"What," Hermione asked faintly, "is that?"
That was an absolutely enormous bird of some kind, most certainly not an owl, wheeling through the Great Hall with great intent. Its large, cinnamon-coloured wings beat in a quick backstroke before it landed right between her and her pate of eggs and beans.
Dark, intelligent eyes looked at her appraisingly, and a moment later it stuck out its foot, as if deigning to give her parcel attached to it after having approved of her. Carefully, she took the parcel and fed it a ration of bacon, after which point the giant bird launched itself back into the air and disappeared without any fuss.
Upon further inspection, she discovered the parcel actually consisted of a letter and a smaller box bundled together. Casting a curious glance at the package, she picked up the letter and tried to think of what she could have ordered or who she would be expecting a letter from other than her parents, but nobody came to mind.
Next to her, Harry stirred from his half-awake slouch. "Anything interesting?"
As her eyes fell on the sender's direction carefully inscribed in slanted, neat script, her mouth abruptly went very, very dry dry.
It couldn't be.
"Uh," she managed, "I, er—it's my, um, my penpal!"
"From Bulgaria?" asked Ginny, who was peering over at the direction Hermione had just goggled at.
"Yes!" Slamming the letter facedown on the table to prevent Ginny from seeing who, exactly, it appeared to be from, she said, "I, uh, I'm interested in the…the native culture! Yes, the native culture of Bulgaria. So I, well—you know."
She waved a hand descriptively, hoping others would fill in the blanks and that it was too early for them to tell her usual ability to pull a lie out of thin air was still two cups of tea and a slice of toast away.
'Bulgaria?" Ron mumbled around a mouthful of sausage. "Nuffin' good comes out 'f there 'cept Vi'or Krum."
Hermione choked, then coughed. "Right. Viktor. The Quidditch player, isn't he?" she asked casually, sliding the letter towards her as stealthily as she could and putting it in her pocket to read later.
Ginny stared at her so long Hermione started to feel distinctly uncomfortable. "Sometimes I wonder if you live under a rock," the redhead finally told her seriously.
"Not under a rock," Hermione corrected. "In the library."
Ron, who had finally swallowed his unhealthily large bite of sausage, put in, "Everyone knows about Viktor Krum. I mean, it's Viktor Krum."
Wasn't it ever.
Apparently Viktor Krum was determined to haunt her every moment, from walking in her dreams to ruining her breakfast. Now that he'd gotten brought up again everyone was going to rehash the same conversation. Viktor Krum was good at this. Viktor Krum was good at that. Viktor Krum was very dishy, yes Lavender, that's a great point, but have you seen his barrel roll?
Viktor, Viktor, Viktor.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at the parcel sitting in front of her. If he hadn't sent it to her, she could've been in and out in a few minutes before firmly ensconcing herself in the library so she could focus on studying for the Charms practical they had that afternoon. But no, he had to send her a gift—
Her train of thought suddenly came to an abrupt and rather horrifying stop.
He had sent her a gift.
Her dream boy had sent her a gift.
Her dream boy...was not a dream at all.
"Oh bollocks," she whispered.
Next to her Harry shot upright, looking suddenly alarmed. "You all right there?" He asked. "I don't think I've heard you curse…well, ever."
"Well, Harry," she said snippily as her mind scrambled to restructure some of her basic understandings of magic, "there's a first time for everything, isn't there? And close your mouth—you'll catch flies."
"Ah, Miss Granger." She turned around at the greeting and was faced with the smiling visage of Headmaster Dumbledore. "Just the witch I've been looking for."
"Me, sir?" She asked in surprise. He generally only ever talked to her after she had saved Harry from whatever horrible thing was trying to maim or kill him.
He nodded. "You've a visitor here to see you."
A visitor? Who—no, it couldn't be. But honestly, who else would it be?
Irritation shoved through her veins. First he kept appearing in her dreams without her permission like some kind of gothic romance character, then he sent her a letter and a package she had to explain away while subsequently having to listen to everyone say how great he was, and now he had the gall to show up at her school?
Just who did he think he was?
"If he thinks he can just come here uninvited and think that I'll drop everything to see him, then he has another thing coming. I have plans. Plans that include the library, the section on defensive charms, and the overstuffed chair by the window, and not a single one of these plans include anyone else." She tossed her hair behind her shoulder.
Ron frowned. "Not even us?"
"Not even you, Ronald. You'll have to finish your essay on your own. I've had enough of idiotic boys thinking they can just show up and expect me to drop everything." She huffed. "Really, he's got some nerve, hasn't he?"
The Headmaster, who had been listening the entire time, smiled while his eyes twinkled. "I think there's been some misunderstanding," he said gently. "The visitor in question is mostly certainly not a he. In fact, they're a temporary stand-in for Professor Trelawny, who has had to take a sudden leave of absence due embarking on a vision quest that she was told to partake in during a recent dream."
"Her, too?" Hermione threw her napkin on the table as she swiped up the parcel and put the troublesome thing in the pocket next to the letter. "What is it with dreams not being dreams? Can't people just get a good night's sleep around here?" She sighed. "Best just to get this over with."
It was only as she was striding through the corridor on her way to Headmaster Dumbledore's office that she realised she had, perhaps, not been as respectful of Dumbledore as she should have been due to her irritation with Viktor.
"Sir," she said contritely, "my behaviour...I'm not sure there's an acceptable explanation for it, but I wanted to apologise."
"There's no need for that, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said kindly. "What with the burden of your classes, and...other things...I am not surprised you might be feeling a little out of sorts."
She sighed, absentmindedly touching the Time-Turner tucked neatly underneath her shirt. "It is a lot, sir, but I'm really so very grateful for the chance you all have given me. I promise I'm not wasting it."
"Miss Granger," Dumbledore peered down at her through his spectacles as they passed through the door to his office, "I can assure you that you are the last witch I would think of to squander the opportunity. Now, let us turn to the matter at hand."
The matter at hand, it seemed, was the witch standing with her back to them as she looked out the window. All Hermione could see of her at first glance was her deep auburn hair, which was elegantly arranged in some kind of half updo while the remainder fell in a shining sheet to her mid-back, and bright, grass green robes trimmed with fur at the bottom.
At the sound of their approach, however, she turned, and Hermione was met with the sight of a gracefully middle aged witch attired in high waisted honey-coloured trousers and a simple, silk white shirt.
"Mila," she greeted Hermione warmly, striding forward and taking her by the shoulders as she bussed her on both cheeks. "It is so very good to see you!"
Hermione was frozen in place, taken aback by intimate greeting from the strange witch. Somewhat stiffly, she took a step back. "Hello, ma'am."
"Ah." The witch shook her head with a rueful expression. "I'm sorry for being so familiar. Please, forgive an old woman for her eccentricities. I was just so very excited to meet you, you see."
Her striking brown eyes, which seemed….familiar somehow….sparkled with mischief even as she apologised, and Hermione had the feeling she had orchestrated that entire greeting on purpose.
"It's...nice to meet you as well?" She hazarded, floundering as she tried to figure out who, exactly the witch was and where she had seen eyes like hers before.
"If you'll allow me to ease the way, perhaps?" Dumbledore inserted himself into the conversation. "Madam, may I present Miss Granger, the top student of her year. Miss Granger, this is our temporary substitute for Professor Trelawny, here all the way from Bulgaria, if you can believe it."
Even as Dumbledore seemed absurdly pleased, Hermione's breakfast turned to lead in her stomach as the witch's gleaming eyes met her own.
She knew those eyes. In fact, she had seen them only a few days ago—
"It is certainly an honour to be able to call Madam Krum, who is a foremost expert in the craft of Divination, a member of our staff, even if temporarily. Truly, it was serendipitous indeed that she sent me an owl a mere day before Sybil notified me of her upcoming absence! It was almost like fate intervened."
"How fortuitous," she said faintly as the pieces slotted into place. Those eyes were Viktor's eyes. Or rather, his eyes were hers.
It seemed Viktor's mum had come to visit.
"Isn't it rather." Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "It seemed Madam Krum knew of you already—she mentioned you in her correspondence as a close friend of her son's, 'a part of the family', I believe she said—so I figured who else would be better to show her around than you?"
A close family friend? Hermione looked around, trying to see if this was some kind of joke. But no, it all seemed incredibly, unfortunately real, and Dumbledore was looking at her expectantly right along with Madam Krum so she tried for a smile and replied, painfully, "I would be delighted."
"Wonderful." Dumbledore's benevolent smile notched up another level, and he said, "I'll leave you in Miss Granger's wonderful hands."
"Thank you so much, Albus." Milena turned a dazzling smile upon the Headmaster, and Hermione privately though there were too many smiles occurring in front of her when all she felt inside was an incipient and rapidly rising panic.
Dreams didn't just...have real life consequences like this. Dream boys didn't just send their mums across the continent, except apparently hers did, and here she was, and Hermione was wondering if the whole world had gone sideways.
"I do so look forward to seeing the castle through your eyes, my dear." Madam Krum, the Bulgarian mother of the international quidditch star, the witch who was casually linking their arms as if they were long time acquaintances, told her. "I place myself squarely in your hands."
Her smile gleamed and her eyes were sharp.
Hermione swallowed and squared her shoulders. Famous diviner or not, Hermione would show the older witch she was not someone who could be pushed about by her or her son, surprise visits or not.