(Disillusioned) Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central
"They say a tree falls where it leans. For you, I mean this literally."
Viktor shook his head abruptly, straightening his back. He turned sharply to face Trainer Valkov, his gaze focused once again but with eyebrows slanted down in apology.
It was dusk now in the parterre-filled, fountain-adorned national stadium. They were the only athletes left standing at the players' entrance. The team had already been dismissed for the day, so the only other people with them within a few meters are a small cluster of dedicated groundskeepers, who were subtly eyeballing the two well-known Bulgarians as they did their meticulous trimmings on the hedgerows.
The older wizard eyed him peculiarly for a slow second, eyebrows raised, before resuming his zealous assessment of Viktor's performance without missing a beat, voicing precious insight in between – like how to better avoid getting caught by the tail wind of his teammates' brooms or calculating when to barrel through their Chasers' array in a bid to 'catch' the Snitch. Although this strategy may seem like Viktor is jeopardizing his team's efforts to score, the main point was to greatly confuse their opponents – who are known for their solid flight formation.
"The Quafflepunchers' arrogance has made them complacent; too full of themselves really – perhaps thinking it's still within reason. This can be to our advantage when we're able to pull this off," Trainer Valkov finished with a determined blaze in his eyes.
Shaking his head in agreement, Viktor mentally noted all this down in great accuracy and admiration. Eventually, he ruminated on his distracted state for the past few days.
Whenever he's allowed to pause in between intense Quaffle drills and Bludger evasion maneuvers, his head would turn almost like a compass towards the general direction of his true north – outwardly impassive, but pondering and anxious within. Despite his best efforts, Trainer Valkov was keen enough to notice this – which Viktor had unfortunately underestimated.
Just because the living legend retired as a player, doesn't mean his senses had dulled.
Nonetheless, his mentor was magnanimous not to discuss it – for now –, recognizing Viktor may be going through something personal in nature, and didn't seem to affect his play.
Viktor felt humbled by this everyday, putting to mind the level of trust Trainer Valkov has for him. He feels guilty for not reciprocating it, to a degree. Even after years of working together, Viktor remained ambiguous on why he generally avoids the female population; his affliction being a well-kept secret within his family. He's also been trained in his younger years to never boast, so even discussions about their wealth or his growing fame was made difficult, getting thoroughly tongue-tied during interviews.
Their team's publicist has his work cut out for him, working on Viktor's deflections, which seems hopeless at the moment. On the other hand, his current reputation makes him out to be a silent, detached, yet focused player – something he doesn't mind at all if it helps him keep his privacy. But, oddly enough, this makes him all the more attractive to the ladies, according to Georgi's amused commentary. "And men!" Mira laughingly quipped in passing, which earned her a stumble, courtesy of Viktor's leg innocently placed across her path.
And considering his trainer's passion for the sport, he's even more reluctant to discuss with the older wizard his sudden interest to a relative unknown witch that has him so diverted – especially someone who doesn't care for Quidditch. It's quite a relief for Viktor – and he's biased, naturally – since he could talk about other matters of interest. He almost smiled stupidly as he remembered laughing out loud after Hermione animatedly told him about a Whooping Willow and a flying 'car'. He's not confident his mentor is onboard with anyone who's less than enthusiastic about the sport he gave the best years of his life to.
For now, Viktor has been putting all his energy in keeping their Chasers on edge with the surprising help of his 'affliction', as he's been doing over the past few months after numerous trial and errors.
Since two out of the three are female, he's been tuning into their emotions whenever he has the Quaffle, anticipating which direction where they'll more likely to lean to just from their projected determination or impatience. But he doesn't want to rely on his ailment too much, not discounting the other gender in the field. So he trains his eyes by examining the male players, watching out for feints or fake outs through their body language, ignoring their precise and planned taunting – no matter how playful they were with him compared to how they cruelly jeer against enemy players. This slowly helped him develop a pinpoint accuracy to his 'readings'.
Eventually, his skillset as a Seeker broadened and improved. He soaked up almost all of the techniques he needed to know quickly, like the colourful sponges in the Strandzha mountain coast. In recent weeks in fact, their main Seeker confessed to their coach she has had no need thus far to instruct him further on his position, citing she is glad he'll be able to share her burden while she's still recovering from the deep bruises she earned during the semifinals. All the same, Trainer Valkov has been doing an excellent job on nitpicking on even the smallest of details about what else he needed to look out for to progress his game, whether it be physically or mentally.
Viktor's grateful for his mentor's dedication. As much as he's proud of his accomplishments so far – balancing school and his intentional increase in workload as an athlete – he knows he still has a lot more to look forward to with his guidance. If Viktor's treating this as a long-term career that is.
Which now brings to mind the object of his indecisions, and single-minded regard.
Its been four long days since he last seen or heard from Hermione. He understood she needed rest. Mira already consoled him by discreetly mentioning about a girl's normal cycle length but he already has a limited time as it is to secure the young witch's interest. This delay will not help matters. At all.
He supposed he should try to adjust his stratagem, but the piles of chocolate he had planned to gift her every day was slowly melting on a table at the little dining nook in the tent – he was too disquieted to bother freezing them in some way; the study scrolls he had readied the night before he was informed Hermione needed to stay at the Delacour cabin for a period of time lay tightly closed and collecting dust – well, not really. But he would like to think it was long enough for them to accumulate, just as much as his despondency is; and the different shirts he hastily requested with an express falcon still lay by the fireplace, wrapped elegantly by his mother in a bundle, collecting ash – he still hasn't replied to her puzzled inquiries over his odd behavior. But he'd prefer to give her a full account of who he has found, with hopefully, good news at the end of his – no doubt – detailed explanation.
Good thing there was a shop on the grounds selling extra parchment for his use – although that might be meant for autographs more than for stationery. He'll have to explain the glittery nature of the material if it came to a point he was desperate enough to use them.
Being as self-assured as he was of his preparation for his next meeting with Hermione – ignoring the fact his friends were suspiciously enthusiastic when he requested they cover for him – what awaited him at their special place made him pause in great shock, almost forgetting his manners, before he hastily made a formal bow to the being that greeted him with a flick of her fine hair, and silent swish of her skirts.
The coloring and poise was unmistakable – albeit the vibrancy was a little subdued compared to a full-blooded one's. The last time he encountered one of her kind was when he got lost in one of his family's protected forests. He was only four years old. Luck was on his side that day. He was too innocent to not be taken in by their allure before his father rescued him.
He learned quickly to be very wary of any kind there were, whether they dwell in the conservatory or those scattered throughout Western Europe. Their projected feelings of beastly hunger, and spitefulness despite their beautiful visage were something he didn't want to experience ever again.
He'll have to plan out how to avoid their national mascots in the World Cup, if he ever gets to that point in his life.
His father's insistent lectures, and Georgi's carefully guarded expression – a story in his eyes Viktor keeps forgetting to ask about – was enough to convince him to be cautious when dealing with the Samodivi. The one in front of him seems vaguely familiar.
After a moment or so had passed, the cool amusement and intelligent scrutiny behind a beguiling smile finally clued him in that this was the female he felt yards away from Hermione two days ago – the day he realized he can only discern what Hermione is feeling through her body language and facial expressions alone and nothing more. He can only speculate which emotion she is truly experiencing compared to the blatant nosiness from this one that day.
When he rose from his stiff bow, the person – half Samodiva perhaps? Quarter? –gracefully curtseyed back, taking another long moment to look him over, before introducing herself with a slight incline of her head. He could just hear her murmur, in a deceptively light voice, say 'You'll do', afterwards. He felt unsure if the...approval... was a good thing, coming from her. But his eyes widened fractionally at the mention of her family name.
"Ho~ You know of us~? That is good. I can be brief. I am needed at home, you see."
When he remained cautiously mute, she continued, "I am sure you are wondering of my presence, Monsieur Krumov, no~? I am here to inform you that dear Miss Granger has not been well. It is quite common for us females so you need not worry. Much."
He could tell there were so many things left unsaid, but she seemed satisfied for now in baiting him with a raised brow. She waited with relaxed, crossed arms for his reaction.
But in actuality it took him awhile to respond, processing the differently stressed wording, and trying to ignore the strong projected curiosity and delight at his silence. If he didn't know any better, she would fall into the category of those gossipy witches that will tattle all to the nearest journalist of anything that comes out of his mouth, just to say that they were able to converse with him.
But he does know better – the Samodivi, or Veelas in most languages outside of East and South Europe, are highly private and temperamental beings, not only because it's in their nature, but also because of the societal persecutions – the glorified reputation of their otherworldly beauty notwithstanding.
Then again, she's still part human. He has to construct his message carefully less her version of what she's going to tell Hermione might not be said in a good light – he is confident enough to assume that they are at least friends, if not close acquaintances, if being invited to their home, and a place with them at the stands was any indication. He can still remember the sensation of sharp protectiveness she asserted when Hermione let him come closer while he was under the Mirage spell, before a sense of relief and inquisitiveness followed at his show of gallantry and respect.
Years of boarding school with nosy students and conspiracies from the press has taught him of the power of misconstrued truth. And may the great sorcerers forbid that he wallow in any more pools of humiliation from interactions with his custodia.
The weight in his pocket gave him an idea though. "If you please, send this to her. I promise gift as part of new friendship. When health is good again, I come back."
When he presented the wrapped bar in his outstretched hand, her eyes softened and hummed in understanding. He let the muscles in his shoulders relax. "I am sure she will receive this…token…of your friendship with appreciation," she emphasized with a quick, humour-filled glance up at his blank gaze as she levitated the bar to her own hand and tucking it into a tiny purse, hidden away among her skirts.
An Extension Charm in a small portable object? Impressive.
When he inclined his head in silent acknowledgment as well as a salute, she smiled with her eyes before turning to sashay away. He can feel a bead of sweat trickle down his back when he felt a sliver of mischief that suddenly spiked up as she disappeared behind the tree line.
Viktor shook his head, brushing aside the odd memory and putting away his stained practice uniform for the day, hastily jogging back towards camp from the stadium lockers, not wanting to risk Georgi eating his dinner. Again.
"Vinko! There you are. Look at this!"
Mira's call caught his attention, reaching him almost at the same time as her unusual projected giddiness. Before long, he could see her running towards him in between campfires, fighting a smile, and holding up a small piece of parchment in hand.
But what made Viktor's heart race were the familiar delicate insects fluttering about a grinning Georgi, who waved at him smugly before beckoning them into their tent's opening.
Cabine Royale, Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central
Hermione took deep, even breaths – mentally cataloguing the slow movement of her chest, the loose tension of her muscles, and the lingering stiffness of her shoulders and back. The memory of her teacher's soothing voice echoed in the far reaches of the darkness. Her room muffled the morning calls surrounding the Delacour property.
Feel the air rush into your chest as you breathe in, and how it whirls away as you breathe out.
Is it smooth, like still water in a calm lake? Or is it coarse, like turbulent water in a running river?
Breathe in…and breathe out…Breathe in…and breathe out…In…and out…
Observe yourself.
In…and out…In…and out…
Observe your breath.
In…and out…In…and out…
Observe the beat of your heart.
In…and out…In…and out…
Observe your thoughts.
In…out…
Have they slowed?
In…out…
Has the pace turned quiet?
In…out…
Let the paths of your mind lead you to peace.
The past few days were excruciating yet enlightening, having to put up with the maddening giggles from the silvery-blonde sisters whenever there was talk about the upcoming match. Her parents either chose to ignore their antics or were ignorant of it, seeming to be more focused on the Delacour couple's lively dialogue. Hermione still kept an eye on her mother all the same. She's certain her mother was just really good at hiding what she knows until she has all the facts straight for a discussion, catching people off-guard enough to lower their defenses – a discipline she has yet to emulate. Maybe then she'll be able to get the boys in less trouble, translating her sensible reasoning into something that would silence their emotionally-driven instincts. She doubts this would entirely stop them of course. But it will help her buy enough time for their brains to catch up. She just has to appeal to Ron's inner strategist and Harry's wit.
But all the knowledge in the world couldn't prepare her for the moment she was presented with the rose oil-infused dark chocolate at the end of dinner – feeling thoroughly mortified and flustered. Her only saving grace was Fleur being merciful enough to give it to her on her way to bed, slyly commenting, "Your dessert from your enamored admirer, dear. He will await you when you have recovered, he said."
Hermione can only sputter, knowing if she could at the moment, a violent blush would cover the entirely of her face, "Y-you make mistake, Fleur. He's new friend and-and this is his way of being friendly in his country. I'm sure of it. Just friendly."
Fleur just patted her shoulder with a small smile and hummed. "As you say~," before gliding away.
After locking herself in the safety of her room, Hermione carefully opened an edge of the packaging and nibbled on two small squares, taking secret pleasure in the floral aroma and bittersweet taste.
She felt humbled by the thought that this was surely an expensive product – the UK's national flower may be a rose but they definitely don't have enough to produce oils – and being the recipient of it from such a celebrated athlete, young as he is, feels like a…singular…experience, if not surreal.
But no. It's Viktor that gave this to her. The same teen that offered his robes for warmth and another flavor from his precious energizer stash.
A new friend. Like Gabrielle. But…a boy. But not like her boys.
A new friend, but…different.
She sighed. She still doesn't know what to make of him, honestly. He's nice though. Sensitive. And kind.
Traits that she can rarely associate with any boy she has met so far, whether in abroad or back at home. Jerks, she can readily call them – in the privacy of her mind. Traits she can only dream that her best friends would develop overnight.
Hmm…maybe she'll add that to the letter she's composing for Mrs. Lebedeva. They've touched on the concept of 'mindfulness' before, which isn't all that different from English manners. Maybe her teacher will know how Hermione could slowly integrate it with her boys without their knowing. A full-on lecture will just go over their heads. Maybe a more subtle approach is needed. Viktor's very mindful it seems. Even his friend, Gosho – or should she say Georgi, she giggled, remembering Viktor's annoyed look – was a little more suave in being a gentleman. But he's not as tall as Viktor.
She cut off her mirth and frowned. Her thoughts circling on the same topic again.
This isn't healthy.
…right?
Which brings to mind her guilt over not keeping her word. Sort of.
She didn't really promise per se that she's going to show up the next day after she met his friends. But it was implied nonetheless, with her quick farewell. That is to say, she didn't regret asking Fleur to offer her apologies in her stead – her pain becoming unbearable during the night, losing precious hours of sleep – but it was a missed opportunity to have a discussion over the Mirage spell Viktor has been using to avoid detection. "An invention of Georgi," mentioned Viktor in passing. They would have had a conversation by now over the mechanics of creating spells versus simply memorizing what is currently known.
Mira looked more down-to-earth than the Delacour sisters so a conversation with her would have definitely be interesting. They would have to work on the language barrier first though. If given the chance to have girl talk, Hermione's sure the teen wizards would be uncomfortable about being the in-between mediators, as most boys are with topics they deem too 'feminine' for their tastes.
Over the rest of the week, Hermione's pain finally lessened, and moods less muddled; her mother sweetly comforting her each day and bringing her little treats while her dad brought pots of tea and cheesy jokes – she just whined and groaned about how terrible they are until he laughed away out the door.
At the risk of sounding vain, what made her pause the most during her 'confinement' is the surprising condition of her skin – less dry and less redness; radiating with vitality she has never experienced before.
Hermione peaked with one eye over at the remaining chocolate she placed in shaky stasis in her side table drawer. She selfishly contemplated for a split second if she could ask Viktor for more of the exotic flavor. Or maybe she could just search the supermarkets at the imported aisles for a good brand? At least she won't feel like she's obligating someone else.
She took care not to ruin the wrapping too much, carefully reaching for it in the precarious perch at the edge of the bed, and savoring the last square with her eyes still closed. When she finished, she tossed the wrapper amongst her things in her luggage below her bed, making sure to aim for the small space at the bottom.
If her mother ever found the crinkled wrappings when she rummages through it – like what any mother would, she suppose, making sure Hermione didn't forget to pack anything on the way home – , Hermione will just plead innocent and have Gabrielle take the fall – something that's not uncharacteristic since the little girl is fond of many expensive sweets, and especially likes to poke around for something of Hermione's she could improve on. Again.
When she feels like she has found her calm center after a few more minutes, Hermione opened her eyes and stood up from her lotus position, stretching her arms and legs with a satisfied creak.
Glowing skin aside, she felt better, happily thinking how well her parents have been integrating with the wizarding world – a thought that made her feel a slight pinprick in her eyes every now and then.
Part of her reflections was little Colin Creevey, whose family background is as ordinarily muggle as hers, and his continually awestruck expression on everything magic reminded her of the possibilities for her future – like the fact that starting the next leg of her education in a wizarding school instead of a muggle one will prepare her for a life as a full-fledged witch.
A life she's not sure her parents are able to go to – until their holiday in France.
As teasingly eccentric the Delacours have been, she appreciated how patient and exuberant they've been to her family, showing the wonders of their magical household. Her mother looked younger in her eager giddiness, especially at the potions that could help her with her gardening. Dad of course welcomed any invitation for a sporting event, even one that has upped the ante on the level of danger and risk of injury. It made him positively ecstatic.
Shaking her head from her musings, she almost missed the low hoot from her windowsill.
Looking up, she smiled as she recognized one of the school's owls; it's tufts of long 'ears' up, and it's gaze focused solely on her as it hooted again, pecking on the small package it has near it's talons.
Hermione can feel her excitement mounting as she hastily rummaged around her shoulder bag, knowing she has a few pieces of owl treats left. She recently fed Hedwig and Hermes when they visited a few days ago with some of Harry's and Ron's letters, respectively – she's a little surprised that Hermes was sent at all considering he's Percy's than the whole family's owl; then again, poor Errol might collapse from the long flight from Egypt. Egypt.
How delightfully fascinating that read was.
As the Long Eared Owl hooted in appreciation and began to swallow a few pieces of the treats, Hermione carefully opened the letter attached to the package and read through it. The glint of a gold chain quickly made her do a double take when she accidentally opened a corner of the package; a piece of the twine got caught in between her fingers.
-.-.-
Miss Granger,
As we have discussed prior to the official end of the previous school year, I have opened the possibility of a remedial of sorts for the classes you have missed due to your immobile state, and the opportunity for you to take more than the specified number allowed for electives next year.
Enclosed is a device that has been approved by the Ministry for you to have and to use within school grounds for your third year only. It is a precautionary measure I specified on top of your outstanding academic record in order to be granted permission for its use at all.
Read the instructions within the package very carefully. I have no doubt you will use your time wisely.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress, HSWW
-.-.-
Author's Note: I know I don't always mention this but thank you everyone who left reviews (and following this story). I'm glad to know I make people happy with my ideas. (Edited with some correction on some sentences)
EDITED 11/28/2020 with requested Translations and Explanations:
A tree falls the way it leans. - a Bulgarian proverb that essentially means you need to be careful of where you are allied, or rely on, from my understanding. Trainer Valkov is telling Viktor off for not focusing in the most polite way. I can't find the Cyrillic translation.
Parterre - is a formal garden constructed on a level substrate, consisting of plant beds, typically in symmetrical patterns, which are separated and connected by paths. These started in the 15th century, during the French Renaissance
Samodivi (самодиви) - plural form of Samodiva (самодива), are woodland fairies or nymphs found in South and West Slavic folklore. They can also be called a 'Vila'.
Onwards!
Reine