A/N: For clarity large sections in italics are flashbacks.
Viktor craned his neck to glance up at the dark-green hedges that dominated the once neatly manicured Quidditch pitch; they looked more monumental, more intimidating, more surpassing than he had imagined since that evening when the nature of the third task was revealed. The barriers were so high that the fern green, almost black leaves blocked out most of the darkening sky, the setting sun had disappeared beyond the last visible point some time ago.
Viktor clenched his fingers a couple of times and tried to ignore the cold feeling that seemed to seep from the leafy barriers. There was undoubtedly something magical about them, though whether they were a particularly rare breed of plant, or just enchanted to behave strangely, he wasn't sure. Herbology had never been his strong suit; he found it difficult to get excited about things rooted in the ground.
Viktor rolled his shoulders and pulled the sleeves of his jersey down his arms as he moved back to the crimson marker on the soil, the painted cross was a few paces behind where he had been standing. The champions all had a designated spot so they would be precisely spaced 'to look the best for the viewing crowd and photographers', or some other nonsense that one of the Ministry twits had been prattling on about what felt like hours ago now. Not that any of them were stood where they were supposed to be at present.
Diggory and Potter were both speaking with Dumbledore, worried expressions on both their faces, though the older champion was masking it better. Fleur was looking up at the maze exactly as Viktor had been not a moment before. Her gaze was assessing and she reached a hand forward as if to touch the perilous foliage before she seemed to think better of it, her limb remaining motionless in the air for a while before she took one last look and retreated, to stand beside Madam Maxine, who was watching her star student with poorly concealed concern. A quick quirk of his head revealed that Karkaroff had not moved from where he had been fifteen minutes earlier, standing far enough away to give them both space, but close enough to still have been considered where he should have been. It was for the best.
Karkaroff's behaviour had grown increasingly erratic ever since the attack on Viktor, and the subsequent detainment of the entire school contingent to the ship. After he had relented, reluctantly, and allowed them off the vessel, though only to attend meals, the headmaster retreated, both literally, and if it could be believed, socially. Always a reticent man, Karkaroff now barely spoke, that was when he was even seen. Hastily scribed lesson plans were left on the desk at the start of classes, a different boy's name written at the top of each parchment stack to indicate that they should take over the planned instruction.
Viktor had been passed Karkaroff's study several times, and each time he debated whether or not to announce himself. The noise from within the forbidden walls ranged from deathly silence to violent crashing, and both served as a deterrent in their own differing ways. When the headmaster did show his face, Viktor was sure he wasn't the only one to notice the lingering smell of alcohol that trailed behind him like a cloud. The fact that Karkaroff no longer seemed bothered enough to cast a spell to mask it gave the boys more cause for concern than the excessive consumption itself.
Finally, tensions on the all but unsupervised ship were brought to a head, a swift argument after dinner turned heated, leading to violence, in the blink of an eye the air was full of deep calls and punches were being exchanged. Though the fight was broken up, eventually, and both boys involved forcibly sent off to different areas of the ship, Mikhail had suggested they find the headmaster. The situation needed to be reported, and though none of them would ever presume to tell Karkaroff what to do, they recognised that without their headmaster's presence, and a stern reprimand, the same arguments would only resurface the next day.
And so the three of them went to his office together, not deeming it fair to elect just one of them to weather his displeasure. They had intended to knock politely and wait in the corridor, but when they got there, the door was slightly ajar, splinters of wood having chipped free of the frame. Fearing the worst, Filip looked back before pushing it all the way open, and they were met with a scene of total devastation. The great carved desk in the centre of the room was smashed into two pieces, a tremendous chasm fractured down its middle, the force of the spell or physical action needed to achieve such a thing would have been enormous. Books and loose parchment pages were spread all over the small space, covering almost every available surface.
Viktor had presumed the room was empty at first until a laboured panting brought their collective attention to the far corner, there, with his legs pulled up to his chest, was the headmaster. Karkaroff's hair had come loose from his usual neatly tied pony and was hanging down his back. His shirt was ripped, dampened by sweat and covered in, what Viktor really hoped was not drying patches of blood.
The boys, acting on instinct, took a single step forward but were immediately halted in their tracks by Karkaroff's hand coming up.
"Leave," he commanded hoarsely, "and shut the door behind you."
Despite the familiar finality in his tone none of the boys heeded his words. There, on the skin that had been exposed by the ripped away shirt, was the Dark Mark. Somewhere in the back of Viktor's startled mind came the realisation that he had never actually seen the fabled brand before, it had been described to him, several times, in whispers in school rooms and more concretely by his father, when he had asked about the war years before. Voldemort had never made it to their shores, the iconography they feared at Durmstrang had been left behind by another man, but that didn't make the revelation any less shocking. To see it, to witness the skull and snake darkly embossed into human flesh was a different experience entirely, it was so much more real than when Viktor had been confronted by the stupidity of some of his classmates and their drive to carve the geometric symbol of Grindelwald into the back of their textbooks.
He couldn't be sure why his reaction was so strong, he had known for a long time who the headmaster had been before, no boy would have been sent to the school ignorant of the headmaster's prior crimes. Neither had Viktor been striving under the misapprehension that the headmaster was a reformed character. In essence, Karkaroff was the man he had always been, prejudiced as they came, only tempered slightly by the things he had seen, done, and the years of apparent peace.
Maybe it was the realness of the moment that impressed upon Viktor just how dangerous yet futile his presence was. The ugly quiet that permeated the room as Karkaroff registered that they had disobeyed him and stayed, his eyes widened momentarily before he palmed his wand and Viktor took a step back, the boys grappling with each other for a panicked moment, each attempting to push the other two behind themselves. In the struggle he almost missed the headmaster chuck his weapon to the ground despondently, his head dropping in defeat.
"Just," Karkaroff started, pulling uselessly at the frayed fabric of his shirt to pointlessly obscure their view. "Just go."
This time they all complied.
The atmosphere was eerie, Viktor decided. Though his English was getting better - immersed as he was with natives every day - still, he couldn't always find the right word, but in this instance, he thought it was correct. A strange smoke seemed to spill from the inside of the maze, creating a fog that licked around their feet in a way that was more purposeful than any weather he had ever encountered. It added to the prevailing quiet that surrounded them, despite the packed out crowd behind. Viktor couldn't make out if the voices had hushed in anticipation or whether his mind, gearing up to face the challenges ahead, had blocked them out.
It made sense Viktor thought, as he tilted his head to the side, the smoke would add to the dark, heightening the sensory deprivation that would kick in when they entered the task. It was already making him feel uncertain, playing with his mind, and eating away at his feeling of preparedness as he felt prickles crawl up the back of his neck.
Wrenching his head away, Viktor turned to face the crowd his eyes scanning until he spotted his mother and father. Their faces were serious, not that the expressions themselves were unusual, especially in front of strangers, but he could see their stress even from this distance. It was strange in a way, not that they shouldn't have been concerned, but he was so used to observing them when he played Quidditch, and they always looked to be enjoying the experience, especially his father. He supposed they were so used to watching him play that they had become desensitised to the perils of the sport, but this was something entirely different.
His heart lifted when he saw that Hermione was still with them, tucked in next to his mother with part of a blanket thrown over her legs that his father had insisted she share with them. He couldn't be sure from this distance, but it didn't look like much was being said, he supposed nerves were acting up now. Viktor was learning more about the girl the more time he spent with her, Hermione, in his experience, had two settings in response to fear; a stream of seemingly incessant babble, coupled with uncontrollable fidgeting, or still, rigid silence. She had been the first when he had met her earlier in the evening and he much, much preferred it.
Viktor had arranged to meet with Hermione ahead of introducing her to his parents, and so he waited for her in one of the walled gardens at the back of the school. They had decided that the library was far too public, especially as he was already in his champions kit, there was little chance of being low profile today. They could have met at the tent set up for the champions and their families, but Viktor had requested an earlier meeting, partly for his own selfish reasons. His parent were less likely to ask too many embarrassing questions of him if he and Hermione arrived together, not to mention a moment alone with her would be far from unwelcome. Another part of him, the part that was in tune with her, wanted to set Hermione's mind at rest before she was thrown into the deep end. Viktor imagined that she would be a ball of unnecessary nerves when she got there, and he was right.
Hermione could barely sit still, and in a way, despite Viktor's concerns about how things would go, it calmed him, with scarcely a second thought he pulled her onto his lap, resting his hands on her slim waist and making a point of telling her not to wiggle. When he drew a laugh from her, however weak, he felt his chest relax.
"How can you be this nervous?" he asked, looking up at her and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She had worn it down, at his request, he liked it when it was riotous, when the day was sunny it seemed to reflect almost every shade of brown possible. Her face had flushed a darker shade than he had ever seen when he had asked her, and replaying the moment had become a favourite pastime of his.
"What if they don't like me?" she asked softly, and Viktor fought the urge to snort.
"Unlikely," he proclaimed, but Hermione didn't look appeased.
"But, what if they don't?" she pressed, worrying her hands together and Viktor wrapped his arms around her tighter.
Recognising her need to talk it through, Viktor gathered his thoughts for a moment, trying to order what he wanted to say before resting his chin on her shoulder and pulling his face into a serious expression.
"Suppose they meet you, and somehow, despite their intelligence and warmth, fail to see you are lovely, so bright you are considered gifted, as well as hard-working and beautiful. Suppose that happen, what you need to know is that I make my choices, I started year travelling across ocean to fight dragon, I get what I want Hermione."
Hermione bit her lip as if she were trying to suppress a smile, but Viktor wouldn't let her, he bounced his leg underneath her, and her resolve crumbled. "Feel better?" he pressed, slightly smugly, and she thumped his chest in rebuke.
"Yes," she responded primly before laying her head against his shoulder, leaning her body closer against his chest. "Thank you."
Viktor smiled into the top of her curls, commending his past self for the plan, he felt more at ease than he had all day. It was moments like this when he wondered what would have happened if he had come to England and not been a champion, they could have spent more time together then. Though, it was pointless to dwell on such things now; it was what it was. They would have to get used to being apart even more in the next year if she still wanted to keep the lines of communication open. Thinking of the future, his thoughts turned back to his parents, and he turned to the quiet girl in his arms.
"Will you sit with them?" he asked, he wanted them to get a chance to know Hermione properly, and he didn't hate the idea of seeing her support him in the stands, an image he was hoping would be regularly repeated.
"Yes," she answered immediately, and Viktor paused before asking his next question.
"You will not feel... conflicted?"
"You haven't noticed have you?" she asked with a teasing lilt to her voice and Viktor watched on bemused as Hermione sat up straighter, pulling at the bottom of her long sleeve t-shirt, holding it away from her body so the images emblazoned on the front straightened out.
Viktor hadn't thought to look at her top when she first walked over, after registering the dark red colour, but as Hermione prompted, he looked again. It was subtle but clear now his eye was drawn to it; Viktor noticed the line of ribbon that had been carefully stitched down the middle of her chest, separating the slightly different hues of either side of the shirt. Just like the scarf she had shown him all those months before, one side with the Hogwarts logo, a little badge denoting Potter underneath, and the same reflected on the other side for him. Yes, it was just like the scarf, except this time it wasn't his name on the underside, it was visible, it was half of her top, she didn't have a jacket or anything with her, it wasn't hidden at all.
Before she could resettle herself against him, Viktor kissed her, surprising her a little. Usually, he led up to those moments more cautiously, gauging her reactions before making any moves, he just acted this time. One of his hands cupped the back of Hermione's neck and held her to his face as he secured her in position with his other hand softly clasping her hip. He swiped his tongue against the seam of her mouth urgently, almost sagging in relief when she opened her lips, plundering her mouth and pouring all that he didn't have the time, or eloquence with her language to say, into his actions. Hermione melted into him, more comfortably, more completely, than she had before, one of her delicate hands fisted into the bottom of his jersey. Viktor absentmindedly hoped her increasingly desperate grip would leave that small patch a crumpled mess, the tiny network of veined creases would remind him of her when he would need it later.
He was drawn away from the soft comfort of her mouth, all too soon, by a massive whooping sound and turned to find Diggory regarding them with a huge grin on his face.
"Is this where the champions get their send-off kiss?" Cedric enquired, pointing to the patch of grass in front of them before making a show of looking around himself. "Looks like I'm next," he continued crossing his arms over himself. "If you could wipe your mouth before coming near me Granger, I would appreciate it. Viktor looks like he's been a little more enthusiastic than I would typically like."
The other champion walked away after laughing heartily at Hermione's inability to provide an adequate comeback, between her slightly stary, post-kiss expression, and the dull flush on her cheeks from his teasing she was uncharacteristically mute. Viktor hadn't bothered to chastise him, preferring to offer a hand gesture. Some things, after all, were perfectly interpreted in any language.
When he looked back around to enjoy the last fleeting moments of Hermione's flushed expression she unexpectedly looked a little sad.
"Do not worry about him, he was trying to be funny," Viktor reassured her, lightly pinching her side to shake her out of her mood.
"No, it's not that," Hermione replied, sitting further away from his chest and reaching to twine her fingers with his.
"My parents again?" he queried, trying to meet her eyes.
"No, well yes... but also," she traced her thumb in circles around his palm and averted her eyes. "Please be safe," she whispered.
Viktor leant up to kiss her temple, "I'll try."
Viktor moved into a lunge as the first klaxon sounded, the deafening noise disturbed a flock of crows that must have made their home in the top of the hedges, they scattered, squawking indignantly as the Hogwarts champions disappeared into the maze.
Viktor lowered his body to be able to take off at a sprint, careful not to go too low so he would unbalance himself on the dewy grass. He would have infinitely preferred to be on his broom. He caught Karkaroff's eye, his face it's typical mask of stoic reserve until it slipped for just a moment, 'I'm sorry', the headmaster mouthed, and Viktor nodded, not sure what else he could do. There would be time for that to be rectified later, once he had spoken to his father, he was convinced that once they had left England, Karkaroff would return to his usual demeanour.
The siren sounded again, signalling it was his time to leave, and Viktor managed to drag in one more deep breath before taking off and submerging himself into the mysterious labyrinth.
When the second klaxon sounded Hermione jolted, though she had been expecting it, even counting down to it for the last ten minutes, ever since Harry and Cedric had gone forward. Her eyes remained fixed on Viktor's back as he sprinted into the maze, quietly wishing that she could track him for longer, the veritable wall of leaves made it impossible to have any idea what was going on inside, and now Viktor and Harry were in there. Her fingers twisted into the soft cashmere of the blanket that had been draped over her knees when she had sat down between the Krums and the Weasleys, Ron was on her other side, Ginny next to him, Mrs Weasley was at the furthest point.
The klaxon sounded again, and Fleur disappeared into the maze, her bright blonde ponytail swaying with her quickened step.
Hermione exhaled heavily and watched the frosted cloud that was expelled from her lips; it was too cold for June. You could have heard a pin drop in the crowd, she had expected people to begin chatting amongst themselves once the champions had disappeared from view, but the atmosphere was too tense for that. She had expected to feel that way, what with meeting Viktor's parents and all, but there was too much to worry about to be concerned with that any more, and in any case, they hadn't got off to a bad start.
Hermione wasn't aware that she had stopped moving at the mouth of the champions tent until she felt Viktor's warm hand on her lower back. At first, she thought he was going to propel her forward, but he didn't. Instead, he held his hand there until she looked up and gave him a small smile, indicating she was ready to go in. He didn't take his hand away as they moved through the outer ring of people, and Hermione did nothing to shake off the priority hold.
It wasn't hard to pick out Viktor's parents, given the small number of individuals assembled in the centre of the room and the fact that she knew who all the ginger heads were here for. Fleur's parents were off in the corner, talking in animated French. As soon as her eyes fell on Viktor, his mother's face illuminated into a bright smile and both pairs walked towards each other. Mrs Krum was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair that fell artfully, just below her shoulders. She was casually dressed in comparison to most pureblood women Hermione had seen before, wearing tailored trousers and a soft cowl neck jumper in a dove grey that highlighted her light blue-green eyes and dark features. What caught Hermione's attention was her jewellery, something her mother would have referred to as 'statement pieces'. Mrs Krum had accessorised her simple clothes with huge drop earrings with sparkling diamonds and sapphires that glinted as she moved, and a bracelet that matched.
They were older than her parents she thought, but probably not by much, Hermione was suddenly struck by an image of both sets of people meeting and shook it off quickly before it added to her already out of control nerves.
There was a slight shuffling of standing positions at first, as Viktor was wrenched forward into his mother's arms for a tight hug followed by a slap on the back from his father before all the attention in the little group turned to her. Mrs Krum looked down at her, despite her flat shoes she was a tall lady, though she didn't seem to use the height advantage to intimidate, at least not then. "Hermione, may I call you Hermione?" she began smiling sincerely, "I feel like I know you already."
"Err yes, Mrs Krum," Hermione replied awkwardly, wishing she had thought to wear something more polished than the jersey she had inexpertly stitched together and jeans.
"Sofiya darling, it's Sofiya," she corrected before looping her arm under her husband's and dragging him closer. "And this great brute is Grigor," she said with a teasing tone of mock adoration that made Viktor's lips quirk as his father looked heavenward.
Mr Krum, like the rest of his family, was tall and broad, Hermione felt quite engulfed when standing with the three of them. His eyes were darker than his wife's, and more assessing, though they didn't seem cold. He had significant features, and a face marked with more lines around his eyes than his mouth.
"Don't let his silence fool you, he's a teddy bear," Sofiya continued, and Grigor rolled his eyes. "Isn't that right dear?"
The man glared at his wife indulgently before turning to Hermione, "Miss Granger, it is wonderful to meet with you, will you please sit with us during Viktor's challenge?"
"It would be my pleasure," Hermione answered honestly and at his direction they moved to the refreshment table to continue their conversation.
It wasn't long before Hermione felt at ease enough to enjoy the conversation. There was something incredibly melodic about Sofiya Krum's voice, her accent clipped and chimed at her speech, and while her English was perfect, her pronunciation retained an impression of where she was from. Grigor's accent was more pronounced, his natural timbre less suited to twisting around the unfamiliar pattern of English speech, though it was no less perfect executed, it just, rightly or wrongly, gave the impression that it didn't come as naturally to him.
For Hermione's benefit, and down to their politeness, the conversation was conducted entirely in English, prompting Viktor's mother to gush at how much Viktor had improved in the last year.
"I suppose one only needs the right incentive," Grigor remarked lightly, and Hermione flushed while Sofiya's eyes twinkled.
"She's delightful."
After a few more embarrassing moments, where his mother asked about her hair, explaining how she had always wanted curls herself, alluding quite strongly to the fact she might now finally get her wish in grandchildren, Mr Krum decided to take charge of the conversation.
"So, Miss Granger, what are you looking to do when you finish school?" he asked. His words came out a little harsh, but Hermione was reasonably sure it wasn't intentional. She had heard Viktor speak about his father's temperament and ideals, enough to know that the man valued drive and ambition highly in anyone he met, so she was unsurprised that he had sought to probe her. In any case, it was an area she felt more adept at handling than most.
"It's a little early for that Grigor," Sofiya chided, but Hermione waved her off.
"I would like to undertake a mastery, maybe more than one, I'm still deciding on what after that," Hermione replied, hoping that it would not be considered too vague an answer.
Grigor didn't look surprised by her response, "Viktor tells us that you have a lot of options open to you, indecision in such circumstances is understandable."
Their little party broke up briefly when Filip and Mikhail came in; both boys were clear favourites with Viktor's parents. Filip made a show of lifting Hermione's arms and her hair, checking her over until Viktor asked him what the hell he was doing, or she assumed that's what he said, she only detected the frustrated tone of the muttered Bulgarian.
"Looking for seal of approval," he replied smiling happily, "Where did they put it?"
Viktor dragged her away after that, taking a moment to give her, and probably himself a little bit of a break.
"So, what do you think?" he asked as he poured her another drink, briefly pointing out Cedric, who suddenly looked a lot less jovial than he did earlier, stood next to Cho Chang as the young couple were sandwiched between both sets of parents in a tableau of British, middle-class awkwardness.
"They're amazing," Hermione replied honestly, taking a big sip of her drink, she had been talking even more than usual, and her throat was parched. At her response Viktor groaned, rubbing his large hands over his face. "What?" she inquired confused.
He smiled at her, "Just do not forget you like me, people fall in love with them, and then I never hear from them again."
"Unlikely," she replied, echoing his words from earlier and reacting quickly enough to move away from his fingers, intent on pinching her side.
When they moved back over to continue the 'meet the parent's experience' Hermione saw Sofiya eying her hybrid shirt and so the gentle inquiry about her other friend who was a champion was not a total surprise. Hermione had worried about this moment since the stupid articles had come out, only at least now she had a way of ensuring such a thing didn't happen again.
She screwed up all of her courage, ready to defend herself if she needed to. "Harry has been my friend, one of my best, for a very long time."
"Loyalty is nothing to be ashamed of Hermione," Sofiya returned kindly, "scandal is the bread and butter of the uninformed."
Hermione felt relieved that the topic was out of the way, but that relief quickly turned to discomfort when Molly Weasley made to move past them on her way to the drinks table. The matriarch's actions at Easter had stung, and Hermione couldn't help but be nervous that she would say something to her about the article in front of Viktor and his parents. After a moment's indecision, Hermione stopped her as she approached, trying to keep her voice steady as she introduced the visitors and averted her eyes when Molly's usual motherly tone took on a clipped edge.
Mrs Weasley puffed up her chest after eyeing Mrs Krum's earrings, with no small amount of disapproval, even Hermione could admit they were a little 'much' for what was essentially a school competition, however, Sofiya carried them off. On a million others they would have looked gaudy and overdone, on her, they looked, well, right.
"We are here to support Harry," Molly began with a brittle smile, looking at Hermione with an air of accusation. "Harry Potter," she clarified proudly, "he's like one of my own brood."
"I'm sure I should be impressed," Mrs Krum began with a broad smile, and the noise around them seemed to fall away as Molly gasped, insulted.
Sofiya animatedly dropped a hand to her chest, "I am so sorry, my English… it is not best, I have caused offence?"
The accidental provocation was washed away quickly, but Hermione watched a few minutes later as Mr Krum pinched his wife's hip, a move she recognised from Viktor. "Your English is perfect, wife," he said with amused chastisement.
"I have no idea what you mean darling," she responded faintly, plucking his champagne flute out of his fingers and taking a long sip, winking at him in a way that was much more provocative than Hermione was accustomed to in people her parent's age.
"Play nice, Sofiya."
"I intend to darling," she passed him back his glass, "Just as long as people play nice with me and mine."
"Not yours, not yet."
"Maybe not, but in any case, you should never try to make someone feel inferior, unless they deserve it."
Viktor felt his first stab of panic when the hedges suddenly moved, with a shuddering of leaves the entrance he had just used was lost to him. When faced with the unpredictable, he quickly decided that keeping moving was his best option and he took off at a steady jog, making split-second directional decisions. He had read up on almost every element of maze history and design; most were said to use traditional patterns, leading to the emergence of prescribed ways in which you could navigate one quickly, always turning right was the surest way to direct you to the centre and other well-versed hints. However, those mazes were constructed for fun, as a folly to have erected in the manicured gardens of the wealthy. This was something altogether different; he got the impression from the constant trembling noises he could detect in the stillness of the evening, that the formation of walls and pathways was changing at all times.
The first obstacle he came up against was an imposing blue wall. As he turned a corner at speed it was directly in front of him, raised between the path hedges but nothing else was visible. Viktor went to turn around, but the lane had silently closed behind him. He had no other option than to go forward.
As he approached the blockade it began to glint slightly, twinklings and shimmerings emerging until he was standing directly in front of a representation of the constellations visible in the night sky. Except something was off. He looked closer, Ursa Major was in the wrong position, and the stars in the Leo constellation were misplaced, everywhere he looked there were mistakes, some glaring and others that itched at his mind until he could unpick what was wrong. He withdrew his wand and began moving things around, silently grateful that Filip took such an active interest in this class. When Regulus finally moved into the right slot, the wall glowed for a moment before disappearing and Viktor took a second to collect himself before running again.
When he had come up against nothing else, no barricade or challenge for another five minutes Viktor began to get anxious. It was possible he was still too close to the outer edges and needed to move further in to encounter the obstacles that were protecting the cup, but he was sure he could hear feet every now and again, that suggested that the other champions were close by.
Viktor paused for a moment in an attempt to get his bearings and stretch his calves. He barely heard the muttering of the curse, once again leaving him no time to react. The unfamiliar magic moved over his body, drifting like thick gel from the crown of his head down to his toes. He was rooted to the spot for a moment, but he could no longer feel the residual ache in his limbs, or the chaffing of the cold against his fingers. He felt… weightless and calm and….
'Find Fleur.'
The command was spoken in a soothing tone which lingered in the recesses of his mind, animating his body as he made to comply. It was a reasonable request, one that Viktor had no problem fulfilling eagerly. He stalked through the maze with more determination, more certainty than he had before, whenever he made to think about where to go, or how fast to run the same voice in the back of his mind provided the answer immediately. It was reassuring, tranquilising and... distracting, he belatedly realised that he had lost his focus, his senses felt dulled, even though his body still seemed to react. He couldn't rationalise, it was like his mind was being held in a warm cloud, hovering above his body.
Eventually, Viktor saw a ponytail of the brightest white hair disappear around a hedge, and he automatically quickened his step, his feet hitting the damp grass in time with the rhythm of the commands in his mind.
Fleur span around as he approached and he smiled instantly at her familiar face, though she looked momentarily relieved she unexpectedly stiffened, scanning his features before something she saw made her face shutter, her eyes widened, and she took a step back.
"I found her," he said, with no idea why he wanted to. But it was over now wasn't it? That was the point, that was what he was there for, find the girl.
'Stun her.' The voice spoke again, only this time Viktor hesitated before complying. That didn't seem right; he turned to Fleur who looked for a moment like she might run away, he couldn't let that happen, he needed to think. He leant forward and grabbed her wrist, pulling her towards him.
He needed to think.
Forcing himself to concentrate was like wading through treacle. Viktor would get a couple of words together, and then they would disperse, and he couldn't remember what they were. He kept looking at her face, and something was telling him no. But he had to, bad things would happen if he didn't, he could feel it in his gut. He held his arm higher as he thoughts began to swim. He needed more time.
At his continued pause, the voice in his head magnified, both in volume and urgency, Viktor shut his eyes. Thinking became even harder now; it was like his thoughts were being forced to the back of his brain, behind a locked door.
'It will be easier.'
"Just let me take over.'
Viktor's last coherent thought before he raised his wand was that his friend looked afraid.
Hermione sat forward when red sparks appeared; firstly just from the shock of seeing any movement after what had felt like hours of watching the inanimate foliage, but then panic set in. Red meant someone was asking for help, but who? She got up without realising it and would have fallen over the blanket she dislodged if it wasn't for Ron's quick reactions stopping her topple. In a mass of feet, the immediate family and friends of the champions raced down to the mouth of the maze, waiting to see what would happen. As it turned out, the pause was only momentary; Fleur was removed from the maze, cradled against the dark form of Professor Snape, who had his mouth set in a grim line. The Beauxbatons champion remained limp in his arms as he passed her over to Madam Pomfrey's care and Madame Maxine rushed forward along with Gabrielle, her little sister.
Hermione heard the hushed voices explain that the young woman had been stunned and she felt bile rise from her stomach. She had known something was wrong, from the moment of Viktor's attack all the little fragments of strange behaviours that year had been playing over in a loop in her mind, and yet she still couldn't piece it all together in a way that would reveal anything that made sense.
The once quiet voices to the left of Hermione grew louder. The adults all appeared to be finding ways of subtly accusing each other of involvement without actually coming out with it directly. Hermione didn't believe that anyone currently standing in the freezing clearing was a fault here. Something else was going on.
Hermione's eyes were drawn back to the Potions Master; once Miss Delacour had been taken away to the infirmary. Professor Snape was furiously whispering something to Dumbledore, his mouth moving minimally though continually as the headmaster looked on gravely. Professor Snape's evident worry made Hermione panic all the more. Her professor had always given her the feeling that he was not capable of extreme emotion. Whatever was making him agitated now had to be something monumental.
Before any arguments could really get going amongst the tense group, another set of red sparks illuminated the night sky and this time several of the professors tore into the maze, freezing some of the hedges as they went.
Somehow Hermione knew it was Viktor this time, even before she saw him. And his mother must have had the same foresight as Sofiya moved towards the mouth of the maze with her, standing side by side silently and staring into the blank void of pathways that had been left open.
It took two of the rescue party of professors to carry Viktor out, and it was clear that he had also been stunned. For the second time that year. His parents were next to him in an instant, his father gruffly waving off the attempts of some of the Hogwarts staff to start assessing him, Hermione couldn't blame him. She was sure Viktor would have relayed what had happened the last time he had been in this position, they would no doubt feel he was in as much need of protection from those standing around him as from whatever was in the maze. Hermione's stomach fell to her knees as she observed the blood that was smeared over Viktor's face and the whiteness of his cheeks.
When Grigor eventually allowed his son to be placed onto a stretcher, he determinedly kept one side of the fabric secured within his grip, his face hardening in a way that made him look barely recognisable as the stoic but affable man that Hermione had met in the tent earlier in the day. Sofiya looked at her as they prepared to leave the field and Hermione felt torn, she wanted to go with them, to be there when Viktor woke up but Harry was still in there. If this year played out like any of the others, this would be because of him, her friend would be in the eye of the storm, and she couldn't let him do it alone.
"I… I have to stay," she said finally, and Sofiya gripped her shoulder.
"You know where we will be."
Once the second contingent moved to the Hospital Wing, the tension ratcheted further. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes like hours. Hermione couldn't take her eyes off the maze, waiting, just waiting to see Harry's face so the knot that was tightening in her stomach could finally be released. Even though she knew in her very bones that it wasn't going to happen.
At some point, one of her arms - that she'd had wrapped around herself tightly - was pulled away, and Luna appeared at her side dragging her cold hand into hers, squeezing it tightly.
"Hermione," she began, her voice full of anxious warning and Hermione swallowed down roughly against the lump in her throat.
"I know, Luna, I know."
As the adults kept talking amongst themselves the students on the grass clearing gravitated towards each other; they held themselves stiffly not a word exchanged amongst them. Hermione would worry about what was happening, what it all meant, later, now she just wanted to see Harry.
When he eventually appeared, it was almost anticlimactic. It was as if all of Hermione's silent prayers had been answered; she had been stood, doggedly staring at the maze and wishing for him, then all of a sudden he popped up in front of her. The crowd, who had missed a significant amount of the unfolding drama with the other champions, cheered uproariously, but Hermione, whose eyes had been trained on Harry from the moment he came into view, hunched on the floor, heard him above the rising clamour. When Harry released his first sob, sitting up slightly as a tremor moved through his chest, she ran forward, barging people out of her way, heedless to who they were, to get to his side. When she reached him, throwing the gaudy cup he never wanted far away she wondered why it had taken her so long to see what was right in front of her.
She had been so tuned into Harry, to his mess of black hair and his dirt covered face that she hadn't looked to the ground in front of him. To his hands that were twisted so hard against the scratchy yellow jersey that his fingers had drawn blood, to the limp body that was lying prone on the ground. To Cedric, who was staring up at the pitch black sky without seeing, his mouth no longer pulled into a winning smile or a boyish smirk.
Hermione's breath was wrenched from her body as she collapsed down to her knees, she didn't hear the moment that the crowd caught on to what was happening when the sounds died down and the sickly sensation from the beginning of the evening returned.
She looked at Cedric, her eyes fixed on his sharp cheekbones and kind eyes that would never again be illuminated by the warmth that he held within.
She looked at Cedric, doomed to be forever young Cedric, until all that could be heard were Harry's tortured cries, drifting hauntingly into the night.