It was in the second week of October, as the castle got increasingly cold and drafty, that Hermione finally summoned the courage to ask Viktor a question she'd been mulling over since the very first Practical Magic lesson.
"Viktor? What's a betrothal contract?"
Viktor's whole face and neck turned a phenomenal and shocking shade of crimson and he inhaled so hard he choked on his own spit. Whatever reaction she'd been expecting, it certainly hadn't been that one.
"Where? Where you hear from? Why you ask?" he choked out, coughing a little and looking anywhere but her eyes.
"I'm sorry, I've embarrassed you. You don't have to answer."
Rubbing his neck, faced pinched, he finally met her eyes. Just for a second.
"Is ok. You ask, I answer."
Over the last weeks, Viktor had become her constant library companion and had gamely become her sounding board for all the wizarding questions she'd previously been too embarrassed to ask and couldn't find in books. Because of course wizards couldn't just write a primer like "The Muggleborn's Guide to Wizarding Traditions." While he didn't always know the level of detail she would have liked, he was always willing to answer her questions without judgement. Although sometimes she caught a rueful headshake and an indulgent smile on his face. They'd never explicitly talked about the fact that Hermione was Muggleborn, but her questions had made it rather obvious, she suspected.
But Viktor the Pureblood, Viktor her friend, didn't seem to care one whit.
"I just. The Beauxbatons professor mentioned it once after class, and I was too preoccupied to ask her about it. And then I was too embarrassed to."
Viktor nodded, encouraging her while trying to regain his composure.
"I tried to ask Ron about it—he's a Pureblood, too—but he just said it was a stuffy old outdated custom and I shouldn't worry myself about it."
She left Viktor to gather his thoughts. After several weeks of budding friendship, she'd discovered that he was incredibly self-conscious about his English, and giving him time to formulate his responses without pressure from her was the best way to get the answers she wanted.
"Is—" he paused for a moment, still looking deeply uncomfortable. Moreso when she tried to take his hand in apology. Honestly, he looked like a deer in the headlights, about to spook and dart out wherever his feet took him first.
After a big sigh, he finally continued.
"Is outdated tradition. But, still important in Bulgaria and sometimes for other families, too. Comes from arranged marriage. When wizard is ready to marry, his family contacts witch's family and gives them betrothal contract. Father decides which contract to sign and they get married."
"Arranged marriages?! Are those really still a thing? How barbaric!"
The pinched look, which had relaxed slightly as he'd warmed to the topic, returned in full force. She'd obviously put her foot in it. Again.
"Oh god. I'm sorry. You're not in an arranged marriage, are you?"
"No, no." He caught her eyes, almost desperately. "Am not married. Have submitted no betrothal contract."
Understanding was beginning to dawn on her. "But you will, won't you?"
"Da."
"Do you want to?"
Of all the things she'd expected of this conversation, arranged marriages, and being friends with—liking—a boy that might want that for himself, was not it. For the first time since they'd started studying together in the library, Viktor felt very alien. Very different. Maybe insurmountably so.
"Is not easy to explain. My parents had arranged marriage. Sometimes they are happy, sometimes not. I want to choose witch for myself. Want to marry for love." He shot a quick glance over at her. "But, submitting betrothal contract. In Bulgaria, is first step in becoming man."
She sighed a little in relief, marveling at how different Viktor's world was from Ron's. It reminded her that Purebloods weren't a monolith. Their culture was different than hers, but there was also a tremendous amount of variation. It wasn't as if she could imagine Ron's family, Viktor's family, and Malfoy's family getting along, let alone having much in common.
"So, it's like a rite of passage?"
"Da. Rite of passage." He pronounced the words slowly, making sure he'd gotten them right.
Summoning up her courage—she was a Gryffindor and she'd act like one!—she asked him a question she'd been wondering for longer than she'd admit.
"So, you'll marry a Pureblood then?"
Narrowing his eyes, he peered at her more closely, truly looking at her as she asked him what was probably a deeply personal question. Under the table, she crossed her fingers like she did when she was ten, wishing and hoping for an answer. With everything in her, she tried to adopt a look of nonchalance.
"Maybe. Do not have list of requirements. Want smart, fiery witch. Blood does not matter."
Be bold, Hermione, be bold! She chanted in her head.
"So what would you do if you wanted to marry a half-blood or a Muggleborn? We don't really do betrothal contracts, you know," she added, trying to lighten the mood and convince at least one of them that she was teasing him and not at all personally interested in his answer.
He shrugged. "Then I will find new tradition for 'Rite of Passage.'"
The rest of their study time went by incredibly slowly. It felt like she'd given entirely too much away and she dreaded the idea that she'd bared her fragile feelings for nothing. He probably thought her a silly little girl. A friend, nothing more.
As quickly as she could reasonably get away with, she packed up her things, made an excuse about needing to help her friends with an essay, and nearly ran from the library alcove. If she'd had the courage to turn around, she'd have seen her friend watch her leave with a look that was both hopeful and predatory, like an eagle that had finally caught movement in the grass.
=/=/=
"What do you think about focusing on Byzantine Alchemy?"
"Is my homeland," he shrugged, closing his book and standing up. "Why this one?"
"Well," Hermione continued, packing away her alchemy textbook and neatly rolling her notes, "it sounds like there's a wealth of information, primary sources even, but the textbook itself barely even touches on them. I'm curious as to why."
Finishing packing up his own bag, Viktor gave her an odd look, like she was stupid and he was only just now noticing.
"Is because textbook is English. East Europe, Turkey: these are different to English wizards, but not good different. Bad different."
Tossing her hair back, she placed her hands on her hips and glared up at him.
"I refuse to believe that Professor Dumbledore chose a text that would purposefully ignore an entire civilization's knowledge because of simple bias. There must be another explanation."
Viktor just smiled down at her, beginning to usher her out of the classroom with a hand gently hovering behind her back. Oh how she wished he'd close that gap and actually touch her. Sometimes she thought she caught him looking at her like she was, well, a girl. And the rest of the time she convinced herself she was seeing things.
"Then we will research Byzantine."
"Wonderful! I knew you'd see it my way."
The smile she flashed him over her shoulder may have been a bit overly familiar, perhaps even bordering on flirtatious, but she refused to care. Since their strange conversation about Pureblood marriages the week before, they'd somehow grown more comfortable with each other rather than less. It was strange to consider, but she'd learned so much about Viktor in that conversation and she could see him much more clearly now. It was the most personal information that she'd ever heard from him, for he was an intensely private person. The shy, driven, romantic, but traditional boy she was getting to know had entirely captured her attention.
But what to do about it?
"Are you free tomorrow afternoon to begin research?"
He made an odd tsk-ing click with his tongue that she'd finally learned was the Bulgarian equivalent of no. "Have no time until Tuesday. Karkaroff has us very busy."
"Tuesday, then" she replied, trying not to let her disappointment color her voice.
As they exited the classroom, Viktor suddenly stiffened warily, his muscles bunching as he stood up straighter.
Waiting for her outside the classroom were Ron and Harry, both of whom looked star-struck and confused. Before she could think of how to introduce these two parts of her life with minimal embarrassment, Viktor gave her a stiff bow and immediately left in the opposite direction.
'Well, that was awkward,' Hermione thought.
"Was that? Was that Krum?" Ron nearly shouted, certainly loud enough that poor Viktor could still hear him down the hall. She could see how his shoulders tensed and rolled inwards after Ron's exclamation.
"Well, yes. He's taking Alchemy."
"Why didn't you say anything? I'd have taken Alchemy if I knew Viktor Krum would be in it!" He stopped to suck in a gulp of air before continuing. "How could you not tell us, Hermione? Surely there was still time to sign up?!"
Oh, if only Ron knew half of the things she hadn't told him.
"Oh come off it, Ronald. You would hate taking Alchemy: it relies intensely on Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. You'd be bored to tears, even with a famous quidditch player in the class. Besides, he hardly speaks a word."
Trying not to meet Ron's eyes, lest he catch on that she wasn't being entirely truthful, she tried to steer the conversation away from her new friend and Ron's man-crush.
"So what are you two doing here, anyway?"
Harry, bless him, took to the change in conversation and happily interjected.
"I just got an owl from Remus. I haven't gotten a chance to read it yet and we thought we'd come get you."
"Oh! Well then."
Smiling dreamily as Viktor finally turned a corner and disappeared from sight, Ron slowly tuned back into the conversation at hand.
"We were thinking we could head out to the lake. It's not too dark out yet and the weather's still warm enough." Ron gamely grabbed her bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Jeez Mione, you must carry the whole library in here."
Hermione flushed red, trying desperately not to think about how often Viktor had taken to slinging her bag over his own, much broader shoulder. He always good-naturedly complained, too.
"It's only a few books. Anyways, you're right: this might be the last pleasant evening we can spend outside for months."
Pulling her scarf out of her pocket, she wrapped it around her neck and smiled into the red and black stripes.
The walk down to the Black Lake was uneventful but pleasant. The three friends caught up on all the gossip from their classes, good-naturedly bemoaned Hagrid's love for the blast-ended skrewts, and laughed heartily at the memory of Snape's silent but apoplectic rage when Dean Thomas melted his second cauldron in that class period alone. All-in-all, Hermione felt closer to her best friends than she'd felt in ages: maybe all year, even. Arm in arm, the three sprinted the last few meters to the shore and collapsed under a large tree that overlooked the hulking form of the Durmstrang ship.
Rustling through his pockets, Harry produced a crumpled envelope bearing Professor Lupin's familiar, tidy scrawl but made no move to open it.
"Come on, Harry. Don't keep us in suspense!" Ron made a playful grab for the envelope, nearly securing it before he lost his balance and tumbled sideways with an audible 'oof.'
Harry laughed loudly. It was a beautiful sound: one that Hermione hadn't heard from him nearly often enough.
"Ok, ok. I'm opening the letter. Keep your trousers on."
=/=/=
Dear Harry,
It's wonderful to hear from you! I've very much missed our chats and getting to be your teacher, and I'm so glad you wrote to me. You were right: you definitely needed to tell someone about your dream, even if it felt unimportant. Dreams like those aren't typical, and it's important we find out why you're having them and if we can make them stop. Please promise me that you'll write me again if you have another one. Burdens like these are lighter when they're shared, and I'm always here to share them with you and offer any advice I can.
I had heard about the Triwizard Tournament. It's rather hard not to have. It'll be an exciting year for you! I'm hoping to purchase a ticket to one of the events once the schedule is finalized; they're open to the general public for a price and family of students for free. Has Dumbledore told you that, yet? You're allowed two family tickets to one of the events. I'm not sure if you'd want to invite the Dursleys, but I'm sure Dumbledore would make an exception if you wanted to invite someone else. You need only ask him.
Finally, to address the strangest request I think you've ever put to me. I did indeed go to school with Bertha Jorkins, although she was a few years older than me. She wasn't particularly well-liked, but she wasn't vicious, if rather nosy. Bertha was always rubbing people the wrong way. She absolutely loved gossip—got Sirius in trouble with the professors for snogging behind the greenhouse his fourth year—and had a tremendous memory for salacious details that she used to great effect. I'm afraid that's all I really remember. School was a long time ago and Bertha and I were hardly friends.
Why are you asking about her? I've heard just recently that she's missing; there was a brief article hidden towards the back of the Sunday Daily Prophet. Harry, do you know anything about her disappearance? Promise me you're not trying to find trouble. I'll march right over to the school if I have to.
Sincerely,
Remus
=/=/=
"Well, that's weird." Hermione was the first to break the silence.
"He was a bit overly suspicious. Thinking Harry was trying to get himself into trouble. Not that he needs the help."
"Oi!"
Hermione huffed at the boys' banter, brain already going a mile a minute to rebuild her mental image of Bertha Jorkins, the academically-uninteresting Hufflepuff.
"What I meant, is that the Bertha Jorkins Lupin describes doesn't sound at all like the Bertha Jorkins your dad knows, Ron."
Harry's brow furrowed in thought. "What do you mean, Hermione?"
"Well. Let's say they're both telling the truth. We've no reason to suspect they wouldn't be. That means that as a student, Bertha Jorkins was a nasty little girl with a good memory for gossip who loved getting people in trouble. As an adult, she couldn't remember anything and was so clumsy and forgetful she could barely keep a job. Doesn't that sound fishy to you?"
"Huh. When you put it that way, it does sound weird. Why would she go from having a great memory to having a terrible one?"
The trio were silent for a moment, all lost in contemplation until Ron piped up.
"What if she went like Lockhart? You know. When he tried to obliviate us second year, it backfired and took all his memories. He's in St. Mungo's now. Probably will be forever."
"So…what if Bertha was trying to cover up something, and she accidentally wiped her own memory instead?" Harry supplied, warming to this train of thought.
"I dunno. I think that really only happened because your wand was broken, Ron. Besides, if she'd done that, she probably would have ended up in St. Mungo's just like Lockhart. I wonder if there's anything else that would have made her forgetful like that?" Hermione trailed off into silence, mind whirring through all the possibilities.
"What if?" Harry started, sounding a bit frightened at his own idea. "Lupin said she really liked sticking her nose in people's business. What if she stuck her nose into the wrong person's business?"
The three exchanged worried glances, eyes scanning the area around them in anxiety. "Yeah. And what if we're sticking our big fat noses into that person's business now?" Ron asked.
None of them had a good answer for him.