A/N: Thank you to everyone reading, reviewing and adding to lists. Every notification I receive brightens my day like a little ray of sunshine!
Hermione frustratedly wiped at the curls that had escaped her loose ponytail, huffing as she pushed them back behind her ear for the umpteenth time. The effort was futile; the wind was so strong she would be lucky if the ponytail itself remained in place. Against her better judgement, she had been dragged down to the shore of the Black Lake by a determined Harry and Ron. The unpredictable Scottish weather would soon give in to the pull of winter, and it was, Hermione conceded eventually, one of the last days they would be able to enjoy 'the outdoors' with any measure of comfort.
Reluctantly, Hermione had seized her books and materials and made a home away from home for herself, perched on one of the large boulders that lined the shady part of the shore. The boys, as was typical, had given up any pretence of work about four minutes after they had arrived. Instead, they had been messing around skipping stones, feigning attempts at throwing each other into the murky water and languishing next to her, lamenting the amount of work they had to do, while not touching a single textbook.
By the end of the first hour Hermione had almost entirely tuned them out, and so perfected was her ability after years of practice that she almost missed Ron's whispered 'Krum' as he violently shook Harry's arm. The rough action, and the fact that he had to cut across Hermione to do it stripped away any stealth Ron might have gained from the uncharacteristic lowering of his voice.
Hermione looked up on reflex, snapping her head in the direction Ron unsubtly indicated. Sure enough, there was Viktor jogging passed them, flanked by two boys from Durmstrang, all in training clothes. She caught his eye, only momentarily, and thought she saw the ghost of a smile across his features before he turned away and his face morphed into a more serious expression. Hermione dropped her gaze down to the parchment in front of her, though she remained fixed on the retreating trio in her peripheral vision. Once they had moved far enough away, she gave in to the urge to glance up again only to look straight into the face of one of the boys who was running alongside Viktor. He gave her a small wave with a broad smile before Viktor bumped shoulders with him and they accelerated away.
Hermione's bemusement over the odd encounter gave way to a spike of concern as she suddenly remembered where she was - sat between the boys - what would they have made of that interaction? When she risked a cautious look in both directions she realised her worry was over nothing, neither Harry or Ron had noticed a single thing, they were too deep in conversation concerning the best way of asking Viktor for his autograph.
"I don't know Ron; I'm not sure opening with a joke is the best idea; he doesn't exactly look like a barrel of laughs," Harry advised.
Hermione's brow pinched as she tightened her grip on her forgotten parchment.
"You're right mate. But I better think of something before the twins do, I can only imagine how much grief I would get off them if they got something before me," Ron sighed.
Hermione bit her tongue. Viktor didn't always look surly, did he? He always seemed perfectly pleasant when they had spoken, though admittedly that had only been on two occasions, which wasn't enough instances to judge when he was always anything.
Hermione hadn't told her friends about meeting Viktor in the library, not because she was keeping it a secret exactly. Primarily it was because she had never mentioned their only previous conversation, the night of the World Cup final, in the Minister's box. That first meeting had been so bizarre that when Viktor had eventually disappeared with the rest of the players, Hermione had questioned whether anyone would actually believe her, after all; why had he been talking to her?
Then the Death Eaters had made themselves known and attacked the campsite, and Hermione had forgotten all about her private back and forth with the Quidditch star. Her memories of that day became muddled by fear, all she had felt as she faced the poor Muggles animated cruelly above the crowd before the sky had broken open to green spectral light.
The events of that evening had haunted her dreams for so long that by the time her mind had filtered back to happier recollections concerning the injured Quidditch player, Hermione had half convinced herself she might have imagined it after all. Real or not, thoughts of Viktor continued to poke at her awareness even as Hermione resolved to forget it. If she was nothing else she was a practical witch, it seemed silly to keep thinking of him, their respective paths were never likely to cross again after all, or so she had thought.
Then he had shown up at Hogwarts.
Hermione wasn't entirely sure how to process her feelings, she knew she was affected by Viktor, and that small acknowledgement drove her to selfishly keep the acquaintance to herself. The boys would be desperate for an introduction if she told, and with all of their Quidditch knowledge and easy chat, Hermione feared Viktor would soon lose interest in her.
Hermione straightened the papers on her lap as Ron leapt off the boulder and began convincing Harry to take part in whatever game he had just devised. He grinned at something Harry muttered, no doubt something crass, and Hermione felt a little pang in her chest at the warmth in his expression. It wasn't longing, not as such, more like the ghost of affection no longer carried so closely to her heart. Over the previous year, Hermione had over analysed all of her morphing feelings for Ron, as well as paying close attention to how he acted around her. At first, she had ignored it, not wanting to give the growing emotions attention less they became out of control. But she couldn't. Not when she realised her feelings for her friend went some way beyond the silly crushes that had come and gone before. Hermione shuddered as her mind supplied the coiffured image of Professor Lockhart. Her feelings for Ron were different, or at least they had been. When they could no longer be denied Hermione had done what she could to capture Ron's attention; she tried especially hard to please him, to help him with his homework, to make him laugh... But none of it had changed anything, he still saw her as a friend. Only a friend.
Hermione glanced up again as the Durmstrang runners turned a corner and were now visible on the other side of the lake. She took in their tall forms and uniform sportswear with a slight tilt of her head. Nothing like their clothes existed at Hogwarts, the only thing they had in that category were the kits the Quidditch players wore, and they were full robes designed to combat all weathers, not the long shorts and tight t-shirts the runners had on. Hermione caught her train of thought and dropped her face forward until all of the escaped hair she had been unable to tame obscured her heated cheeks.
Had she ever looked at a boy in frank admiration before?
By the time the Halloween Feast was upon them again, it felt almost normal for the other schools to be with them. Both the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students were tutored separately, so they only saw them at meals and the end of classes. The Great Hall was more than large enough to accommodate the additions, but Hermione couldn't help but feel disappointment she wasn't more able to assess herself against them academically, and, conversely, a tiny bit relieved that she wouldn't be challenged in her lessons - not that she would have ever admitted as much out loud.
As usual, the Great Hall was decorated sublimely, with an attention to detail that would only be surpassed in a few months time when the castle celebrated Christmas.
Hermione had waited, almost patiently, for this moment since Viktor had put his name in the Goblet of Fire. Though she hadn't understood the appeal herself, his entry hadn't been a surprise. Naturally, all of the selected guests had wanted to compete, and yet her emotions switched between hope and concern when she regarded the object that would decide his fate. Hermione considered that Viktor would likely be upset if he weren't selected, she had concluded that he must have been a driven individual; you didn't become the best in the world at anything without tenacity. However, if he were to compete, he would likely be in a significant amount of danger. Hermione quietly ruminated on his happiness versus her peace of mind as Dumbledore went through an unnecessary speech, and she only returned her full attention to the front of the hall when the Goblet began to glow, shooting white sparks racing into the air. As the room fell into silence another, larger cascade left the cup, blasting a folded square of dark-hued parchment straight at the headmaster. Dumbledore unfolded the charred paper, employing his usual flair for the dramatic and looked into the crowd, "The Durmstrang Champion will be… Viktor Krum," he called.
Cheers erupted from the Slytherin end of the room, and Hermione looked over in time to see the two boys that Viktor had been running with pat him on the back while shouts of congratulations, and what she assumed were some Bulgarian swear words came from the rest of their contingent. She applauded along with everyone else as Viktor rose from his seat to move out of the Great Hall for the Wand Weighing Ceremony. After learning they would be holding the tournament this year, Hermione had read up on the customs and processes and for once, those around her listened with rapt attention as she explained the reason for his exit.
The Beauxbatons champion was next. Hermione hadn't spent a significant amount of time with any of the blue-clad students, though she had been pointed out to them as a student that spoke French, so she been stopped in the hall occasionally to give directions. In those brief interactions, they had impressed her with her impeccable manners but were usually rushing off to an appointment, so Hermione had had little chance to ask more questions.
After another whizzing beam had flown out of the cup, Fleur Delacour was swiftly announced as the second champion, though her selection evoked a less heartfelt response from her section than Viktor's had done. A heavy hush fell over the room as the Goblet kindled again and the headmaster wasted no time in reading the piece of parchment bearing Cedric Diggory's name. Hermione smiled and shook her head in silent amusement as the tall boy untangled himself from the benches, before languidly strolling up the hall as if he were on a catwalk, a self-aware smile pulling across his beautiful features. Cedric could have been the poster boy for fair play and hard work, and if he was the Hogwarts champion all was right in the world.
As the door closed behind the exuberant Hufflepuff, the hall erupted with excited chatter. Now that the desire to know who the competitors would be had been sated the students began to speculate on what they would face and debates broke out over who would have the advantages. Such was the distracted state of the room at large that no one noticed when the Goblet began to glimmer again, not until another piece of torn, tattered parchment flew toward Dumbledore. As confusion spread, Hermione's eyes urgently darted to the teachers, when she could only conclude that they seemed as bewildered as she was made her heart rose in her throat.
By the time Harry's name was called Hermione had already begun half shoving him towards the front of the room. If something unexpected were about to happen of course her friend would be in the centre of it. As he made it to the head table, he turned and looked back at her, his eyes blown wide with an expression of total terror. Hermione sighed as she gripped the edge of the table helplessly, headless to the growing din around her. Oh, crap.
Hermione rubbed her eyes as she sat down at the almost empty Gryffindor table for breakfast. She was thankful for the peace and quiet. The atmosphere in their common room the night before had been tense at best, and Ron and Harry's heated argument still lingered in her mind.
She had been shocked into silence by Ron's attack on their friend, a rare feat indeed. Once Harry had returned from the headmaster's office, startled and grave, she had expected the derision from everyone else, but from Ron, it had stung. She assumed that he would cut her out, had done so several times over for smaller infractions, but never Harry. Only Neville had stood beside her in Harry's defence; Hermione was glad he would have at least one of his roommates on his side. Having shared a room with Lavender and Parvati for three years, she was well versed in the irritation caused by sleeping with the enemy.
After disinterestedly poking at her porridge for a while, Hermione gave up and poured herself a second cup of tea, pulling open the Daily Prophet, and scrunching her nose as she regarded the blaring headlines. They certainly hadn't wasted any time in getting the word out about the previous evening's event.
The entire article seemed to centre on Harry, painting him as a child living with the crippling burden of his parent's deaths preventing him from daily function. The tone was hugely patronising, and Hermione felt her chest swell with indignation, she moved to throw the paper away from herself before she caught the picture.
The Champion's Portrait dominated the front page, and her eyes were instantly drawn to Viktor, standing off to the side looking into the camera severely, barely moving at all. His look put her in mind of when she had first seen him, his face peering out of flags at the World Cup. Somehow the image he presented did not match up to the measure of him she had in her mind. Her eyes scanned the article for mention of him but there was only a concise note right at the end, and even there his name had been spelt wrong.
Finally folding the paper away she made to leave but paused when Harry shuffled into the quiet space, his eyes assessing the tables before he spotted her, moving to fold in next to her on the empty benches.
"Morning," she greeted kindly, omitting the good, he looked worse than she felt.
In response he collapsed onto the bench, dropping his head into his hands. "Hermione, you have to help me," he groaned.
Hermione placed a hand on his back in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. "Of course, Harry, of course."
As the heavy wooden library doors swung closed behind her, Hermione felt her shoulders sag with relief. She paused by the entrance to her chosen haven and shut her eyes, giving herself a moment to breathe in the comforting smell of parchment before moving determinedly towards the back windows, where the Muggle Studies section was located. She dropped her outer robes and bag, staking her claim on a table before trooping around the shelves to pick up the books she needed.
Though Viktor had asked to study together when they last spoke, Hermione hadn't yet seen him. He hadn't specified a day or time, something she reminded herself of regularly. It wasn't as if she was angry, or even disappointed, though she didn't want to analyse why she sat at these tables at every visit rather than her preferred ones by Transfiguration.
After trudging back with her haul, Hermione skimmed her planner and settled on Ancient Runes as her first topic. She was soon engrossed. The translation question set as homework was complicated, and throughout her workings she had already made several mistakes. Far from growing frustrated she found she enjoyed the challenge. As she thought over a particular stone, she pulled her reference book forward to rest on her thighs as she made notes on a scrap of parchment.
Hermione was utterly oblivious to the world around her, so when a heavy bag dropped next to her, the unexpected noise made her jump so abruptly she nearly left her seat.
"Sorry, sorry," the suddenly appeared Viktor said, looking genuinely remorseful as Hermione held her hand to her chest while attempting to return her breathing to normal. "I not used to sneaking on people, not very balanced on ground." He smiled apologetically, and Hermione found herself returning it. "I still allowed to sit here?" he asked playfully.
Hermione folded her arms across herself, meaning to respond in kind. "I'm not sure, as you can see there isn't much space."
Viktor's eyes fell on the desk that she had strewn with books and countless rolls of parchment. "I see, you need table for many people," he took two steps away from her and pointed towards the main doors. "I could ask students in other places, make more space?"
"Oh, just sit down," Hermione stuttered as Viktor started laughing. She was already feeling out of her depth. She knew her face would be the colour of a ripe tomato; she couldn't carry on this spirited discourse without risking passing out, being so unused to attention of this kind.
Viktor sat down in the chair next to her, not across from her as Hermione had been expecting and she jerked forward to make him some space, starting slightly when their arms brushed as he tried to help her. They both laughed, her nervously before she backed into her seat.
They were silent for a while as Viktor pulled out his materials and set up his workspace. Hermione wanted to say something, anything really, she was never short of words usually, but his proximity discombobulated her. She eyed Viktor out of the corner of her vision and tried to resume what she had been doing before he arrived, only it seemed she had forgotten how to write, sit and even breathe like a normal human. Had he always been so large? Hermione flushed again as he turned towards her, catching her eyes wandering over his shoulders and she sputtered out a garbled congratulations for his selection, hoping to distract him from her ogling.
"Thank you, was very pleased," he said before smirking at her, "I was hoping to ask you to cheer for me but know you friends with Potter."
For a moment Hermione wondered how Viktor knew about their friendship with Harry, but she supposed if he had not merely been told by another Hogwarts student it would have been a fair assumption after she had all but dragged Harry out of his seat when the Goblet of Fire spat out his name. On top of that display, they had barely been apart in the days that followed. With the reaction of the rest of their house, Harry had little choice but to tag along with her.
"Yes, I am," she confirmed as she set her quill down. "Harry is, well, he is a very important friend of mine, and not many people are talking to him at the moment, he needs my support."
Viktor looked a little sullen but the expression passed quickly, and he was back to watching her so intently Hermione felt the need to look away. "You look sad," he said finally.
Hermione smiled wanly, discomposed by his keen observation. "I'm just tired," she explained, leaning her elbow on the desk and propping her cheek up with her hand. "It was a long night. After the feast, there were arguments in the common room, and my best friends aren't talking."
"Boy with red hair is… Friend?" Viktor asked.
"Yes," Hermione confirmed, and Viktor's smile looked a little less false. "He is, but everyone, including him, thinks Harry put his name into the Goblet, and Ron is annoyed because he thinks Harry did it without telling him so that he could keep all the glory to himself," she rattled off before wincing. "Sorry, I didn't mean to whine at you."
"Hermi-o-knee stop apologising, he should believe friend. Karkaroff not happy about extra Hogwarts student but boy's face," Viktor trailed off, struggling with what he wanted to say. "He did not look like boy who was wanting to be there."
"Thank you," Hermione whispered, taken aback yet hugely comforted by Viktor's ease of understanding. Looking to distract from her awkward offloading she tried to change the subject. "What are you working on?"
"Charms," Viktor replied, pointing to a rough looking leather bound book that was open on a week to view calendar. It was so full - even by Hermione's standards - she edged closer. Sure enough under the day's date was a light blue bar with Charms - and what must have been the Bulgarian word for it - written within.
"That's a lot of work," she said observed reverently.
"Da… School, Quidditch, now tournament," Viktor licked his lips not taking his eyes off the planner. "I wanted come see you, before now… but-"
"It's ok," Hermione interrupted not liking his discomfort. She screwed up all of her courage and placed a hand lightly on his forearm, though she didn't dare look up. "I can see you are busy," she soothed or at least attempted to. As she reluctantly moved her hand away, Hermione eyed an interesting looking text on the desk in front of them, and her hands moved of their own volition with the urge to touch it. "What's this?" she inquired excitedly.
"Charms text for seventh year at Durmstrang," Viktor answered absentmindedly before regarding her expression and smiling indulgently and pushing it towards her.
Hermione tugged the tome closer and opened the hardcover, eyes wide with the promise of new information. She had often wondered how the syllabus at other magical schools varied from her own. Was it harder? More theoretical or practical? As she ran her hand over the contents page, Viktor leant over her shoulder to tap the top of the book with his wand and the Bulgarian script melted away to reveal English words
"Wordless translation charm? Very impressive Mr Krum," Hermione said primly, biting her lip to hide the smile that threatened.
He snorted before pointing to his head. "Not just Quidditch up here."
Hermione chuckled. She had long believed there was more to the Bulgarian that met the eye. Even in their first meeting he had seemed entirely focused on her. For someone as famous as he was he didn't seem to have an arrogant bone in his body.
As Viktor began writing into one of his many notebooks, Hermione glanced back down at her half-completed translation. Generally, after an interruption of her study time she would want to dig back into whatever she was doing, but this time she didn't. The lure of Ancient Runes wasn't strong at all, which perplexed her greatly. She loved Runes. As she watched Viktor working next to her, Hermione gave herself a pass, just this once. She'd had a horrible day, and it wasn't likely to improve anytime soon, and something about Viktor's presence made her feel comforted, listened too. Her mind slipped back to her internal monologues from the previous evening, while she had watched him celebrate as he was essentially placed in mortal peril. Not knowing when she might get the chance to have a quiet conversation with him again she decided to probe.
"Can I ask you why you entered? The Tournament I mean."
If she wasn't mistaken the apple of his cheeks fractionally pinkened, but the colour, real or imagined, was gone a moment later.
"I like competition," Viktor said matter of factly. "Durmstrang trains you to be best. Want people to know I am more than sports. I like challenge and I… I wanted to see other school," he finished softly.
It was one of the longest sentences Viktor had spoken in her hearing, and Hermione wondered if that was down to him being a quiet type or the language barrier. His accent was strong but not as rough as it had been when they first met. Though Hermione reasoned his nose had been broken then, and that would have had an impact.
She nodded, unsure of what else to say. Viktor had confirmed a part of his nature that she had already anticipated and for that, she was glad he had the chance to represent his school. Though his entry still didn't sit well with her trepidation over what the champions might face. Hermione straightened her book in front of her and dropped her tone, even though there was no one close enough to hear them. "But what about the dangers, aren't you scared?"
Viktor raised an eyebrow, shifting in his chair to face her. "Why? You worried about me?"
"Yes," Hermione answered automatically, too caught up in his closeness and his firm gaze to filter her response. When her quick confirmation registered, she averted her eyes. "Well, of course I am, I'm worried about all of the competitors," she stammered.
Smooth Hermione, real smooth. When she dared to raise her eyes, it was to see Viktor shift forward, tilting his head so close to hers that their cheeks almost touched. She felt his breath on the shell of her ear as he placed a hand on the back of her chair, closing in on her.
"I am small part scared," he whispered, "but do not tell anyone, it will be our secret."