(Disguised) St. Ronan's Church, Rònaigh an Daimh, Na h-Eileanan Siar
"Sō desu ne~ I understand the appeal."
Amidst the loud crashing of waves, and call of seabirds and grey seals, the soft, melodious comment drifted in, like the wisps of smoke from freshly-brewed tea.
Looking around in quiet interest, with a hand resting in her husband's elbow, the speaker appeared through a fog, wrapped in an elegant, salmon-pink traditional dress, richly decorated in hand-stitched depictions of various coloured flowers at the bottom, and a thick-furred, short overcoat over her shoulders. Her coiffed hair was perfectly secured by a silver pin – the delicate, metal crane unyielding despite the occasional winds – and a hair comb with painted white swans, necks-entwined, made sure to keep her companion's warming spell in place.
"Endlessly damp, salty air with a touch of isolation? I did not know your tastes deteriorated while I wasn't looking," countered a wry reply. "Or has the pinnacle of your meditations made being right-side up a disorienting endeavor?" her husband further quipped, wearing comparatively thinner garbs compared to the slight witch – simple but still stately, clean cut suit-robes in shades of a cool winter morning. What made it a little more casual were the thin grey shirt underneath and the white bangs that free-fell to partly cover his blue eyes. His unbothered expression in the face of the cold always made the witch at his side pout in envy. It doesn't help its normal for him to swim during the winter season, she thought drolly. But she's glad he's become too busy to do so nowadays.
She'd like to think hiding the vodka also helped deter him from frequenting the activity.
"Fuzakenaide, you silly bird! I meant for someone like him. This…ah, environ…reflects his reclusive personality perfectly. From what you tell me at least."
"Khm. That's putting it mildly. He's very set in his ways, you see. He can never change."
She raised a delicate brow, tilting her head up at his impassive face. "I doubt you would stop being on-guard yourself if your life is constantly in danger."
"Such little faith, milaya," he said with fondness. "'The general who thoroughly understands the advantages that accompany variation of tactics knows how to handle his troops.' I can certainly be on guard, when the need arises. But I actually make time to relax. You help with that," he said, a suggestion glinting playfully in his side-glance at his last statement.
The witch rolled her eyes and swiped at his arm good-naturedly. "Don't flatter me with Sun Tzu, koi. And it doesn't quite apply that way. Now, what did your associate say in his message again?"
"I tells him it's pure barry of him to invite his bonnie missus for some midday scran in the middle of nowhere!"
The growling call caught the couple's attention, watching as a limping figure of a man moved steadily towards them, seemingly out of nowhere. After he stopped to scan his surroundings with an especially penetrating eye, he turned his head at them and jerked his walking stick back, beckoning them, before disappearing through, what they assumed, an invisible doorway through the grass and stone ruins.
Giving each other a quick glance, they trudged forward, ignoring the viscous feeling of a protective barrier at a point in the stonework, aware of the thorough examination of their persons for any deadly weapons, magical and not. The ruins of the ancient church faded away in a cloud of vapor, and a worn, wooden interior of a lodge cautiously received them as they stepped fully inside. They idly discerned an almost colorless ripple radiate throughout the room, announcing they brought no ill intent against the owner of the residence.
Taking in her surroundings, the dark-haired witch broke away and took inquisitive steps towards a large, tarnished, gold-coloured antenna with a reflective disk at the end. Her counterpart on the other hand approached their seated host with a fixed gaze, folding his wife's furred coat over his arm.
"There's some mince and tatties on the table. It's all I got so no complaining," came the brusque invitation.
As his wife continued to poke and prod at the Secrecy Sensor by the door, the foreign wizard replied while absently examining the inactive little glass Vrednoskop next to the dishes, "This is a warmer reception than I thought you'd give us, Alastor. You have grown soft in your retirement."
A harsh bark left the carved lips of the ex-auror, giving them a frightening smile, made prominent by how slanted it was because of his scars. "Shut ye geggie, you Russian Jessie. You've done me a great service once. Don't expect me to do this again."
"Charming as always, old goat."
"Yer older than me you roaster!"
"Now now," drawled the witch in a light tone, "As touching as this reunion is, gentlemen," she sat down primly at another available chair with raised brows, eyeing the two grown men with skepticism and slight humor, "may we know why we're called? Your last message was…well, I believe all your messages are important but this one seems particularly…urgent?"
The muffled thump of his clawed leg and gruff huff were the only signs the Scottish wizard was deeply troubled. "Aye, right you are, marm. Can't really say much for now. Information's scarce. An order was made for those bloody wraiths," he whispered vehemently. "Something's gone wrong. Something big. I just know it."
The witch knitted her brows, considering how much this was his infamous paranoia or a genuine cause for concern. "Wraiths? Do you mean Lethifolds? Were there sightings here recently? They don't normally go this far from the tropics."
"No, marm. But yer close. Dementors!" he nearly shouted, spitting out the name as if it's a curse. "Foulest, soulless creatures this side of the continent. They're on the move."
"Khm. Your Ministry still 'employs' them to guard that island fortress? If they've drifted away, they may be looking for something. Or someone," the other wizard warned, crossing his arms loosely. "Which in turn means it's not as impenetrable of a stronghold as you thought it was," Maksimillian spoke mildly, with a slight upturn of his nose and narrowed eyes, showing his condescension.
"We all can't have freezing to death as a deterrent, Lebedev! If drowning doesn't dissuade those dark wizards, the draining will."
"And for all the criticism you give us for teaching certain types of magic in our country, you yourselves employ such dark beings as capital punishment – if there even is a trial in the first place."
Letting the men bicker over world politics and ethical practices, Miya turned her eyes down and remained quiet. She slowly put her palm over her obi, conscious suddenly of the letter folded beneath the embroidered layers. With lips turned down delicately, she wondered if this and her student's unusually acquired magical artifact is mere coincidence.
(Disillusioned) Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central
"Achoo!"
"Nazdrave."
Hermione started, still rubbing her nose with a handkerchief, but resisted turning her head as she quickly went through her mental roll call.
It shouldn't be either of her parents. They're still back in the cabin with the Delacour couple, citing they'll let her decide what to get them on her shopping trip – maybe some binoculars if there are any? If their seats are as high up as Monsieur Lucien has been fervently talking about, they'd need to get some of those to see better.
The Delacour sisters on the other hand are nowhere to be found. They've been dragging her everywhere, especially at the various street food stalls set up. She can't fault them. Many are very delectable to the sight and smell. But at the rate Gabrielle has been feeding her different meats with commentary that would rival any passionate epicure, she's afraid she might pack in more weight than her petite form can hold.
So that eliminates the people closest to her. So who else would address her in the middle of a crowd?
By the cadence of the word, it doesn't sound like any French word she has ever heard. As the sun rose higher in the sky, more people mingled about – in quite a variety of languages now that she paid attention. It made the space between the camping grounds and the stadium reasonably festive. But considering she's been honing her senses to detect any form of shenanigans that might involve her – courtesy of Ron and Harry – she concludes that there is only one other person, in this general area, that would have enough nerve to do something that her best friends would do, to the extent of having the equivalent of an invisibility cloak on him –
"Two yellow birds are telling me you are here," an amused voice announced, a presence now felt at her left-hand side, "I can accompany you, yes?"
It's only a couple of days now before the match and new stalls have been popping-up – literally – to sell an assortment of merchandise next to the camping ground. Fleur and Gabrielle tittered excitedly during breakfast when Madame Apolline announced it at the garden table, which meant Hermione had to mentally prepare herself for the inevitable magical shopping spree to be had. Just thinking about the arm-pulling those two will do already made her arm muscles hurt.
On a positive note, it's nearly Harry's birthday. Surely his growing love for Quidditch will make any purchase here be a good gift. She just needs to figure out which one is practical but still 'fun', as Ron would put it. Her parents already loaded her purse with extra coins, showing their support for the plan, but sternly expressed she should definitely get something for herself as well.
Hermione had just finished deciding on her routes after organizing the stall plotting in her head before the tall seeker with a penchant for escapism found her in between a pencraft supply stall – that has quite a collection of very pretty quills on display – and a sports apparel stall – whose saleswizard had been enthusiastically trying to guess her team-support colors by trying to sell her both.
With his timely appearance, it undoubtedly made clear what set off the silvery-blonde witches abruptly, claiming to have seen a schoolmate at a distance and floated away, leaving Hermione to her own devices in the wake of their sly giggling and swish of bright skirts.
Hermione should have known those two were up to no good again – her mischief senses were absolutely tingling. She doesn't know if it's because they're decidedly French or they just convinced themselves there's something there between the older boy and herself even though there's certainly nothing at all. Nothing at all.
Right?
From what she deduced from his constant visits for the past few days, the fact he couldn't sense her emotions gave him some level of peace. So she's just being a good friend; keeping him company and offering him a stimulating conversation on school life to pass the time.
Hermione doesn't entirely understand the disappointed twinge she felt in her chest at the last thought.
She does wonder though if he's willing to be a penpal of sorts – or quill-pal? Gabrielle already insisted they should be that once Hermione and her parents went home. Viktor and his friends have such a fascinating viewpoint of magical use in their country that it would be such a shame to lose that connection.
Whatever form that connection may be.
A quick remembrance of tangy, bitter chocolate, and a flash of focused attention from dark, kind eyes made her hand grip tighter around her bag.
Hermione shook her head – to dispel her confusing thoughts, but also to silently show him her consent – and headed towards another random stall, keeping to one side of the path, knowing he must be under that Mirage spell again, affording him a somewhat normal walkabout in a crowd full of fans without getting mobbed. She couldn't hear his booted feet at all.
At least it seems the teen actually listens to her lecture about being careful – unlike some people. She felt him swerve silently with the ebb and flow of people while still keeping in step with her. She'll admit he's as stubbornly daring as her boys, if not more so because of his occupation.
And she's not entirely sure that's a bad thing.
But she guesses Viktor's main motivator for listening to her, like all men, is food – she can recount him nearly wolfing down the basket-full of cheese, bread, and cake the day she helped him, if not for Yuuya's sudden appearance in a whirl of wing slaps and peculiar growling, dropping a letter conveniently at her lap in the process.
She never knew doves could growl. She always thought they're too mild mannered to produce such a sound. Is it because he's magical?
Then again, she remembered the humorous scene that involved a man in a suit running away from a tenacious flock, hollering madly as she and her parents jogged by on their way home from Mrs. Lebedeva's studio.
"He must be part of parliament," dad had idly commented.
Mother and daughter just shared a questioning glance before he continued, "Because that's quite an attempted coo if I ever saw one. Ey? Eyy?"
Hermione and her mum didn't hold back in shoving him away with twin groans and marched passed him in a hurry.
But exotic avian noises and behavior aside, in her rush to read any words of wisdom from her teacher, Hermione became too preoccupied to notice the fancy pigeon's efforts of making sure she has her share of the snacks, vaguely hearing low indignant yelps in between small grunts and flapping wings. Only when she got to the tail-end of her letter did she finally look up and take in the source of a struggle.
Hermione blinked. Is she getting tired? She went to rub at her eyes before staring at the scene before her again.
Slowly, it dawned on her the irony of what's happening: Yuuya, with feet squared, brown feathered collar standing up, chest out, facing off against a tall, magical human, who was clutching a bag in front of him like a shield, and a wary expression resolutely fixated on the fancy pigeon's position on the grass.
This went on for so long that a snicker suddenly escaped her, followed by a giggle or two in between her fingers, before she finally let out a loud laugh, her arms holding on to her sides in support, her face and neck turned warm, and tears ran down her cheeks. The comical picture of Viktor's messier appearance – highlighted with white feathers sticking out of his hair – and incredulous stare at the puffed up bird made her absolutely tickled.
She hasn't laugh like that in what seemed like forever.
The last two years of school haven't exactly given her that much reason to. Maybe expressing relief for surviving another year, or a proud smile at her stellar grades, but not like this where she felt so...carefree. So buoyant. Her heart felt unusually light, despite feeling the older boy's burning gaze at her face.
It was...it was nice.
"Viktor?" Hermione hissed, barely moving her lips, walking slowly around a balloon vendor, mindful of which side of the path he's on and giving him room to adjust. "Didn't you say you had press events the whole day today? Did you finish early?"
"Hmm… Ne. Da. Both? Pictures finished this morning. Solo and group. Interviews will be in afternoon. But publicist say I can…how you say…skip? Saying since it is only whispers that I am on main roster, I can be good secret until game. Keep journalists guessing, he says, even if tickets sold more seats than expected.
You are looking for gifts for friends, yes? Or for yourself? Scarves are very good. If you want. They keep warm any time in year. In stadium, high winds are expected. Best you wear on day of game. Best idea to wear brown and black to be exact," he mildly encouraged, an obvious smile in his voice.
Hermione had to suppress a grin, feeling generous enough to not call him out on making her wear his team's colors. It's rather silly of him; as if he doesn't have enough supporters as it is.
"What if you accidentally get seen again? You said the stadium boundary counteracted Georgi's spell when we met," she diverted, doing her best to stall-shop. Maybe Ginny would like something too, if only to cheer her up after her experience in the Chamber. "And we're in close proximity with the stadium. It would be dangerous for you when you get swarmed. Again," she let out a small giggle.
Viktor hummed, moving a little closer to her side as he sidestepped a big group of French supporters. "Ne. Gosho made it better. I will be like ghost. No worry."
"You know, with his talents, he can be a good Auror someday. Or even a Curse-Breaker. I read in a pamphlet at our wizarding bank that there's a 'substantial, danger-related treasure bonuses' to be had in that profession," she whispered absently, almost to herself, as she turned to see a stall selling interesting knickknacks of fluttery rosettes, shouting out, what she assumes, are the names of the players. She can clearly hear a squeaked 'Krumov!' in the Striking Snipe colored ones.
Viktor chuckled lowly, making Hermione almost shudder, feeling his breathe near her ear. She took a subtle step away, clearing her throat, trying to be more attentive to what he's saying. "He will feel..gratitude?...flat-flattered? Yes, flattered. He will be feeling flattered you would think this. But he does what he wants. He likes to surprise."
"Well! I can't believe someone like him would invent this advanced of a spell so he certainly surprised me."
"A, now you will be breaking his heart if he hears this."
Furrowing her brows, Hermione turned her head slightly towards his voice, endeavoring to look busy fiddling at a few flashy, hanging items and said in a hard tone to hide her unease, "Do you report everything I have to say to your friends?" She may have come a long way in overcoming certain anxieties when dealing with people; nevertheless, she doesn't think she will ever be comfortable knowing people talk behind her back.
"Aylyak, aylyak," he emphasized softly, giving a few of her curls trailing down her back a few light tugs while his other hand gave her a small pat at her shoulder. "No worry, no worry. Just good things. I promise. And you made good face at first meeting, they say. So it is difficult to change their judgment."
"Good face?"
"A...I meaning…im-press? They can see…you have good sense?"
"Oh. I made a good impression?" she clarified, relaxing her shoulders; just comprehending she had involuntarily tensed up. "That's…that's very lovely of them. Thank you."
-{-}-
Ah, such an adorable blush. And her hair is such an interesting texture. So soft, Viktor noted. Better than clouds. He unguardedly looked at her with a big smile on his face, reflecting.
Since that day she cared for him at his most vulnerable – discounting that episode with her guard…pigeon? He knows his best friends will never live it down if he told them about it – he felt like he could walk on air for the following days. The more he's getting to know his custodia, the more hopeful he became. But the more hopeful his mindset, the more he starts getting impatient, wondering how he could tactfully request to maintain communication. He doesn't know how much longer he could delay a response for his intrigued mother.
If his father starts getting involved, he'd have no choice but to give in and blurt out – on paper or through fireplace, whichever way their message goes through first – all that's been going on, and risk having them rush him to secure Hermione as soon as possible before she's ready for any type of commitment.
On the other hand, after finding out she lives in the United Kingdom, thanks to the helpful hints from the Veela sisters, which is a shorter distance than he expected, plans started forming in his head. An inquiry on his parents' contacts there would be useful for his future endeavours.
But he knows laying the groundwork for a solid connection takes time – judging from his family's history as well as his observation of his parents' loving marriage – like how he can't just catch the Snitch too early until his entire team is ready for victory. He wants to see to it that once Hermione is mentally and emotionally engaged to be wooed, he'd show her he would be the best, and hopefully, the only candidate in her sight. In the meantime, he will remain patient and attentive, and most importantly, mindful of her youth – judging from the grade level of her summer assignments – and her own vulnerabilities at that impressionable age. Any wrong move on his part may make her turn away from any and all relationships altogether.
But for all his planning, he suspects he's not making it obvious enough for the little witch to know that he's interested and available.
Very interested, and very available.
For her.
Maybe she's intimidated by his growing fame? He can understand if she was. Even he feels daunted at the prospect of his privacy being intruded on in the future. He knows this and have prepared accordingly. His team mates advised him on how crucial it is to put up a public persona to protect his private life, and his trainer had counseled him already about keeping his integrity, and about never giving in to the trappings of the sport – or he'll soundly work Viktor to the bone for being a disgrace.
Or maybe she's taken already? She mentioned a Harry and a Ronald a fair few times…
No no no. He's becoming foolish. Hermione never acted as if she already has someone in her life. And she's too honest to deceive him. He already experienced girls – and strangely, some women – that implied they can 'give him a good time' even though they're already bonded to another. He's disgusted by those the most; the feelings of brazen hunger and greed coming off of them, wanting to boast they were able to sleep with a Quidditch player, or possibly trap him into an inescapable public relationship. Or both.
But Hermione is too pure for such a thing.
And her male friends? Well. We'll see. He'll just train more to improve his physique, just in case. He's confident he can still grow a few more inches.
He'll also take a passing peak at some of the subjects she seemed interested in the most once he returns to the Institute. And maybe some other things she hasn't seen yet.
Finally, maybe – and he thinks this is the most likely theory – she's very oblivious of her overall appeal – even if that might be his bias talking again – and it doesn't help that he's not quite sure what's on her mind most of the time except for schoolwork.
Viktor froze suddenly before he inaudibly grunted, reflexes suddenly kicking in as he sharply pulled at Hermione's blouse, practically lifting her away as a practice broom suddenly halted at exactly where she was standing. Forgetting he cannot be seen, he scowled as he faced the perpetrator, only to relax his brow in surprise as he witnessed Hermione helping up a small child, who hopped up and down, and pointed excitedly at the broom. The little boy babbled a careless, yet adorable apology, before jumping onto his broom and took off, shocking some other wizards and witches in the process.
Viktor sighed in relief, before he instinctively moved away just in time for a harried bundle of female energy suddenly apparating next to Hermione, making her squeal cutely in surprise. From what he can tell, the newcomer is the boy's mother, inquiring if his custodia has seen her son. Hermione gave calm and assuring directions to the stressed matron. The older witch nodded and stepped away quickly, shouting out her apologies over her shoulder, and disappearing in a whirl – with Hermione looking on where she stood in awe and curiosity.
Oh? She has not seen someone apparate before? That's very interesting to know.
When he walked closer again and wordlessly placed her purse back in her hands – making it seem as if she performed wandless magic – and preparing for any complaints that she may have at being almost run over, Hermione just looked up at the approximate space where his head is and smiled beautifully, a slight tinge of pink on the apple of her cheeks, and mouthing her thanks. She quickly squeezed the hand he kept near hers before turning back around to a vendor – as if nothing was amiss – and purchased some sweets shaped in various sport equipages: brooms, bludgers, quaffles, a snitch, some hoops, and the like.
"Viktor, do you think they sell binoculars here? They're the last things I need today," she informed gently, moving forward with sure steps, seemingly not minding whether he answered or not.
But it's not that he doesn't want to. It's just that he's not capable at the moment. Viktor still felt stunned, his mostly invisible hand still up at the space in front of him – and prickling oddly at the fingertips –, and feeling totally disarmed – yet again – by the wonderful sight of her happy visage, the same kind she showed when she laughed freely at his disheveled appearance.
He took a deep, steadying breath and set his eyes to the clouds, cursing up a storm in his head, frustrated at the irony of not being able to read the one girl he wants the most.
Was that a smile of appreciation, or attraction? Was it really meant to show gratitude, or something more? Was she outright trying to finally flirt at him with her touch or just…just…
Breathe, Viktor, he berated himself. Relax. Don't let the curtain fall down. Don't let the Karastanchovs get to you. Don't let the rush of blood and the fast beat of your heart dictate your actions. Be content, be content.
Mental note, beg additional laps from Trainer Valkov later.
Sharply nodding his head, Viktor pushed his feet onwards, following dutifully to where his curly-headed guiding star is leading him.
Eventually he slowed, quickly flicking his wand towards a roving saleswizard. A dark scarf suddenly appeared in his other hand, just as he levitated an appropriate amount of coins in the startled man's pocket. He hurriedly caught up to Hermione before she sensed something was amiss.
In the background, the confused, gray-haired man quickly counted the coins in his suddenly heavier coat, while simultaneously checking that his anti-theft jinxes are still in place.
Finally he just shrugged, pushing at his cart again, and continued to merrily advertise his wares.
Must've bumped into elves again, he thought. Wish I could afford them.
Author's Note: You all thought I forgot the plot? Yes, yes I do sometimes. These two just make me thoroughly distracted by their adorkableness.
And thank YOU all for being so patient. (And hi to the new followers and those that favorited!).
I've been struggling how to go from point A to point L while trying to maintain a healthy work-life balance recently. It's been a surprisingly busy month.
EDITED 11/28/2020 with Translations and Explanations:
Sō desu ne (そうですね) - a polite way of saying 'I see' or 'So it is, isn't it?' in Japanese. It actually depends on the intonation.
Fuzakenaide (ふざけないで) - a little informal way of saying 'don't joke around' or 'don't tease me like that' in Japanese.
milaya (милая) - Russian endearment that's usually addressed to a beloved person. So it could mean Darling, sweetie, honey, etc.
koi (恋) - short for koibito (恋人), is a Japanese endearment which means lover. So she's calling him 'love'. If some of you heard about Ai (愛), which also means 'love', it has a different connotation. In this case, koi (恋) can be described as 'romantic love' or 'passionate love', while Ai (愛) is considered unselfish and real love. But Ai is rarely used as an endearment, possibly because of its much deeper implications.
pure barry - Scottish slang for 'excellent' or 'fantastic'
bonnie - Scottish for 'pretty' or 'attractive'
scran - Scottish slang for 'food, especially that of an inferior quality'
Mince and tatties - a popular Scottish dish, consisting of minced beef and mashed potatoes
Vrednoskop (Вредноскоп) - literally means 'Nastyscope'. Official Russian translation in the books for 'Sneakoscope'
Geggie - Scottish slang for 'mouth'
Jessie - Scottish slang/insult that's similar to calling someone a pansy or, effeminate
roaster - Scottish slang describing someone who 'makes a fool of him/herself' or 'a harsh / humurous critic'
Lethifold - also known as the Living Shroud, is a carnivorous and highly dangerous magical beast. It hunts at night, preying over sleeping creatures. Possibly related to Dementors
nazdrave (Наздраве) - usually said like 'Cheers!' when drinking but can also be used like 'Bless you!' when someone sneezes. It literally means 'to your health' or 'be healthy'.
epicure - a foodie
Aylyak (айляк) - Plovdivian word which implies being 'idle and worry free'. Its similar to the phrase or philosophy 'Hakuna Matata'
My curtain falls (pada mi perdeto, ПАДА МИ ПЕРДЕТО) - Bulgarian saying which means one is very angry or pissed off.
To catch the Karastanchovs (da te khvanat karastanchovite, ДА ТЕ ХВАНАТ КАРАСТАНЧОВИТE) - Bulgarian expression that means someone has gone crazy or done stupid/strange things. A popular origin story about this expression is that in a village, long ago, the whole Karastonchovi family went crazy, started fighting, then killed themselves.
Onwards!
Reine