It had been two days since Sirius left the house to "go talk to some acquaintances", and it felt emptier than ever. It was strange living on her own, she reflected, having never done so before. Even before she started Hogwarts, her parents had always left her with a nanny, and then once she started there she had always shared a room with the other girls in her year. Here she was, though, for all intents and purposes living alone at fifteen in a foreign country.
She stifled a sudden laugh at the thought. It wasn't as if it were a particularly new occurrence; it was just in a new country.
It wasn't that she didn't like living alone — so far, she was rather fond of it, actually. She was able to do what she wanted when she wanted, and there was no Lavendar or Parvati to hiss at her to dim her Lumos when she stayed up late reading or working. Her collection of books were beginning to get scattered throughout the rooms she frequented, a small stack on the kitchen table, another in the living room, one by her bedside table, and, of course, her copy of Moste Potente Potions in the basement room she had converted into a laboratory to brew Sirius's batches of Polyjuice in. It took a month to make, and his stores would cover him in that period, but only just, so she had begun her work the day she had arrived.
Her mornings were quickly taking on the air of a routine, where she woke up, showered, made some eggs and toast with jam, and reviewed her notes from the day before while she ate. She quickly levitated her dishes to the sink, set them to rinsing, and then grabbed her official staff robes, which Madam Lazarov had given her yesterday.
They were the same burgundy red as the robes she had won the first day but the cut was different, with narrower sleeves at the wrist than was traditional and a high neckline. The hemline was a bit higher than she was used to as well, hitting only her ankles rather than draping to the floor, but Lazarov had merely arched a brow and said, "It wouldn't do to trip on your robes when walking backwards and dropping the wizard you were levitating, would it?" That made perfect sense, really, and she didn't ask any more questions, noting the team's logo on the front breast pocket and an even larger version on the back, over where her name was spelled in large black letters with a white border. It took her breath away to see it there in full - GRANGER — because it made her official. She belonged here, now. She was part of the team, and she could prove it.
Donning these robes and doing up the buttons to the throat almost felt better than the first time she put on her Hogwarts robes. Almost.
Lazarov gave her a critical once over and nodded sharply in approval. "I trust you're prepared to work today?"
"I am," Hermione responded in what was rapidly becoming their standard greeting, rather than something more cordial like, Good morning or Fine weather today, don't you think? Lazarov's high expectations were almost bolstering, however; Hermione wasn't one to shrink from a challenge but rather rise to it, and the higher the bar, the more she reached for excellence.
"While I have spent the last several days putting you through preliminary evaluations, today begins the first real day of your apprenticeship. Anywhere between two days before and up to the day of a game, the players come in for a routine wellness check to ensure that they are in peak physical condition. Typically, the checks go rather fast, as I am extremely well-versed in each athlete's medical history, and we have a good rapport. Today, and during each medical check in the future, I expect you to be present during each check."
She paused for a moment, mouth pursed, and fixed a gimlet look on Hermione. "You do understand that anything you see or hear cannot be discussed with anybody, even a friend and especially a reporter, no matter how much they offer you."
Hermione drew back, offended. "I would never do such a thing!" she replied hotly. "It's against the Healer's Oath! While I might be just an apprentice, I would never violate someone's trust that way." She thought of how Madam Pomfrey had treated her more than once for magical and physical exhaustion last year, never saying a word even to Dumbledore as she had grown more and more strung out, trying to live too many lives at once. "It would be a betrayal to them and to the profession."
"Even though they're famous?" Lazarov asked, tapping her foot. "Even though you could sell secrets you see here and make a pretty sum?"
"They're not gods," Hermione responded, exasperated. "They're just people who can fly really fast on brooms and do impossible things."
Lazarov's eyebrows shot up almost into her hairline, and she gave Hermione that same thoughtfully appraising look as she had that first day, where it seemed like she might actually have found something in Hermione worth her approval. "We shall see if your actions match your words, Miss Granger. For now, just remember that Oath you seem to take so seriously - and the paperwork you signed your first morning before you arrived in my infirmary." Like she could forget the parchment that spelled aeons of legal trouble and all sorts of unpleasant magical backlash if she broke the non-disclosure.
"I'm here to learn," Hermione said firmly, "not sell secrets. If I can be best friends with Harry Potter and not say anything about him to anyone, you can be certain that I wouldn't say anything about the players, either."
Aside from a marginal widening of the eyes at Harry's name, Lazarov remained unmoved. "We shall see," she repeated. "Now, I want you to review the main player's files before they come in. Typically they come in by position, for whatever reason." She summoned a stack of files from her office, each neatly organized in a burgundy folder and tied shut with a black string, and handed them to Hermione. "The Chasers come in first, followed by the Beaters, then Keeper, and finally the Seeker. The files are arranged in that order, so don't make a mess and shuffle them up. They will likely come after lunch, or when Islov, that autocratic bastard, releases them, at which point I will talk with them one on one. You will accompany me, but I expect you to be silent and observe. The time for questions will come afterwards. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Madam." She looked at the files, already planning on how to best take notes on them. Should she write down only highlights, or would it be best to go through in more exacting detail? Perhaps highlights first, then a new copy of notes with a more fleshed out outline later. She didn't know how long she would have the files, after all, and it was more important to get the gist of all of them than the full scope of some of them.
"I will give you approximately one hour," her mentor said, and while Hermione gasped in dismay, magnanimously added, "You may use my office."
Nodding, she hurried into Madam Lazarov's office, barely taking in the airy yet surprisingly colorful and homey space, and took a seat at the desk. Quickly, she placed the files to one side and grabbed the topmost one, undoing the binding and opening it.
"Alright. First up, Clara Ivanova," she muttered to herself, looking at a picture of a muscular woman with long chestnut hair braided over her ears that joined into one longer braid that was flipped over a shoulder. She grinned mischievously as she jogged a Quaffle in one hand and winked. She was 26 and in fairly good health, Hermione quickly discovered, though she had fractured her pelvis and stayed in the infirmary earlier in the year in February. She had been released after a week in good health, though Lazarov noted 'special care with scan over PA' in a spare piece of parchment stuck to the inside of the folder with a sticking charm.
Vasily Dimitrov looked more suited to swimming than to Chasing, with a long, lean build and broad shoulders. It appeared he was recovering from the ague, which he had had last week - "PU and SP to bolster strength; recommend benching if not recovered," Lazarov's comment read. Alexei Levski, the last Chaser, seemed more intense than the other two and somehow reminded her of a wolverine, perhaps because of his liquid eyes, which gazed out at her over a serious face. He had broken a leg after being hit by a Bludger in a game against Norway, and suffered broken fingers on his hand ("left, all fingers") in a subsequent game after that.
She paused for a moment and shook out her hand, which had begun cramping as she frantically wrote, before bending her head and returning to the task at hand.
Both Beaters, Ivan Volkov and Pyotr Vulchanov, appeared to be heavy drinkers. Volkov had been injured more recently than Vulchanov, having recently been released from the infirmary 5 June after suffering four broken ribs. Vulchanov did not appear to have any major recent injuries, although Lazarov had diagrammed a large, deep scar on his upper right shoulder that was apparently the result of a "childhood accident". She wasn't sure what kind of incident would cause a scar like that, but tamped down her curiosity. The Keeper, Lev Zograf, also had a note about liver damage, though his was more substantive than Volkov or Vulchanov, and Lazarov noted to check his left knee, which he had injured the muscles and ligaments of three separate times in the past season alone.
She stopped short when she opened the last file and a familiar face with an equally familiar frown peered out at her. "Hello, Viktor Krum," she murmured. The figure in the photo crossed his arms seemingly in response. His nose looked as if it had been broken before — twice, the notes read - and he had intense eyes that were made all the more penetrating by the thick brows above them. He was big, too, broader and taller than a typical Seeker. She thought of Harry and even Malfoy with their slighter builds and knew that should Krum stand next to them, he would make them look positively scrawny.
"Have I got a surprise for you," she told his photo, tapping it with a finger. "Wonder what you'll think when your most favorite fan shows up to help with your physical, hm?" Her mouth curved despite herself, and she skimmed his file. He was younger than the others by a large margin, the next youngest on the team twenty two to Krum's seventeen — although Viktor, she noted, would turn eighteen in July. He had pulled a muscle in his abdomen doing some kind of maneuver (what a Havarsham Spiral was, she didn't know) in practice on June 9, but Lazarov had written "RESOLVED" next to it. Krum seemed relatively lucky, with fewer injuries than the others, although it could be that he was simply younger or that Seekers weren't as prone to injuries as other positions. At the end of the file, Lazarov had scrawled in slanted, narrow script, "Underpronation increases susceptibility of muscular injuries in legs and feet; recent exposure (last 12 mo.) to Dark Curses may have lasting effect".
She had just put her quill down when Madam Lazarov came in, her tall, angular figure blocking the doorway. "The Chasers have come early, it seems," she told her, and then gave a small smile. "They are curious about you."
"Me?" Hermione asked, surprised.
The Healer nodded. "They want to know about the English girl that's so far from home."
"I'm just - I'm just an apprentice," she stuttered, a bit flummoxed at the attention. "That's all."
Lazarov slanted her a sly look. "Is it, though?"
Hermione swallowed as the image of her secret laboratory underneath the house popped into her mind, and Lazarov smirked. "Come along, then, malko momiche," she instructed, sweeping out much as she had swept in. "It is time to begin."
Hermione followed her out of the room and into the infirmary proper, the files neatly bundled under one arm. Madam Lazarov had vanished the large floor-to-ceiling window that served as their entrance onto the field. The window was one way, so the Healers could see out but none could see in, and a mere incantative phrase made the glass vanish so they could transport a stretcher onto the field and back with ease.
The three Chasers stood on the lip of the infirmary floor where the tile met grass, their gazes unabashedly curious as they stared at Hermione. She shifted under the weight of their gaze but then straightened up, determined to face things head on.
"Hello!" the lone woman of the group, presumably Clara, greeted cheerfully, stepping forward and kissing Hermione on the cheek. Unused to such informal greetings, Hermione stiffened, but the exchange happened so quickly that Clara didn't notice. "I'm Clara, one of the Chasers for the team. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger. Have you been settled in well?"
"I — well, yes," she replied, taken aback but heartened. "Bulgaria is so beautiful, and I'm rather enjoying my time here, though I haven't been here long."
Clara beamed. "Good, good," she nodded enthusiastically. "And Krasmira? Has she been looming over you and saying things mysteriously?"
Hermione felt her face go red as she stammered out a response, and Clara positively cackled. "She has, hasn't she? Kras, I told you to stop doing that. Nobody's ever going to like you if you keep saying cryptic statements and criticizing them."
"I will thank you to refrain from sullying my teaching methods," Krasmira told the Chaser dryly. "She is my mentee."
"Oh posh!" Clara waved Madam Lazarov's statement away. "She's too serious by half, much like our dear old Vikky, who you'll meet soon. Don't be afraid to talk back to her — she likes it, but she won't admit it."
She could never imagine talking back to a professor like that, but Alexei, who flanked Vasily Dimitrov's right, was giving a subtle nod, those liquid eyes of his she had noticed earlier filled with quiet mischief. Perhaps not a wolverine, she thought, but more of a fox instead.
"Miss Granger," Vasily Dimitrov, the one with the swimmer's body, stepped forward and greeted her, taking her hand and kissing the back of it as he bowed. "I am very pleased to meet you. Welcome to Bulgaria."
"Thank you," she replied faintly, eyes wide at his chivalrous, old-world gesture. If Lavender or Parvati had been in her place, she was fairly certain they would have either swooned or squealed uncontrollably.
Alexei repeated Vasily's gesture and words, though he clicked his heels afterwards. "It is quite a pleasure to be able to put a name to the face," he mentioned, flicking an amused look at Clara. "I feel as though I've been hearing about you for weeks rather than days, what with the amount of buzz you've generated among the team. One would think you were a celebrity."
Hermione laughed a little uncomfortably and looked down at her feet for a brief moment before replying, "I'm not a celebrity. I'm just here to learn from Madam Lazarov." And help Sirius hunt down a madman, but that wasn't really something one mentioned in an introductory conversation. Or ever.
Alexei feigned brokenheartedness, placing a hand over his chest. "What about Quidditch? Are we to be pushed aside so easily?"
The question, though asked in jest, had an underlying seriousness to it. Was she simply here to fawn over them? Obviously not. "Of course not," she responded archly, feeling daring. "However would I get patients to practice on otherwise?"
Clara burst into laughter, slapping Alexei on the back. "She got you there!" she said between chuckles, "though that comment is better suited to Pyotr — the idiot almost killed himself yesterday trying to get in here to get a look at you." She rolled her eyes so hard Hermione was half-surprised they didn't fall out of her head.
Madam Lazarov sighed and pinched the brow of her nose in an uncommon display of exasperation. "I am going to wring his neck when he comes in here."
Clara shot Hermione a conspiratorial look. "Take pictures?"
"Do not." Madam Lazarov smoothly countered Clara's request. "Now, enough foolishness from all of you. Sometimes I think you all are a pack of wild beasts rather than Quidditch stars. Clara." She motioned towards one of the curtained off beds. "You first. You know the drill."
"Yes, Madam Lazarov," Clara intoned, giving a mock curtsey.
"Now!" The Healer pointed, patience clearly spent, and Clara chuckled again as she complied. "And you two!" She turned her gaze on the remaining players.
The two celebrities, who had been giving each other meaningful looks about who knew precisely what, stilled and slowly turned their heads, their expressions equally guilty as if they had been caught in the act of a prank. "Yes, Madam?" Alexei said meekly.
"Stay here. And no funny business. I'll know." She narrowed her eyes.
Vasily nodded solemnly. "I will make sure to babysit him well, Madam," he promised. Next to him, Alexei began protesting, and it was with a smile on her face that Hermione began her first set of routine exams.