Okay, as some of you may have noticed, I posted chapter 7 before, but took it down. It turns out that I had a lot of revisions to make... I took some things out to move into chapter 8 (meaning a more epic chapter after this), and then deleted some things altogether. Hopefully, I did the right thing. haha. As always, read, review, and tell your friends about this fic! I'll be in Oregon for a week, but I'm really hoping to get chapter 8 up beforehand.
A quick thanks to my second beta, cascaper.Read her stuff; it's excellent!
The stacks of books in the library had become their haven; their safe place to talk. At this time of evening, people didn't tend to bother them like they would if they were together in the daytime. Just half an hour until curfew, yet half an hour was a precious amount of time they were happy for. Although they did spend a great deal of time together either talking about school or working on homework, they were gradually getting acquainted.
"Viktor," she addressed him after a few moments of quill-scratching and silence. "Why did you want to ask me to go to the ball with you? I mean… there are prettier girls at Durmstrang and even Hogwarts… and we barely knew each other's name."
"If there are prettier girls, Herm-own-ninny, I vould be interested to see them," he said softly, taking her hands in his. She blushed lightly and averted her eyes from his, pleasantly flustered. He continued, "And you are different than any girl I haff met so far. You are a real girl. You are smart—"
She cut him off, "And I don't know the first thing about Quidditch."
"Exactly." He smiled and she giggled quietly, returning her focus back to her beloved books.
Morning dawned bright and early over Krum Manor. The light was casting itself over the Bulgarian hills with a golden clarity. Viktor stood in the crimson kitchen, his hand resting on a crystal goblet. The light hit the glass and cast prisms against his hand. He looked out onto the grounds and across the orchard, deep in thought, until a small cough behind him pulled him back into the house again.
"Good morning," Hermione said, already dressed and ready for the game. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a ponytail, and she had put on a modest amount of makeup. She was wearing a pair of deep maroon robes with a black sash; she dropped a black cloak on the back of a chair in the breakfast nook.
"Dobro utro," he said with a small smile. "You're up early. I vas just going to come and vake everyvone up now."
"It's okay, I already roused the children." Hermione took a seat at the breakfast bar across from where he stood. "They sleep like the dead. It's in their blood."
"If I vould haff known you were up, I vould haff started breakfast already," he apologized, checking the clock. "If the little vones are already up, I may haff to get things done the qvick way… vell, actually, they're not really little anymore."
"It's insane. I can't believe Rosie's already fourteen… and Hugo just turned twelve in November," she reminisced. "Do you want help with breakfast? I feel like I should be helping…"
"I vould never make a guest cook, but if you vould like…" He pulled out his wand and started summoning things from the rich mahogany cupboards. "Vould you like to start the coffee?"
"Sure. In the samovar?" she asked, pointing at the decorative silver contraption on the counter.
"It tastes better made than it does out of the bag," he teased, passing her a bag of coffee grounds. She laughed and slapped him playfully on the shoulder.
"Very funny," she said sarcastically and proceeded to make the coffee.
The Portkey took them to the base of the stadium just outside of Vratsa. The snow on the ground gave way to several dozen tents for both the Vultures and the Ashwinders before leading into a gargantuan white stone stadium. Viktor estimated guessed the arena could hold at least ten thousand cheering fans, nothing like the World Cup, of course, but the thing was, it looked like all of the seats would be filled for this particular match. They had over an hour until the match, meaning there was plenty of time to sift through all of the vendors in sight.
Hugo and Rose were completely dazzled with the sheer amount of memorabilia for sale in the plaza. Rose immediatley dashed over to a display selling action figures and picked up a figurine of Vratsa's Keeper; Ianevski. She pulled out a Bulgarian-English phrase book and flipped to a dog-eared page.
"Izvinete me, Kolko struva?" She read slowly off the page.
The vendor chuckled, and responded in a heavy Bulgarian accent, "Three Galleons. You said that very vell."
Rose passed the man three Galleons from her purse and looked back at the book for a proper reply. "Blagodarya vi!"
She happily held the miniature player in her hand as she walked back to rejoin the rest of the group standing a few meters back. Viktor nodded, impressed. "I agree vith the vendor. Perhaps you should study Bulgarian vone day. You pronounce it vell."
"I'd like to. I love languages," Rose replied, watching Ianevski strut back and forth across her palm.
When they finally did make it to their seats, it was with lighter money pouches. Rose had bought a black and crimson Vultures rosette, a team poster, and notebook with Ianevski on the front which she swore to fill with notes, although her mother thought it was ridiculous. Hugo bought a pennant, a hat with a screeching vulture, and a cape with a rather gruesome illustration of a vulture with a bloody snake clenched in its beak.
"That is so violent," Hermione said in regards to Hugo's cape.
Viktor chuckled as he handed each of them a souvenir program and a pair of Omnoculars. "Is not half as bad as vhat the Russians are selling, I am sure… and there vere vorse things out there… they vere just all in writing."
They climbed a great deal of stairs before reaching a hallway that must have been near the top of the stadium. Huge pictures as tall as Viktor was lined the hall. Some of the greatest Vratsa moments were framed in these pictures. Some of them looked ancient, while some look like they may have been taken a year or two ago. Hermione stopped in front of one that Viktor didn't even really notice in passing.
"Viktor, this is you!" She pointed out excitedly. He backtracked to stand beside her and look at the picture.
"I vas fourteen in that picture," he said, thinking back. He had been a great deal shorter then. His hair was whipped back from his face as Jean-Marie deVersailles of the Quafflepunchers followed him in quick pursuit. His face was stern in concentration, fingers just inches away from the Snitch as he inched forward bit by bit. Low to the ground, in desperation, he dove off his broom, catching the Snitch and rolling onto the grass, nearly getting clipped by deVersailles. It still seemed like yesterday, that match, but a yesterday that was followed by a really long today. "Vone of the first of the season and vone of the first I actually got to play. I vas a reserve for two years beforehand."
"You were fourteen? Rosie's age?" Hugo said in disbelief, shaking his head. "That's insane."
"Most of the teams in the league said so as vell," Viktor noted with a bit of a chuckle. "I vas half or a third their age. Ve didn't vin the European Cup that year, but I vas just happy to play. Anyvay, ve should get to our seats now or the match vill start vithout us."
Viktor lead them to a small, yet very lavish box with deep red upholstered chairs and crimson team banners hanging from the walls. The box was empty so far, but he knew it would fill up soon. He told Hermione, "Ve'll have others in the box, of course."
Less than ten minutes later, a few more guests filtered into the seats. Viktor stood and greeted a couple with four boys in tow. He turned back to Hermione. "Hermione, you remember Mikhail Poliakoff?"
Hermione stood and offered her hand. "Yes, I remember Mikhail. How have you been?"
Poliakoff kissed Hermione's hand politely. "Very goot. You are looking vell. Viktor told me you vere visiting, but he did not tell me how pretty you have gotten… or that you vere bringing kittens along."
"I mentioned her children," Viktor insisted. "You haff forgotten."
"Maybe so," Poliakoff said with a shrug. Mikhail was ridiculously forgetful. He turned his focus to the game. "So, is Vratsa going to hand Abakan their behinds on a platter?"
"I vouldn't bet othervise," Viktor said certainly. "Ivanova has been training them vell, and half the team is mine next year for the Vorld Cup… so I vould say you Russians have very little chance of vinning."
The other two seats were taken by one of Viktor's former teammates, Gavril Volkov, and his wife. Hugo was absolutely ecstatic to meet another Quidditch star from the Dream Team of 2002, and was beside himself when Volkov signed his pennant. As the hands on Viktor's watch adjusted themselves to the noon position, a large bell sounded at the scoreboard, which wiped itself clean of advertisements and showed the team scores as zero to zero. He quickly reached into his pocket, suddenly remembering he had forgotten something, and pulled out three golden contraptions that greatly resembled headphones.
"Here," he said, handing a pair to each of his foreign guests. "Translators. You von't understand much vithout them."
"I won't understand much with them," Hermione insisted, pulling the golden translator over her ears. All eyes focused on the field, through Omnioculars or not, as the Bulgarian Minister of Magic walked to the center of the field, accompanied by the Russian Minister.
"Good day, Quidditch fans," the Bulgarian Minister announced in his magically amplified voice. "Welcome to the match of the year, the annual Vultures versus Ashwinders game. As both teams are competing for the European Regional Division Cup as top contenders, this will be an unforgettable match."
"We open this game as friends, as always," the Russian Minister said assertively. "But now we let the Quidditch do the talking."
They shook hands and left the field. The referee made his way to the pitch's center, carrying the red Quaffle along with him. The roaring from the stadium was unbelievable, but was drowned out by an even louder hissing noise as a giant snake made of tan and silver smoke started burrowing itself out of the ground. The Russian side of the stands stood from their seats and started hissing along with the sound from the snake apparition. It wiggled its way out of the pitch and encircled the stadium, snapping at the stands viciously. Hermione almost jumped out of her skin when it snapped at their level and Rose actually screamed. The giant snake returned to the center of the field and exploded into a shower of sparks. The Abakan supporters cheered loudly while the Vratsa devotees booed. The tides turned, however as a deafening screech came from the sky. A vulture a hundred times larger than an actual bird shot down towards the ground with amazing speed. It was getting ridiculously close to the pitch when it pulled out of the dive and barrel rolled and soared out around the stadium, its smoky wings grazing the edges of the box seats. After it too turned to sparks, the stadium roared and then quieted.
"Now, for the noble players of the match," the Russian Minister's voice came over the stadium at its thunderous volume. "I present the Abakan Ashwinders—Gorbachov, Eltsin, Siderova, Karenina, Dombrowski, Minskov, aaaaaaand Litvin!"
The Russian supporters jumped to their feet in a deafening wave. Hermione noticed the tiniest sneer on Viktor's face as the riders in tan and silver robes flew around the stadium, pulling flashy aerobatics for their cheering fans.
As they took their places on the pitch, the Bulgarian Minister took his place for the announcement. "And playing for the Vratsa Vultures—
Chernozemski, Raev, Petrova, Todoroff, Tzvetanov, Ianevski, and… Sarac!"
The Bulgarians took the pitch as if they owned it, weaving through each other dangerously like weaving a tapestry across the field. Rose turned excitedly to her mother, talking fast as Ianevski sped past them in a blur of crimson and black. The Vultures lined up over the field as the captains, Dombrowski and Tzvetanov, landed, shook hands rigidly, and regained their spots in the ranks. A whistle blew and they were off.
The game was proving to be as long and intense as anyone had expected. The Chasers were absolutely brutal; there had been dozens of fouls so far. The time on the scoreboard was showing two hours, fifteen minutes with the score at one-hundred-fifty to Bulgaria and one hundred to Russia. Viktor looked over to his guests, who were watching the game as intently as they had promised. Rose had abandoned her chair and was sitting cross legged on the ground, her Omnioculars pointed up at Sarac as he scouted high up for the Snitch. Hugo was listening as Volkov was giving his own commentary on the Chaser movements, and a long-winded history on each of the players, accompanied their statistics. Hermione was really in to the game, cheering on the Chasers like she had been watching the game all her life.
"He could have avoided that foul," she said under her breath as Chernozemski got called for elbow-checking Eltsin in the stomach. "…should have passed earlier…"
"You are really getting the hang of this," Viktor commented to her. She took the Omnioculars off her face and turned to see him smiling softly at her. "I am impressed."
"I'm having a lot of fun," she confessed. "This is even more brutal than the World Cup I saw you in."
Viktor laughed. "Vell, novone has gotten hit in the nose vith a Bludger so far… that means they're doing vell."
"That must have been awfully painful," Hermione said with a cringe. "It was so valiant how you kept on playing..."
"It vas foolish," he said dismissively. "It vas all for honor at that point. Ve vere too far behind to even think of missing that catch. Ve vouldn't haff caught up at any rate."
Rose hopped off her seat on the floor and into her chair, pulling her Omnioculars even closer to her eyes as a streak of crimson darted across the field, shortly followed by a blur of sand-brown. The announcers started talking even faster than they had been before, disregarding talk of the Chasing action and focusing on the Seekers now in a plummet straight towards the green below.
"Sarac was nearly clipped by the Abakan Chasers just now… has he seen the Snitch?"
"They're going so fast, how can they see it? They must have passed it by now…"
"Left it in a different time zone…"
"They're getting too close! They're going to hit!"
At the very last moment, Sarac pulled off and into a barrel roll. Litvin tried to pull up or stop, but hit the ground with a tremendous thud. The crowd jumped to its feet in shock as Litvin rolled over onto his back, still conscious and hurt minimally, considering the impact, but swearing profusely. Sarac swept across the pitch, his boots skimming the grass, the fluttering Snitch grasped firmly in his outstretched hand. The Bulgarian section of the stands roared hugely, their cheers shaking the stands. A team of medics rushed the field to take care of Litvin, who stood shakily and yelled them away, collapsing onto the shoulders of the Beaters who had just landed beside him. Going back to replay the spectacular dive, Hermione read the words at the bottom: Krum Fient Roll—dangerous Seeker diversion. In this situation, the diversion had won Bulgaria the match.
The Vultures took a few victory laps around the stadium while the Ashwinders trooped disappointedly towards the Ministers' Box. The Bulgarian Minister shook Captain Dombrowski's hand heartily. He held up the Beater's hand and congratulated them on a game well played. "Let's give a hand to our brothers in the East, the Abakan Ashwinders!"
The stadium clapped animatedly for the visiting team as they filed out of the box and in came the Vultures, each of the players looking positively thrilled to have taken the title with such a margin of points. They took the plaque indicating their victory and headed out to the locker rooms as the crowd started to leave the stands. Viktor stayed seated, gazing across the pitch at the scoreboard, still reading: VRATSA: 300, ABAKAN: 110.
"Thank you so much for taking us, Viktor," Hermione said after he popped something in the oven and leaned up against the counter. "It was a great match. I'm glad we could come see it…"
"Is nothing," he said with the wave of his hand.
"No really, thanks!" Hugo exclaimed.
"Yes, thank you!" Rose added.
Viktor gave them a small smile. "Say nothing of it. It vas my pleasure. Now, I hope you are all very hungry. Dinner is almost ready."
After a hearty dinner and another hour of flying in the dismal light, Hugo and Rose headed off to bed. Sven followed Rose and curled up at the end of the bed, deciding she was giving him more attention than his master. Hermione leaned up against the cushions of the sofa, setting her empty cocoa mug on the coffee table. She admired the painting above the fireplace, which Viktor had pointed out as his parents. A small frame on the mantle caught her attention. Clearly she hadn't noticed it before, because she stood and looked closer at it.
"Oh, Viktor. You still have this?" She picked up the frame, which held a picture of them at the Yule Ball.
He nodded. "My mother vas delighted. She put the photo in the frame right after I sent it to her… You vould haff loved her. She read a lot, just like you."
Hermione looked at the picture for a moment later before dropping onto the couch once again. "That was one of the best nights of my life…" She pulled her knees up beside her and pulled one of the pillows off the floor, tracing the embroidery with her finger.
"Vould you like something else to drink, Hermione," Viktor said, getting up from his leather chair near the fireplace. "Something to celebrate the game?"
"Something with alcohol? I don't think my years of mothering would allow me," she joked. "I'll take whatever you're serving."
Just a moment later, he brought her back a glass of cranberry juice and vodka. She took a sip and nodded approvingly. "It's delicious."
"It's a tradition," Viktor said, taking a drink from his own glass. "My parents vouldn't haff approved if they had known that from our very first vin, I vas drinking vith the rest of the team… only a glass, mind you, but it vas much stronger than this."
"You were just a baby," she said disapprovingly. "You were fourteen!"
"Just barely," he replied with a laugh. "They shouldn't have even offered it to me, Amelia vasn't pleased, but she vas overruled by the rest of the team."
They sat in silence, taking short drinks of the alcohol. Viktor downed the last of his glass and gave a small cough. "It vas so hard not having someone to talk to in the library back at Durmstrang for the veek after ve left Hogvarts," he said candidly.
"I didn't find anyone else at Hogwarts the next two years that I enjoyed working on homework with as much as I enjoyed working with you," Hermione said with a small smile, taking another drink of her glass, still half-full. "Harry and Ron were there with me sometimes, but we were always so busy working on the DA or researching things to help Harry out… it was different with you, though."
"I bet you didn't miss the giggling packs of hyenas," he said lightly. She snorted into her glass. "Just be glad they left your territory. They still haven't entirely left me alone."
"Beautiful girls swarming you, swearing their undying love to you… I'm sure it's something awful," she teased. "I'm just kidding. I know you hate it."
"Indeed," he said with a roll of his ebony eyes. "It's vone thing to enjoy Qvidditch, but it is another thing entire to devote your life to stalking Qvidditch players. I've gotten some of the most tasteless propositions from vomen that I couldn't haff even thought of. I vouldn't describe any of them in proper company." Hermione finished the last of her juice and vodka and turned the conversation to a different topic.
"So, you retired three years ago?" She messed with the fringe on the blanket draped over the back of the couch.
"Yes, I made the decision five years ago and started vorking vith Sarac. I taught him everything I could in the off-seasons and he replaced me vhen I left. He vas in his sixth year at Durmstrang vhen I took him as an apprentice," Viktor said, running his finger over the etching in the glass. "I played long enough. I could haff played longer, but I thought it vould be a good time to take the sidelines. Sarac is good… he vill be better than I vas."
"The 'Man with the Golden Arm' being outshined by his protégé?" Hermione questioned dramatically, laying a hand over her heart.
"I said he vill be," Viktor emphasized the future tense indicator in the sentence, losing none of his usual lightheartedness, and took her emptied glass. "It's getting late. I'm sure you'll be vanting to get to bed?"
"Yes," Hermione said, standing from the couch and stretching. "I still feel so restless… I think I'll take a bath and then turn in."
"It's all the Qvidditch," he said as she followed him into the kitchen. "It does that to a person… gets you all vorked up so you can't sleep… the excitement wears off after you play yourself for a vhile."
He set the glasses in the sink and turned back to her, their faces lined in the low light from the gas lamps in the hallway outside. She reached out and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He held her tightly, one of his hands running across her back comfortingly. She pulled back to face him, her eyes half-parted. The dim light colored her eyes warm amber, burning fiery into his of sparkling ebony. He went with his instinct and kissed her gently and, to his surprise, she kissed him back. His mind was clouded as he kissed her but he pulled away once his senses returned in a flash. It felt wrong… she had just lost her husband a few months back and now he was kissing her? The thing he had craved for since they parted so many years ago tasted almost bitter on his lips. She must have read this resentment in his eyes as she turned to head for the doorway.
"Goodnight, Viktor," she said, reaching the arched entryway back into the hall. She looked back at him, a glimmer of sadness on her pretty features, and made her way to the stairs.
"Leka nosht, Hermione, I sladki sanishta,"he called after her. Twenty years… twenty years and it still didn't fit. He was suddenly exhausted as he headed for the stairs, extinguishing the downstairs light lazily with his wand. He had kissed her and something was still off… but how he hoped he could eventually set it right.
Dobro utro- Good morning
Izvinete me, Kolko struva?- Excuse me, how much is this?
Blagodarya vi- Thank you
Leka nosht, Hermione, I sladki sanishta - Good night, Hermione, and sweet dreams
Next up: Chapter 8- Reaching Farewell: A short session with the Vratsa Vultures and a tour of Sofia... which brings up ghosts and feelings neither Viktor, nor Hermione, can repress. :D