Residential Area, Krumov Ancestral Estate, Acropolis of Plovdiv
"Will you take the straight, and narrow path? Or the long, and winding road?"
"What?" Viktor raised a brow, perplexed.
"Hmm. He might understand this better. Viktor. Do you want to beat a bush, or shoot with your hips?"
"...excuse me?" Viktor's voice and face turned flat, brow twitching in annoyance.
"You're excused," Dietrich crooned mildly, turning his attention to their often-misunderstood friend. "And no, Ás. It's 'beating around the bush' and 'shoot at the hip'. You're just as bad as Georgi in English – no matter what he says otherwise. Just...don't use those idioms ever again."
Viktor cleared his throat. "Dieter. What does this have to do with – "
" – then why not just say 'I miss you'? It's so simple. That's a good start, ja?" Asbjørn interjected, eyes unfocused, staring distractedly in the distance, unknowing of Viktor's pursed lips at the interruption and suggestion.
"To mention such in a first correspondence is too direct, Ás," refutted Dietrich, with a patient shake of his head.
"Oh."
Viktor sighed quietly, waiting for their Norwegian friend to connect the dots, given the following silence. " I think I see. Would it be considered…mistenksom..skummel...ah, 'creepy', I think is the word, for him to say so?"
"To a girl he barely interacted with for two weeks? Spine-chilling. And not in a good way." Viktor can just see Dietrich's droll look within the sparks and embers in the hearth, with Asbjørn humming in the background.
"Too bad. What about the weather then? Aren't the English fond of talking about it?" Asbjørn chirped.
"Well, that is certainly a start. But I'm afraid that is too indirect this time," Dietrich disputed, with a firmer shake of his head. "She is not a stranger – at least, not to Viktor. She should not be treated so."
Asbjørn raised a brow, eyes narrowing in further thought. "I thought she's a smart girl, this one. Isn't the point of this to make and maintain communication? Mentioning one common topic at a time shouldn't be such a trial. The weather is trivial, but so can anything else in life," he ended enigmatically.
"'Small amounts add to something bigger'. I agree," said Dietrich, used to their friend's way of speaking. "But Viktor does not need to feint indifference, nor ignorance to seem 'cool', as the Muggels would say. On the other hand, he should not be too...overt with his sentiments. She might take offense or be frightened by it. We should strive for a balance.
Besides, he doesn't need to make a connection. He met her at the European Championships. We just discussed this," Dietrich crossed his arms, face stern but eyebrows raised high, expecting the usual question.
"We did?"
"Ja!" "Da!"
"Å. I thought you meant he met her first when he saved her. So strictly speaking, they are not 'strangers'." Viktor heard more than saw Dietrich slap his forehead, a gesture he's tempted to do himself. "The headings imply this too: 'Love at first save!' 'Hearts of thousands, shattered!"
"Its because they met beforehand that he bothered to do so. Incidentally," Dietrich's vexed tone turned sly, moving his gaze now to him, tone sounding alarmingly amused now, to Viktor's dread. "Ás was quoting the scandal sheets word for word, Viktor. Word. For. Word." The German chuckled, unabashed.
"I personally don't think you are like the yolk in the egg in this situation, Viktor. But in other news, the broadsheets are saying you heroically saved a family while leading your team to victory. Your questionable, non-existent love life aside, your name may go to a level to that of the untarnished stars in the sky," Asbjørn declared, a sureness in his voice, weaving both poetry and insult in one statement. After a still moment, twin chortling can be heard over the snap of wood and swirl of magical flames, making it the lit match dropped in Viktor's powder barrel.
A dull thunk echoed through the fireplace, as well as a loud, exasperated sigh, making Dietrich and Asbjørn abruptly stop their snickering. They look into the fire pit they've been conversing into more closely.
"Viktor?"
"...I'm here."
"Was that Fraulein Stoyanova and Georgi?"
"No. There is a conveniently placed table in front of me. You two are making my head ache. Tell me again why are you together right now? I only expected Dieter to help me over this."
"Well, my family and I are in Geisterberg for vacation. We're shopping for our usual elixirs and hand-made cordials. They're the best here. I bumped into Dieter in one of the herbal huts. And then, you falcon-ed," summarized the Norwegian, with a nod from the other blonde as confirmation.
"And then, I 'falcon-ed'," mimicked Viktor with a weak smile, using two of his fingers to massage his temple as he lifted his head enough to rest his chin on the hardwood. "And you Dieter? Why are you in Austria?"
"I...was from here. I visit for ...family. I go back to Germany as soon as it's over." Despite the sepia and crimson tones of the flames, and the other teen's calm visage, Dietrich's discomfort still shown through under Viktor's sharp gaze. Now that he thinks on it, the German – or should he say Austrian? Huh. Who'd have thought – never talks about family, albeit its not usually brought up in conversation.
I guess it's a story for another time, Viktor mused, shrugging outwardly, to Dietrich's relief.
"About the letter," Viktor diverted, "Just to make it clear. Again. If all goes very well, I might become her first boyfriend – " or husband, he mentally amended.
Her only husband, ideally.
" – Ooh, assuming aren't we?" Asbjørn interjected, elbowing Dietrich aside, and giving Viktor a knowing grin, an odd concentration in his stare. Viktor flinched, feeling guilty. He always gets the impression the blonde Northerner can read his thoughts, even though his shields are in place and in one, solid piece. Even their professors get unnerved from the Norwegian's unblinking stare in class from time to time. "Well. You have the 'star' power going with you now. That might put you in an advantage. Your worries about writing a letter should be for naught."
"She's... This is not that simple. She's not interested in that. At all. She doesn't even like Quidditch – "
" – Hrm. Smart and unattainable? A hunter, through and through, aren't we Viktor?," Dieter teased, shouldering himself back into the conversation, with his own wide smile and approving nod. "Looking for a good chase I see."
Viktor can feel a hot flush of embarrassment on his face; his fists tensing in agitation. "Kakvo? That's not – and did you just call m – Dietrich! Asbjørn! Please, for the love of the gods, let me finish. I'm saying I do not want to scare her more than I did when we first met – "
"– What is this? Did you actually stalk her? For shame, Viktor. A lady needs her privacy," tutted Asbjørn, failing to hide a smirk, while wagging a finger at him.
"I never imagined we would need to teach you ethical behavior with women. I'd have thought this talk for Georgi," said Dietrich sternly, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth said otherwise.
Viktor groaned, knocking his forehead on the coffee table again.
I knew I should have fire-hailed Mimi instead, he mentally grumbled.
Leaky Cauldron (Muggle side), Charing Cross Road, London
"He sounds like a beautiful creature. What is he called?"
"He's named 'Crookshanks', by the menagerie. Must be his plush legs, I suspect. The poor thing has been there for so long, they thought he'd never be bought. I don't understand. His color? He reminds me of candle light. And he went right up to me, so I know he's friendly," Hermione gushed, still feeling pleased at her find.
"With you, he knew he'd be offered a home," Mrs. Lebedeva commented, a usual knowing in her voice. Hermione smiled, always amazed a few choice words can make one think in an entirely different perspective. "And how about your friend? Is he alright now? It's said the Knight Bus may be convenient to get to a desired destination, but it's unfortunately as jarring as apparating. Maybe worse," her teacher inquired, her light voice tickling Hermione's ear pleasantly.
At the word 'friend', Hermione scowled harshly, thinking of the red-head she argued with earlier in the day. But she shook her head, knowing her teacher was referring to another. "Harry's fine. Doesn't seem shaken at all. All in a day's work in his life, I suppose. He liked his gift very much though. He said he's badly needed a Broomstick Servicing Kit for ages now. Just kept forgetting they exist. He couldn't believe I, of all people, attended a Quidditch match. Willingly." Hermione flinched, realizing too late her voice sounded more clip than she meant to. Her thoughts had circled again without her consent.
"...I see. Yet you still feel discontent?"
Hermione leaned back, mind catching on to the concern in the older witch's soft tone. She sighed, the cool brick wall of the disguised pub helping her focus. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Lebedeva. It's just Ronald. He's upset I bought Crookshanks. A terror, he said. Keeps accusing he'll eat his stu – his pet rat." Hermione tripped on her words, stopping herself from cursing in the vicinity of her teacher, even if its just through a call. She felt disappointed. Even if Harry was as bewildered as Ron about Crookshanks' deadly concentration on Scabbers, he acted more calmly compared to Ron's hysterics. Then again, if Crookshanks had targeted Hedwig, it might be an entirely different story. But the snowy owl had only peered at the new, fluffy addition with mild interest before turning her head away to preen. Crookshanks, in turn, crooned softly before padding away, not minding the mild introductions, and only flicked his tail up in acknowledgment.
Must be a predator thing.
"Is that not the nature of felines? To hunt, to stalk – whether to play, to eat, or to present a gift. Especially to you, his new mistress."
"I know. I understand. That would make sense. But," Hermione furrowed her brows, thinking over the course of the day. "He's already fed before I bought him. We haven't bonded that long for him to gift me anything. And, he doesn't really seem playful with Scabbers. More like…trying to get rid of a pest?"
"So dear Crookshanks is operating only on instinct? Is that all you noticed?" Mrs. Lebedeva coaxed, always encouraging for Hermione to see the bigger picture. "Remember, you found him in a magical shop. He's bound to have something special in him, in his blood. Be considerate of this as you get to know one another in the coming years."
"I... suppose? The storefront was trying to tell me something about his breed. But we got sidetracked when – "
"'MIONE! 'Mi-o-neee! Your stupid cat! Get 'em off of me!"
Hermione let out a controlled huff, apologizing to her teacher at the obnoxious yelling. "It's fine, little one. All will be well. Think it over for now. Your friend seems to need you," Mrs. Lebedeva chuckled softly, voice tickling her ear again from the speaker of her dad's phone.
Hermione groaned, slapping a hand over her eyes. "They always do."
Dining Area, Leaky Cauldron, Charing Cross Road, London
"Well isn't this lovely?" commented William, tone light, watching in amusement as the kids chased each other around the deceptively huge space, all the while sipping his Butterbeer appreciatively.
A chirping meow concurred from below.
"Hello, cutie~! Aren't you a sweet kitty? I think I know what Hermione would have looked like the other year. Maybe with golds and browns in her colour," giggled Cynthia, brushing her fingers at the fleeting orange fur that's been rubbing her shins quietly. "And intelligent to boot. Getting away when there's trouble." She twirled a finger around a bushy tail that went up at the sound of her daughter's pattering feet at her approach to their table.
Hermione sat heavily next to her mother, panting and red-faced, handing the phone back over to her dad with a bit more force than necessary, before turning narrowed eyes at yellow ones. "Crooks. You have to warn me next time when you do that. As you can see, I get the scolding. Not you. It's an unpleasant experience."
The ginger cat looked up at Hermione with something akin to human-like assessment before doing her little chirping meows. He leaped unto her lap and butted his head under her hand.
"Hmp. Don't charm your way out of this one. But you're lucky Mrs. Lebedeva thinks you have more going on in your head than we think. So we'll talk more later."
Crookshanks purred, satisfied at his mistress' perception.
"Sooo," crooned her mother, the playful tone immediately put Hermione on guard as she swiftly took a sip from her own bubbly drink. "Have you had any letters recently? From a certain someone?"
"Gabrielle's doing well, mum." Hermione willfully deflected, stuffing her mouth with her specialty chicken sandwich.
"Only little Elle?"
"Fleur's fine too. Floating about I suppose."
From the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed her dad rolling his eyes, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
She chomped down on her bread a little more irritably than is necessary.
Library, Hogwarts Castle, ?, Scottish Highlands (Unplottable)
-.-.-
Dear Miss Granger,
I must say this first. My English is not better in writing than speaking. I will make many mistakes. I will be apologizing in advance. This is fourth language I speak. Second language I write. I will not use too many complicated words. If I try, it will take me longer to write. I need time to translate in mind, make it understandable, and then, with good wishing, it will be able to express what I mean properly on paper. But I will do my best to write in acceptable time frame.
-.-.-
"Just be honest, Vinko. Any person would appreciate that."
"How honest is... honest?"
"Just be yourself."
"That does not help me think clearer over this."
"The state of your mind is otherwise when she's in front of you?"
"...you have a point."
"I always do. Remember, she gave you consent to write. She will reply to whatever you say to her, even if it is out of courtesy. Do not be discouraged by this either. It's still a start."
"Thank you, Mimi. I will try."
"See that you do. Now pay up!"
"Will mekitsi do? Mamo had it made this morning. Would you prefer honey or jam to go with it?"
"That'll do. And jam please."
-.-.-
After championship match, I try improve with friend that speak well in your language. It did not go well. Many misunderstandings over the fire. We try again in institute for school year. I learn best with face to face lessons. And you? How do you learn best? Do you like doing lessons? Do you like hearing them? Or do you learn best through reading? Also, ignore anything from Georgi. He might become pest for you. Otherwise, I have right to kick him out of dormitory. He is not our room mate you see. He trespass often. Also, his English has no sense.
-.-.-
"Come on, Vinko. Just one tiiiny note. I promise I won't flirt. Much."
"Give me back her addresses."
"Haven't entirely memorized them yet~? And just the paper?"
"...I will throttle you at Duelling Class if the kŭrpichka is damaged."
"You should have better protection spells on your things, you know. What if I'm one of those rabid fans of yours, and not your very good best friend who loves you and your flaws?"
"Is...is that lyutenitsa sauce on it?!"
"... actually its ljutika and its only a speck...?"
"...prepare yourself. Best. Friend."
-.-.-
On other hand, Mira will like to say hello. I am certain. I have not seen her yet. Girls dormitory is far from boys. This is good. There are many foolish boys. Even when she does the threatening when we try to protect, it is still best to think safety over her pride. We can live with her hexes anyway.
I am sorry. I will end letter now. First week of classes will start. Scaring first years will be on agenda, as school tradition. Make them remember importance of discipline. But me and friends do not agree with this. We try make it better. We inform that institute is good institute. But we must do so in secret. It is enjoyable activity.
Institute cannot be detected easily. Popovo know to wait for your reply. If you need time, you need not worry with his meal. Let him hunt by self. But if you have crickets or frogs on hand, he will stay.
Wishing you a good year,
Viktor Ivanov K.
New friend to witch of United Kingdom
-.-.-
-{-}-
Hermione felt her face aching, from an excessive amount of smiling than she's used to, utterly charmed. She absently petted the blue-grey plumage of the dashing foreign messenger next to her, re-reading Viktor's letter in the safety of the library. Her relaxed state was a far cry from an hour ago. She had to rush through lunch just to get away from Ron's nagging about her questionable timetable again. He wouldn't normally have persisted. She knew it was a distraction; an attempt to take Harry's mind off of the gloomy atmosphere that lingered in their class. But just because she understands, doesn't mean she has to like it. She'd rather –
A soft series of whining chitter made Hermione cut-off the beginning of her brooding. Calm, dark orbs held eye contact for a few long seconds before turning away, flexing his talons and wings as if preparing for a nap. She smiled again. He certainly reminded her of his owner's laid back nature – a complete contradiction to the pace of his chosen career. She suppose a good amount of rest is good for any athlete? Her parents, Harry, and Ron never fail to remind her to eat and sleep her fill before exams. Maybe it's a similar concept. Glancing back at Viktor's letter, she decided to humor him, as well as practice one of Mrs. Lebedeva's meditation exercises. She took a long, deep breath, calming her thoughts, and reflected.
Using the Time Turner has been a thrilling experience. The velocity and amount of information that streamed into her head was more than she could imagine. It gave her such a relief. All those weeks of worrying ever since her awakening from petrification, weeks of trying to catch up on what she's missed, of being left behind... it all vanished at the new possibilities, with just a turn of a knob.
She knew she can only have it for a year. But it felt like she could conquer anything in her way. So she took up all available subjects and electives for this term, aside from voluntarily completing the last few classes she's missed last year, as well as the canceled exams. What if there was a topic discussed this term that needed the comprehension of a pre-requisitive subject? Her Head of House had shook her head at the latter decision, deeming it unnecessary, dryly quoting their Headmaster's decision. In the end, Hermione's persistence and rationale wore her out. Professor McGonagall had arranged for a special time for this on some weekends.
"You wanted this, Ms. Granger. If there are dates that fall on Hogsmeade weekends, then you'll just have to miss them," the Deputy Headmistress warned, her precise tone punctuating every word. Hermione assented with good cheer though, not all that disappointed.
The idea she may have been the youngest person to be granted the privilege to use a Time Turner made her especially giddy with pride. So much so that it shown outward, aura turning rosy – as Mrs. Lebedeva would put it when she's very happy. To her surprise, it didn't translate in a bad way. Apparently, her overall high made her more open to friendly conversation, especially when she met most of her year mates and new people from the other houses in her first set of concurrent classes. Compared to her previous years, her new candidness pleasantly startled everyone. Most thought her overbearing regard for excellent marks, and defensive behavior for her House translate to tolerance, if not disdain, to relations with other Houses. By the end of the morning, some sheepishly approached her as she and her boys walked towards the Great Hall, asking for a book recommendation or four. Even one Ravenclaw seemed interested in her thoughts about an assignment they'll most likely get in the coming days. Her Gryffindor year mates had gripped tiredly. They can't possibly have work already in their first week...?
Hermione and the Ravenclaw had begged to differ.
Movement at the corner of her eye brought Hermione back to the present. She watched as her feathered companion swiveled his tail while seeking a comfortable spot for its perch, looking up and around now in placid interest. She still puzzled how he managed to find her in her secret nook; far away from the great doorway, no open windowpane to allow him entry. She only remembered looking up to a short cry from the top of a bookcase, surprised eyes meeting small, sharp ones – reminding her of a bigger set that are just as focused. The intelligence she could recognize in their depths urged her instinctively to pat the back of the chair next to her, closing the book she's been perusing to give him her undivided attention. The falcon's unique appearance as it complied, and the adorable message he brought put her instantly in a better mood after her near walk-out of Divination class.
At the time, she had to mentally re-count the meaning of Arithmantic numbers to distract herself from her anger because of Professor Trelawney's unceasing comments of Harry's 'dire' fate this year – over everyone's dire fate. Even with Professor McGonagall's assurances afterwards that this was a regular foretelling by the self-proclaimed Seer, it still left everyone in a terrible downcast. Their Head of House had huffed in mild offense at their unenthusiastic reception of her Animagus transformation. Exceptionally smooth as it always was, it wasn't enough to knock off their blue mood.
What made Hermione decide to remain was Harry's poorly hidden dread, behind his sarcastic bravado with Ron. She can imagine him still processing the past two years of peril – including his summers – as well as the effect of those horrible Dementor beings on the train. Compared to how her life has been, it seemed her worries were so little compared to his. Her loyalty had been tested though as the odd professor's overblown exclamations of the wonders of the 'mystic arts' reminded her more and more of their time with Gilderoy Lockhart. It's not that she talked highly of herself to the point it's the basis of the entire year's lesson plan. It's the lack of any structured outline that gave Hermione a heavy feeling, perceiving she won't be learning anything concrete in class, no matter how much she researched for it.
She'll still try though. The library has yet to disappoint her.
Maybe she just had too high expectations over the subject, she mused, running light fingers over Popovo's right wing. The delicate nibbles in return made her giggle. Mr. Lebedev's mention of the use of his scrying mirror to locate her and her parents in France made her positively buzz for school term, especially when he referenced it as an advance instrument for peering into their various dealings around the world without him needing to lift a finger. All this and more was discussed in a most unconventional place the day he met up with them again.
Walking out from under the skirts of a moving female statue, the entrance to Place Cachée, the Grangers were greeted quietly by a towering yet handsome, familiar figure, who's snow-grey hair, and three-piece suit were styled smartly as if he just came out of a meeting – which was not a far-off conclusion, they thought. The only oddity was his use of gloves despite the summer heat, an accessory Hermione noted when he reached out to her dad for a brief handshake. The other day, her dad was able to get in touch with the Russian wizard, asking to meet outside the French wizarding quarter and advise them on the best transportation to take to the airport, seeing as he's more familiar with the muggle-side of the area than the Delacours. Mr. Lebedev assented after a pause, stating no problem with his availability. He left them bewildered though when he offered to guide them to their assigned terminal himself before ending the call.
"I had the time," Mr. Lebedev clarified, seeing their hesitance, before walking away, expecting them to follow. He nodded at the bronze figure, who smiled sweetly after him, eyeing his confident gait. Hermione could swear if it was molded with eyelashes, it would've batted them too. "As well as my own interest in ensuring my wife's peace of mind."
"We appreciate you doing this for us. But should we be worried?" her mother piped in, more curious than concerned, whispering in Hermione;'s ear how sweet of a husband the tall man was. Hermione hummed her agreement, noticing a few heads turning their way as they crossed a pedestrian lane. The Parisians seem content to leave them be though.
"Not at all. Still, the road of caution has never been a bad course to take," Mr. Lebedev began, face forward, but eyes idly noting the movement of cars and people, guiding them accordingly. He led them to what looked like a full parking lot. "It's similar to witnessing theft in the street. Let's say the person was not careful and did not place their wallet in a discreet place. You were able to learn about this blunder through observation. You now have the option of avoiding the same fate. Or not. For some, it is the latter. It is not because they are slow-witted. Some just think that being wary is one matter, and letting fear rule over your life is another," the wizard concluded succinctly, stopping in front of a shiny, sporty-looking vehicle. It had a beautiful silver finishing to it that even Hermione could recognize it's high value.
Hermione abruptly turned her head up at her dad's choked gasp, wondering at his wide stare and open mouth. He stuttered something she couldn't quite understand, all while pointing at the vehicle, still with that thunderstruck expression.
"Hm? An associate lent it to me. I thought it prudent and discreet to take a private car than use public transportation," Mr. Lebedev explained calmly, even as he eyed her dad with a slight raised brow.
"T-that is. That is far from discreet, Lebedev. That is a McLaren!" her dad asserted, an incredulous lilt to his tone.
Mr. Lebedev blinked slowly. "I am aware of the name of it's founding maker."
"I didn't know wizards could drive," Hermione's mother chirped in, also eyeing the vehicle and her husband with interest.
"Not many do," the tall wizard acknowledged, busying himself opening both of the passenger's – or driver's? – doors upwards and outwards. Hermione's jaw dropped. She can see why her dad is seconds away from frothing at the mouth. "They are wary of using any object that has too many moving mechanical parts. Too many to control. Incompatible spells that are forced to work together in different gears for example, can spark a false life into the object without meaning to." Hermione furrowed her brow, a small memory niggling at the forefront of her mind. "There are even rumors that some objects become sentient enough to become the equivalent of 'feral'. They are not cursed, per se, but they can lash out like caged animals when they feel threatened," he continued nonchalantly, effortlessly taking their luggage from their frozen fingers, and starting to place them strategically into the side panels in front of the rear tires.
The Ford Anglia...!
A group mental picture of the former flying car made the Grangers all look at each other in varying levels of alarm and amusement, with Hermione shushing her parents with silent gestures behind Mr. Lebedev's back. It was a comical story when Hermione relayed it to them while at the Delacours, but the legal consequences of it may not end well for Mr. Weasley if they mentioned it to the serious wizard before them. Although they still don't know exactly what Mr. Lebedev does for a living in the wizarding world, his authoritative presence made Hermione think he would suit well in the Ministry of Magic. Maybe even in the legal department.
"As you are aware, I transact with many non-magical businesses. To blend in better with the populace, I sought to attain many skill sets. One of which is to operate an automobile. It is not difficult. It is not unlike driving a carriage," Mr. Lebedev explained as he stood upright again. After pushing the panels back into place, he turned back towards the small family, who were staring at him owlishly. "Unfortunately, this is the only vehicle available I managed to procure at such short notice. It only has two other passenger seats. I could enlarge one of them so that two may fit better. But since this is not under my ownership, I am unwilling to do modifications without permission."
Hermione's mother cleared her throat twice, unsure if she is more astounded at the unique features of the car or realizing this is the longest you all heard the normally reticent gentleman speak at length. "Hermione is still small enough to fit in a seat with Will. Are you okay with that, honey?"
Hermione had to pinch herself awake, mind circling over the wizard's possible occupation – and driving a carriage? What? – before catching onto her mother's implication. "I don't mind sitting with dad. But won't it be a problem with the authorities? The single passenger seat belt...?"
Mr. Lebedev shook his head. "Certainly not. With your consent, Miss Granger, I can cast a cushioning and adhering charm on you to make this short journey comfortable for you both."
"And a car like this with tinted windows... any French bobbies would hesitate to hail it down!" Hermione's dad babbled, waking up from his own stupor and bobbing on the heels of his feet in growing excitement.
Mr. Lebedev hummed, seating himself first in the middle seat – Hermione had forgotten how much science resembled magic sometimes – before directing them to follow suit. "Indeed." After settling down on a comfortable place on her dad's lap, Hermione instantly felt a cooling sensation in the air surrounding her, skin tingling not unlike when one puts mint cream on tired muscles. Mr. Lebedev gave her a raised brow at her amazed expression in his rear view mirror before maneuvering the car out of the parking space and on to the road.
A comfortable silence followed as they enjoyed the rushing scenery, looking on as people and cars gave way to their passing, and the faint smell of strong tea circulating in the enclosed space. Eventually, Hermione's dad excitedly regaled them on the engine and make of the car body, on why it's such an extraordinary experience riding the latest in the luxury car industry. Mr. Lebedev supplied some of his thoughts on it's mechanisms, as well as the future of the car manufacturer. It was a surreal experience. She could almost forget she was in a car, driven by a wizard, who's calm enchantment still surrounding her in a comfortable blanket by the way, and listening in on a 'normal' conversation about muggle transportation and it's advantages, and disadvantages.
That is, before the conversation slowly turned to her.
"I understand you will undergo Divination Class this term, Miss Granger." Recognizing Hermione's nod from the corner of his eye, Mr. Lebedev continued. "A little later than I expected. Koldovstvoretz first years would have taken it already. No matter. So long as your school does not entirely neglect this fundamental discipline." Hermione waited with bated breathe, thoroughly interested now on her school's elective, and hoping the older wizard would compare her school to the Russian one. With the Bulgarians offhandedly mentioning their own institute in the north that is as different to Hogwarts as a swan is to a mountain lion, Hermione wanted to know all the differences and similarities the academy in the far east would be like. Would the students dress more or dress less? Do they have different houses as well? How many years do you have to attend before you graduate? Why is Divination considered a fundamental discipline? Remembering the gentleman's light interrogation, why are they so advanced in Potions?!
There was so many more questions she'd like to ask, so many possibilities to tread, but unlike Mrs. Lebedeva, who would discuss a wide array of topics within a short amount time, almost rushing to have her thoughts out in the air, but patiently leading Hermione to the answers she sought, her husband seems exactly the opposite, letting silence settle again in the car, more preoccupied with seamlessly merging with traffic than to elaborate more on his statement. His presence, although subtle, practically commands you to wait on him, to let him tell you his thoughts at his own pace. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to squirm, minding her dad, but also trying to block the flow of questions she badly wanted to ask.
"You should not belittle how simple it may seem at the beginning. Like how restless you were when Miya was teaching you meditation," Mr. Lebedev gave her a narrowed side glance, making her blush. Hermione returned his knowing gaze with a small embarrassed smile. "Have patience with all things. But more so, with yourself." At the next red light, he turned his head to gaze directly at her before staring pointedly at the glinting necklace around her throat, making her nervously fiddle with it. He hummed noncommittally before turning his head forward again, and drove them the rest of the way to the airport.
Hermione looked down at the Time Turner, contemplating on Mr. Lebedev's words, before movement next to it redirected her gaze. She laughed quietly, eyes going soft. With a silent swish of her wand, the struggling Snitch attached to the chain broke free, hovering around her head, with Popovo tilting his head animatedly, probably thinking if it's worth the chase or not.
Hermione is still astounded Viktor had given her the enchanted little ball last summer, having a vague idea that, similar to baseballs or basketballs, they're treated as keepsakes in a winning match, especially if it's the player's first big game – or so Viktor implied in one of their conversations. Unlike what it usually does in a match though, it only strays far from Hermione for a good five feet before buzzing back, sometimes burrowing itself within her hair or dropping in one of her pockets. Or recently, lunging to the chain she sticks it to so she wouldn't lose it. But before it would dive, it usually swivels itself a certain way, as if showing itself off.
~ Viktor Ivanov Krumov ~
Viktor's name would appear every time it does, right in the middle of it's ornate, golden surface.
If Hermione didn't know any better, she'd say he's been wordlessly reminding her to write back to him...
Her eyes swiftly glanced back up to his letter, innocently sitting on the table, with Popovo now snoozing next to her. She can feel the cool metal of the Snitch, settling its delicate wings around her nape and part of an exposed shoulder – her uniform was still left askew from her struggle of trying to open her copy of Monster Book of Monsters, with no success.
Hermione puffed out an exasperated breath before turning her head away, willing away the heat now rising on her cheeks, an eyebrow twitching in realization.
He's more clever than she thought, she mentally grumbled.
Author's Note: I'm late. I'm super late. But at least I managed to post this before the new year (but to my readers who already welcomed the new year...surprise! :D)
Thank you so much for being patient. The last two weeks was the only time I finally get to focus on writing again.
So much has happened since the end of October. After surviving a scary storm, two in fact, I was part of those that helped with relief efforts.
On a lighter note, I was in charge of our company Christmas decoration contest! (with the condition of using recyclable materials! It was super fun. Tiring, but fun.)
Happy New Year everyone!
Onwards!
- Reine
Translation Notes:
Small amounts add up to something bigger (Kleinvieh macht auch Mist) - a German proverb saying that 'every little bit helps'.
ja - "yes" in both Norwegian and German, in case you guys got confused by the dialogue
mistenksom - approximately means "suspicious" in Norwegian
skummel - approximately means "creepy" in Norwegian
scandal sheets - other term for the the gossipy tabloids
like the yolk in the egg (Som plommen i egget) - Norwegian saying that means something is 'perfect' or 'ideal'
Kakvo (Какво) - Asking 'what' in Bulgarian
mekitsi (мекици) - plural form of mekitsa (мекица) is a traditional Bulgarian dish made of kneaded dough made with yogurt that is deep fried
mamo (мамо) - short for maĭka (майка). Its like "mom" from "mother" in Bulgarian
kŭrpichka (кърпичка) - approximately means "handkerchief" in Bulgarian
Lyutenitsa (лютеница) - Bulgarian traditional dish made out of purée of tomatoes, red peppers, and carrots, often served on bread and topped with white cheese
Ljutika (лютика) - Bulgarian traditional spicy sauce that is made from roasted peppers, tomatoes, garlic, onions, and vegetable oil usually crushed with a pestle in a mortar.
buzz - English slang for excited
bobbies - English slang for police officers
The Golden Snitch is charmed with what is termed as 'flesh memory'. It 'remembers' the touch of the first person who handles it with his/her hands. Because of this, a new Snitch is released for every game.