Marché Saint-Pierre, Montmartre, 18th arrondissement, Paris
"Was that all she could manage to tell you?"
William smiled distractedly at his wife as she sidled up next to him, who kept a close eye on the inside of the textile store across from them, while obviously listening in on his conversation.
"About so! The poor dear didn't get much rest before we found her – or she found us? She kept looking over her shoulder until we arrived at our hotel. We didn't push her for any more than the most basic questions: family name, how old is she, etcetera. We had her freshen up and put to bed with borrowed clothes from Hermione.
She called those men something though; couldn't quite grasp it. Like a title? Even Dia didn't recognize it, and her French is better than mine."
A short hum of understanding before a pause. "Where are you now? It sounds like a market."
"Oh right. We're in Paris, doing a little shopping for bits 'n bobs on the side; makes the women folk happy." Cynthia pinched him on his side before he gently batted her hand away with a wag of his brow.
"Well, most of them anyway; our buttercup didn't fancy anything. But when we pass by a fabric store, the little one perked up and dragged Hermione to it to find, and I quote, 'the best looking swatches for your complexion'.
It's rather adorable.
Anyway, we figured the best place to start looking for her family is in the capital city. It might be where an, ah, 'alley', similar to back home, would be. Good thing it's only three hours away by train from where we were vacationing."
"Sensible reasoning. You are looking for Place Cachée. It is in Montmartre to be exact.
If I may say so, if you are anywhere near that hill, go to the Musée de la Franc-Maçonnerie where it is housed in a building called Grand Orient de France. It is near the place of what you seek."
"Brilliant! We're in Saint-Pierre. How close is the museum from here exactly?"
"…"
"Hello?"
Mr. Swan's voice drifted off, saying something incomprehensible under his breath. William pinched his brow, trying to decipher the murmured odd stringing of consonant sounds. It's strangely melodic in its smooth flow.
William remained calm and unaffected. Although his sensibilities get off-kiltered when someone is talking to him in another language, he let it slide. "Sooo this, museum? It's near?" The older gentleman has always been extremely polite to his family – if you ignore his intimidating demeanor. He reasoned to himself he might've said it unconsciously.
"I apologize for being rude, Granger. What I said is of no consequence," Ah. Well-mannered as always. "Yes. If you all are up for it, you may walk to the establishment with not much effort. Twenty minutes. Or, if you have a vehicle, fewer than ten. I will meet with you there at two."
"'Meet' with us? You're in France?"
Cynthia angled her head up at him, raising her brows. William just shrugged, also befuddled.
"I have business in France this morning. After, I mean to guide you, if you do not mind."
"That's very much appreciated, thank you, sir.
But you sure have a lot of businesses, Mr. Swan. Last summer was in the UK, then now France. Do you visit them in rotation?"
"I attend to all work as much as I can. It is merely fortuitous we are on the same country again, just as it is providential we all met."
"I didn't take you as the philosophical sort, old chap." William jested with a slight chuckle, relaxing his shoulders. They may not have interacted much before, but the past months they corresponded over Hermione's series of 'predicaments' at school made him comfortable enough to address the stately wizard less formally. Only just so though. He didn't want to offend such an enigmatic figure.
He heard Mr. Swan let out an amused huff. "Not quite. That would be Miya. Nonetheless, there are many miraculous things in this world. Your family's kindness is one of them. It helps that you came as a trinity and have good minds."
William responded with a confused sound, yet feeling flattered. Cynthia beamed, overhearing the compliment.
"It's a mix of two old sayings. I'll explain at a later time. But I'll explain this: doveryái, no proveryái. Although I trust your current environ is safe, heed your instincts, as it has served you well. I will await you at two."
A click and a resounding beep followed.
-{-}-
"Ermione, this will not do. You are a girl, you need more dresses!" exclaimed Gabrielle with confident authority. It is such a shame Hermione hides her growing curves in those loose clothes. Like a boy. It just would not do.
"I dress for comfort, not to show off, Gabrielle." The curly haired witch grumbled, but still stroked the rich fabrics with a soft touch and admiring gaze.
"You're older than me. You should be comfortable in dresses now, like big sister. But I understand. You are more conservative, no? More…modest? But the solution is simple. Look at that woman's attire as an example. It reaches below the knees and it is colorful; very magnificent on her."
"Gabrielle, look at the height. Her height. She is a model; she should look good in what she is wearing. I am not like that." Hermione argued, feeling a little piqued at being taught fashion by an eight year old.
The petite blonde shook her head with a delicate harrumph. "That is not the point. Each person has their own beauty, no matter how obscure it is for others to see. You don't understand? Obscure is …cannot be seen easily? Unclear. Yes, unclear for others to see.
Look again before she walks away. She is tall, yes, but she looks unhealthy. Very skinny. My mama will have words with me if I neglect myself like that. So you must not neglect yourself, which includes both mind and body, and whatever you wrap yourself in. Besides, you don't need to worry too much. These are just clothes – beautiful ones that are very pretty surprisingly, even though they are made out of non-magical threads.
It's not as if you have to drink the sea." Gabrielle finished breezily before twirling towards Mrs. Granger, who by now is closer to the entryway, and quickly showed the mother the fabrics for purchase. The older woman examined the materials with a little rub between fingertips before nodding in enthusiastic approval, giving Gabrielle some money and shooing her to go back to her daughter.
Gabrielle's eyes widened with fascination, studying the tiny and still portraits of men in strange garbs on the very light, fibrous parchment. The youngest Delacour has to hand it to the non-magique, they are practical. She knows that they also use coins for currency but they don't use them as much as these colored papers when trading goods.
Then again, they don't have weightless expanding purses like she does.
"You're making my point, Gabrielle." Hermione deadpanned but with a droll look when the younger girl came back to her side, insisting on being guided how to pay. "There is saying: 'The outfit doesn't make the monk'. I think I will still be okay being myself in whatever I wear."
"Are you mocking me and my good judgement? No matter, I take no offense. At least you are getting better in speaking my language."
"I would not want to offend your parents when we meet them." Hermione quipped, turning to continue speaking in stilted but more confident French to the male cashier when they arrived at the counter.
"You see? 'When', not 'If'. You do not doubt, just like your papa and mama do not doubt I will see my family again. You are all determined to bring me home. Not many would do this, so my offer of a life debt stands," whispered Gabrielle in Hermione's ear on tippy toes, wrapping her arms around one of the older girl's, hugging it tightly.
The taller preteen raised an eyebrow skeptically but replied softly. "We're…not magic? Err, non-magique? It sounds like old exercise, that life debt. We don't want an exchange. We just want to do good."
"…Ah! You mean it is an ancient practice, no? In our society, we have many traditions; however, some would neglect them due to not being of old blood or just plain lazy. Parents nowadays would not bother to teach their children anymore because they think it's outdated or not convenient for the times.
But there are traditions that are still very important," Gabrielle insisted. "Old magic is alive. It is all around us; a binding which is as strong as thick rope. It cannot be broken, or else, dire consequences.
There must be a balance. Your deed will return to you, no matter your blood. That's what my grandmama and mama would say."
Hermione's expression cleared, nodding thoughtfully. "Karma. A cause and effect. Everything comes back to you. My teacher taught me. You're very wise for your age, you know," she smiled.
Gabrielle smiled back brightly at the older girl, ignoring the admiring looks from the clerk and the men shopping nearby. Not only does Hermione have a compassionate heart, she is smart. Big sister would surely approve of her new friend, having always preached to her it's better to be alone than to be with bad company.
"Girls! Let's get a move on. I'm sure you'll love to eat now before we go on any other adventure."
Synchronized 'oui!'s was heard before the puttering of small feet quickly approached the Granger couple outside the shop.
Mamayev Kurgan Memorial Complex, Volgograd, Volga
"How are they, dorogoi?"
Maksimillian tapped at his cellular phone, eyes focused ahead. "They seem well. I was discourteous for a moment during the discussion. I offered my apologies."
"What did you say?"
"I said 'Interestingly uncanny. Maybe I should have you in the agency.' I was unaware I said it out loud. It's just a thought. Their intuition and deductive reasoning could become a valuable asset."
Miya giggled behind his chair before a freshly brewed cup of tea was placed on his desk. "If you said that in English, they'll be even more confused, zhar-ptítsa. They are interesting characters, ne?"
He acknowledged this with a slight bow of his head while continuing to scrutinize his scrying mirror, seeing for himself the rescued girl. He traced the edge of the mirror clockwise once to enlarge her face.
"Hm. Veela. Not pure. Might be half or a quarter; her hair should be white-gold and her skin should be bright as the full moon. And I don't feel the pull at all."
"Maybe you don't feel the pull because you're married? Or you are not in her direct presence? Or maybe she is still a child?"
"Marriage is not a deterrent for the promiscuous, as Veelas tend to encourage through their dance. Your belief in the strength of the institution though is always inspiring."
The white-grey haired wizard can just feel his wife's smile aimed at his head before he felt a nuzzle at his temple. Miya wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed with great affection.
"Their children, pure or not, are beautiful enough to attract anyone, including the attention of the Drudgers – I am certain they are the ones that are hunting her. Trade for their hair or an intact wing in the illegal markets is a lucrative business," Maksimillian finished softly, curling a gentle finger on a loose lock that escaped his spouse's informal bun.
Miya sighed despondently. "Such bad business. And in daylight! What more if they moved from the shadows?"
"We are not alone in this, not like during the time of the last World War, nor is it as fumbling as the United Kingdom's Wizarding War.
All will be well, in due time."
"Ara~! Using my words against me, are you?"
"Never, koibito. I am merely parroting the words of a very wise witch."
(Disillusioned) Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central
"And here I thought your fan club at the keep is big. Have you checked for any escape routes yet?" chimed a feminine voice in light nonchalance.
If looks could kill, Viktor's glower would have burnt a new orifice through Mira's skull. Her outwardly sympathetic appearance can't mask how absolutely diverted she finds his situation.
"Your amusement in this negates your 'sympathy'. But I'm working on it."
Viktor's bestfriends have been helping him evade the packs of women – and the odd male groups – that were trying to corner him for the past few days in various places. Viktor wouldn't have minded if he only had to sign a few parchments or any other material, maybe speaking to devoted Quidditch fans about the sport, but when one older wizard tried to convince him to sign his bicep to get permanently tattooed latter on, he had to draw a line.
"Cheer up, Vinko, you're taking the fun out of this. Remember the original plan?"
"I'd rather hide than pander to their whims. You can have them all if you want," Viktor said with heavy sarcasm and spite, losing patience.
"You forget, Gosho, not all are feeling innocently of infatuation or admiration."
"Oh I didn't, Mimi. But Vinko has the rare opportunity of being able to sense those that do feel those harmless emotions. You know, like fishing well in the dark with perfect night vision? Or hunting a pack of Golden Horns and being able to shoot the one that's lagging the most?"
The only witch bristled, slapping Georgi hard on his shoulder, and then lecturing him on how he views women and about being sensitive on the Krumov family's efforts in conservation.
Viktor smiled, silently watching his friends' usual chatter for a while before he intervened. "Gosho, they can evolve. Those innocent emotions can change for the worst kind. That's why stalkers exist. And I'm the hunted one."
A banshee-like shriek of Viktor's last name made them all freeze in their tracks, right outside the French National Quidditch Stadium.
"How could they be this early? Did they already track your team's schedule?" Mira mused thoughtfully, looking around to determine the source of the unnatural noise.
"Looks like you need to work on your exit plan sooner than you think. I can hear it now, 'Oh, Viktor! Let me bear your babies!'" Georgi mocked in a falsetto voice and convincing eye flutter before breaking into low sniggers.
While Viktor completely ignored them by busily looking for a path in the woods that doesn't seem well travelled, heart pounding on high alert, the still smiling brunette pulled out his wand to drop a Mirage spell to hide the famous member of their group.
"Don't forget to find us at the food tent at lunch. That's in less than two hours. Trainer Valkov made us promise to make sure you eat." They all moved again, more wary of their surroundings, heading nearer to a cluster of trees. Viktor changed his gait to be lighter, steps near silent, masking his presence even further.
"If I could, you guys would be my managers, aside from my nutritionists. Better than Dieter anyway."
"Oh no. If we're talking about managing you, Dieter is definitely a better choice. His precise delicacy is just the thing for your schedule. I'm sure he'll let you have a break for, say, fifteen minutes every four hours," Mira tittered.
Viktor groaned, remembering the times Dietrich would pour freezing cold water from the school's great lake over his face to make sure he wakes up at exactly one hour before sunrise – an effort to normalize his body's rhythm, the German reasoned. Over time, it did force Viktor to sleep earlier, adjust his study sessions, and tweak his training regime. And with his other friends running interference, he found his balance again.
Despite this appreciation for German efficiency, he's a Plovdivian through and through. He very much subscribes to the Aylak philosophy of doing everything at a relaxed pace, enjoying anything what life could bring him – although not to such an extreme as in Georgi's case sometimes. He's just lazy.
The trio suddenly heard another scream of Viktor's name from their right, coming directly from the fan campsite next to the stadium. A hoard of females was running straight at them.
Miya tilted her head in confusion before doing a double take at Viktor. "Vinko! I can see you! Georgi, I thought you did the spell?!"
"What? I did!" Georgi exclaimed before turning to analyze the opaque form of his best friend. "Wait. Viktor, don't move." He tilted his head this way and that, before realizing what's happening when he moved his eyes to the ground.
"Oh. I see."
"What, what is it?! I need to get away. Now!" Viktor cried, panicking, ready to bolt to the woods, feeling an overwhelming sense of vulnerability as he can now sense the disturbing emotions from the growing mob. Some, he can discern are confused but wanted to fit in with the crowd and are just along for the run, but the ones in the front…
Viktor shivered in disgust.
"The stadium's disillusionment charms. I think it's counteracting my Mirage spell." Georgi explained with a thoughtful rub of his chin.
Mira piped up after sending a few hexes and defensive shields at their area, adding some smoke to confuse the horde. "Look, Viktor. The shields. You're right at the border. I think it works two-fold. It keeps the unknowing muguls out, but makes sure nothing magically untoward would come in the stadium grounds – maybe like stalkers that try to sneak into the players' locker room. I expected something like that but I didn't think it's also incorporated in the disillusionment. That's actually pretty smart."
"Then again the French are talented in Charms. Both magically and personally," said Georgi with a suggestive wag of his brows.
"Maina! You guys, focus please. I'll meet you two later when it's safe. I'll send a message somehow."
"How?"
"I..well… – bah! I'll do something. Just be safe you two."
"Right back at you, Krumov."
-{-}-
A crunch of leaves, and footsteps.
Oh no.
The sound of cloth, whipped open to be sat on.
No. No no no. Please don't take a seat.
…and you did.
Great. Just great. He's stuck for an indefinite amount of time until the person would go away like the rest of them.
He heaved a sigh.
"…who's there?"
He froze, not expecting to be heard from up above his tree.
Remembering he's still under Georgi's magic, he tentatively leaned his head forward, to get a better look at the source of the voice, making sure his perch on a branch was stable.
At least it didn't sound like the shrieks, he reasoned to himself. But the tone of the voice is pitched high enough to let him know that the person was definitely female.
He observed the now standing figure in a pretty dress, something akin to his mother's when she's at home: good quality attire but very comfortable. Her hair was up in a high ponytail, with different shades of brown in her hair made apparent under the summer sun. She turned around in a slow circle, arm and hand positioned in a familiar defensive stance.
Come to think of it, she didn't seem to be part of the pack he evaded a few minutes ago or she would have been actively looking for him; maybe try to draw him out. She looks wary and mistrustful, still in her firm stance.
But why is she here?
He spotted a blanket, near the base of the tree, with a basket and a tumbler of something cold, if the moisture on the outside is an indication. Next to it, he can see a stack of books, with one opened to…
Viktor blinked.
Was that a book about Defense against the Dark Arts? She's a student?
From what he can determine, it's written in English – which he's been slowly learning due to his plans of going international.
So she's not French – but she knows it, recollecting her question. She might have exclaimed it, presuming she's more likely to encounter a native rather than a foreign speaker like her.
Unless she is a local but is trying to improve her English?
Viktor shook his head, trying to clear up the adrenaline from his run and succeeding climb. Okay, now he's becoming silly. If those are indeed textbooks that are written in English, then it should follow that she's from a school that teaches the subject matter in the same language.
So that rules out Beauxbatons.
And the Championship is just a few days away. It's likely she came here like all the other fans from across Europe, not just the locals, for the game but wanted to have some reading or study in between.
He respects that.
Thinking a little better and gazing back at the entire area, he's now comprehending the situation in a different light: he's the one that is the predator: invisible, silent, and lurking in the shadows of the leaves. A woman – girl –wary as a deer, waited for any more movement or sound, trying to pick up any signs that the danger has passed or not.
Viktor's face flushed in shame. If his mother saw him now before knowing the context, he'll get skinned alive.
Before he can find an appropriate response or the right opener without giving much away, he froze again when her steely gaze went up and unto his branch, seeming to pick up a difference between his surroundings and his camouflaged self. He can see her back up a few steps before standing her ground, her stance changing into a better defensive one.
He's impressed but his worry over making a misunderstanding is greater. He was not brought up to disrespect any lady, this includes scaring an innocent one. He cleared his throat.
"Please. My French is poor. English is better. Do not…I am no…danger? Source of danger. I am no source of danger. I…will not…harm you."
"…really now? Then why haven't you shown yourself?"
He knitted his brows, trying to piece together a coherent sentence before he spoke slowly again.
"Friend, hide me. I'm being followed? Chased. Da. I am being chased. By people. Trying to keep safe up here."
It looked like the wrong thing to say as she further stepped away a few more times and her gazed turned even more rigid and cold. He realized too late that what he said made him sound like a criminal on the run.
Oh the dear irony.
"No! Wrong said. I…it wrong words. I'm still learning language. Please, I no danger to you. I mean, I run from girls. Uuh, foolish girls that do not go away when I say no."
Viktor's heart pounded again; unusually anxious for some reason. He waited for a long silent minute before he heard her voice again, softer than before but no less guarded. "Alright then. Let's say I believe you. I did see a few groups that looked like they're looking for something. If you answer my questions, I'll leave and won't try to hex you where you are."
Even though he knew she's bluffing – neither arm has a wand as far as he can see – he admired her courage.
"I try answer my best."
"Good. First question: from your accent, you're not French. Are you…East European?"
"Bulgarian." replied Viktor automatically.
"Oh. I thought Russian. Anyway, second question: what is your purpose here? For…being here? In France. Bulgaria is far away."
"Yes, country far. For Quidditch. I attend for game."
"Hm. Sounds about right so far. We are near the stadium. Next question: you're running from a group of girls. Did you…erm, did you peep on them or something?"
"No! My maĭka will kill my body!" Viktor can feel himself getting redder by the minute after he remembered what the colloquial term meant.
First an escapee, now a lecher.
The. Absolute. Humiliation.
Georgi and Mira will never let this go as long as he lives if they hear of this.
Which will be never.
"Your what?"
"A, uhm, mama? Maĭka is mama."
"Your mama…oh! Your mother! She'll… Okay uhm…
So if you're considering your mother's feelings then…okay. Okay I believe you." She finished awkwardly with a small shrug.
"Is… all right." Viktor replied weakly, shoulders slouching more at his lost dignity.
The girl now straightened herself and moved closer to his tree, gaze turning more bemused and curious. Her arm is still raised though as a precaution as she took a quick glance at her books in thought.
"Are you still a student? You don't sound like you're much older than me but your voice is…deeper, than any of my schoolmates." Her cheeks turned a charming shade of light rose as she finished her statement.
Viktor straightened his own back, raising his brows at the unintentional compliment.
She likes my voice?
That's…singular.
Nevertheless, he cleared his throat self-consciously, trying to speak now in a casual tone. "Yes. I still student. But I…"
"Yes?"
"I…play."
"I don't understand."
Viktor furrowed his brows again, becoming just as confused as her.
Aren't his answers enough for her to guess who he is by now?
By the looks of her perplexed expression, maybe not.
He passed a hand over his face before shaking his head again, expression turning stern as he built his resolve.
This is becoming bizarre, Viktor thought. It's about time he should be the gentleman he's brought up to be. Besides, it's only one girl. How much harm can she do?
"I will come down. I show you myself and explain better. I no hurt you."
Despite his assurances, the younger witch widened her eyes before moving back further into the tree line and going back to her defensive stance.
After letting himself take a moment to reorient, Viktor shook his head in approval of her precaution before nimbly jumping down unto the soft grass. When he stood tall, he took out his wand, still keeping an eye on the still figure before removing the camouflage with a murmur.
When he felt the spell has entirely lifted – Georgi would definitely feel it. It's how he made it – he stayed still, waiting for the moment when this tense situation will end with a gasp of recognition. Or maybe she'll be another shrieker – it's really hard to tell with women.
When all that awaited him was silence, he looked up in befuddlement.
The girl had knitted brows, and a blank expression. "You still didn't answer my question. What do you mean you play?"
That disarmed him completely. "Quidditch of course!"
"Ooh. You mean you're one of the players? Why didn't you just say so?" When all he can do is huff in astonishment, she turned defensive. "Well…! You're giving me various unrelated information! You said you're still a student. But you're being chased by a group of girls. You're not a peeping tom, nor are you apparently an escaped felon. And my schoolmates play Quidditch too, during their summer break and at school when the our field isn't booked."
Viktor's expression turned exasperated as he felt his shoulders drop again. "I am Quidditch player! Girls chase because they want piece of…well known?" He gestured with his free hand, trying to find a better word.
"Fame?" the girl guessed, with slight realization.
"Fame! Yes, fame. Girls chase because I famous. They want – ," here Viktor stopped and mimed signing something in the air. " – that, and maybe…more. Something girl wants from boy." He finished, feeling his cheeks warm.
The girl finally relaxed her bearing, blinking rapidly with a blank face, arms down at her sides. "Oh."
"Oh." Viktor shook his head, sighing in relief.
"I'm, I'm sorry. I don't normally meet athletes close up so…I didn't really know what to expect. Especially someone as young looking as you."
The brunette tilted her head, assessing him –his larger built perhaps? – before she started to edge towards her blanket.
Seeing her skirt around skittishly where he landed made him feel guilty again. He approached slowly and just as cautiously, trying not to spook her any more than she already is.
"Is okay. You no know me. Am…happy you do not? I need not hide from you."
The girl paused in packing her basket, looking up at him with one raised brow. "Hide from me? Goodness, those girls must be something."
"Da. Something strange. Foolish. Trying too hard." Viktor intoned in a deadpan. He unconsciously smiled when he heard her giggle, trying to hide the sound behind the back of her delicate-looking fingers.
When she straightened up with her burden, he recalled his manners. "We good, yes? I introduce self. Be more gentleman."
She responded with a short titter again. "Late, but alright. I'll let you redeem yourself."
He grinned before adopting a more serious demeanor, although his eyes still danced in amusement. He offered his hand and waited.
She looked at it, then his face, before offering hers slowly with the intent to shake hands. When he caught her fingers, he gently guided them to face down before properly bowing low over her hand.
As he straightened, he smiled wider, seeing her blushing with wide eyes. "Viktor Ivanov Krumov. At your service."
Author's Note: The thing about being dual lingual, or even trilingual (or more), is that you forget the meaning of basic words when helping someone understand, whether it's your native language or improving theirs. There are misunderstandings sure, but if you both are patient enough, you'll get there eventually.
EDITED: 10/25/2020 Requested Translation / Explanation:
There is a Russian saying: Bog lubit troitsu (Бог любит Троицу) - 'God loves the Trinity'. It is a lighthearted phrase that basically means that good things come in threes. It can also be applied if something positive happens three times.
doveryái, no proveryái (оверяй, но проверяй) - literally 'trust, but verify' in Russian. Mr. Lebedev already explained.
It's not as if you have to drink the sea (Ce n'est pas la mer à boire.) - a saying that means 'it's not that difficult' in French.
non-magique - French equivalent to 'muggle'
The cowl doesn't make the monk (L'habit ne fait pas le moine) - French saying that Hermione already explained.
Better to be alone than accompanied badly (Mieux vaut être seul que mal accompagné) - a French saying that's self explanatory
dorogoi (дорогой) - term of endearment in Russian. Something like, 'dear / darling'
zhar-ptitsa (жар-птица) - literally 'firebird' in Russian. Miya Lebedeva's nickname for her husband.
koibito (恋人) - literally 'lover' in Japanese. Basically a term of endearment.
mugul (Мъгъл)- 'muggles' in Bulgarian
Maina (майна) - a Bulgarian filler word that can be used for anything
Onwards!
Reine