Notes: Hello again! Thank you again to everyone who has left me a review. I am thrilled to know that you are enjoying this story. Also, I am happy to announce that I have finally found a beta, the lovely rumrunner, so the chapters should be filled with fewer nonsensical mistakes, though I do take full responsibility for any left over. And... That's all! Enjoy!
Thirty-Seven Galleons, Fifteen Sickles, Three Knuts ~ Durmstrang
Chapter 3: A Sickness and a Vision
September and October passed bleakly at the Durmstrang School of Wizardry. Students could be seen carrying small glowing fires with them wherever they went and, the very night the students had arrived, a raging storm had covered the grounds in a heavy layer of snow.
With the constant, howling wind and a sheet of ice and sleet that never seemed to pause, Viktor Krum spent most of his time inside the castle preparing for the challenges he might face in the upcoming Triwizard Tournament. Every morning he spent in his two classes: Potion Brewing (at the behest of his father) and Dark Arts Studies. Each night he would spend dueling other seventh years with the spells and curses he'd spent the afternoon learning. His studies had never been so diligent without Quidditch to interrupt him.
Professor Karkaroff himself oversaw his training each evening. The headmaster had even consented to have a fire lit in the classroom they used for practice. Many younger students came to watch the nightly duels, though Viktor wondered if it was truly the spells they came to see or the rarity of a brightly crackling fire.
By the middle of October, Viktor had memorized every spell in the five books his father had sent with him, as well as a few more that Karkaroff insisted upon.
The regimen continued until the last week before Halloween, during which Karkaroff, as well as most of the student body, came down with a cold.
"Rest up today," the headmaster had told him the morning before they were to leave for Hogwarts. His ears were still steaming from the pepper-up potion he'd been taking all week. "There will be no dueling tonight. Have your things ready, for tomorrow we leave at dawn."
Viktor, who had been in the process of lacing his boot, watched the professor stride out of his room and immediately turned to the window. Snow was still falling, but it had at last faded to a light, swirling mist.
Pulling on his heavy coat and scarf, he grabbed his broom from beside the fireplace where it had lain unused since his arrival. He glanced around the room for his cap but as it was nowhere to be seen, the young Bulgarian seeker went out onto the grounds without it to do what he did best.
At dawn, the group of seventh years heading to Hogwarts gathered at the edge of the lake where a large, enchanted ship had been anchored. Viktor could see Professor Karkaroff at the entrance of the castle speaking to the Deputy Headmaster, Professor Vincent, both of whom were still steaming at the ears.
Rubbing his nose, which ached with cold, Viktor pulled his robes tighter around him, regretting the decision to fly without his cap. He sneezed three times in quick succession causing the Headmaster, who had finally reached the edge of the lake, to frown deeply.
"Viktor?" The Professor asked, a look of concern on his face. "Are you feeling quite well?" He conjured a handkerchief and offered it to the boy.
"Yes, Professor." Viktor accepted the handkerchief, but did not use it.
Serge Poliakoff, a skinny, blonde haired boy in his year, feigned a fainting spell behind the Professor's back, causing several others to snicker. Though he and Viktor had gotten on in previous years, Serge had been bitter towards the young seeker since the beginning of the year and had been the only student to argue against Viktor as champion.
"But sir," Serge had began, the first evening they had begun dueling practice. "Professor Karkaroff, sir, if Viktor is to be the champion, vhy are ve also going to Ogwarts?" A Russian-born wizard, Serge came from a very old and wealthy family.
"Don't be a fool, Poliakoff." Karkaroff snapped. Rumor had it, that Serge's mother had refused the Professor in their school days in preference to Serge's father. A snub that seemed to persist to this day.
Looking over his students, Karkaroff sighed at their curious expression. Viktor, who stood near the fire, was also looking at him expectantly. The question had crossed the young man's mind as well.
"We are expected bring a number of contestants for the tournament," he explained, sending an annoyed look at Serge, who perked up.
"So any of us cood be chosen as champion?" Murmurs erupted among the seventh years in attendance.
"Silence!" All muttering ceased immediately. Karkaroff stared back at Serge, a superior look on his face. "Yes, my boy. That is correct. But do not be so foolhardy as to think you are worthy of being this school's champion." The Headmaster's harsh tone caused Serge's face to flush and he did not speak again.
He had, however, been cold to Viktor since that evening and was particularly ruthless when they were partnered to duel. His dislike seemed now to extend to mocking him behind the Headmaster's back.
Viktor tucked the handkerchief into his pocket, ignoring Serge's antics. Karkaroff slid an arm around his student's shoulders and steered him to the ship. "Once we're en route, I'll give you some of my potion. Or perhaps some nice brandy. You will be back to yourself in no time." The Headmaster enchanted Viktor's trunk so that it floated onto the ship before them and called the rest of the students, who each dragged their trunks, onboard.
The trip passed quickly as Viktor spent most of his time in his cabin, which would double as his home during the tournament, draped in furs and sleeping.
Once the ship had cast off, Professor Karakaroff had given him a Pepper-Up Potion (Viktor refused the brandy). Just after sunset, when the steaming in his ears had finally worn off, Viktor heard the Headmaster's magically amplified voice through his cabin stating that they would be arriving at Hogwarts shortly.
Viktor unwrapped himself from the furs and readied himself for arrival. Just as he was tightening the last strap of his boot, he heard a faint knock.
Opening the door, he found Danyal Kozlov, a short, stocky, dark-haired Russian boy in his year. While Viktor could not call him a close friend, the two had often paired together for classwork. Viktor respected Danyal's quiet nature and appreciated a classmate who did not feel the need to badger him with questions about Quidditch and his fame.
"The Headmaster asked that I see to your well-being," Danyal, though born Russian, had been raised in Britain by his mother and it always surprised Viktor that his deep, quiet voice had no accent. "He wanted me to make sure you'd be awake to greet our hosts. Are you feeling alright?"
Viktor nodded and thanked him, closing the door to his cabin behind him. The two boys headed together towards the exit of the ship.
"I have heard that the British have a ceiling that is enchanted to look like the night sky." Viktor was used to the many facts Danyal would occasionally divulge. The seeker had yet to hear anything from his classmate that had been incorrect, though Danyal always made it seem that he learned his information simply in passing conversations.
"Hmm," was Viktor's only reply.
They disembarked, catching up to the rest of the students on the shore.
Professor Karkaroff, upon spotting him, asked about his welfare and then the group marched up towards the sparkling towers of Hogwarts.
Groups of students lined the expansive lawns to greet them. Beside them, an enormous powder blue carriage stood strapped to equally giant horses, which were stamping their hooves and breathing out large clouds of white.
Viktor's nose still stung from the cold, though the Hogwarts air was not cold enough for snow.
He watched as Professor Karakaroff walked towards a tall wizard with long, shockingly white hair and a matching beard.
"Dumbledore! How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"
Karkaroff clasped hands with Dumbledore, as the latter replied, "Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff."
Viktor, who had fallen behind, stared up at the grand façade of Hogwarts castle. Windows glittered gold along the parapets, and huge wooden doors stood open, shining lights across the lawn.
"…Viktor, come along, into the warmth..." Karkaroff motioned him forward with his hand, and Dumbledore gave him a warm smile. "…you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight headcold…"
Karkaroff steered Viktor towards the door, a hand on his shoulder, as they walked by the rows of students.
"Hannah, look! Look!"
"Oy! That's Bulgaria's Seeker!"
"Pity they lost… I won forty galleons in a bet though, forty!"
"It's Krum!"
Viktor heard several excited whispers as they passed into the high-ceilinged entrance hall. They continued across the room and through a set of tall, heavy doors and sure enough the ceiling glittered with stars on a rich navy blue canvas, perfectly mimicking the outside sky.
Behind them the rest of the Hogwarts students filed in branching off towards their separate tables.
Viktor and the Durmstrang students waited near the doors until Karkaroff motioned them towards the far left table, before heading back towards the entrance hall. The group found seats among the black-robed Hogwarts students, still gazing up at the picturesque ceiling. Danyal, merely glanced upwards, before picking up one of the golden goblets on the table and examining it.
Viktor sat between a thin, blonde Hogwarts student with a pointed face and Danyal. The blonde boy offered Viktor his hand as soon as the latter was seated.
"Draco Malfoy. I saw you at the Quidditch Cup this summer. Amazing flying. Shame you lost to the Irish. I'm actually a seeker myself, for Slytherin house of course." Draco spoke with a confident smile.
Viktor returned his firm handshake but put off speaking altogether by focusing on removing his many layers.
Up at the front of the hall, the professors of the school – as well as his own Headmaster and an incredibly tall woman in swathes of powder blue, who he assumed was Headmaster of Beauxbatons – entered the hall and took their seats at a table at the head of the hall. Four long tables were filled with Hogwarts students, a small scattering of blue robed witches and wizards were seated at the tables beside his, looking as out of place as the Durmstrang students in their robes of blood red.
Dumbledore, who stood at the center of the professors' table, smiled brightly and addressed the hall at large.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and – most particularly – guests. I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."
He informed the students that the Triwizard Tournament would begin at the end of the meal and wished them all a fine feast.
As soon as Professor Dumbledore sat, the golden plates and cups before them filled to the brim with food.
Viktor found that the boy beside him, Draco, was happy to make enough conversation for two, encouraged by the occasional nod or laugh. Draco seemed particularly fond of mentioning his father's work at the British Ministry of Magic and commenting on Quidditch.
Viktor was just finishing a piece of dessert that Danyal had motioned for him to try, when Draco's conversation turned repulsive.
"…really the only house to be in. All the others are polluted, what with the half-bloods and mudbloods running about. My father says…"
Draco was oblivious to the tensing of Viktor's shoulders and didn't see the way the seeker put down his fork, though it still speared a piece of trifle.
Having lost his appetite entirely, Viktor was immensely relieved when a moment later the plates became spotless and Dumbledore stood again, silencing Draco's ongoing monologue.
Dumbledore began by introducing Ludo Bagman and Bartemius Crouch, who were from the British Ministry of Magic and were there to overlook the Tournament. He continued with a brief explanation of the tasks as a thin, skeletal-looking man ("…Filch the caretaker. Dirty squib." Malfoy supplied) entered with a large wooden chest encrusted with jewels.
Finally, Dumbledore told them something Viktor had not yet learned.
"The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire." At this, Dumbledore opened the chest and pulled out an aged, wooden chalice that was filled to the brim with blue-white fire.
"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion," Dumbledore continued, "must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet."
Viktor stared at the dancing flames of the goblet, as Dumbledore explained that they had twenty-four hours to enter their names and the champions would be chosen tomorrow night. Halloween.
Ignoring the mutterings of Draco as he contemplated ways of getting his name into the goblet, Viktor listened as they were told that an age line would be drawn around the goblet.
Dumbledore warned them that none should enter the Tournament lightly and then dismissed them with, "Goodnight to you all."
The Durmstrang students waited as their Headmaster headed towards them. Draco, flanked by two thick, dull-looking students on either side, bid the Durmstrang students farewell. Viktor did not acknowledge him, his face stoic though his blood was just shy of boiling at the disgusting things the blonde boy had said. Viktor had heard Hogwarts was a far more accepting school, but it seemed his thoughts were sorely mistaken.
The group followed Professor Karkaroff towards the entrance hall, pulling on their furred cloaks and scarves.
"Everyone, back to the ship then." Turning towards him, Karkaroff asked, "Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough?" Viktor shook his head as the Professor continued to fret over him. "Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?"
Behind them, Viktor heard Serge's voice.
"Professor, I vood like some wine."
The Headmaster snapped at him, as Danyal snorted beside Viktor, before stopping abruptly. Viktor glanced at the dark haired boy who had caught his professor's attention. He looked vaguely familiar, as did the red-haired boy who stepped to his side. They were shortly followed by a girl who –
Viktor froze. He didn't notice his professor's words blurring together until they faded away entirely or Serge pointing at the dark-haired Hogwarts boy, as every fragment of the young man's awareness was overtaken by the dream in front of him.
She was here. She was standing there, the same chocolate curls reflecting the torches and starlight, the same bright eyes flickering between her companions and the Durmstrang headmaster.
She stood there unaware of the twists and turns Viktor's organs were suddenly experiencing. Every dream of her returned with full force and he realized his imaginings were nothing to the reality of her, a pale hand tucking a loose curl away, the entrancing light within her dark eyes.
For one brief moment, her gaze glanced across his and it was as though every molecule in his torso began to hum.
And suddenly it was over.
Karkaroff ushered his students out of the hall, blocking Viktor's view of her. They headed down the long expanse of lawn and back up the plank to their ship, none of the others realizing Viktor felt as though he'd been hit by a dozen stunning spells.
His head overflowing, Viktor accepted another potion from the professor and headed back to his cabin.
He undressed and readied for bed as though in a trance, and then lay down, uncovered, watching the spiraling tendrils of smoke that leaked from his ears.
His heartbeat thrummed in his head, the pit of his stomach still tied in knots.
He had never met this girl, never spoken to her, and yet somehow she held this power over him. He didn't understand it.
Perhaps it was the mystery. The hopelessness of desiring someone whom he would never see again.
When he'd seen her at the Quidditch Cup, she'd simply been a girl. An attractive girl, no doubt, but simply a girl with dark hair and clever, bright, bright eyes. Then he'd dreamt of her. She became the damsel to his white knight, he dreamed tournament upon tournament where his task was to rescue her. He imagined dragons and towers, deep forests and caves, and her, lovely and smiling, at every end.
And now she was here. Real and alive and not just his memory.
And worse still, as he threw his arm across his eyes to block out the dim greenish light of the lake, he realized…
He didn't even know her name.