Author's Note: If you have not read "Sleeping Dragons", cowritten with Jedi Boadicea, which takes place between Chapter 6 and this chapter, some things here may not make sense (such as why Ivan's here). You might want to read that first:
(Besides, it's a fun story!)
Thank you to Jedi Boadicea, super-betareader!
Chapter Seven: Soul for a Compass
When Viktor dragged himself down to the kitchen on the morning of August the first, Ivan and Edina were already up. He could hear Ivan's enthusiastic voice and his mother's laughter all the way upstairs.
"He emerges from his cave," said Ivan, when Viktor paused in the kitchen doorway. The remains of a large breakfast were on the table before them; they'd clearly been awake for some time. Viktor wondered how he could have slept through the noise they were making.
"Good morning, dear," said Viktor's mother. "Come sit down and eat something. Ivan and Edina were just telling me about the wedding plans. It sounds like it's going to be lovely." She beamed at Edina, who gave her a shy smile.
Viktor entered the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He wasn't up to much more than that – the smell of bacon permeating the room was making him queasy. He glanced at Ivan, who was now chattering on to Viktor's mother about some band called Kelpies in the Well that was to play at the reception, and wondered how on earth he could be so animated. Viktor's head was heavy, and his limbs felt ungainly. He never should have let that dragon keeper talk him in to trying one of those trailcakes. He'd felt light as a feather on his broomstick last night, but now it was as if his legs were made of concrete.
Viktor sat down and took a long drink of water. As he set his glass down, Edina caught his eye and gave him a sympathetic smile. Now that he looked closely, he could see that her eyes seemed tired. He tried to remember if she'd eaten any of the funny cakes, but couldn't – it had all been a haze of wind rushing and night sky once they'd gotten back to the pitch and found the practice brooms. He only vaguely remembered coming home. Viktor groaned, suddenly remembering that he had to go to practice in a few hours. He only hoped that all the practice brooms had been put away properly; he could imagine Boyar's rage if they'd been misused.
"What is it, dear? Are you feeling all right?" said Viktor's mother.
Ivan gave him a conspiratorial grin from the other side of the table, and Viktor nodded. "I am fine," he mumbled. "Just tired."
"It was a long night," said Ivan seriously. "I am afraid we kept Viktor up late, and made him show us all of our favorite Quidditch moves." He turned to Viktor's mother. "Thank you again for letting us stay here."
"Of course," she replied. "You were all so tired, and I did not want you getting Splinched. Not so close to your wedding, anyway." She smiled, and Viktor was surprised to see that it was a truly genuine smile, not the false cheerfulness that she had been displaying ever since he'd come home from Hogwarts.
Edina laughed and nudged Ivan. "You did give Viktor his invitation, didn't you?"
Ivan looked affronted. "I hadn't forgotten." He reached into his robes and pulled out a large envelope. "Here you are. Of course you're coming – you're best man, so you have to. But here it is, to make it official."
He passed the envelope across the table to Viktor, who took it and opened it. The invitation was surprisingly tasteful, considering Ivan was involved; a photograph of Ivan and Edina filled the top portion, and little twinkling lights ran along the outside border. The Ivan in the photograph kept giving Edina bunny ears, and Edina kept turning around to smack him. The information about the wedding was written underneath in flowing golden script.
"Oh, let me see," said his mother eagerly, and Viktor passed it to her.
"You picked out the invitations?" Viktor said to Edina.
She grinned. "Ivan wanted something that would shower you with confetti when you opened the envelope, but I talked him out of it."
"I still think it would have been funny," said Ivan. "Especially for my Great-Aunt Mila. That woman wouldn't know a joke if it bit her in the – "
"Your last name is Pashnik?" interrupted Viktor's mother in a low voice.
Viktor looked at her in surprise. She was gripping the invitation tightly, her narrowed eyes fixed on Ivan; Viktor could see the Ivan and Edina in the photograph pause and look up at her.
"Yes," replied Ivan, his usual joking manner gone, and something like wariness in its place. Edina put a hand on his arm, but he ignored her. Viktor looked back and forth between Ivan and his mother, wondering what was going on.
His mother took a deep breath and looked down at the invitation again. "You are Fedor's son," she said quietly.
"Yes," replied Ivan, in a flat tone.
"I knew your father," said Viktor's mother, placing the invitation carefully on the table. She smoothed the parchment, and the crackling sound of it seemed to fill the otherwise silent kitchen.
Ivan gave a dry cough. "My father and I are very different," he said, staring down at the invitation. "We – don't always get along. We disagree on…many things."
Viktor glanced at Edina, but her eyes were fixed on Ivan, her hand still on his arm.
Viktor's mother looked up and met Ivan's eyes. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, and then: "I can see that," she said. She glanced at Viktor, then looked back at Ivan and gave a tiny nod. She folded up the invitation and handed it back to Viktor. "Here you are, dear. You'll want to save that," she said in a light tone, as if the previous oddness had never happened.
Viktor accepted it uncertainly. He had the feeling that everyone here knew what was going on except for him.
"Why don't you boys go out for a fly?" said Viktor's mother, her voice now full of the false cheerfulness that had become so familiar to him in the past weeks. "Edina and I can have a bit of girl talk. I want to hear all about your dress, dear."
"That sounds good, don't you think, Viktor?" said Ivan, his face and voice enthusiastic once more.
Viktor nodded mutely and went to get the brooms. When he came back downstairs, Ivan and Edina were in the hallway kissing. He cleared his throat to let them know he was there.
They broke apart at once. Ivan looked sheepish, Edina genuinely embarrassed. "Have fun, you two," she said quickly, and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Viktor waited until they were outside before he tried to question Ivan. "What was that all about?" he asked.
"Well, you know, Viktor, when two people are going to get married – "
"Not that," said Viktor sharply. "In the kitchen. With my mother."
The look of discomfort that flitted over Ivan's face was so quick that Viktor wondered if he imagined it. "Well, you know," he said, "my father had something of a reputation back at school. Ladies' man. The natural Pashnik magnetism, nothing to be done about it."
"I thought you said that you and your father are very different."
Ivan's grin flickered. "Some things run in the family. Some don't." He mounted his broom and hovered a few feet over Viktor's head. "Come on, Viktor, this day is too nice to be spending it on the ground. Show me the good flying spots on these mountains."
Viktor decided to let the matter drop. He was a bit intrigued by the idea of Ivan having any kind of secret; he wouldn't have thought him capable of it. But there were lots of reasons for not wanting to talk about it. Viktor could understand that; he certainly had his own share of topics he'd rather not discuss.
And so Viktor led Ivan over the mountain, showing him the best places to practice spirals through the trees, and the tall rocky cliff where loose rocks sometimes scuttled down and offered ideal practice Snitches.
They were over the clearing before he'd even realized it; it was as if his broom had led him there out of habit, or sympathy with his subconscious. He paused in mid-air and looked down at the empty clearing, his heart constricting.
It had been five days since that disastrous confrontation in Rositza's kitchen. Five days since he'd disappeared, run away from the hurt and confusion in her eyes. He'd tried to tell himself, again and again, that staying away was the right thing to do, but he knew it was only cowardice that motivated him, deep down. He knew that he should at least go back and put a Memory Charm on her, to make her forget what she'd seen. But the thought of facing her was too much. He could only imagine how it must have looked from her perspective, and he doubted she would ever speak to him again, if he even tried to approach her.
Ivan hovered beside him. "What are we looking at?"
"Nothing," said Viktor quickly. "There's a nice beech copse down there, but we should probably get back."
But Ivan's eyes were narrowed, and his face was screwed up in a thoughtful expression that Viktor recognized as a prelude to teasing. "I know that look," Ivan said slowly. "I know exactly what's going on here."
Viktor snapped his head up, alarmed.
"There's a girl involved," said Ivan sagely. "I told Edina so. And she said something…now what was it? Ah yes, I'm not supposed to tease you about it." He grinned broadly.
Viktor groaned and nudged his broomstick higher, but Ivan followed. "What is it? Trouble in paradise?"
Viktor glanced quickly at him. "It's not that bad. It is nothing."
Ivan laughed. "Of course. That is why you have been grumpier than usual ever since we got here. I know it can't be my sparkling personality."
Viktor grunted.
Ivan sighed. "It can't be as bad as all that. Whatever it is, just talk to her. Whoever she is." This last sentence was quite pointed.
Viktor sighed. "Her name is Rositza," he mumbled.
Ivan grinned. "Now, see, was that so hard? When will we get to meet her? Are you going to bring her to the wedding? You'd be surprised how many problems can be solved by putting on dress robes and going to a formal event."
Viktor shook his head. He doubted Rositza would even speak to him again, let alone go anywhere with him. How would she ever be able to trust him? "Just because everything's worked out for you, that doesn't mean everyone else is happy too," he snapped, surprising himself.
Viktor caught a glimpse of abrupt hurt in his face before Ivan turned his head and nudged his broomstick downward.
Viktor immediately felt guilty. "Ivan – "
"We should go back now. Edina promised her mother she'd be home before noon."
Viktor sighed and followed Ivan back to the house. By the time they got there, however, Ivan was talking and laughing as if Viktor hadn't said a thing. After he and Edina had said goodbye to Viktor's mother, Ivan waited for Edina to Disapparate, then leaned forward and punched Viktor's shoulder lightly. "Just go talk to her," he said in a low voice. "Trust me, whatever happened, it will make things better." And then he was gone.
Viktor shook his head. Pashnik was a strange fellow, and discovering the layers hidden underneath the joking exterior did not make him less so.
"What was that about?" asked his mother.
Viktor turned to her. "Nothing."
She nodded, clearly not believing him. He was about to ask her about the odd exchange she'd had with Ivan at breakfast, when she said, "Viktor, dear, hadn't you better get ready for practice? You don't want to be late." Glancing at the clock and seeing the hands pointing to "Better hurry up!", he realized she was right. In his hurry to get changed, all thoughts of the morning's mystery were pushed from his mind.
He didn't think of it again until Boyar called a break in practice later that morning. Almost as soon as he'd dismounted from his broom, Susannah appeared at his side.
"Odd about all that dragon business, don't you think?" she asked lightly.
He glanced sideways at her. She had been acting perfectly normal around him lately, enough so that he had almost forgotten his suspicions from the beginning of the season, but the measured casualness of her tone now put him on guard.
He nodded. "The dragon people seemed to have it under control."
"That is good," replied Susannah, examining her broomstick handle. "Did your friends enjoy the adventure?" She put the slightest weight on the word "friends".
Viktor's stomach clenched. What was that supposed to mean? "I suppose so," he replied evenly. "They've gone home now."
He felt Susannah relax slightly beside him, and he glanced at her sharply.
"You should be careful," she said, "who you spend your time with."
"What?"
She gave him a piercing look. "You should be careful," she repeated slowly. Viktor clenched his fist around his broom handle. Had his suspicions been correct? Was she…threatening Ivan and Edina? He stared at her, and her stature seemed to grow, her bright hair and pale face to become menacing, even in the sunlight of the Quidditch pitch.
And then the picture was shattered as she gave a little laugh and tapped him on the shoulder with her broom. "Famous Viktor Krum, you know. Hard to know who your real friends are. You've got to be careful."
He nodded uncertainly.
"Now come on, I need a glass of water before Conrad the slave-master sends up back up there."
~**~
Viktor had every intention of spending the afternoon reading, but now that Ivan and Edina had gone home, and there was no dragon to keep him occupied, he became aware of just how empty his hours had become without thoughts of Rositza to fill them. Ivan's words kept going through his head. "Just go talk to her…Trust me, whatever happened, it will make things better." But Ivan didn't know, couldn't know, how bad it had been. How could Viktor ever explain? He couldn't, that was the problem. That had been the problem from the beginning. She would never understand.
Or would she? He remembered her face, the morning she had first shown him her drawings. "I know it's silly, but…sometimes I want it to be real so much that it hurts, like an ache in my heart," she'd said. "The dragons, the magic…all of it." He remembered a study he'd read once, done by an American wizard, that postulated that some Muggles were more sensitive to the presence of magic around them than others, and were of a disposition to accept it. A tiny flame of hope started up in Viktor's heart. Wasn't it possible that Rositza was one of them? Artists and writers were supposed to be more likely to accept magic than the other Muggles…surely Rositza would not be as closed-minded as the other Muggles. As her father.
And besides, he told himself, if she didn't believe it he could always Memory Charm her. He knew that was what he should have done right away, but he was reluctant, now that he cared about her. Now that, impossibly, she seemed to care about him. To trust him.
It was this thought that decided him. He owed her an explanation. He owed her more than an unexplained disappearance, at least.
He Apparated at the top of the mountain path twenty minutes later. Tucking his wand into the pocket of his jacket, he wished fervently that he had more Muggle clothes. He wasn't sure that going to her in the same clothes he had worn last Friday night was a good idea, but it was all he had; he couldn't very well wander through Pupgorodok in his robes.
It was late afternoon – she would probably be in Eliza's shop. Perhaps he could catch her as she left to go home. Viktor found himself reluctant to talk to anyone else, to be seen by anyone else. He had no idea what she had told anyone. For all he knew, rumors of him attacking her father had spread through the village by now.
And so he hovered by a large tree near the shop, watching the door. The day was clear and bright, and a few people went in and out of the shop, but no one spoke to him. After an hour, he was beginning to feel foolish, and would have left, had he not been sure he had seen a slim dark-haired figure through the dusty shop windows. He told himself that he was being silly, that he should just go in and talk to her. But the thought of her rejecting him in front of other people was too much to bear. If she was going to refuse to listen to him, better that it be in private.
The shop door opened then, and a couple, clearly tourists, came out, each carrying a large bag. Eliza followed, giving them directions to the market in broken English. The couple departed, and, as they made their way down the path, Eliza's eyes fell on Viktor. Her face grew serious for a moment, and then she gave him a slight smile and disappeared back into the shop.
Viktor's stomach twisted nervously. He should probably go. But before he could even think about moving his feet, Rositza was there on the porch. Her hair was pulled back, and her dress was covered by a long white apron that was smudged with dirt, but her face shone with relief at seeing him. She'd never looked so beautiful.
God, he had missed her.
Rositza ran down the steps and over to him, but stopped short of touching him. She looked up at him shyly. "You came back," she said.
He nodded. This was not at all what he had expected. He'd expected her to be angry, confused, but certainly not relieved and happy.
"I am so sorry," she said earnestly. "My father should not have – "
"Sorry?" said Viktor at last, finding his voice. "Why – there is nothing for you to be sorry about."
Rositza shook her head, her eyes on the ground. "My father, he attacked you, didn't he? He pretends not to know what happened, but I know him." She looked up at him. "You ran out so quickly I couldn't even apologize for him. I thought I would never see you again."
Viktor stared at her in disbelief. "I Disapparated," he said.
Rositza laughed nervously. "Yes, you disappeared. I don't blame you. But you ran out the door without even taking your shoes. I still have them." She smiled, her eyes sad. "But I tried to follow you, and you were already out of sight. You run very fast."
Viktor laid a hand against the trunk of the tree to steady himself. He had never expected this. She's just like the rest of them, said a nasty voice in the back of his brain. They make up explanations for what they can't understand. Had he been so wrong, thinking she was one of the special ones? Maybe he should just agree with her, let her think it was all perfectly normal, and walk away.
No. He had seen her drawings, had seen how much she yearned for the magical world. And he saw the look in her eyes now, saw that they were begging him to stay.
He took a deep breath. "I didn't run away," he said slowly. "I Disapparated. With this." He pulled out his wand and held it up.
Recognition flickered in Rositza's eyes, and she looked at him uncertainly. So she does remember, he thought.
"What is that?" she asked, her voice strained.
"My wand," he replied. "A magic wand."
Rositza took a small step backwards and gave him a suspicious look. "Who are you?"
"I am Viktor Krum," he said. "And I am…a wizard."
There was hurt in her eyes now. "Is this some kind of joke? Are you trying to get back at me for the things my father – "
"It is not a joke," said Viktor softly, putting a hand on her arm. She flinched, and he removed it quickly. "It is true, Rositza. Magic is real, and I am a wizard."
She crossed her arms over her chest, her mouth set in a frown. "Show me some magic then," she challenged.
"Here?"
"Why not?"
Viktor looked around hesitantly. "We are not supposed to do magic where Muggles can see."
"Muggles?" Rositza lifted her eyebrows.
"Non-magic people," he explained, feeling unaccountably apologetic about it.
Rositza raised her chin. "Like me."
Viktor shrugged. "Like many people."
"So we're not good enough to learn how to do this magic of yours, I suppose?"
Viktor shook his head. This wasn't going well at all. "It is not like that. You are either born magical or you are not."
Rositza's face was full of doubt. He knew he would have to show her some magic, if he wanted her to believe him. He looked around again. There was no one on the road, and Eliza was safely inside the shop.
"Look at that rock over there," he muttered, pointed to a stone a little larger than a man's fist that sat by the edge of the porch. Rositza turned to look at it, the set of her shoulders still disbelieving. Viktor pointed his wand at the stone. "Mobilisilex," he said, and the stone lifted a few inches in the air, moved across the grass, and came to rest at Rositza's feet.
She didn't look at him, only stared at the stone, so Viktor pointed his wand at it again. "Mutare Flos." The stone contracted, and its hard lines resolved themselves into a blue flower. Viktor picked up the flower and offered it to Rositza.
She reached out uncertainly and touched it. "That is impossible," she said.
"No, it is not," he replied softly. He pushed the flower into her hand, and she took it now, still gazing at it with a timid air. "It is real, Rositza. I am sorry that I could not tell you before."
She looked up at him, and her eyes were dark now. "Why did you come here?" she asked, her voice surprisingly harsh. "What do you want with me?"
"I wanted to see you," said Viktor, bewildered. Why did she think he had come? "I – " I have never met anyone like you. The words stuck in his throat.
But Rositza must have understood the sentiment anyway, because her eyes softened. "Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Would you have believed me?"
Rositza smiled. "I suppose not. I am not sure I do now, except that…" She looked away. "What happened? That night, with my father. What really happened?"
"Before I left?"
"Before you disappeared." She looked at him sharply.
So she did remember after all. "He…knew about the wizarding world. He said that if I didn't stay away from you, he would…" Viktor swallowed hard and met Rositza's eyes. "I had to put a Memory Charm on him, make him forget."
Rositza nodded. "That is why he says he does not remember what happened."
"He doesn't remember. Any of it."
Rositza was silent for a long moment. "And now you've told me this, will you have to…do that to me?"
Viktor looked at her seriously. "Not if you promise to keep it secret. I am telling you this because I trust you."
Rositza smiled. "I promise."
Viktor nodded and put his wand away.
"Why didn't you tell me this that night, instead of disappearing?"
Viktor couldn't meet her eyes. "I panicked. I did not expect your father to…and I did not think you would believe it."
To his surprise, Rositza reached up and laid a hand on his cheek. "You should not have worried."
He looked at her. Her face was only a few inches away from his, and her eyes were soft. "Then you are not…angry, about the Memory Charm?"
Rositza laughed. "Actually, I should thank you. My father has been most pleasant this past week." Viktor smiled. He lifted his hands to her waist and leaned toward her, closing his eyes –
"As long as you never do it to me, everything will be fine."
Viktor froze. Rositza looked up at him in confusion. "What is it, Viktor?" And then her eyes narrowed. She removed her hand from his cheek and took a step backwards. "You haven't ever done that to me, have you?"
Viktor straightened up and took his hands from her waist. He should have known he would have to tell her, sooner or later. "Once," he said shortly. "The first time we met."
Rositza's mouth set into a firm, angry line, and Viktor found himself hurrying to explain. "You were in the clearing, and you saw me flying on my broomstick, and I had to – "
"You fly on a broomstick?"
"Yes."
"Go on."
"You would not have understood. You would have run back to the village and told everyone. I could not let you do that."
Rositza's chin tilted up defiantly. "So you made me forget it instead. What right do you have to do that?"
"I had to."
Rositza was breathing heavily now. "So why did you come back then? Why not just make me forget and then run away. You seem to be good at that."
Her words stung, but Viktor tried not to answer angrily. He knew this could not be easy for her, knew it was unfair to expect her to accept this news too readily. Knew that her words were not untrue. "I wanted to see you again," he mumbled, looking down at his hands. "I wanted to know you."
Rositza didn't answer, and, after a long moment, he forced himself to look up at her. The expression on her face was pained, but there was something else in it. She wanted to believe him, he realized. She cared about him too.
Hesitantly, he reached up to touch her hair. "Rositza, I – "
She closed her hand over his. "Don't," she said softly, but her touch on his hand was soft, gentle. She took another step backwards and let go of his hand. "I need…some time. This is a lot to hear, all at once. Just…give me some time."
Viktor nodded, heart heavy. Rositza turned and started to walk back toward the shop, but after a few steps, she paused. "Viktor."
He raised his head. "Yes?"
"Meet me in the clearing tomorrow morning. We will talk more then." She turned around to face him. "Will that be all right?"
Viktor smiled, a sudden lightness washing over him. "Yes."
Rositza's face remained grave, but the corners of her mouth turned up slightly. "I will see you tomorrow then." She lifted the blue flower in a kind of wave, and then turned and disappeared into the shop.
