Hermione looked down at her watch and squinted in the dim light. It was useless. She could see nothing other than the slight glint from the glass, certainly not enough to make out where the hands were. For years, her dad had worn a watch with a backlight that would illuminate the clock face a weirdly aggressive bright yellow. Hermione had always teased him about it and said it was the most pointless thing she had ever seen. What business did a dentist have with a watch that was designed to withstand deep-sea diving? It suddenly seemed like the most practical thing she had ever seen. She couldn't wait to tell him. He would be incredibly smug to get vindication finally.

Hermione had hoped to make it to the library before ten. If you went early, you could guarantee the good tables. But she had been running late after having to hunt down a book that Ginny had borrowed, and now she was waylaid standing behind a tapestry, of all places, while she waited, semi-patiently, for her friends to vacate the entrance hall corridor.

Hermione wished she could at least cast a Lumos to read one of the books in her bag, but she was worried she would be heard, even whispering, they were that close. If she were discovered, she would have to explain herself, and that would be an even more awkward encounter than the one she had tried to avoid by hiding in the first place.

She was trying to peer through the slim gap at one end of the tapestry when a sudden hand on her arm made her jump so severely she nearly screamed.

"Oh my God," she exhaled in a rush as she felt her heart thunder in her chest. She turned, and even in the dim light, Hermione could see enough to make out the outline of her would-be attacker. His height, the distinctive shade of red hair and a knowing smirk gave him away. Hermione imagined she would be able to pick him out of a line up in the dark. That amount of self-belief warped the air around a person. She sucked in a huge breath and resigned herself to the fact that one day she would kill one of them if they didn't accidentally kill her first.

"Fred, what the hell are you doing?" she spat, moving as far away as she could from the outer edge of the tiny nook and pointing her finger into his chest. "I could have had a heart attack!"

"What am I doing?" he returned, grabbing her wrist and pulling her offending finger away from his person. "I'm not the one peeking out from behind an old curtain."

Hermione grit her teeth, but before she could shout at the idiot in front of her, she heard a shuffle of feet from the other side of the tapestry. She shifted as close as she could to the wall. In the distance, the muffled sound of Harry's voice carried over to them distinctly if not clearly. Hermione said a silent thank you that they appeared to be moving further away before she let out her held breath and turned back to face Fred.

As her eyes adjusted, she could see his arms were crossed over his chest, and he had one eyebrow raised. Hermione fought the urge to rub her hand in his face as if she could physically remove his self-satisfied expression.

"You were saying?" he drawled, though he was respectful enough to keep his voice low. "Why are you spying?"

"I am not spying," Hermione insisted, grateful for the dark for the first time as it covered her flush.

Fred leant against the wall, then cast a silent Lumos that Hermione hated being impressed by. "Lurking then," he qualified with a wave of his arm as if that description made her sound less like a crazy person.

"I am not…" Hermione began again hotly but then her eyes glanced around the enclosed space and she realised she couldn't carry on as if she wasn't behaving at all strangely. "Fine," she conceded with a little huff. "I saw them coming down the hall, and I thought it might be awkward, so I hid, in here."

The them in question was Harry and Cho, which she was sure Fred already knew. He would have seen them on his way to harass her, though, he could have probably done it without being noticed. He had more stealth in his little finger than Hermione could lay claim to in her entire body.

Harry had finally asked Cho to go to Hogsmeade with him, and while Hermione had no notion of whether that was a good idea, Cho had accepted. She had been on her way past the door when she had seen them standing together in the entrance hall, and before she could think about it properly, she had hidden to save herself from having to make things even more difficult for her friend.

"Awkward for them, or for you?" Fred asked with a smile, and Hemione shrugged.

"Both I imagine."

"You're an odd duck, Granger."

Hermione scowled. "That's as may be, but I'm not the one who followed me in here."

Fred laughed and patted her head as if she was the silliest person he had ever interacted with in his life. "You couldn't exactly follow yourself."

Hermione pressed her hand to her forehead, feeling the beginnings of a stress headache she was all too familiar with when dealing with the twins. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. Why did you follow me?"

"To see what you were doing."

Hermione pulled her hands away from her face and regarded Fred's shadowy form. There was something of the toddler about him from time to time. He could be mischievous and manipulative and do just about anything for a laugh, but if you asked him a direct question, nine times out of ten, you got an honest answer. He simply didn't care enough what other people thought of him to bother trying to lie.

"It was, is clearly none of your business."

"All the good stuff always is."

She huffed, and he grinned, and Hermione got the distinct impression he thought he had won. He probably had. This was turning into a bigger nightmare than she had anticipated, all she'd wanted to do was save Harry's nerves. Well, that and avoid having to put a pretty big strain on her already limited supply of people skills. Hermione was sure that being confronted with your best friend and his date that had just gone through a horrific bereavement was not a comfortable situation for most. For her, it was an almost unimaginable minefield of discomfort.

Hermione wished Viktor was there. He would have known what to do. He would have walked over, greeted them both warmly and extracted them before it got anywhere near the protracted exchange of anxious looks and sighs that Hermione envisioned. But Viktor wasn't there.

"Come on then," Fred said, wrenching back the heavy drape, and with it, bringing Hermione back into the here and now. "Out we go. Wouldn't want your boyfriend finding out about you hiding in darkened corners with sinfully attractive boys."

Hermione rolled her eyes as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "And how exactly would Viktor hear anything about it? The goings-on of the Hogwarts upper years are hardly front-page news."

"How quickly she forgets," Fred said with a teasing laugh. "Last year, all the papers cared about were who you were apparently dating. Throw my devastating good looks into the mix, and I'd say this could run for weeks. Skeeter would lap it up."

Hermione closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, but unfortunately, when she opened them again, Fred was still there.

Seeing no other option, she picked up her bag and ducked under his shoulder, letting out a relieved sigh when she could confirm that Harry had left the corridor. Hermione scampered off quickly, after a look at her now readable watch confirmed just how much time she had lost, she knew it was going to set her back all day.

"Try not to get into any more trouble," Fred called over his shoulder as he turned the opposite corner and Hermione shook her head. Chance would be a bloody fine thing.

Viktor closed his front door and took a steady breath now that he was safely inside his flat. Instead of heading straight to the shower like usual, he went to the bookshelf at the back of his study, to search for the file of paperwork he had leftover from when he first brought the property.

Viktor found the ward matrix diagram folded up at the bottom of a box file he had forgotten he had. It had been hidden by a stack of pamphlets he had been given about the communal space and amenities that he'd had no interest in but had been too afraid he might someday need to throw them out.

Viktor took the folded up parchment into the dining room so he could lay it out on the big table and get a proper look at the schematic that had been devised to integrate with the central security protocols of the building. He was ashamed to admit he had never given it more than a passing glance before today, but now, suddenly it seemed so much more important.

It had been a week since verifiable reports reached them that a group of Death Eaters had somehow escaped Azkaban. Nobody knew what to say, or how to explain it. The wireless was full of people speculating to their heart's content, but the fear that lingered behind the need to understand how was apparent to everyone. This was supposed to be impossible. However they had done it, they were free now, out in the world with an agenda that was yet to be defined.

Viktor's father told him the English press had reported the news alongside pictures of the convicts taken at the time of their incarceration. Their taunting, remorseless faces had been splashed over every newsstand. The papers in his country had taken a different, though no less sensational approach. The entire front page of his local paper had been a picture of the sky above Azkaban. Viktor had stared at the dark, undulating clouds from the colossal storm for the longest time. He thought about it often, especially once it became apparent that it had not been conjured to conceal their escape, but rather, to announce it.

The act was nothing less than an announcement of war, but the British Ministry addressed it as if it had nothing to do with the rise of Voldemort. The Bulgarian press reported the British Ministry statement without passing judgement one way or the other.

The people knew though, or so Viktor thought. They might have taken comfort in the words spoken by the heads of state, but when it came down to it, they knew. They had seen it all before. There was a tension that you could feel in the air. Something was coming.

His mother had written to ask him to come home, and Viktor had been ready to dismiss her, until today.

-/-/-/-

Viktor arrived at the stadium ahead of time, well before the other players. It might have been a truism that those who lived the closest were usually the last to arrive, but Viktor was the exception that proves the rule. He was punctual to a fault.

Despite the early hour, there was already something of a commotion on the north side of the field. Viktor saw a cluster of men in groundsman uniforms milling around his coach and the director of the team. 'The suits' as most people in the sport called them, were very rarely anywhere near the pitch, especially when it wasn't a match day. So the director's presence alone was somewhat startling.

Viktor headed over. While it was possible he would be interrupting, he knew better than not to report when he arrived, and so he jogged ready to give a brief greeting and leave. Only when he approached, he realised he wasn't the first player to arrive after all. Dragomir was there.

The beater's hair was damp at the ends like he had come straight from a shower and he had a curiously pensive look on his face. The only time Viktor had seen Dragomir ever looking less than fantastically happy was a single occasion when he hadn't come out of a practice session well. To see him look even moderately serious, especially so early in the morning, was incredibly disconcerting.

Viktor nodded in greeting, but none of the men milling around were paying attention to him.

"Dragomir?"

His teammate gave him a distracted nod. "I got here early," he said. "I saw them all. I thought they were discussing the best place to put this year's trophies… but-"

"What is it?"

"There," Dragomir pointed above his head towards the bottom rung of the stands. It took Viktor a moment of searching, he didn't know what he was looking for after all but then, as soon as he saw it he couldn't work out how he had ever missed it. The sign for the Deathly Hallows had been carved into a post in front of the first row seats. It had to have taken some determined work to be so deeply engraved into the wood.

Viktor remembered the mark. He had seen it around Durmstrang. Only in the hidden places, but it was still there. He remembered his mother explaining it to him one Summer, what it all meant, what opposing it had meant for her family. He felt the blood drain from his face.

Viktor looked at the weatherbeaten stands and then the mark. He was struck by the paleness of the wood beneath the gorges.

"It's…"

"Fresh… yes," his coach interjected bitterly. "Apparently they have been appearing over the last few days. The head groundsman has counted six, but they are only in very obvious places, there may be more."

"Why?" Dragomir asked, tearing eyes away from the graffiti.

The older man sighed. "Because they believe their cause has a voice again."

"But Grindelwald is in prison."

"He may be, but he is just one man, a figurehead. If your foe is an animal, a snake for example, when you cut off its head you vanquish it completely, the same can not be said for an ideology. With ideas, you can cut the head off the snake, but it doesn't disappear, it splits and regrows until its teeth can spread venom wherever it chooses."

"What do we do?"

"Nothing, for now. We focus on the jobs we have been given, at least until we know more."

Viktor thought of Hermione, probably still tucked up in bed in a castle in Scotland. For the first time, his easy guess at exactly where she would be sent a chill down his spine. At least at Hogwarts, she would be safe. His mind whispered that she wasn't, not after last year but he shut the voice out, for now.

-/-/-/-

Viktor looked over the ward array and wished he could remember a bit more of his lessons on the subject. It had all seemed so irrelevant at the time. He pulled a chair over to the table and snagged a piece of parchment of the pile. He would have to ask Mikhail what the best thing to do was. There was no way he could ask his father without his mother knowing, and if Sofiya found out, there was a good chance she would arrive and steal him away under cover of darkness.

Viktor pressed his quill to the parchment and tried to explain his request in as non concerning tone as possible. There was nothing to be gained from panicking his friend. After all, this was only the beginning.

Ginny had set herself up at one of the larger worktables in the Gryffindor common room and was trying to use the quiet Thursday evening to get her head around the duality of conjuring. She had just managed to open her essay with a plausible paragraph that hinted at some understanding of the subject when the portrait hole slammed open, and Harry slunk in.

Ginny glanced at the old clock above the fireplace and saw it was nine o'clock. It was all she needed to confirm that he had been at another Occlumency lesson with Snape. Merlin only knew why anyone had thought that would be a good idea. She suspected Snape didn't like anyone, not really, but he positively loathed Harry, and she couldn't imagine either of them would be civil if the subject required them to dip in and out of each other's heads. However, no one was asking her opinion, as usual, so she kept her mouth shut. Mostly.

Harry retreated to the opposite corner, where Ron was setting up a chessboard between some wingback chairs. As soon as he had taken a seat, he was almost out of view. The few people that had looked up at his aggressive entrance went back to what they were doing before, and to Ginny's internal bafflement no one asked where he had been. It wasn't exactly typical for a student to be out in the castle after the library was closed, and everyone tended to know when someone had done something worthy of a late detention, so they must have known it wasn't that.

The general lack of inquisitiveness seemed at odds with the normal behaviour of her housemates. They couldn't wait to sniff out a new couple, a change in the Quidditch team line up or a clandestine kiss. Maybe Harry's increasingly volatile behaviour had finally resulted in people giving him a wide berth?

Whatever conclusions anyone else might have come to, Ginny believed it hadn't been hard to find out what was really going on. Harry had disappeared twice a week since Christmas, always at the same time. She had happened to pass him once, and he had definitely been on his way to the dungeons. There wasn't anything else in that part of the school - unless he had been heading to the Slytherin common room, which was about as likely as him forgetting all about he-who-should-not-be-named and leaving Hogwarts to become a ballerina.

A week ago, she had seen all she needed to confirm her suspicions. Hermione had been sitting in the library, reading a book on Occlumency, which she quickly and obviously, tried to hide as soon as Ginny had approached. Ginny had stopped herself from asking Hermione to confirm it. It wasn't fair on her to do so.

Ginny realised that over the years she had leant on Hermione probably more than she should have, as far as her little infatuation was concerned. She had asked for details about Harry's life and subtly stepped around their friendship on more than one occasion to be sure that was all it was. She realised now that should have given Hermione more credit, she might have been romantically challenged - well, until quite recently - but she was honest to a fault. If Hermione had been in a relationship with Harry, she would have made sure Ginny knew and weathered the likely, and probably unjustified storm that would have followed.

Ginny's eyes drifted away from her uninteresting parchment as Harry leant forward in his chair and shrugged at something her brother said. His hair had fallen in an artless tumble across his face, but he made no move to push it back. Ginny held in a sigh.

His lesson must have been different this time. Last week, Harry had appeared to be on the verge of a fight; his frustration and rage had been visible for all to see. This week though, he seemed more resigned than anything else.

Harry played his move, and Ginny tried her best to focus on the now swimming text in front of her eyes, but the other side of the common room called her attention far more often than it should, especially as she had told herself to stop trying to read his emotions all the time. It was a hard habit to break; she had gotten so good at it since joining Hogwarts, she had spent a fair bit of time watching him after all.

Ginny thought of her brother's teasing and that bloody valentines card and shuddered. It should have just been a little crush, something to grow out of as she got older. The only problem was that Harry was getting older too, and growing into himself with every passing day. But, clearly, she wasn't the only one that had noticed.

Ginny had seen the way Harry looked at Cho, or even Daphne Greengrass now and again, when he thought no one was looking. Jealousy was such an ugly emotion, it was a pain in the arse to feel it so keenly. Cho had apparently returned the interest enough for them to go to Hogsmeade together and it wasn't as if Ginny could say anything. Not only were they not in a relationship, but she hadn't let herself gather dust either. She'd had a fair few dates in the last couple of years, nothing that she thought had the potential to last, but she had tried. She refused to sideline herself while waiting for the boy she was in love with to notice her.

Things with Dean were fun, though she got the distinct impression he was on the verge of wanting more from her emotionally, which was annoying considering how upfront she had been. Ginny might not have loved being seen as overly attached to her unrequited love for Potter, but it didn't mean she would lead someone on to make herself look, or feel better, no matter how good it felt when Dean kissed her.

She thought that this year she might have picked up on something. When she and Dean had been sitting together, flirting at breakfast, she had thought she had seen Harry look at them a few times. Ginny had imagined she saw disapproval in his eyes, but then it had been gone so fast she had begun to think she had dreamt it up.

Hermione seemed to think that there was something there, and when it came to matters of the heart, she usually didn't pick up on something until it was flashing above someone's head in a neon sign. Whenever she talked to Luna about it, she went all mystic and talked about destiny and trusting fate's timing and, the much more helpful, reminders that boys matured so much slower than women did. If her brothers were any guide, the sexes were decades apart at least.

Typically, the type of vague interest Harry had been showing would have been enough for her to pursue him. Ginny was a confident person. She was sure of herself and her own wants. But Harry was different. Harry had always been different.

She debated going over to ask how he was, but she decided against it, he was far too suspicious of everything and everyone at the moment. So Ginny went back to her reading. She changed subjects with the vain hope of sparking some interest, and tried to make a good show of reorganising her latest Charms essay.

As the light from the common room fire dimmed she was half sure Harry looked in her direction once or twice, but she never looked up to confirm it, she didn't trust herself.

V. Krum,

In exchange for your letters to a boy that needed them, I helped the progress of one that needed to reach you.

Now that the skies are darkening I wanted to offer what comfort I can. They are okay, from what I can gather. Safe, for the moment at least.

I understand you probably don't want my interference or welcome my opinion. I think I can remember being 18 well enough to know that it is not a time in your life when you want to be told how to conduct yourself, or your relationships, especially with women. But, in case it wasn't completely obvious when she wrote to you, the directive she was given nearly broke her heart. She's a strong one, that one, but a feeling one too.

So if you think there might have been some other way, there wasn't, at least, not at the moment. If you've seen the papers, you will understand that her caution wasn't for nothing.

Anyway, I'll try to let you know what I can. This note did not get to you via the usual channels so unless it's not already patently obvious, DO NOT REPLY.

S

-/-/-/-

Viktor looked away from the note and back at the finch that was observing him from the window ledge. Before he could think to make a note of its markings, it launched into the air and sailed back outside. The bird had been barely big enough to carry a large sunflower seed, so he had no idea how it had managed to deliver the letter.

Not the usual channels indeed!

Hermione settled herself on a dry looking log and stared out at the Black Lake. It wasn't really warm enough to be outside for pleasure, but if she restricted herself to no more than half an hour and wore a few additional layers, it was worth the slight biting feeling at the ends of her fingers to get some fresh air.

She loved Hogwarts. Even after five years, the magic of living in an actual castle has not diminished, but it was a strain as well. It was noisy, and although not crowded to the point of being physically cramped, Hermione often found it difficult living amongst so many people that would pop up at any time or place during the day. Outside she could escape and breathe for a while.

She had brought Dragon along with her. Her tiny friend had taken to positioning himself between her jumper and her coat. It kept him warm and gave him the perfect vantage point to poke his little head out so he could prod her ear with his tongue whenever he wanted attention - which was all the time - but apart from that, she was at peace.

She'd been tracking a large ripple in the water, wondering what fish or creature was causing it when Luna plopped down next to her. She was wearing mittens from different sets, and her hair was tucked into the back of her purple fur-lined coat.

Luna greeted her before darting a hand against Hemione's back and pulling forward what was unmistakably an owl feather.

"Are you moulting?" She asked, and Hermione offered a weak laugh in response.

Luna gave her a sad look, but Hermione only shrugged. She'd told her friends she would stop going up to the owlery, and she had fully intended to do so. It was pointless and unnecessary, and the increasing volatility inside the castle made them think it wasn't safe. If she was noticed to be actively watching for news, they would put increased tabs on all of them, something they didn't need.

When she got up that morning, Hermione had told herself that she would make a quick trip so she could visit the owls she had come to know so well and take the opportunity to enjoy some silence before the day began. But, as soon as she was at the top of the tower, doing her best to avoid the biggest clumps of feathers and… worse things, she picked up the small stack of letters that were destined for Gryffindor and hurriedly flicked through. The pile was so small it was pitiful.

What the Order had feared had come to pass, and though it had never been formally announced, Umbridge was now intercepting all mail.

As her fingers had reached the last letter, Hermione had carefully pushed the parchment back into a neat stack and turned around before she could do more than wave a quick farewell to the owls. She needed to stop going up there. It was borderline ridiculous to spend so much of her time pointlessly standing around looking out of windows.

"You can't be upset with him, Hermione, he's following your direction."

"I know," Hermione replied listlessly. She did, she really did. But it didn't stop her fantasising about him just being there at breakfast one day, like he had never gone. Maybe he could come back, and Umbridge could leave, or Parkinson? A trade-off?

"He will understand," Luna said softly, and Hermione sagged. Dragon took the opportunity to slink out from under her collar and creep around her neck so he could get closer to Luna. Ever since his 'holiday' with the blonde last year, he had developed a strong affection for her.

"I hope so," Hermione replied with a little less confidence. She didn't doubt Viktor, she trusted him more than she trusted herself, but while absence made the heart grow fonder, it also made her imagination run wild. Not all the inventions of her unoccupied mind were nice ones.

"I know so," Luna replied as she caught Dragon before he could attempt to jump the gap between their shoulders and let him snuggle up to her cheek.

They sat quietly together as Luna took off her mittens and fiddled with the loose bark on the log.

After some time had passed, they heard the crunch of gravel and watched a couple of professors making their way around the building. Hermione had seen them doing that often of late. Typically you would rarely catch any of them out on the grounds, but since the arrival of Umbridge, there was always at least one of them to be found strolling. Whether to have a private conversation or just some escape, Hermione wasn't certain, though it was probably both.

"Luna, what do you think is going to happen?" she asked as she watched who she believed to be Professor Sinistra disappearing into the distance.

"I think things are going to get worse," Luna replied.

"Worse before they get better or…?"

"Just worse," Luna said before she reached out and gripped Hermione's hand.

"I thought you might say that."

A/N: Hello lovelies, in the next chapter, we will have some MUCH needed comic relief, a bit of girl time, and things will appear brighter for a short time. Then, we are plummeting ever closer to the end of Year 5 (praise be!). Stay safe x