even met Pashnik's family before—his tall, imposing father, his thin, nervous-looking mother, and his older sister Ilana, who had also been a student at Durmstrang, and whose personality was very similar to her brother's.
"I don't see why not," he said. Pashnik grinned and shot a look at Edina.
She smiled back. "Ivan, we have to go," she said, "We will be late for our Transfiguration exam."
Pashnik groaned and stood up. "We will see you at lunch, Viktor," he said. "Enjoy your free morning." Viktor nodded. Pashnik and Edina made their way toward the doors.
"Good luck," Viktor called after them, as an afterthought, but he wasn't sure they even heard him.
Viktor finished his breakfast and went over to the small chamber off the Great Hall, where the champions had congregated that first night. Cedric Diggory was standing just inside the door with his parents, and Fleur Delacour was over in one corner, talking with her mother and sister. A tall man with long red hair pulled back into a ponytail and a shorter, middle-aged witch were standing near the fireplace. Viktor supposed they were here for Potter. He wondered briefly who they were.
"Viktor!" came his mother's voice, and Viktor turned to see her sitting in the far corner. She rose and held out her arms to him. Viktor moved to hug her reluctantly; he had never understood why his mother insisted on such things in public, as though he was still a child. But he hated to disappoint her too. He caught a glimpse of Cedric Diggory over his mother's shoulder. The boy was wearing a sympathetic expression, and when he saw Viktor looking in his direction, he nodded toward his own mother and rolled his eyes, as if to say that he went through the same thing.
"Hello, Mother," said Viktor in Bulgarian, stepping back from her. He turned to his father, who was standing beside her, and shook his hand. "Father. I am glad you both could come."
His father laughed. "We would not miss this!" he said. "I only regret that we could not come for the other tasks. But, as you know, things have been…difficult…at the Ministry lately…" He trailed off, and Viktor noticed for the first time that his father's normally jovial face seemed drawn and a bit more wrinkled than he remembered it. He started to ask what his father meant, but his mother cut him off.
"Nikolas," she said, in an almost warning tone, "Don't bother Viktor with that now." She turned back to Viktor. "We are only happy to see you, dear. How are you feeling? Are you nervous about this evening?"
Viktor shrugged. Why did everyone ask him the same question? "I am glad it is here at last," he said truthfully, and his father smiled proudly.
"Ah, our Viktor, eager to prove himself as always."
But Viktor's mother was looking at him searchingly, as though she had sensed the deeper meaning under his words. Knowing her, he wouldn't be surprised if she had. Viktor looked away from her piercing gaze, toward the other side of the room, and saw that Potter had entered the room and was now talking delightedly to the man and woman standing by the fireplace.
"And what of the young lady?" said his mother in a low voice, drawing his attention back. "Will we meet her this time, perhaps?"
Viktor avoided his mother's eyes, very glad that they were holding this conversation in a language that no one else in the room understood. "Perhaps," he said, as casually as he could. "I do not know if…" He trailed
off, not sure how to finish, but his mother saved him the trouble by straightening up and clapping her hands briskly.
"Well, we have the whole day ahead of us," she said. "Will you show us this place, Viktor?" She put an arm around him and squeezed his shoulder, and he knew that she had guessed more of the truth than he had spoken.
Viktor nodded, grateful for the change of subject, and led them out into the Great Hall.
They spent the morning wandering through the castle and grounds. Viktor showed them the library; he felt that he should, since he had spent more time there this year than anywhere else at Hogwarts. His father was especially intrigued by the unique cataloging scheme used in the Restricted Section, and he spoke at length to Madam Pince about it, eliciting the only smile Viktor had ever seen on her bony face.
They returned to the Great Hall for an early lunch, and were already seated when Pashnik and Edina came in from their exam. Viktor introduced them, and Pashnik immediately set to regaling the group with impressions of Poliakoff trying to transfigure a cactus into a porcupine. Viktor's father, in particular, seemed to find this story very amusing, and Viktor himself wondered why Pashnik's antics, for once, didn't seem to annoy him.
After they finished eating, Viktor led his parents toward the armor gallery on the third floor. He knew his father would love to see them, and fully expected him to spend the entire afternoon poring over the finer details of helms and breastplates.
He was just turning a corner on the second floor when someone ran into him. His stomach dropped when he saw who it was.
"Viktor!" she said, taking a step back. Almost, Viktor thought bitterly, as if she can't bear to be near me at all.
He hid this reaction, however, by bending over to pick up her bag, which she had dropped. He handed it back to her. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said quietly. He hadn't intended to meet her eyes, but he did, and it struck him with new intensity how much he had missed being near her this past month.
"Thanks,' she said with an awkward smile. Then her gaze shifted past him, and Viktor suddenly remembered that his parents were there.
Well, he had wanted to her to meet his parents. Though this was hardly what he had had in mind. "Er...my parents," he said, indicating them with one hand. "Nikolas and Anna Krum. Mother, Father, this is Her—"
She interrupted him before he could finish. "Hermione Granger," she said, shaking their hands. Viktor frowned.
Viktor's mother smiled broadly at her. "Viktor has told us about you," she said simply. Viktor shot her a look, his face hot, hoping that she wouldn't say anything to embarrass him, but her expression was neutral.
"Yes, well," she replied, "Viktor and I have become good friends this year."
Viktor's mother and father shared a knowing look, and Viktor quickly looked down. Good friends. Those words would haunt him. He couldn't bring himself to look up at her, or at his parents. Now they would think…but it didn't matter, not really.
She seemed to feel the awkwardness of the situation as keenly as he did, because she quickly added, "I've got to go to lunch. It was really nice meeting you."
"Ah, yes, they have good food here," said Viktor's father, grinning at her. "We are just coming from eating. Viktor is showing us the suits of armor."
"Nikolas collects them," explained his mother.
Viktor knew that she knew this already. He himself had told her all about his father's collection. He wondered if she even remembered that conversation, or if, like so many things, it had only been important to him.
"There are some really good ones on the third floor," she said, smiling, and Viktor couldn't tell what she was thinking.
"Have a good lunch, dear," called Viktor's mother as she moved toward the stairs.
"Thanks." Then she stopped near the top of the staircase, as if suddenly remembering something.
She turned back to face him. "Good luck tonight, Viktor."
Viktor raised his head and met her eyes, feeling a strange mix of irritation, resentment, and delight. He stared at her for a moment, allowing her to see everything he had felt and continued to feel for her, despite everything. She stared back at him, as though paralyzed by his gaze, her mouth slightly open in a little "o" of surprise.
Then the moment passed, and Viktor nodded to her. "Thank you," he said, wondering how his voice could possibly sound so even to his own ears.
"Well, bye," she called as he turned away.
He continued up the corridor, not looking back. His mother fell into step beside him.
"So," his mother said, lapsing back into Bulgarian, "a delightful young lady."
"I suppose," said Viktor.
"This is the same young lady you took to the Ball, yes?"
"Yes,"
Viktor said, unwillingly. Why couldn't
his mother just let it go?
"And are things between the two of you…going well?" she asked probingly.
"Fine."
She regarded him silently for a moment, then nodded. "So where are the suits of armor?" she said in a louder tone. "I know your father will enjoy them."
They spent the entire afternoon on the third floor, where, as Viktor predicted, his father was enthralled with each and every piece. Viktor soon grew tired of pretending to be interested in his father's lectures and wandered down to the other end of the gallery, where he feigned fascination with a series of paintings of waterfowl. He went over the encounter with her again and again in his mind. The way she had looked at him at the end…it was as if she was seeing something in him she had never seen before. He wondered if…but no, he shouldn't be thinking like that. The last thing he needed today was another distraction.
Viktor and his parents returned to the Great Hall for dinner. It was quite a feast, and his father in particular was very impressed. He chatted amiably with Pashnik, and Viktor was shocked to realize how much the two of them had in common. Odd that he had never noticed the similarity of their manners before. Viktor's mother thoroughly embarrassed him by telling the nearby students about how Viktor had named his broomsticks as a child, and how he had cried when the first one had been destroyed. Pashnik and Edina in particular seemed unable to stop laughing at this, which irritated Viktor even more.
"Oh, don't look so surly, Viktor," said Pashnik between fits of laughter. "It only makes the story funnier."
All in all, Viktor was relieved when the many courses finally came to an end, and Professor Dumbledore rose to ask the champions to make their way down to the Quidditch pitch. Viktor's mother kissed him on the cheek as he rose. His father clapped him on the back.
"Good luck, Viktor!" said Pashnik and Edina together.
Viktor nodded and started to turn away, when several other voices rang out around him.
"Good luck, Viktor!"
"You'll do fine."
"Make Durmstrang proud."
Viktor turned around in surprise and saw several of the other Durmstrang students giving him encouraging looks. Poliakoff was giving him a thumbs-up.
Viktor didn't know what to say. It had been a long time since any of the other students, aside from Pashnik and Edina, had even spoken to him. He looked over and saw his parents looking around approvingly; obviously proud of the way the other students were supporting him. He didn't know what was going on, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Pashnik was behind it, and for once, he was grateful.
He looked around at the other students, then at Pashnik. "Thank you," he said gruffly, then turned away and strode out of the Great Hall with the other champions.
**************************
It was dark outside, and it appeared even darker at the entrance to the maze. The hedges were now at least twenty feet high, and no one would guess that this had once been Hogwarts' beautiful Quidditch pitch.
The four champions stood near the entrance to the maze silently. Potter was fiddling nervously with his wand, and Fleur kept tossing her hair as though the whole affair bored her. Around them, the air began to fill with excited voices as the crowd filed into the stadium. Hagrid, Professor Moody, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick entered the stadium, each wearing a large red star.
Professor McGonagall approached the champions. "We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze," she said. "If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?"
They all nodded, but Viktor snorted under his breath. There was no way he would give up that easily, or suffer the ignominy of being helped out of the maze. Whatever was in there, he could handle it.
The four patrollers headed off in different directions, and a moment later Ludo Bagman's voice boomed out over the stadium, cutting through the noise of the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, on eighty-five points each—Mr. Cedric Diggory and Mr. Harry Potter, both of Hogwarts School!" The crowd went absolutely wild at this. Viktor couldn't help frowning. "In second place, on eighty points—Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!" There was more cheering, though somewhat less enthusiastic. Viktor saw his parents sitting with Pashnik and Edina toward the bottom of the nearest stands, clapping wildly. They waved when they saw him looking over at them, and he waved back briefly. "And in third place—Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!" More cheering. "So…on my whistle, Harry and Cedric! Three—two—one—" Bagman gave a short blast of the whistle, and Potter and Diggory hurried forward and disappeared into the maze.
Viktor ran his eyes over the stands again, hoping to see a familiar head of curly brown hair. He finally found her, sitting halfway up the stands. He stared at her for a moment, wondering why on earth it actually made him feel better to see her, just before going into the maze. But somehow it did. He raised his hand to her briefly, and she waved back. He looked away as Bagman's whistle rang out again.
"Mr. Krum, enter the maze, please!"
Viktor squared his shoulders and strode through the entrance. The sound of the crowd disappeared the moment he set foot in the maze, as though the tall, dark hedges had absorbed it. It was odd, Viktor reflected, but he hadn't really noticed that there had been cheering—cheering for him—until the sound had ended so abruptly.
Viktor lit his wand and went forward along the only available path. After about fifty yards, the path branched off to the left and right. Viktor hesitated a moment before choosing the right one, and continued.
He followed the path he was on for some time, ignoring the periodic gaps in the hedges on both sides. His instincts told him that he would find the center of the maze more quickly if he stuck to one path.
A shadow moved in the darkness ahead, and Viktor tensed. He flattened himself against the hedge and moved forward slowly, turning a corner, and came up against something enormous.
Viktor stepped back and held up his wand. It was a huge creature, with thick grey armor and a long sting curled over onto its back. It resembled nothing so much as a giant scorpion. Viktor thought at first that it might be a fire crab, but quickly gave up wondering and turned his thoughts to fighting when the creature lunged towards him, a jet of fire spewing from its other end.
With all the reflexes that long hours of Quidditch training had brought him, Viktor rolled aside. The creature blasted past him, but its sting snaked out, catching him on his wand hand as it passed. Viktor cried out in pain and dropped his wand.
He stumbled to his feet, hand throbbing. The light of his wand was
rolling away into the darkness behind him, and ahead of him, the creature was trundling around to face him in the narrow pathway. In one motion, Viktor lunged for his wand and turned back to face the creature, which was now propelling itself toward him again. He aimed low, hoping to avoid the thick armor, and shouted "Stupefy!"
It worked. The creature keeled right over into the shrubbery to the right of the path, its sting twitching wildly. Viktor pointed his wand at his hand, muttering a Numbing Charm. He could still use his wand hand, but now the stinging was gone.
Viktor continued down his chosen path, passing by several more openings in the hedges, until finally his own path ended, intersecting with another path running perpendicular to it. He looked to the left and to the right, holding his wand high to direct its beam as far as he could. He looked up at the sky and saw the North Star twinkling high above to his left. The left path, then, should take him deeper into the heart of the maze. He took it.
Unlike the original path he had taken, which had been more or less straight, this one meandered along, curving every few feet. Viktor kept glancing up at the sky, but he began to lose his sense of direction. Finally he chose an opening to the right, one that appeared to open up on a much straighter path. He followed this for a while, until, to his dismay, he came to a completely dead end.
Viktor turned around, wondering if there might be hidden entrances here. He had read of such things, in mazes.
"Aparecium!" he said, flicking his wand toward the hedges to one side. Nothing happened. He tried it again on the other side, and at the end of the path, with the same results.
Viktor frowned. He felt ridiculous. He suddenly wondered what the people in the stands could see, and whether everything that happened in the maze was somehow visible to them. He certainly hoped that no one was watching this, especially…
No. No, he wouldn't think about it. He had to focus on the task. Viktor strode back up the pathway and turned determinedly into the first opening he found.
He stopped abruptly, however, as water lapped about his ankles. An enormous, glassy, black lake spread before him.
Viktor turned to go back through the opening in the hedges, but it was gone. A high wall of thick gnarled hedges spread out behind him, and all along the edges of the lake. The water lapped up against the edges of the greenery. It was an odd sight: a lake with no shore, pressed right up against the hedges that walled it in.
"Aparecium!" he said, directing his wand toward the place where the entrance had been, but nothing happened. He turned back to examine the lake.
About fifty yards away to his right, a kind of a bridge rose up out of the water. Viktor waded towards it. As he got closer he could see that it was made out of a white stone, highly polished, and it looked very slick. It was hardly wide enough for one person to cross, and there were no railings. Moreover, it rose in a steep arch over the lake, its center high above the surface of the water.
A feeling of uneasiness seized Viktor; the scene was surreal. There was no breath of wind, yet the water lapped steadily against the hedges. There were stars twinkling in the sky above, but no reflection appeared on the surface of the water. It is as if the lake absorbs the light, he thought, the way the hedges absorb sounds.
Viktor stared at the bridge, more of a span really, and wondered how on earth he would cross it. It looked as if it wouldn't even support his weight, much less offer traction for his now wet and slippery boots. He could swim, of course…but somehow he didn't trust the water here. It had a powerful feel about it, and he suspected that immersing himself in it would be a bad idea.
Viktor looked back at the bridge, and an idea clicked in his mind. He quickly scrambled to the base of the span, braced himself against the hedge, and aimed his wand at his
feet. "Musca Pes!" he said, and was gratified to find that his boots instantly adhered to the polished stone. He experimentally lifted one foot, and it came away from the stone hesitantly, then adhered again as he took a step forward.
Viktor grinned. And to think that Landau had ridiculed Professor Kiev for teaching them the Flyfoot Charm, saying that it would never be practical to use.
Viktor inched his way up the steep incline, making sure to keep one foot adhered to the stone at all times. Now that he was depending upon it to hold him up, he found that the slender span was sturdier than it looked.
The incline was now so steep that he had to grip the stone with his hands, though they were significantly more slippery than his feet. He was bent double, trying to keep his balance, when he happened to glance down at the water.
A pale shape was shimmering there, just below the surface. Viktor let go of the bridge in surprise, but grabbed it and steadied himself a moment later. He looked again at the water, and saw a ghostly pale image of his mother staring up at him. Viktor froze, held by the expression on the vision's face—she was looking straight at him, almost expectantly. He tore his eyes away, unnerved, and focused again on the bridge.
He moved forward along the span, the arch now rising higher above the water, and was distracted a few moments later by another white shape in the water below. Before he could stop himself, he had looked, and an image of his father greeted him this time. This vision was like the other had been—his father stared up at him unblinkingly, not moving, only looking at Viktor expectantly. Viktor quickly turned his eyes back to bridge. It is not real, he told himself. It is only a distraction. Ignore it.
But more images appeared as he neared the highest point of the span: Karkaroff; Conrad Boyer, his coach; Anton Topolovich, the Vultures scout; Ludo Bagman; the blonde girl from the library. Viktor could feel his concentration slipping as he fought to ignore the visions below. He could feel their eyes on him; he could feel the weight of their stares bearing down on him. What did they want from him?
Finally Viktor reached the highest point of the bridge, and found that it straightened out into a narrow plateau before dipping down to the other side of the lake. He stood up and stretched his aching limbs, realizing for the first time that a cold sweat had broken out on his forehead. Oddly, though the span had looked to rise far above the level of the hedges when he had seen it from the ground, now that he stood at its apex, he could not see over the greenery.
Viktor glanced down, hoping to see only the water below. The faces were gone, but a new, more startling vision had taken its place. It was as if the water in the center of the lake, directly below him, had become transparent. He was looking straight down into an underwater pit—a pit, he realized with a jolt, which was for some reason very familiar to him. There were figures moving around in it. Viktor strained to make them out, and they suddenly came into focus and became very clear to him. His heart thudded in his chest. She was there. And her two friends. But it wasn't possible, thought Viktor hurriedly, because Potter was out there, in the maze. It is not real. It is not real.
A dark shape swam into the space above the pit, and Viktor leaned closer to see what it was. The shape shifted in the water, and he realized that he was, inexplicably, seeing himself swimming there below the surface. He watched, transfixed, as the Viktor in the water dived into the pit and caught her around the waist, drawing her upwards and away from her friends. He could see how she struggled to get away, beating and kicking at the Viktor in the water, and, with a tightening of his chest, he saw himself hold on to her more tightly, pulling her away even as she fought harder. She was screaming, and the sound of it echoed in his ears and around his
brain.
Viktor's head snapped up. That scream had not come from the silent water below. But it had been a girl's scream, and not far away. Something had happened to Fleur. Viktor turned carefully on the bridge, but he couldn't tell which direction it had come from. He looked back down at the water, and gasped to see only the glassy black surface below him.
Viktor closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. It was not real, he told himself again. But it had felt so immediate, and…familiar. And he felt emotions he couldn't deal with at the moment rising to the surface. Not now, he thought, gritting his teeth, please not now.
Determinedly, Viktor moved along the top of the bridge and began backing his way slowly down the other side. He kept his eyes firmly on the bridge ahead of him. He only looked down once, and immediately regretted it when an image of her stared back at him. She gazed up at him unblinkingly, and he knew that she, like the others, expected something from him. Viktor had to close his eyes and breathe deeply before he could continue, and was able to make his way to the other end of the span without looking down.
He removed the Flyfoot Charm and looked around. His heart sank, however, when he realized that there were no openings on this side of the hedge either. Was he trapped?
"Aparecium!" He tried the Revealing Charm again and again, moving along the hedges, until one patch shimmered and became an opening. Viktor stumbled through in relief, and was not at all surprised when the hedge immediately sealed itself back up. He was not sorry to see the last of that lake.
But the emotions those last few images had stirred in him were not so easily covered, unfortunately, and Viktor found his thoughts wandering as his feet led him down the dark path. He had fought so hard not to think about her recently, and running into her earlier today had been difficult. He suddenly had a vision of himself at the center of the maze, reaching the Triwizard Cup. What if he won this tournament? Would it make a difference to her? But he knew in his heart that it wouldn't. And he also knew that he wanted to win, not for her, but for himself.
A high-pitched chattering sounded near Viktor's ears and he froze. No, he thought, no, no, no. Not—
A tiny blue figure flitted in front of his face and pinched him sharply on the nose. Viktor jumped back, only to have another figure grab his right ear.
Pixies. He had walked straight into a nest of pixies. This is where daydreaming had gotten him.
"Impedimenta!" he roared, aiming for the pixie by his ear. This slowed the creature down long enough for him to shake it off. He ducked and dodged as several more of them flitted toward his face. They turned and swarmed towards him again.
"Divido!" he cried, and the swarm of pixies split right down the middle, allowing him to slip through. He ran forward a few paces, then turned back quickly and aimed Confusion Charms at the two groups of pixies. "Conturbo!" The pixies floated off dazedly through the air, bumping into each other and chattering much more slowly now. They seemed to have forgotten about him entirely.
Viktor dashed ahead on the path before the spell could wear off. He grimaced. Of course he would wind up facing pixies. He hated pixies.
Viktor took a left turn, then looked back up at the sky. He thought he was heading in the right direction. Good. His mistake with the lake hadn't totally thrown him off track.
Viktor rounded a corner in the hedge and saw a dark shape up ahead. He tensed and raised his wand beam, but soon realized that it was only Cedric Diggory. He was about to say something to him when a strange sensation overtook him.
It was as if all the thoughts scurrying around in his head since those disturbing visions at the dark water had suddenly vanished. His mind seemed to become both clear and cloudy all at once, and Viktor found
himself welcoming the absence of fear. This was peace. He closed his eyes.
When he opened them again and saw Cedric Diggory before him, it was obvious what needed to be done. The course of action was so clear that it was almost as if he was outside himself, watching himself walk purposefully up the path towards Diggory. He was pointing his wand at Diggory. Yes, Diggory deserved this. He deserved pain.
"What do you think you're doing?" came Diggory's voice, seemingly from a far distance. He had turned and was staring, open-mouthed, at Viktor. "What the hell d'you think you're doing?"
Pain, said the voice in his head. Give him pain.
"Crucio!" Viktor heard himself saying.
Diggory fell to the ground, writhing and twitching. Viktor could hear his shouts as though through a poorly tuned wireless, but they meant nothing to him. All that mattered was keeping his wand on Diggory. He deserved this.
Viktor looked up. Potter. Potter was there, ahead of him, pointing his wand at him.
Run, said a voice in his head, a different one this time. He turned and ran in the opposite direction, his feet seemingly reluctant to move.
"Stupefy!" cried Potter's voice behind him, and Viktor knew no more.
***************************
Viktor opened his eyes slowly as a thousand sounds assaulted his ears. The first thing he saw was his mother's face bent over him. The image was so startlingly like the one in the lake that he jumped, and his mother made a worried sound and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Shhh, Viktor, it is all right," she said soothingly in Bulgarian. Viktor breathed deeply and looked around. He was lying on the ground not far from the entrance to the maze, and the noise of the crowd was in his ears. He looked back at his mother, who was eyeing him worriedly. His father knelt next to her, clutching her hand.
"Son?" he asked. "Can you hear me?"
Viktor nodded. How had he gotten here? What had happened? He had only scattered images in his brain, and none of them made sense. The last thing he remembered clearly was standing on this spot, then striding into the maze.
Madam Pomfrey moved into his line of vision. She leaned forward and placed a hand on his forehead, then looked closely into his eyes. "What happened?" she said sharply.
Viktor stared up at the stars, trying to piece it together. Water…there had been something about water…something disturbing had happened...what? Diggory…something about Diggory…
Viktor shook his head. "I do not know," he mumbled. Madam Pince looked at him blankly, then at his parents.
"He says he does not know," said his father gently in English, and Viktor realized that he must have spoken in Bulgarian.
"But you sent up red sparks," said Madam Pomfrey with a frown. "You must have gotten into trouble…"
Viktor's heart sank. He had sent up red sparks. He had given up, even though he couldn't remember doing so. He was out of the Tournament.
"What happened to your hand?" said Madam Pomfrey, taking his right hand up in hers and pointing to a red welt along one side.
Viktor stared at it. It looked familiar… "I—" He shook his head. It was no use. He flexed his fingers. "I do not know, but it does not hurt."
Madam Pomfrey looked at him suspiciously, as though she didn't quite believe this, but she took a jar of ointment from her pocket and slathered some along the wound.
"That should heal up nicely," she said. "Now, do you have any other injuries?"
Viktor stared at her, racking his brain. "I…don't know," he finally said. He glanced from the nurse's dubious expression to the worried faces of his parents.
"Well," she said brusquely, "You'd better go sit down then." She stood and helped him get to his feet. A smattering of applause from the stands drew his eyes toward them, and he could make her out halfway up. He looked away quickly; it was more painful, somehow, to see her
now.
Viktor's father placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him, and his mother led him over to a bench. "Where is Professor Karkaroff?" his mother kept saying. "He should be here!"
But no one seemed to know where Karkaroff was; no one seemed to have seen him since the feast. Viktor didn't care. It was simply a relief to sit down on a bench and lean his forehead on his hands and try to remember what had happened. A haze was fogging his brain; he felt utterly removed from the noise and chatter of the crowd around him.
Water…there was water…and things weren't what they appeared to be…
There had been a sense of watching, of unease…and pain. Whose pain, though? His? Viktor had no idea how long he sat there, oblivious to the crowd around him, chasing the same confused thoughts around his brain.
A flash of light at the entrance to the maze made him look up, slowly, and he saw a crowd of people gathering around something on the ground. His muddled senses wondered briefly what was going on, and then he heard shouts, ringing out into the night. "Cedric Diggory! Dead! Cedric Diggory's dead!"
Something disturbing happened…something about Diggory…
Cedric Diggory, twitching on the ground.
Cedric Diggory, shouting in pain.
Viktor's stomach twisted and he felt as if he would be sick. No. It hadn't been. It couldn't be. He hadn't done anything…had he?
Viktor stared at the space in front of him, his mind blank. The blood pounded in his ears, and his own labored breathing drowned out the screams of the crowd around him. It couldn't be…it couldn't be…
A familiar face moved across his field of vision, and Viktor's eyes widened. She was there, moving past him with a group of people, clutching the hand of the red-haired boy. She musn't know. Whatever he had done…what had he done?…but she musn't know.
Another wave of nausea overtook him, and Viktor pitched forward and vomited, his mind and senses reeling.
It can't be.
