A/N: Huge thanks and wet smacking kisses to all of you who have reviewed and added this fic to your lists. I wasn't expecting such a lovely response! As a lover of Viktor x Hermione it is wonderful to see so many of you that want to read that pairing. Anyway, enough of my gushing, here starts Part One, covering Hermione's 4th year and the TriWizard Tournament.
PART ONE: A Teenage Dream
Dozens of booted feet moved in strict regimental fashion towards the main hall on the lower deck aboard the submerged ship. The groans from the flexing wood, as they steered on course, were largely ignored by those marching through the corridors, the boys were well used to the ships noises by now.
Viktor advanced along with the rest, not moving quite as smoothly as he did in the air. He always felt more gangly and uncoordinated on the ground. He kept pace with his classmates before he stopped, standing in his designated position alongside the rest of seventh-year boys who were in attendance. Twenty of them had been selected to come to Britain and take their chance to compete in the TriWizard Tournament. The competition to get to this point had been rigorous, and Viktor had questioned his chances of success what with the amount of time he had lost, dedicated to preparations for the World Cup. Despite his absence, Viktor remained determined and thankfully following his return to Durmstrang, his training regime, physical and academic, had seen him comfortably over the qualification line that had been set by his discerning professors.
Not long after the final boy slotted into place the heavy doors at the back of the hall opened and a steady thump he knew to be a staff striking against the wooden floor alerted the assembled boys to the arrival of their Headmaster, Igor Krakoff. Every boy's back straightened as their shoulders squared to make them stand tall and proud as their teacher - cloaked in thick furs - walked through them. By now they were conditioned to know exactly what he demanded and the consequences they would swiftly suffer should he find fault.
As Karkaroff reached the front of his neatly assembled students he cast an appraising eye over each and every one of them, checking every polished boot and button before, apparently satisfied, he banged his staff a final time signalling the beginning of his speech.
"We are now mere moments away from arrival at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, from the very instant this galleon emerges from the waters of the Black Lake, I expect nothing but the best behaviour from every single one of you. You are here to represent the prestige of the Durmstrang Institute, to represent me, to represent your families and yourselves. In. That. Order. Is that clear?" he barked, his tone biting, though his long pale face remained rigid. Only his eyes spoke of the fires that dwelled beneath the calm visage.
"Yes, Sir," twenty voices answered in perfect unison, without hesitation or tremor.
Igor Karkaroff gave a subtle nod to acknowledge their answer before lifting his chin. "The TriWizard Tournament was invented as a way to foster European inter-school relations, the importance of which is negligible. But you will remember that this is a competition. At. All. Times. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You will remember the promises you willingly made the moment you first stepped onto the grounds of the Institute; you will keep the details of its location and practises a secret. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sir."
Karkaroff's face softened slightly, apparently satisfied that he had got his point across. "Some of you will know that Hogwarts and its Headmaster are considered by many to be whiter than white," Karkaroff continued, his lip curled in a blatant display of his feelings on the subject. "If any of you experience any difficulties while we are here I expect to hear about it. Though you may be capable, it will not do you any good to fight such battles on your own. Hexing or beating an inferior student to a pulp might be a fine way to express your distaste at being labelled a dark wizard, but it is hardly a compelling or defensible counterargument."
The headmaster glanced around at the studiously attentive faces again before continuing. "Finally, do not fuck up the entrance. If you make us look like idiots in front of those French fancies, I will be most severely displeased."
After a hard glance to show just how serious he was, Karkaroff left the room in a surge of mink, and the boys were left standing exchanged a few concerned glances in his wake. The expectations placed upon them at Durmstrang were extreme but most students relished the school's hard-line approach as it was known to produce excellence, none of them wanted to disappoint each other or the institute. A bell rang through the boat, reaching the boys still standing in the open room, they once again moved into the corridors their steps more eager, ready for the ascent of the ship.
-/-/-/-
Once the ship broke the dark surface of the lake the twenty boys moved up on deck and watched silently as the unfamiliar school - that would be their home for the next year - came into focus. The rolling greenery and sunlit castle were a world away from the frozen northern wasteland they had left behind. Despite the more hospitable outlook, Viktor was still grateful for his thick coat and hat as the stiff, Scottish, early morning breeze whipped around him, licking at his ungloved fingers.
Once the small landing craft, just big enough for their party, was levitated into the ominously still waters, they rocketed towards the shoreline. Typically Karkaroff would make them row, never one to miss a chance to expose them to demanding physical exercise, but today the headmaster was keen to get proceedings underway. The students deposited the boat on a sunny bank before resuming their order and marching towards the school.
As they stepped closer to the imposing castle, Viktor noted the presence of many of the school's students waiting in front of the massive entrance. Instinctively his head fell forward, shielding his face as he detected the first whisper of his name. It started as a faint murmur on the breeze and built until it became a steady hum. He sensed more than saw his schoolmates defensively close in around him, not that they perceived any threat, at least not a physical one, their actions were a silent show of support that Viktor was immensely grateful for.
As they got closer to the waiting crowd, Viktor couldn't help but notice the apparent differences between the Durmstrang contingent and the Hogwarts students. All of the boys he walked alongside were uniform, from their formation footsteps to their cropped hair, all of these children looked so disordered and individual; arranged in jumbled clumps, and none of them seemed to have a care for their posture.
As he walked deeper through the tangled crowd, Viktor secretly searched for a familiar head of curly brown hair. He had thought about Hermione Granger an awful lot over the previous months; her pinked cheeks and her light, spontaneous laughter. He would one day admit to himself just how much meeting her had contributed to his determination to get his spot on the boat, but not just yet. Before he would acknowledge it, he had at least met her again and confirmed that what he felt that evening had not been brought on by a substantial head injury and furthered by his wilful imagination.
He had always been expected to compete in the tournament, but Viktor had not been amazingly enthusiastic about the prospect of attending another school. The seclusion of Durmstrang gave him a certain amount of privacy that was already - two minutes off the landing craft - apparent he would not get at Hogwarts. When he had returned from the summer, Viktor had thrown himself into their preliminary rounds at his school. He was reasonably sure Karkaroff would have given in place regardless, but he wanted to earn it.
As Viktor finally reached the large entrance doors, he felt a touch of disappointment that he hadn't located her, and a small sense of panic that he did his best to ignore entirely.
-/-/-/-
Durmstrang's much-discussed grand entrance into the Great Hall before dinner was not something Viktor was looking forward to, though not for any reason relating to what was planned. The magic they would employ he enjoyed immensely; staffs were commonly used alongside wands at Durmstrang, mainly for the display of power they afforded, after all, it was primal reasoning that you appeared more intimidating when carrying a massive stick. The fire conjuring was beautiful, but he could have done without all the attention. Typically, Viktor would have taken his place amongst the rest of the students as they slammed their staff's in practised rhythm, but due to his prolonged absences for training, he had been unable to take part in the preparations required for the routine and as such had to walk in side by side with the Headmaster. Viktor had no doubt people would interpret his entrance as further proof of him being an aloof celebrity student who thought himself above taking part in such things. He sighed to himself as they were given the signal and he marched in, doing his best to walk up the seemingly endless gap between tables as fast as possible. It would have been much easier if he had been allowed to walk in from a side door, unseen, but one thing he was never permitted to be was invisible. Viktor was conscious of his lack of coordination and even more so when he was being watched intently, it was all he could do to not trip over his own feet. Viktor kept his eyes straight ahead and his mouth set into a firm line, it wasn't until he was more than halfway up the room that he spotted her.
She, Hermione, looked so different in this setting and suddenly he was very grateful for the lack of regularity amongst the Hogwarts students. She stood out so much to him, was so unique, the idea of making her conform so that she would blend in with everyone else was unthinkable.
Sadly, Viktor had no time to do anything more than glance quickly her way before he was ushered to his seat, which, to his vast disappointment, was on the opposite side of the hall. As he sat down, he watched Karkaroff join the head table, noting a moment of disgust on his Headmaster's face before his mask came down. The man was not always at his best around people he considered outsiders. Which, to a man like Karkaroff, was everyone.
Once the speeches were over and the food had appeared on the long tables, the visiting boys shucked out of their warm outerwear before filling their plates. Viktor answered a few polite enquiries from those around him on the benches before he turned his attention back to the other side of the room. Thankfully Hermione was sat on the side of the table that faced him, and it didn't take long to catch her gaze. Viktor told himself that she must have been looking in his direction too for him to have achieved his purpose so quickly. He nodded at her in private greeting, his eyes sparkling with clear amusement, he hoped it would be enough to convey that he had always known they would meet again.
Hermione's head tipped to the side, dislodging her cascading curls, and she smiled freely in reply before one of her tablemates commanded her attention, and sadly, she turned away. Viktor hoped he hadn't imagined the air of reluctance she had shown before she broke their shared gaze.
Wrapped up in his silent communication with Hermione he hadn't seen the querying glances shot over his head. When he had sat at the table, Viktor had taken his usual place between Filip and Mikhail, two boys he had dormed with since their first year. His schoolmates were more like family to him than friends, and having known him long before he began his professional career, they never treated him as anything other than a fellow student. However, a downside to the boys knowing him so well was that they clocked his odd behaviour, as his intensely admiring gaze broke away from the Gryffindor table they took their opportunity to grill him.
"Who is the girl?" Filip began, thankfully in Bulgarian, so as not to alert the rest of the table to the nature of their discussion.
"Which girl?" he answered, attempting nonchalance as he regarded the food on his plate.
"Don't play dumb Viktor; it doesn't suit you," Mikhail interjected.
Viktor snorted but he didn't reply, he kept his eyes fixed on the table as he reached to refill his water.
"That was incredibly fast work, we have only been here a few hours," Filip teased, elbowing him in the ribs. "I like her hair, did you meet any of her friends that you could introduce us too?"
Viktor poked at the cooling beef on his plate as he contemplated how much he wanted to say, he didn't want to build it up, lest he met with Hermione again and it didn't go well, and yet he couldn't bring himself to lie. "I met her at the World Cup," he reluctantly conceded, ignoring Filip's praise of her appearance, though his lips almost betrayed him and agreed all on their own.
"You never said anything," Filipi chastised, and Viktor nodded in acknowledgement. He could hardly deny it. He hadn't said anything despite several conversations they'd had that summer about girls and the like. At the time Viktor hadn't been sure why he was holding back, and he still didn't know now; however, he kept ruminating over how private his moment with Hermione had felt, how sincere, in some respect telling the boys about it would have sullied it somehow.
"Quidditch fan?" Mikhail queried, breaking Viktor out of his contemplations.
"No," Viktor laughed out, remembering Hermione's quiet words in the Minister's box, and the others exchanged a matching set of raised eyebrows. "Is nothing," he continued, switching back to English, giving a clear signal that he was done with the conversation.
"Sure, Viktor, sure," Mikhail countered, an incredulous expression, but neither boy pushed him any further.
Establishing a routine at Hogwarts took longer than Viktor had foreseen. At Durmstrang he was just a student, albeit one with extra responsibilities. He had assumed that he might get a few looks while in England, the country was a hub for his preferred sport after all, but the following of girls that trailed him everywhere, with rather dogged determination, was unexpected and unsettling. Still, whatever the obstacles he had to proceed with his life - his rigidly organised life - as much as possible. At the Institute, physical education was of vital importance, and both general fitness and combat skills were in the curriculum from the first year. Even if they hadn't been, his burgeoning career relied on his fitness, and so Viktor ran daily as part of a rather comprehensive exercise plan worked out with his coach and maintained through all weathers. He found it very strange that no such programme existed at the British school, and yet, despite their apparent lack of formal education, it did not stop his growing flock of followers chasing after him as he paced the extensive grounds. Though his suddenly acquired mobile fanbase was not without its positives, even Viktor could concede that running as if he had a pack of baying dogs on his heels had increased his stamina.
As he returned from his latest attempt at a peaceful jog to get his bearings, Viktor was still looking over his shoulder assessing the ground he had covered, and not looking where he was going he ran straight into Karkaroff. Thankfully, not at full speed, he was sure he never wanted to discover what may have happened if he knocked the Headmaster clean over.
"Careful, Victor," Karkaroff admonished as he brushed imaginary besmirchments off his robes.
"Sŭzhalyavam," Viktor responded automatically.
"In English," his Headmaster tutted, exasperation leaking into his tone.
"Sorry," Viktor corrected. Karkaroff had been insistent that they use this opportunity to perfect their English, Viktor knew he had a long way to go and was fully prepared to try, but sometimes he forgot and reverted to his native language.
A shrill set of babbling giggles alerted him that the hunting party had caught up, and a smirk crossed his Headmaster's face. "You should not run so fast Viktor. You are a man now; eventually the idea is to let one of them catch you." Karkaroff looked passed him in the direction of the girls before turning back with an expression of distaste. "Though possibly, not by one of these girls."
-/-/-/-
Once he made it back to the ship, thankfully unscathed, Viktor found Filip in their dorm room looking proud of himself, which seven years worth of experience had taught him was not usually a good sign. Trying his best to ignore his smug friend, Viktor crossed the dorm intent on heading into the bathroom.
"I have valuable information that might save your legs," Filip began self-importantly.
"Da?" he answered, bemused by Filip's phrasing, Viktor paused in his progress and stopped instead at his bed and began to rifle through his trunk for his shower things.
"What I know is… girl… the one you like with the curly hair... Hermy-O… Hermi-knee…. Miss Granger," he huffed, with frustration that Viktor would have felt sympathy for, had he not been thrown by his friend knowing her name.
"How did you know who…"
"Not important," Filip interrupted.
"But," Viktor tried to press but was cut off again.
"I know where she is when not in class," Filip finished with a self-satisfied smile and a flourish of his hands.
Viktor straightened, his eyes narrowing on his friend, Filip and Mikhail had been pushing for more information for days, and he had not budged. Viktor knew he had been running more lately in the hopes that maybe he would see Hermione but, he hadn't realised that his friends had put two and two together.
"No need to look so cross," Filip joked, smiling brilliantly, "I tell you… she spends time in the library."
The next day Viktor went in search of Hermione, leaving his friends after their last class. They exchanged knowing looks that made him hate them both for a moment, but he shuffled off nevertheless saying he would meet them at dinner. The ribbing and endless taunts would be worth it if he got to see her. Filip had been right, he might have been fit but there was only so much his legs could take.
After a couple of wrong turns and falteringly asking for directions from a tiny looking first year who gaped at him like a stranded fish, Viktor entered the quiet space, and as Filip had said she would be, there she was.
Hermione was stationed behind a table that was probably big enough for four people, though she commandeered most of the available space by spreading her things out in what looked like a highly organised form of chaos. She was bent over a book, deep in concentration, with one of her small hands splayed on the ancient looking tome while the other clutched at her quill determinedly, her delicate fingers covered in sizeable blotches of blue ink.
Viktor was once again struck by how distinct she looked; he had never seen anyone that resembled her. Her hair gave her an almost wild appearance and yet she held herself with a regal quality that was rare and bizarre in someone as young as she was. He stopped in his tracks for a moment, merely to observe the small changes in her face as her eyes followed the words in the text. He studied her as hard as she did her book, watching as she absentmindedly bit her bottom lip, an image he was beginning to find very distracting. He marvelled at the sight as her eyebrows rose and her eyes gleamed as she stretched across the table to furiously write something down, pausing to pull back the sleeve of her jumper that was at least two sizes too big for her small form. Desperate as he had been to speak to her, Viktor was almost loathed to disturb her or to interrupt the beautiful tableau she presented.
Suddenly a chorus of giggles rang through the space, the harsh, grating sound both disturbing the tranquillity and taking away his choice of when to approach. Viktor frowned at the group of girls at a nearby table, all of whom were making a relatively unconvincing display of reading.
Hermione looked up at the unwelcome interruption and scowled in their direction before she spotted him, her eyes softening a fraction. "Hello, Mr Krum," she greeted politely. "How strange that I should see you again, at my school no less," she continued with one eyebrow raised and Viktor picked up on her silent query.
"I sorry, Durmstrang was coming but my place not positive until after World Cup." Yes, I did know I would see you again. Otherwise, I would never have left without requesting permission to write to you.
Hermione smiled at him, and he took it for forgiveness, however momentary and gestured towards the chair opposite her, sitting down when she nodded. Regarding her relaxed pose and attentive expression, Viktor decided he could get away with some teasing of his own.
"I thought you had forgotten about me, thought you must be fixing boy's noses every day."
"Hardly," she laughed, and Viktor's shoulders relaxed This laugh, her laugh, was so unlike those of his obnoxious shadows, it wasn't jarring in the slightest. "I meant to say hello, but I haven't seen you since your dramatic entrance," she made a face, and he beamed at her. "How are you enjoying Hogwarts so far?"
Viktor ran a hand through his short hair as he tried to mentally translate all of the words he wanted to use, the action prompted a bout of sighs from the nearby table, and as he caught Hermione rolling her eyes he felt the corner of his lips quirk in response.
"Ah, it is different," he answered honestly. He wanted to be more verbose, to engage Hermione in a long conversation about anything that she would find interesting. Something that would leave her as enticed by him as he was by her, but he had neither the grasp of the language or the nerve right now, though her warm, open greeting more than buoyed him. He had wondered for so long whether their previous conversation had been a mere fluke, a magic that could never be repeated. The hairs standing up on the back of his neck squashed those doubts into dust. Hermione's eyes flickered to her open book, and Viktor remembered the intense concentration she had displayed when he entered.
"I disturb you?" he probed gently.
"No, well, yes, I suppose," she replied apologetically. "I need to finish something for Transfiguration."
Viktor glanced over at the book she was working from and studied the chapter headings. "You are the fourth year, yes?"
"Yes," she confirmed.
"This is very advanced book," he commented lifting his eyes again to meet her's across the table.
Hermione blushed, "It's for an extra credit paper."
Viktor felt further encouragement from her admission; he took his education and his career, everything, seriously. It was comforting that Hermione did too. He thought about speaking to her more on the subject of Transfiguration; it was a topic he knew well and as it was school related he wouldn't feel so much like he was harassing her. Sadly, any further attempt at conversation was halted by his little group of followers, they started whispering, loudly, and he felt too much like he was threatening her progress to stay.
"Well, I go now, so you get work done," he said reluctantly.
"Thank you," Hermione murmured, and Viktor grew even more irritated with the simpering girls as he picked up on her obvious relief.
Unwilling to go without plans to see her again he stood from his seat and stepped next to her chair, turning his back to their uninvited audience so his words would not be overheard. "Could I… could study with you next time?"
"Yes, of course," Hermione replied quickly, "there are some quieter tables around the back there, near the Muggle Studies section, no one ever goes there so we would be quite alone… oh," she finished abruptly, putting a delicate hand in front of her mouth. "I didn't mean," she stammered.
Viktor coughed away his grin. "Is fine, understand meaning," he placated, gently laying a hand on her shoulder both to reassure her and to give in to his desire to have some form of physical contact. "Bye Hermi-o-knee."
"Your pronunciation is getting better," he heard her say as he turned to leave, she had said it so quietly he wasn't sure he was supposed to have heard it. Viktor couldn't resist responding over his shoulder.
"Maybe if need say it often, will get better still, yes?"
"Yes, I suppose," Hermione sputtered out, and Viktor took in her flustered face and hoped he hadn't pushed her too far.
The next day Viktor entered the Great Hall flanked by Filip and Mikhail all moving with determination. The boys from Durmstrang had agreed to place their names in the Goblet of Fire the same day, and they were the last to arrive in the crowded space. As he took his turn, Viktor removed the folded piece of parchment from his pocket and dropped it into the depths of the glowing cup, and with it a simple wish that he be chosen to represent the school that had taught him everything. As he swung from his elevated position, he spotted Hermione sat on the raised seats, a book resting on her knees. After sending her an intense glance, he winked at her and watched with a growing sense of warmth as she averted her eyes in an attempt to cover the blush that was spreading across her cheeks.
As he sauntered over to where the Durmstrang boys that had taken their turns were congregating, Viktor caught a few of them looking at him. None of them would have missed how he singled Hermione out, and that was fine by him, they would all know his intentions towards that particular witch now.
As he attended an all boys school it was really no surprise that a lot of the discussion in the lead up to the Tournament had centred on the types of girls they were likely to meet on their travels, as far as Viktor was concerned he had just sent an unambiguous signal that this particular girl was very off limits.
Clapping as the rest of his schoolmates took their turn, Viktor absentmindedly looked around the room until he spotted Karkaroff lingering in the shadows. When he registered the headmaster's raised eyebrows, and grim expression get was left in no doubt, he would be summoned for a conversation soon.