Alright, I have determined something. I'm going to try to update every other day until I'm finished with this story. I know you're all shaking your heads out there, thinking, "Maybe after this resolution she'll at least update once every other week," but I'm serious this time. There will be exceptions, but I will try to update. I want to finish this before the real version of this story is released, and I'm sick of working on it. I have a gazillion other ideas for fics that I don't want to start until I've finished this one, so that's another incentive. And SkyHighFan, please, feel free to send me PMs every day, reminding me to update, as long as you review :-D

By the way, I apologize for not using Krum's accent. I know he has one, but I can't remember what it sounds like, and it seems like an awful lot of pain to look it up to keep up with something so trivial.

Chapter 26

Viktor Krum

After a long week and a half, everything was back to normal.

If there was a normal.

Harry was sitting, after a long but strangely refreshing day, behind his desk, rubbing his temples over a stack of essays that needed grading. He scanned each paper, crossed out a few things and scribbled some comments in the margins, and put a grade on top, setting it aside to tackle the next one. It was barely eight-thirty, but he was already exhausted.

His mind wandered as he tried to focus on the parchment in front of him. Hermione was back and well, Bill was alright, and he couldn't help but be in a wonderful mood, even if he was tired. He leaned back pensively.

So much has happened, he thought, and yet we haven't even reached December.

The door to his office opened, and through his half-closed eyelids he watched as Hermione came in and pulled up a chair next to him.

"You look tired," she remarked, pulling the stack of essays towards her.

"Mmm," he acquiesced, locking his hands behind his head.

"What're these on?"

"Basic spells, their conjuring, and practical uses."

"First-years?"

"Yes."

"Do you want me to grade them?"

He sat up and took the stack back, sighing. "You have enough to do to get caught up, and it's my job. They won't like it if their essays come back with someone else's handwriting all over them."

Hermione smiled. "At least they'd be able to read it."

"Hey. My writing's not that messy."

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"How do you think Ron would react if another friend of mine were to come visit for a while?"

He looked up distractedly. "Another friend? From where?"

"Bulgaria."

His eyes narrowed. "You've invited Viktor Krum."

She blushed slightly. "Yes. It's not a romantic relationship, Harry. We've decided we're just friends. But Ron might not be able to see that."

"Ah."

"So?"

"How would Ron react?" Harry knew the answer, though he didn't want to tell Hermione, so he hesitated.

"Yes?" she prompted.

"Honestly… I think he'd be furious. But he'd get over it soon enough."

She faltered. "It's just for a week."

"I know. But Ron would see it as you rejecting him. Ron can be a bit hard-headed that way."

She muttered something darkly under her breath, and then she said, in a slightly more light-hearted tone, "Maybe it'll deflate his ego a bit."

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"It is good to see you again, Harry."

"You too," Harry responded, nonplussed. The truth was, he wasn't particularly excited about meeting Viktor Krum again. The last time he had seen him, he had just emerged from the graveyard after Cedric was killed and Voldemort was reborn. Krum just brought back a lot of painful memories.

His consternation, however, was nothing compared to Ron's. His best friend stood beside him, glowering at nothing in particular, and when Krum shook his hand, it looked as though Ron were trying to crush the other's fingers. Krum withdrew rather quickly.

Hermione looked at him sternly, then glanced pleadingly at Harry. "I'll help you bring your stuff up to your room," she said, picking up his bag and starting off with it. Krum relieved her of her burden, despite her protests, and followed her out of the entry hall.

Ron glared after him.

Harry, knowing what Hermione's look had meant, drew him aside. "Ron," he said exasperatedly, "I know Hermione told you, but she wanted me to reiterate; their relationship is just friendly. They're friends, not romantically involved in any way. Like she and I. Friends."

"I know," he said in a barely subdued voice. He didn't look like he knew. "Where's he staying?"

"I offered to let him use the bedroom next to my office, since I don't sleep there anyway."

Ron looked livid, but he didn't say anything.

That week was a very long week. Harry's third-years were having trouble producing any semblance of patronuses. He had searched in vain for a boggart in the castle, and he couldn't think of any way to produce the effect of having a dementor in the room, which would surely scare them into doing the spell right. Ron was angry and taciturn except when Krum was in the bathroom and he, Harry, and Hermione were alone for a few brief minutes. Krum attended lessons with them, ate with them, even hung out with them in the common room. Hermione, apparently, had used her good standing to get permission for all of this from McGonagall.

Finally, it was Friday night. The next morning, they would walk down to Hogsmeade, where they would see him off when he Apparated back to wherever Durmstrang was.

Harry gazed around the classroom. The sixth years had been doing extra credit projects, and they sat all around the room. They had been charged to come up with a spell that would differentiate immediately between a boggart and a real menace, and he had finally, two nights previously, located a boggart in a suit of armor in the Transfiguration hallway. He was doubly happy; he would have something to test his spells on and a way to teach his third years to do patronuses.

He was halfway through the stack of parchment slips that the students had written their spells on for testing when he came across one that didn't… work. Instead, it turned the boggart into a big ball of green slime.

"Ew," Harry said, as he watched it hover in midair. "Riddik—"

But he never finished the spell. The ball whacked into his face, sending him flying backwards. As if the pain of impact wasn't bad enough, he slammed his head on the floor, slivers of pain into his skull. He tried to draw breath, but the ball was plastered over his face, and he couldn't seem to get it off, no matter how hard his hands pulled…

There was someone else in the room, yelling, casting spells, and finally he heard, through a curtain of pain and dizziness, the person land on the right spell. "Riddikulus!"

The ball of slime flew off his face, and Harry sucked in a blessed breath. He lay on the floor, panting for a few moments, while his eyes focused and his splitting headache dulled.

"Are you okay?" asked the three Krums that seemed to be standing over him. Then they merged into two, then one, then back to three…

"Stop moving," he muttered. "You're making my head hurt."

"I'm not moving," he said. "You are seeing things. Here, let me help you."

He muttered a spell, and Harry's vision focused instantly.

"I'm sorry I cannot do anything for your head," he said, and he really sounded sorry. "I have only a help for vision."

"It's okay," Harry muttered, pushing himself off the floor and rubbing the back of his head. He could already feel an nasty-sized goose egg forming.

"What happened?" Krum asked.

"Some idiot sixth year's idea of a practical joke," he answered, heaving himself into his chair. "Someone is going to get a week of detention." He glanced at the paper. It didn't have a name on it. He looked at it in confusion. "That's strange…" He couldn't think of anyone who often forgot to put his name on his paper… but then, his mind probably wasn't functioning at its highest ability right now.

"It was a spell to turn a boggart into something else?"

"It was supposed to be a spell to distinguish between a boggart and the real thing, but it didn't work."

"That is powerful magic," Krum said, looking concerned.

Harry shrugged. "He probably did it by accident."

Krum didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue, either.

"Look," Harry said, "thanks. That thing… I think it could've killed me, though I might've gotten it off before I suffocated…"

"It's no problem," he answered, nodding modestly. "I heard something bang very loudly and I was the closest one to it. It was my duty."

"Well, thank you."

"You're welcome."

"So you're leaving tomorrow?"

"I am."

"Hermione has really had a good time this week."

"Your friend Ron has not."

Harry sighed. "He's jealous. He doesn't understand that you're not interested in her as a girlfriend."

"I am sorry to hear that."

Harry shrugged. "It's not your fault."

Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. It had been sort of nagging at him all week, but he hadn't paid it much thought. He recalled something he had said to Hermione before school started.

"I know this sounds strange, but I think there's a Horcrux at Durmstrang. Don't reject that immediately; think about it. It's the school of the Dark Arts. Apparently, not many people know where it is, seeing as Karkaroff wanted to keep its location a secret when he was here during the Triwizard Tournament. It makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Who's the headmaster of Durmstrang now?" Harry asked.

"A man named Holinskii. He is a far better headmaster than Igor Karkaroff ever was."

"I'm glad to hear that. Is he more willing to have visitors?"

Krum looked at him strangely. "I… are you suggesting that Hermione come back with me?"

"Oh, no," Harry said hastily. "I don't know if she would part from her studies for that long. I meant… if I wanted to visit for a while."

He looked genuinely surprised. "That would be… I would be fine with it, but I cannot vouch for my headmaster. What would be your purpose?"

Harry shrugged, coming up with something fast. "I'm the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher here, and Durmstrang is the school of the Dark Arts. Think how much I could learn! And then I could teach the students here to defend themselves better."

Krum stroked his chin. "I am no longer a student there," he mused. "I am a teacher, and so I have more authority than I did…"

Harry balked. "You're a teacher?"

"You seem surprised, and yet you are as well, and younger than I."

"Have you given up Quidditch?"

"Yes."

Harry looked at him. "Why?"

Krum sighed. "It's a long story."

"We've got all night, if you want it."

"I started playing Quidditch when I was in my first year at Durmstrang because it was what my father expected of me. He was a Quidditch star, you see, and he wanted the same for me. And I had a natural talent for it, so I continued. But I've never really enjoyed it."

"But a teacher?"

"I always excelled in potions, Harry," he said slowly. "They were my passion, though I never revealed it until my father died."

Harry sat back in his chair. Until now, he had looked upon Viktor Krum distantly, as though he were a celebrity with no real life. Now he got a glimpse into the real man, the man that Hermione, apparently, was able to see. The man who had feelings and thoughts and family.

"I think I could get permission for you to come to Durmstrang," he said thoughtfully.

"This next week?"

"Do you have someone to cover your classes?"

"Hermione would be delighted to."

He grinned. "I'm sure she would."