ccliii. the bulgarian

For several seconds, neither Harriet nor Krum said a thing.

The Slytherins who'd passed through the entrance hall with her paused to give the former Triwizard Champion a curious look, but they kept moving down the stairs when he refused to acknowledge them. Hermione and Elara remained with Harriet, the latter reaching out to touch her arm. It was grounding, that touch. It assured her this wasn't a nightmare.

He's dead. Crouch is dead. He's dead—.

Krum shuffled his overlarge feet. The noise was startling through the haze clouding her ears. "Harriet…Potter? Yes? You are her?"

It was the accent that thawed Harriet's panic. It came out thick, hesitant, his English ungainly and uncomfortable in his mouth. The voice was the same, but the timbre was deeper, the accent like the practiced flick of a quill in someone's signature. Natural, easy. He did not sound like Crouch.

"What are you doing here?" Harriet managed to force out of her dry throat.

Krum shuffled his feet again, fidgeting with his robes. They weren't Durmstrang's uniform; they were plain black but in the Hogwarts style. It had the seventh-year hood and three stripes upon the sleeves, though the pin in his tie bore the Hogwarts crest, not a House. "I…" He paused, taking a deep breath. He seemed at a loss for words. "I am sorry," he settled on. "I am very sorry for vat happened to you vit that…that kopele who vore my face. I wrote letters, but I am told you vere difficult to reach in the summer."

Harriet didn't say anything. Krum looked away, nodding to Elara and Hermione.

"Zdrasti," he told them. "Elara, and…Hermy-own?"

"Hermione," she corrected. "Hello."

"A pleasure," Elara added, eyes narrowed.

Krum cleared his throat and addressed Harriet again. "I tried to speak vit…vit your Ministry. They said you vould have a trial, and I—they vould not hear my vords. I came to them and told them all I had seen and vat I remembered. I could do nothing."

"It's not your fault," Harriet told him, breathless. It wasn't his fault Crouch chose him as a victim, and it wasn't his fault Gaunt's Ministry hadn't wanted his testimony. She remembered her barrister telling her Krum had tried to testify on her behalf. Still, seeing him standing there made Harriet's stomach flip with terror. "It's—I'm surprised to see you here."

Again, Krum nodded, scowling at the floor. "I did not finish my school. He—I vas not con—? Conscious? For much of the year. Your Headmaster offered to let me complete mine education here."

Hermione and Elara shared a look over Harriet's head. "But why Hogwarts?" the former asked. "Surely Durmstrang would allow you to repeat your final year after what happened. I've heard they have a new Headmaster now."

Krum didn't answer immediately. His dark eyes studied the flagstones, and his large hands formed fists against his sides. His next words came out of him with a grunt of effort. "He killed my parents."

Harriet's throat tightened, her teeth clacking together.

"I have no home there. It has been taken. Durmstrang is a good school. There are…good people there. But I could not go back."

"Why?"

"It is…too difficult. To sit, to learn the magics there."

Harriet frowned, not understanding, and Hermione exhaled in a short, sharp burst. "Dark magic. Durmstrang teaches Dark magic."

The apple of Krum's throat bobbed, and he nodded. "Da."

"Crouch kept you under Dark magic for months. That must have affected you. I can't imagine how awful it must have been. Did you develop an allergy or—?"

Harriet stepped on her foot, and Hermione clammed up.

"It's not as if you require your qualifications," Elara commented, her tone frigidly cold and polite. It was the kind of wretched politeness Harriet knew pure-bloods used when addressing one another. It was civil—but not actually civil in the slightest. "As I'm aware, being an international Quidditch star is quite lucrative. You have no need for further careers."

"I cannot fly this season," Krum replied. "And Quidditch does not last forever, da? I chose to come back to school, and to stay in England." He lifted his chin, and his dark eyes met Harriet's. "I believe vat you have said. About the Dark Lord. To stand aside and let those kuchi sinove hurt others is cowardly, and I am not coward. I vill stay in England and do vat I can." He straightened, broad shoulders rolling, holding himself stiff. "I only vanted to tell you I am here so I vould not surprise you. I vould say mine is not a velcome face."

He said this with a shrug and downcast eyes, hand reaching up to awkwardly pat his windswept hair. Though Harriet knew nothing that had happened was Krum's fault—that this was, in fact, the very first time they'd met—she still felt uncomfortable and afraid. The fear in particular annoyed her, and Harriet pushed it back, forcing herself to speak.

"How d'you win your game against Liechenstein in August of ninety-three?"

He blinked, obviously confused by the segue, then tipped his head, thinking. "There vas a storm in Vaduz, I am remembering. Ve used the lightning—the flash? To score past their Keeper. The score vas six-hundred and twenty to one-hundred and fifty. Their Seeker, Thierry Thill, caught the Snitch."

Harriet's shoulders eased, and the itch against her spine stopped as Krum spoke. Barty Crouch Junior knew nothing about Quidditch. He knew nothing about Krum's victories. He was dead. The person in front of her was just another one of his victims.

"I hope you like Hogwarts, Krum," she said. "And I'm sorry for what happened to you. I'm sorry I didn't…didn't realize that he wasn't you."

"It is not your fault." His voice came out soft, a bit gruff around the edges. "It is maybe mine, for keeping to myself too much. For not having friends who vould know me better. This…experience has shown me there is more to life than…fans. Fame."

Movement in the far corridor turned their heads, and Harriet knew Krum saw how she flinched at Slytherin's sudden appearance from the staff entrance. He was as silent as ever, a specter drifting through darkening halls. "I do believe the Headmaster has given you your rooms, Mr. Krum."

"Yes, Professor?"

"Then go to them. Lest you run afoul anymore Dark wizards during your stay."

Krum surprised Harriet with his lack of reaction to Slytherin's needling, but then she guessed he'd learned to keep composed through years in the public spotlight. "Of course, Professor," he said in all sincerity, though he didn't immediately stalk off. He turned to Harriet and her friends and bowed his head. "It has been good to meet you and your sestri."

"You too, Krum. Good night."

The Bulgarian departed, heading into the section of the dungeons inhabited by Hufflepuffs, which unfortunately left the trio of witches with Professor Slytherin. The tromp of feet had died into the quiet, ominous crackling rising from the banked braziers.

"Need I remind you of our conversation last term, Miss Potter?" Slytherin's voice slithered out of the dark in a hiss.

She swallowed. "No, Professor. Not at all."

"Good." He snapped his fingers at Hermione and Elara. "Be on your way before I deduct points."

Her friends begrudgingly shifted into motion, and Harriet tried to sneak off with them—but Slytherin's hand snapped out, and she felt his cold, smooth fingers clamp on the back of her neck.

"Not you," he said. His hand tightened, then slid away. "With me, Potter. I require a word."

Biting back the urge to curse, Harriet picked up her feet and reluctantly followed, sensing now wasn't the moment to be difficult. Slytherin led her upstairs toward his office, and Harriet shuffled inside after him, wincing when the door slammed closed on its own.

Slytherin swept to his desk and sat, not bothering to light the torches. Only the candle on the desk remained lit, casting its paltry glow upon his strange, uncanny face, his red eyes glimmering.

Unimpressed and tired, Harriet plopped onto the visitor's chair without waiting for an invitation.

"Umbridge is here to expel you," Slytherin baldly stated, causing Harriet to choke on her own saliva. "She'll hassle the staff for Gaunt, try to enforce the Ministry's will and undermine my authority, but she will ultimately aim to see you expelled and forced from the campus. Your status as my apprentice won't shield you."

Harriet experienced a swift barrage of different emotions—fear, anger, disbelief. She knew Gaunt was petty in the extreme, but to put so much effort into making her life miserable? What could Umbridge do, really? How far was Gaunt willing to go in order to destabilize Hogwarts? That wouldn't help him in the long run.

He's not exactly sane, Harriet reminded herself. Rational people don't do what he's done.

"Keep your nose exceedingly clean," Slytherin told her, leaning forward ever so slightly in emphasis. "I do not have the time to waste on that insignificant woman, and I've no interest in playing Gaunt's pointless games. You will be a model student, and we will proceed as planned."

"Yes, sir."

He blinked—a slow, drawn-out gesture, his gaze pointed.

"Err, yes, Master."

Slytherin continued to stare at Harriet, and she felt the echo of his hand colliding with her injured cheek, the stinging slap that sent prickles searing through her flesh. It made her nervous, waiting, on the one hand hoping she hadn't overstepped, on the other, wanting to lash out first and prove herself invulnerable. She did not want to give him a reason to hit her again.

A full minute of awful, twitchy silence passed, the sheer weight of the quiet almost tangible as it settled on Harriet's shoulders. At last, he blinked, and moved on. "I have your schedule here."

He removed a sheet of parchment from his desk, one that much resembled the usual page Snape passed out in the beginning of the year at their first breakfast. Harriet squinted in the poor lighting, and found her schedule looked quite similar to the one she had last term, but without her free period. That had been given over to "capstone."

"Wh—what's a capstone?"

"I have generously set aside time for your apprenticeship, including your training and beginning work on your qualifications. You will report to my office at that time." Slytherin sat back in his chair, and his fingers traced idle, thoughtless patterns over the padded arms. Her eyes followed the motion. Runes, Harriet realized. He makes runes when he's thinking. "You will stay away from Krum and his like."

"His like?"

"Boys, Miss Potter. Young men. You're too naive to twist them in a befitting manner, and ultimately, they would be a distraction. It is no small feat, attaining mastery in the time allotted to you, and I will not waste my time with your failure." His hands stilled, and his brow raised. "Should you require companionship once your apprenticeship is finished, arrangements can be made."

Harriet hadn't thought the conversation could get more horrifying after hearing that Umbridge meant to expel her, but she'd been wrong. Her face turned beet red, and she hunched her shoulders, hoping the floor swallowed her whole.

"Can I go now?"

"No." He smirked, allowing his fingers to play over the candle's flame. "I wish to go over more of my expectations for this year. To begin with, your revision of the Futhark language and its application in northwestern Germanic druidism…."

As Slytherin continued to speak, Harriet sunk lower and lower in her chair, and the mist tightened around the castle's unyielding walls. Only the candle remained, and it felt as if there was no one else in the world aside from the pair of them. Harriet wished to be in the dorms, to be with her friends, to be normal, but she'd never been afforded normality, and wishing rarely got anyone anywhere. So, she folded her arms against her middle and fixed her gaze upon Slytherin's desk. She braced herself, and receded into the lecture.

She already knew this year was going to be difficult.


A/N: Basically, Krum's joined the Order. I imagine his motivation to do so is great after what Crouch put him through. I think Dumbledore bringing him to Hogwarts in many-faceted choice on his behalf: he's giving Krum a chance to heal in a new place, he's wanting Krum to see the evidence of the Dark Lord's hold on their society, he's wanting to give Harriet the chance to reconcile her fear, and he's bringing in another Order member (no matter how new) into the school. Krum's as much a victim of the Dark Lord's plans as Harriet is. He should be given a chance to prove himself and not be simply known as the mask that Crouch wore.

Slytherin: "Don't get it trouble."

Harriet, sweating: "No problem."