As seemed typical, time flew faster than Viktor could keep track of. As soon as he had won the quarterfinals against the Australians, he turned around and buckled down to prepare for the Festival of Blessings, which was perhaps an even bigger test than the Quidditch World Cup. Preparation for it had been underway for months by now, but as the day rapidly approached, he wanted to go over everything once more and ensure that it was as good as it was going to be.

A lot rode on the success of the invocation, or Blessing as the locals put it, that the festival was built around. As the second son, who was steward of the Krum lands, Viktor was responsible for not only creating the invocation but also casting it.

That responsibility weighed heavily on him. Invocations were tricky things to begin with, but an invocation that was malleable and changed year-by-year depending on the needs that Viktor or his family identified was another beast altogether.

Earlier in the spring, Viktor had spent a considerable amount of time corresponding and working with runic experts, weather wizards, and other experts from around the world to try and craft the best invocation that he could. The resulting conglomeration of spells, runes, and wand work was complex, to put it lightly. Luckily, he had Nevena, one of the family's most trusted retainers and a witch who had been helping oversee the invocation for many decades, on his side.

Without her, Viktor most certainly would not have been able to see his first invocation through with any amount of confidence. In fact, even with her assistance, he was incredibly nervous because of what was riding on this particular invocation. Because last year's invocation had had such a disastrous result after failing, this invocation was critical to ensuring the continued success of the Krum lands and the livelihoods of those who depended upon it.

This had long loomed over him while he had been preparing for the Quidditch World Cup and completing his studies at Durmstrang. Out of all of the things that he was juggling, this, in truth, was the most important to him because of how high the stakes were. If he lost a Quidditch match, people would be disappointed. If he failed an exam, it reflected poorly on him.

If he failed with the invocation and the land wasn't revitalized, the people could ultimately starve if they weren't able to earn their livelihoods off of it.

This year had been terribly lean already for a lot of them, and he couldn't bear to know he had contributed to those pinched looks and the quiet air of burgeoning desperation.

Visiting Maika always gave him a sense of safety, and so it was to her that he fled the day before the Blessing took place. She took one look at his face, called for some refreshments, and installed him in the gazebo overlooking the Abraxan fields on one side and the forest in the other.

As usual, she knew what he needed and sat by him quietly, bringing her own set of correspondence to work on. Slowly, he was able to relax in increments, her presence and the fresh air doing him good.

"You know," his mother announced some time later while Viktor was looking over the invocation one more time, "I've invited Mia to the festival tomorrow."

Shock ran down his spine and he straightened, facing her. "You what?"

Patiently, Maika repeated, "I invited Mia to the festival. I think it will be good cultural education for her. She'll get to see a Pureblood rite and tradition up close, and she will be able to see more of your duties."

He mightily resisted the urge to say something rather crass. "I don't particularly see why she needs to attend this festival," he responded, sounding a little strained. The first festival he had a large hand in organizing. The first festival where he would say the invocation. The first festival that he truly had any ownership over.

To say he was a little anxious was a bit of an understatement, and having Hermione there would make him feel even more so. He would want everything to be perfect if she was coming. It would be beyond embarrassing for something to go awry while she was there.

"Vitya, don't be silly. This is the only festival she can come to. She won't be here for the next holiday." She stood up and kissed his cheek. "It will be fine, darling boy. Don't worry so."

"Easy for you to say," he murmured under his breath as she left. Absently, he rested his hands on the table as he scanned the invocation again and repeated, "Easy for you to say."

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, the pale blue of the sky dotted with ribbons of thin, white clouds. Viktor was up with the sun, his night plagued by restlessness and bad dreams. Contemplatively, he stood on the porch and watched the sun's rays reach the trees, their golden touch gentle. It was the day of the Festival of Blessings, and he prayed his work would spread across the land as the sun did, bringing light and bounty with it.

Carefully, he put his summer formalwear on, the material light but stiff. The vest and robe were a forest green, a nod to the festival, but he rather liked them as they brought out a hint of hazel to his normally dark eyes.

Mippy watched over him as he choked down his breakfast, her eyes glinting militantly as she ensured he ate every bite, and then he was off to the Manor, where he knew his mother was waiting on him.

"Vitya," she strode forward to kiss his cheek, the thin fabric of her summer robes flowing elegantly around her so much like water, "stop looking so worried. It will be fine. Nevena has already been to the site and prepared it all. Now, come say hello to Mia. Don't be rude."

His mother stepped aside and revealed Hermione, who was looking shy and pretty in a set of honey-coloured robes and a dress of soft, pale blue. "Hello, Viktor." Her eyes were warm.

Almost without thought, he strode forward and stopped before her, clicking his heels and bowing over her hand. "Mia." He looked up at her. "Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for having me," she replied quietly. "I know that this is a family event and that you've been a little nervous, so I appreciate you letting me come."

At the look on his face, she squeezed his hand. "I've seen you revising the incantation at lunch," she confided. "Stop worrying. Your face will get stuck like that."

The sheer ridiculousness of her statement struck him and he chuckled, shaking his head as he straightened up. "It will get stuck like that?" he repeated. "Where do you even come up with these things?"

Hermione grinned impishly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "My mother used to say that to me when I frowned. She was worried about me getting lines on my face."

He frowned himself. "You're too young to worry about getting lines. And besides, who cares if you do? It's a sign of a life well lived."

Wryly, Hermione responded, "My mother has a different opinion than you. Regardless, stop looking like you're going to miss the snitch. You'll be fine. Don't be silly."

Her faith carelessly bestowed on him, Hermione walked past him and linked arms with his mother, who was looking at him with a gleam in her eye. "Yes, Vitya, don't be silly." And with that, they apparated away.

He let out a long breath and looked at the sky, hoping that she was right. The invocation was the linchpin to the festival. Without its correct casting and the correct combination of runes inlaid in the circle he stood in, he could do more harm to the land and its people than good.

Another deep breath in and a long exhale out and he apparated after them, landing in one of the designated apparition points in the middle of town. Milena and Hermione were nowhere to be seen, and he wondered which of the stores Maika had dragged Hermione off to. Knowing her, it would be the leather shop. She had a penchant for purchasing large quantities of leather boots and bags from Bargov, who was always almost deliriously happy to see her.

"Viktor." Nevena's familiar no-nonsense voice sounded behind him. "The preparations are complete. I know you came yesterday—the wards told me—but knowing you, you want to look at the circle again."

"You know me too well," he said wryly as he looked into familiar blue eyes. The witch in front of him was impeccably dressed as always, her silvered hair caught up in a neat chignon. However, it was no less than he expected of her. Nevena never had a hair out of place.

Mere minutes later they were in a large dirt circle surrounded by grass right outside of town. Critically, he looked at the lines dug in the dirt and the rune inscribed with water, which had been frozen with a stasis charm. Alternating runes hung in the air at each of the cardinal points, the thin lines of fire flickering in the wind.

Experimentally he sent his magic out of himself in a careful push. It rushed up against the circle before climbing higher, as if coming up against a wall. He nodded at the results, pleased with what he saw. "Excellent work as always. And just to double check one last thing—you think the berkana rune will be bolstered by the countercasting as I say the invocation?"

She nodded at once. "Piñeda assured me it would. I truly think the combination you've come up with will do a lot to negate the runic combination of last year. In fact, I would not be surprised to see a regular harvest this year. Your magic is strong, as is your determination. That does a lot."

He tucked a hand into his pocket and ran the other through his hair. "I hope so. If not for the land's sake, then for the people." He could not bear the idea of more quiet suffering.

They took the road leading back into town, and while the distance was short, the trip was not. The entire town was up and out in full force, colorful robes and bright smiles apparent everywhere. A band was already warming up somewhere, the light sounds of a flute playing through the air, and the notes were a pleasant backdrop to the sounds of witches and wizards as they came up to speak with him.

It was only as he was in the midst of a rather spirited discussion with Luca and Iona over proper sun protectant charms that his mother and Hermione rejoined him, their eyes bright and smiles ready.

"Finding everything okay?" he asked.

Hermione's nod was immediate. "This reminds me a lot of Hogsmeade," she told him enthusiastically, "except it's loads better, really. Hogsmeade is a town by Hogwarts," she explained to everyone. "I was just allowed to go last year, but I feel like I won't ever think it half as wonderful as Belnik. You have magical glassblowing, and leather making, and a rare bookshop."

"Two, actually," Iona input, and Hermione's eyes glowed even brighter.

"Really?"

Iona nodded in confirmation, and Hermione's excitement seemed to almost overcome her. "Can I go see it? Please?"

Milena laughed good naturedly. "Yes, of course. Vitya, why don't you take her? You still have a few minutes before the rite, and I fear for her health if she isn't allowed to go."

"Wouldn't you like to come with us?" He offered.

She shook her head. "I am fairly certain I saw Cristin over there. He promised me some elf wine the last time I came, and I am determined to get some."

With a sidelong look at Iona and Luca, who inclined their heads in a promise to keep an eye on the beloved Krum matriarch, he held his arm out to Hermione and asked, "Shall we?"

"Oh yes. We most definitely shall."

Taking his arm, they departed the small group, and he overheard Iona say, "What a charming girl. Has the betrothal contract already been signed?"

He stumbled at her words, catching himself and waving off Hermione's concerned look.

But… a betrothal contract? Is that what they thought she was? His...his lyubim? His beloved?

A sidelong look at the girl next to him revealed she remained totally oblivious to the comment, her gaze trained on the buildings surrounding them as they walked on the brick street. Relieved, he was able to return to the spinning thoughts of his mind.

Hermione, as his? Surely he appreciated her company—treasured it, even—but he hadn't considered her as more than a friend.

And yet, somehow, the thought wasn't exactly repugnant.

"I can't believe there's another bookstore here," Hermione suddenly gushed, her hand squeezing his arm. "Honestly, I can't believe my luck." Her eyes had a distinctly starry look in them.

No, he thought as he looked into her bright eyes, it wasn't repugnant at all. In fact, it was intriguing.

Appealing, even.

"What?" she asked a moment later as he stared a moment too long. "Is there something on my face?" Her hand touched a cheek self-consciously.

He shook his head. "Nothing." He cleared his throat. "Nothing at all. I'm just...amazed at how much you love books."

Her bright laugh pealed around them. "How could that still surprise you? You know me, Viktor."

Yes, yes he did.

And it seemed, he found himself thinking with burgeoning surprise and not a little anxiety, he very much liked what he knew.

At the realization, his chest grew tight and he pushed those thoughts—all those thoughts—out of his mind. He couldn't handle something like that right now. Those...feelings, whatever they were, whatever they heralded, had to wait.

Instead, he let Hermione roam free around the store, flitting around from shelf to shelf with an avaricious look in her eyes as he mentally reviewed the invocation and it's wand movements. The stack of books in her arms became larger and larger until she was no longer comfortably able to cradle them all, at which point he took them from her with a sidelong look. She hardly noticed, her eyes too busy traveling over the spines of the books over ley lines.

When he placed them on the counter, the proprietor shook his head. "A woman after my own heart," he said. "Twelve books is quite the accomplishment."

Ruefully, Viktor replied, "I doubt it will be enough. She's rabid about them. Just put it on the family account, if you don't mind."

Hermione, who had come up behind him, interjected, "Viktor, you couldn't possibly—these are really very expensive—"

Holding up a hand, he forestalled her protestations. "I can, and I will. As thanks for being my friend, and for taking care of us and the team." He shot her a narrow-eyed look. "You wouldn't want to turn up your nose at our gratitude, would you?"

She opened her mouth and then closed it, clearly thinking better of saying whatever she had been planning to say. At last, she managed, "I very much appreciate the gift."

"Excellent response. You're welcome." Neatly, he resized the books and handed the miniatures to her so she could stick them in her pocket.

With a lightly pouting Hermione at his side, they twined their way back through the town's streets. Most people were streaming in the same direction as them, all eager to watch the invocation. As they cut a path through, many wished him luck, the hope in their eyes making his stomach churn.

He had to make sure this went right. He had to.

At some point after he inclined his head to yet another townsperson Hermione commented, "They seem very eager for this to go well. I can see why you would be stressed." Lightly, she touched his hand, her touch reassuring.

"The Blessing last year did not have the benefits we had wished for," he explained. "Every year we change the runes to try and magnify the effects we wish to get. For example, one year we wanted to focus on drawing more rain to the fields because the year before was dry and the year to come was forecast the same. Last year, the circle was broken in the middle of casting because it wasn't cast strongly enough, which caused a backlash. The fields weren't as bountiful as usual, and people have had a hard time as a result."

The family business, faced with a lack of ingredients, had also suffered as a result. That didn't matter to him. The family would be fine for the rest of his lifetime and far beyond even if they didn't work another day. It was the people that he was worried for. Their livelihoods were directly impacted by the Blessing the Krums set forth each year.

"So they're hoping to restore the balance through this year's Blessing invocation?"

He stared straight ahead, the circle looming in front of him as they approached it. "And hopefully beyond."

"You know," she said suddenly, "do you remember when you told me about wanting to become a Weather Wizard? We talked later about how hard it was to get an apprenticeship. Oh, actually," she added as something occurred to her, "Speaking of that, I think you should send an owl to Professor Flitwick at school. I think you might be able to work with him outside of classes in the fall if you want."

She paused, visibly changed her mental track, and said, "Anyways, I remember thinking how admirable your goal was when you told me about your goal because it wasn't just for you. It was for something bigger than you. I know that your sense of responsibility makes this incredibly stressful because you care so much, but Viktor, really—you're totally capable of excelling in stressful situations like this.

"Think about it: Quidditch is a time sensitive event where you have to catch a variably flying object before someone else. If you can succeed there, why can't you succeed here? Furthermore—furthermore," she grew more enthusiastic as another idea came to her, "You are top of your class at Durmstrang in all of the classes you need to succeed doing the ritual today."

"Already you have had success after success. Seriously, you need to be confident in your abilities and confident in your purpose. You are, out of everyone else, uniquely capable to handle this because you have both the skill, purpose, and drive to pull it off." Lightly, she nudged him with her shoulder and smiled up at him encouragingly. "Knock off the worrying, okay?"'

His heart felt too full in that moment, the realization that had begun in the bookshop blooming within him and bringing a strange warmth and steadiness with it. His pace slowed until he stopped short, his hand gently circling her wrist to pull her around to face him even as people continued to flow around them.

"Mia," he said, feeling the weight of her name on his tongue and the softness of her skin in his grip, "I was worried this morning about you coming because I wanted...well. It's no matter. But I see now that I was wrong to worry. You always rise above my expectations. You always encourage me to see things in ways I haven't seen before. I am grateful that you're here, because you have somehow managed to make an event I have been dreading and anticipating in equal parts for months something manageable and tangible."

At his earnest words, she bit her lip, lowering her eyes for a moment before raising them again. "Everything you need to do, you have inside of you already." Her hand lightly rested on his heart for a moment before she dropped it. "I just had to frame it a different way."

For the first time in several days Viktor felt his brows smooth out and the knot of worry inside him released just a little. "You are wise beyond your years."

"No," she corrected him, "I just know you well. And I read a lot of books, one of which may have been on psychology."

"Psychology?" He asked, his interest piqued as he threaded her arm around his and resumed their journey to the ritual circle.

They spent the rest of the short walk to the circle discussing the muggle topic, which he found so interesting that he asked Hermione for the book she mentioned she had read. Happily, she agreed to lend it and a few others to him, and she even recommended one or two others.

Both his mother and Nevena were waiting for him at the circle, and Milena motioned for Hermione to come stand by her. Maika stepped forward and kissed him on his brow, brushing an errant piece of hair off his forehead before retaking her place next to Hermione.

"Just do as we've planned," Nevena, ever the dutiful mentor, told him as he shrugged off his robe and handed it to her. He nodded, took a breath, and stepped into the circle, facing the crowd of people that spanned as far as the eye could see standing in a circle around him.

Just another group of spectators, he consoled himself. Just like Hermione had said, it was just another stadium in which he needed to perform.

The crowd quieted until he could hear his pulse thundering in his ears. Raising his hands to his side and bringing them slowly together in front of him, he intoned, "The circle is closed. May the goddess Lada bless this circle and the ritual that I am about to commence."

Abruptly, he broke apart his palms, channeling his magic through them to create a connection. Bright, pure light arced between them, and he called, "Earth! I summon you to work with my will." He slammed his palms towards the ground and his magic flowed down and out until it hit the barrier of ice, which sizzled with heat as it evaporated. The thin metal ring around it held, though, and as steam flowed in a hot cloud upwards, the metal began to glow.

His magic began to create a pillar around him as it hit the metal, and he continued, "Water, I ask you to bless this land upon which we work. May you rain down upon us and bless us with the liquid of life."

The steam began to swirl, rotating around him and rising. "Air!" He stomped a foot against the ground and threw his hands up above his head. "I beseech you, bring the seed of other land and lay your gentle hands on our skin."

The circle drew higher and higher, and the heat of the steam and his effort was making him sweat mightily, his breath coming faster as he strained to control the spell. The runes they had inscribed were glowing a bright blue, and he felt a spark of triumph. "Fire! I command you to work with us to bring new life to the land where it is needed. May the old burn to bring vitality to the new, while the new remains untouched and pure."

He turned slowly and used his wand to cast the runes from the ground to the air, their bright color untainted and vibrant against the blue sky. His muscles strained as he felt the magic of the land rush up through his feet. The heat was bearing down upon him, the air was heavy with magic, and the steam from earlier had condensed into a cloud that enveloped him.

Combined, the magical elements of the Krum land were heady, a direct connection to ancestors' past and to the very essence of the world around him. That being said, his body could not contain the sheer amount of magic channeling through him for long, and he risked losing control of the invocation if he drew this out for too much longer. The resulting backlash could negate everything he was working for.

"Ingwuz, berkana, eihwaz, and jera, I bind these four runes to the land for a year and a day. May we be protected against negative influences; may the land be fruitful and grow ever more plentiful; and may mother earth and father sun work in harmony to help us attain our goals." He drew his hands down and knelt, his face bowed. "I, Viktor Krum, second son of the scion of the Krums who guard this land, do so ask for peace, prosperity, and plenty."

"Peace, prosperity, and plenty!" The resounding echo roared around him from everyone gathered. Beams of light shot towards him as witches and wizards cast at the circle, and he roared as he sought to ground the magic and imbue the land with it. Struggling, he wrestled with the wave but at last subdued it, the tidal wave ebbing to a flow, then a trickle.

Breathing heavily, he placed his hands against the ground, his entire body shaking with magical, physical, and mental exhaustion. "I bless this land; I bless these people. The circle remains unbroken. May the goddess Lada bless this ritual that I have completed in the name of those I protect and support."

With that, the ritual was finished, and the crowd roared with pleasure as he struggled to his feet. All around him, the people—his people—celebrated with each other at the successful finish of the ritual that would most likely herald the return to peace and prosperity.

As soon as he breached the circle, Milena, Nevena, Demetrius, and Hermione surrounded him. "Merlin, Viktor," Hermione breathed. "That was….you do this every year?"

"It will get easier as he grows into his magic," Milena assured the younger witch. "There is a reason why we didn't let him try until this year." Assessing her son, she added, a bit concerned, "It may have been too soon yet, I think."

Demetrius had cast a vitals spell on him the moment he had stepped out, and Hermione was looking at the results as well, her brow creased. "Just a bit of magical exhaustion, it seems," she said at last.

Canceling the spell, Demetrius nodded in agreement. "Nothing that a few revitalizing potions and some good, solid rest over the next week or two won't cure." He squeezed Viktor's shoulder. "That was truly something to witness. I don't think I've seen such a powerful Blessing since your great-uncle last cast."

Casually, Demetrius walked next to Viktor, letting the younger wizard rest his weight against him while Hermione came up beside him and slung his arm over her shoulder. To all the onlookers it would look like he was cuddling Hermione, when in reality she was helping him walk to the apparition point so they could get home. It was a point of pride to maintain a strong front, no matter that he had just exhausted himself for the people and town around him.

However, it was that pose that hit the news the next day, bringing its own headache with it. He stared down at the damning photo of them moving together fluidly, Viktor's head bent forward while apparently listening intently to whatever she was saying. Little did anyone know, she was telling him that they had a mere hundred metres to go before they were at the apparition point and Demetrius could 'tuck him into bed'.

Islov certainly didn't seem to care about details like that as he and Viktor sat in his office, a room that Viktor tried to avoid. The room meant trouble, and if Islov's expression as he read the article out loud indicated anything, Viktor was fair to middling up to his neck in it.

A NEW SNITCH IN TOWN?

Eat your hearts out, fellow witches: Viktor Krum may finally be off the market! The Seeker, who is currently playing on the Bulgarian National Team in the Quidditch World Cup (for the most up-to-date results and predictions, see p. 26-9), is notorious for his dedication to the sport, preferring to spend his free time practicing rather than going out on the town like some of his teammates. However, the reclusive player, who, at 17, is the youngest Seeker ever to play professionally, has been recently spotted out and about several times with one witch, Miss Hermione Granger, at the Square and during the Krum's annual Blessings of the Elements festival, which took place a few days ago.

Miss Granger, 14, who is a British national, has been apprenticing with the team's primary Healer, the acclaimed Krasmira Lazarov, since the start of the summer. Sources close to the matter say that she and Krum are seen together more often than not. "These days it's rare to see him without her unless he's on the pitch," one source confided.

While this may bode well for Mr Krum, one does wonder: how will this affect his playing? Will she be the wind beneath his broom or will she be a distraction he can't afford?

Islov threw the paper down on the table, the image of Hermione smiling up at Viktor playing on repeat from the front page. There was an extended silence as he regarded Viktor, until Viktor at last felt compelled to speak. "Coach, I—"

Islov held up a hand as he pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. "I don't care," he told him, "if it's real or not. It doesn't matter one whit to me. What matters is if this—whatever this is—" he motioned at the newspaper, "—is going to affect your playing."

"I understand," Viktor said immediately, "but Hermione and I aren't in a relationship. A romantic one," he amended a moment later. "We're friends, but that's it."

And if that statement made something in his stomach curdle, that was for him to consider later, along with all of the other uncomfortable feelings he had boxed away since his perception had been shaken by that stray comment.

Have they signed the betrothal contract yet?

"I'm glad to hear that, but that's no longer the only issue," Islov replied. "Now there's the press. I know that you're accustomed to attention, but is she? Does she know how to avoid it?" He sighed again. "I'll have Krasmira talk to her."

"I'll talk to her as well," Viktor promised. He wouldn't let her face this alone. It was his fault, too. If he had just been normal—if he didn't have such responsibilities, if he wasn't famous for doing what he loved and being who he was—nothing like this would have happened.

"If I do see that your playing is affected," he warned, "we'll have to revisit the issue. I believe that she's good for you, Viktor, truly, but Quidditch comes first, and if she, or this damned media circus, touches your playing, then we'll have to find a more permanent solution."

The implication was clear: Hermione was expendable. Viktor wasn't. Both he and Islov knew it.

Viktor leaned forward, eyes blazing. "You wouldn't."

Islov gave a small shrug. "If I had to."

"I won't let you."

"You think you can stop me, boy?" Islov arched a brow and leaned back in his chair. "Get out of here before you say anything else idiotic, Vitya. You're trying my patience."

He looked at the man who had been more of a father to him in the past two years than his biological one, his hands fisting at his sides, and turned on his heel so sharply he felt his boot cut the wood beneath it.

He knew that Quidditch came with baggage, and normally he accepted it because it was so integral to him. The fame, the pressure, the time it took away from his friends, his family, his studies.

But this...that he could be indirectly responsible for someone's dream getting taken away just because they were friends? This, he was finding hard to swallow.

Viktor's dreams weren't worth more or somehow better than Hermione's, and he vowed then that he would do all he could to help her achieve hers.