Viktor
September 30, 1994 Friday
Deep within the ominous forest, its towering trees cloaked in shadows that served as a refuge to hundreds of prying eyes, waiting for their next meal. Viktor navigated forward. His robes, adorned with intricate runes and talismans, rustled faintly as he moved. Supporting Vladimir on one shoulder, while Oleg stood steadfastly on the other, they ventured deeper into the forbidding woods.
Vladimir's eyes drooped halfway shut, his complexion paling with each passing moment. His steps grew feeble, causing him to drag his feet laboriously over the dirt and leaf-covered ground.
Guided by Alexei, the group traversed toward a secluded section of the woods. Two stags lay unconscious, suspended above Alexei's head.
"Here is as good a spot as any," Alexei declared. "I'll get the wards ready."
Viktor and Oleg gingerly settled the semi-conscious Vlad against a sturdy tree. When Vlad's blonde head rested against the oak, he closed his eyes.
Producing a small vial of blood from his robes, Viktor tapped it gently, the liquid transforming into a larger container—a demijohn — the blood swishing against the glass. He placed the container down next to a sleeping Vlad.
"Let me prepare the salts," Oleg announced, reaching into a nearby bag beside Vlad. He retrieved a dagger from his waist and spoke an incantation, running the blade across his hand and allowing droplets to fall onto the bag of salts, staining them red. Forming a circle with an inverted V at its center. He watched as the salts glowed and sank into the earth with a crimson radiance. "Ready, bring him," he beckoned.
"The Eihwaz rune?" inquired Viktor.
Seizing Vlad by the armpits, Viktor dragged him into the circle. "Yes. I believe it'll complement the Algiz rune."
Viktor glanced at his slumbering friend and, carrying the demijohn, created a circle just beyond the wards arranged by Alexei.
Squatting near the unconscious animals, Viktor drew a deep breath, summoning his magic to his wand. He scoured his mind, trying to picture two women. In his mind's eye, he envisioned a woman with wild curls, soft brown eyes, and a cute button nose. However, the image swiftly transformed, the curls now soaked in blood, the woman's throat gruesomely mangled.
He exhaled sharply, attempting to conjure a different image, but his magic felt heavy, as if laden with lead in his veins. He aimed his wand at the animals, but they resisted the transformation. Frustrated, Viktor cursed under his breath, shook his hands, and cracked his neck. Urging his magic forward, he pushed with determination until, with a final surge, one of the stags transformed into a tall blonde woman, while the other shifted into a shorter figure with long black hair. The naked creatures blinked at Viktor, swaying their heads in confusion.
Struggling on their unsteady legs, they stumbled repeatedly, attempting to find their footing. Viktor swiftly cast a balancing spell, allowing them to run, only to collide with the invisible barrier again and again as they circled the area.
"Finished," Viktor said, glancing first at his friend, then towards the dense shadows of the forest where the faint moonlight kissed the trees. Glancing at the time, he motioned for Oleg and his brother to take positions behind the blood circle.
"Let's get this shite over with." Called Alexei.
As the moon reached its peak, Vladimir's body convulsed violently, the crimson runes etched on the ground emitting a vivid red glow. Collapsing to his knees, he emitted agonizing screams that reverberated through the forest. His bones audibly cracked as grotesque wings erupted from his back, his once-short hair lengthening rapidly and turning inky black. His eyes glowed a menacing yellow, his skin took on an unnatural green hue, his teeth elongated into sharp fangs, and his hands morphed into menacing talons.
Slowly rising to his feet, the runes on the ground intensified their radiant glow. With a predatory glint in his eyes, Vladimir sported a chilling smile upon spotting the deer. His approach mirrored that of a lion stalking its prey. Gleefully, he played and teased the transformed fawns, relishing in their helpless state. Sniffing the air, he drew closer to Viktor's location, his eyes squinting in the darkness as he scoured the surroundings for human presence. However, the runes and talismans adorning Viktor's clothing emanated a potent glow, causing Vlad to divert his attention back to the injured animals.
For several hours, they diligently maintained the activated wards, yet the piercing screeches of the Striga continually and relentlessly weakened the protective barrier.
Viktor stood somberly, his gaze fixated on his friend perched atop a tree, observing the animals below. It felt like watching a macabre game of cat and mouse.
Three years had passed, yet the sight hadn't become any less harrowing. Witnessing his best friend transform into a bloodthirsty creature always twisted Viktor's stomach.
At 3 in the morning, it was Viktor's turn to fortify the ward. Fatigue weighed heavily on him, rendering his wand use an impossible challenge. Turning to the ancient art of blood magic, he unsheathed his dagger, and with a sharp slice across his palm, crimson droplets fell onto the ground. As the blood pooled and mingled with the earth, the ward surged with renewed vigor, instantly bolstering its strength.
"Dumbass," grumbled his brother, tossing a pebble at Viktor, who was too weary to dodge. "You're depleting your magic reserves too much. You won't be able to move for at least a day."
Viktor leaned heavily against a tree, exhaustion saturating his every fiber. He shut his eyes, recalling the day his father had summoned him to his office, finding Vladimir and his father waiting there. Atanasius unraveled the intricate history between the Krumovs and the Svobodas—a tale rooted in an ancient blood pact meant to keep control of the Svobodas. Across generations, this pact had evolved into a partnership aimed at assisting the Svobodas with their curse, while they promised loyalty to the Krumovs in return.
Observing Vladimir's talons ripping through the deer. Viktor winced at the sight of entrails hanging from his friend's sharp teeth.
"Using the Eihwaz rune was a brilliant idea," Viktor remarked to Oleg. "He seems... more calm." Just then, Vladimir let out a piercing screech, rattling the protective barrier that absorbed the sound.
Oleg shook his head thoughtfully. "Yes, I thought it might reinforce the Algiz rune. I wasn't certain if it would work out. I mentioned using their combination to alter the transformation to Sigurd, but, well, you know how he is."
"Sigurd is a piece of crap," Alexei interjected, his face contorted with anger.
"He is," Viktor concurred. He wanted to say in more ways than they knew, but again, he had no evidence.
Even twilight was different in Scotland, trailing fourteen minutes later than in Norway. As the first light touched the area, Vladimir collapsed, and doubled over in agony, retching violently before losing consciousness.
Oleg approached his friend's naked figure and pulled out his wand to transfigure what Viktor thought barely passed as clothes.
Seeing Viktor's expression, Oleg shrugged. "Does the job," he said. Then, after casting a feather-light charm on Vladimir, now that his body could handle magic, he carried him back to the ship and settled him into bed.
October 5 1994-Wednesday
Viktor endured Sigurd's lecture on Radovan Drevenšek's contributions to modern runes, observing the room around him most seemed on the verge of stifling a yawn.
Alexei wore that familiar glazed look, a clear sign he wasn't paying attention. Oleg, on the other hand, meticulously took notes, nodding along with Sigurd's words.
There was one person Viktor avoided looking at— her . From the corner of his eye, he could tell she was scribbling down notes. He pondered what expressions she made. Would it be like Oleg's blank face but with a twinkle of interest in his eyes? Did she have a habit of biting her quill, or was that a one-time thing?
The bond, sensing his curiosity, stirred. Exhausting his magic had worked so well in the beginning to quell the pull, but now it seemed to have adapted. It called him to touch her, to be near her.
Viktor's hands warmth to an uncomfortable degree whenever she was near. This week, it sensed her the moment she entered the Great Hall. The pull became almost violent whenever one of the redhead twins neared her. He had wanted nothing more than to hex their stupid freckled faces whenever they were close.
On Tuesday, he had been close. One of the lanky redheads had whispered something in her ear that made her blush and dart out of the hall. The only way he stopped himself from marching to the lion's table was by walking away. The moment he arrived at the ship, he summoned his broom and took to the skies.
He soared as high as his broom allowed him to. When he couldn't go any higher, he let go. He plunged rapidly; the wind hurt his face and made it difficult to breathe.
As he plummeted, his mind cleared. No matter how he tried to break, stretch, or tangle the bond, it would never break.
With mere meters left between him and the grassy ground, he knew he had to act fast. Adrenaline surged through his veins, his heart pounding furiously. In a split second, he pushed hard on his broomstick, muscles straining as he maneuvered swiftly.
His heart beat in his ears, and his breathing was erratic. He loosened the grip on the handle and allowed the crisp night air to chill the sweat running down his face and back. He sighed, tilting his head back.
Since stopping the bond didn't work, he needed to make sure Miss Granger kept away from Karkaroff.
"Get into groups of tvo." Sigurd ordered, "You vill interpret the Perun and Veles runes concerning their connection to their Latin counterparts."
Now, finally, he had a good, logical reason to look and talk to her, right? Sigurd wouldn't be suspicious of him talking to Miss Granger. It was after all part of an assignment. Taking this opportunity, he turned to her. His hands had a soft tickling feeling. But she was gone. She bolted to stand in front of Oleg.
Her eyes lit up, sparkling with enthusiasm, as she addressed the Russian with a broad, hopeful smile. "Would you like to work with me?" Her voice brimmed with anticipation.
The way she gazed at him prompted a scowl from Viktor.
Oleg's left eyebrow arched to meet his scar. "If you vould like," he replied.
She hesitated. "I mean, only if you want, of course." Casting a glance at Alexei and Viktor, their eyes locking, Viktor's hand tingled with warmth.
"I'm sorry. I didn't even consider that you might want to be with your friends." She nervously toyed with the books in her hands.
A rare, faint smile graced Oleg's lips. "I vould like to vork vith you."
Her radiant smile at Oleg's response irked Viktor, making him want to hurl his book at his friend.
"Great!" She responded cheerfully, taking her seat with a continued smile.
"I'm hurt you didn't ask me, Miss Grain-in-ger," teased Alexei, his gaze undoubtedly fixed on the curly-haired witch as he leaned on the table.
She stared at the playful Krum, opening her mouth to respond, but hesitated. "Oh, I mean, it's just, um..."
Alexei chuckled, "It'z okay to want to vork with the best," he remarked, glancing at Oleg and offering a smile. "I understand."
Miss Granger blushed, glanced at Oleg, and nodded.
Meeting Viktor's scowling expression, Alexei smirked. "Just you and me then, brother."
In the following minutes, a quiet atmosphere settled in the room while students diligently focused on their assignments. Miss Granger seemed restless, fidgeting in her seat and tapping her leg lightly.
Glancing between her paper and Oleg, she chewed her lip, a slight crease forming on her forehead, giving her a charming puzzled expression. With a steady inhale, she reached out to Oleg, who was deeply engrossed in his work.
"Um, sorry to interrupt," she murmured to Oleg.
Pausing from his writing, Oleg glanced up. "Yes, wot do you need?"
A faint blush colored her cheeks. "Could you assist me with this part?"
Oleg took her paper and reviewed it for a moment.
"I thought of asking the professor, but he seems occupied with something else," she explained, gesturing toward Sigurd at the front of the class, engrossed in his own research.
Alexei scoffed. "I do not think he vould help you either vay."
Oleg grunted in affirmation.
Confusion clouded Miss Granger's face. "What do you mean?"
"Sig–Professor Sigurd, no help students." Viktor chimed in.
Her warm eyes shifted between Viktor, the professor, and back. "Really? He helped me the other day."
"Really?" Oleg's eyes widened.
The gnawing feeling that Viktor felt all these weeks surfaced again. "Vhen?" He asked in a low tone. Something wasn't right.
"Following our first assignments," Miss Granger confessed, her cheeks dusted with a light blush, "we discussed areas for improvement."
Viktor clenched his fists, his nails digging into his skin. "Wot?" He said more to himself than to her. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a primal echo of the rage consuming him. Images of Sigurd alone with her burned his eyes with fury.
She shuffled in her seat again, her cheeks tinged pink. Viktor's stomach hardened at the sight of her cheeks gaining a lovely color and thinking it had anything to do with Sigurd.
"He do something?" Viktor tried to sound calm but knew his voice was laced with anger. The remaining calmness banished the more he thought about Sigurd alone with Miss Granger.
His sentiments were seemingly also shared by Oleg, whose brows furrowed, and Alexei, who was clenching his jaw.
Miss Granger toyed with the hem of her sleeve robes. Why was she acting so coy? Did he dare touch her with his disgusting hands? "Oh, he countered all my points and allowed me to redo my assignment."
"Did he nov?" elicited Oleg, who was scribbling something down on a new piece of parchment.
"Yes, he was actually very helpful." She tucked a loose curl behind her ear. Her cheeks got a bit brighter. "I-I um, had never gotten such a low mark before. So getting feedback from him was incredibly helpful."
"Fucking snake. Unforgivable," Viktor seethed in Bulgarian, his voice a low growl that only he could hear. Sigurd, the snake, slithered the Muggle-born witch into his den. She trusted the serpent's smile, but she didn't know how dangerous that situation could have been for her.
"At first I was so angry, but he had been right, of course, about my mark." She beamed at that predatory piece of crap. The old wizard saw her smile for him and that hunting glint in his eyes blazed alive. "He helped me improve."
"You have to be kidding." Alexei scoffed in Bulgarian. "That piece of shite can't be serious."
"Fucker." Mummered Oleg, his jaw set hard.
Viktor clutched his quill so hard that it snapped in half, causing a piece to dig into his skin, making him bleed.
"Merlin, Krum, are you okay?" asked Miss Granger, looking at Viktor's bleeding hand.
"Ne." He said in a low voice, keeping his eyes on the professor.
She tenderly grabbed his hand and took out the piece lodged in his skin. The touch felt warm, but Viktor wasn't sure if it was her hand or his anger.
Sigurd approached, and the three young wizards hardened their eyes.
"Wot is happening here?" Sigurd asked in a bored voice. His eyes, though, were solely on the witch holding Viktor's hand.
"Oh professor, Krum had an accident." She replied. She took out her wand and healed his hand. She smiled at Viktor and he felt the bond urging him to protect her.
She sat down on her chair and the old wizard put his hand on the back of her chair. "You should not have bothered, Miss Grain-en-ger, Krum has taken vorse."
Viktor's nostrils flared, and his magic crackled, getting Miss Granger's attention.
She scanned his face, their brown eyes met, and he forced himself to calm down.
"It was no problem at all!" She turned around and smiled at him again .
"You vould think that they vould make quills stronger." Commented Alexei, trying to get Miss Granger's attention. "Happens all the time to my brother. And Oleg" He elbowed his friend, "Isn't that right?"
"Yes, all the time." Oleg sent daggers flying from his eyes at the professor.
"Oh, that must be annoying." She said and reached for something in her bag.
Viktor took the opportunity to shoot a death glare at the professor. Fuck caution. If Sigurd dared to look at her like that, Viktor would gladly bite.
"Here." She placed an extra quill next to his parchment. "I always carry extra."
"Hov nice of you," Sigurd said in a condescending tone. He dragged his fingers on the back of her chair. "If you have questions, my office is open." He said, looking at the curly-haired witch.
The fucker dared invite her again . In front of him .
She beamed at the old wizard. "Really? Thank you!"
Sigurd looked at Viktor, Oleg, and Alexei with a warning and a challenge, and slowly retreated.
Viktor tried to calm the anger burning in his veins.
"Miss Grain-in-ger," Oleg beckoned. "If you have question, you talk to me."
She looked surprised. "I don't know. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."
Oleg shook his head. "It is no problem."
She looked at the professor and seemed to be weighing her options.
Alexei quickly intercepted. "It is better than going to–him."
She tilted her head and squinted at him. She must have noted that Alexei couldn't stop the venom in his voice.
"He is busy man," said Viktor.
She nodded, "Mm, that makes sense. I wouldn't want to bother him." She looked at Oleg again, her eyes hopeful. "Are you sure?"
"Da, no problem."
"Well, I must take you up on your offer then." She smiled and got back to work.
Viktor wasn't sure if he was glad that it hadn't been his imagination playing tricks on him or if he would have rather been wrong about the wizard.
The rest of the class passed in quiet. Miss Granger would now and then ask Oleg a brief question before immersing in her work.
Once class was finished, the three wizards excused themselves.
"We'll talk about it," Oleg whispered in Russian.
The rage that simmered in Viktor's blood prompted him to take his wand or staff and curse the fucking snake into oblivion. As they walked, his hands didn't stop fidgeting, so much so that they failed to miss the tingle of her.
Oleg and Alex stopped walking to turn around, but all Viktor could think about was Miss Granger in the viper's den.
"Dimitrov!"
Viktor stopped and looked at her. She was running towards him. Her wild curls escaped their confines, cheeks slightly pink. Except she wasn't running to him, but it nonetheless loosened the knot in his stomach.
"Miss Grain-in-ger, wot is vrong?" Oleg took a step closer, leaving Alexei and Viktor to watch from behind his massive frame. Viktor leaned against a wall, watching the curly-haired witch catch her breath.
She chewed on her lower lip. "I was, well, this assignment is particularly tricky. Though it may not look like it at first glance." She blinked and shook her head at the three wizards, who were eyeing her curiously.
"Right." She straightened her back. "Can you help me?" She ratted. "I mean, if the offer still stands, of course. I understand that it may not because, well, you might be busy."
The corner of Oleg's lips quirked up. "Da, still help you."
She grinned at him, and Viktor exhaled, his body momentarily feeling light. Yet thinking that Sigurd saw that smile riled his magic again.
"Great! Can we meet in the library this Saturday or Sunday?"
Viktor's scowl returned. Did she want to meet with him alone?
Alexei joined his brother on the other side of the stone hall. He tilted his head toward Viktor. "You hear that brother," he teased in Bulgarian. "She wants to meet with him," he dropped his voice. "Alone."
Viktor grunted and shot his brother a deadly glare.
Oleg cleared his throat. "I-um–"
Miss Granger stared at the Russian giant with big, warm, pleading eyes. "Would that not work for you?"
"Ne, it vould, but–"
"But?" She tilted her head, her eyes not leaving Oleg.
He sighed. "Sunday is good."
"Good! I'll see you Sunday at noon?" She replied cheerfully.
"Yes. That is good."
"I'll see you then." She waved at him and seemed to momentarily remember Oleg wasn't alone. Miss Granger offered Alexei and Viktor a small smile of acknowledgment before she strode away.
Viktor scowled at no one in particular except himself for being a dumbass. He spent a month trying to win an unwinnable battle. He knew it was useless crying over spilled milk, but he couldn't help but wonder if things would have been different if he hadn't tried to fight against magic.
Alexei's laugh echoed throughout the hall. "What's wrong brother, sad the witch forgot you were there?"
He was, well, not sad per se, but disappointed if he had to put a name to what he was feeling.
"I'm pissed," Viktor grunted.
Merlin, he needed to fly.
Their walk back to the ship was filled with Alexei and Oleg discussing and theorizing what the actual fuck happened with Sigurd.
Viktor remained a quiet participant. He was sure if he spoke, he would lose the little shred of control he had left.
The second they reached the cabins, Viktor dashed to his room.
He swiftly seized his broom and zoomed across the school grounds at breakneck speed until he collided with the protective wards. After two hours, his muscles screamed at him. But he kept going, savoring the burn. He worked off his anger until he couldn't hold his broom.
He showered and walked into his room to find Vlad lying down on his bed, Oleg standing by his desk, and Alexei on the couch.
They informed Vlad of Sigurd's uncanny behavior, and Viktor felt his anger come to life again.
Hermione
October 7 1994-Friday
"How are your classes going?" questioned Ginny. Sunlight winked off the Gryffindor emblem as Ginny adjusted her quidditch kit.
"Pretty good!"
Classes were going strangely great and by that she meant no one had tried to kill Harry.
"Do you see Krum? Asked Ron, looking a bit green. She couldn't blame him. She would look and be nauseous if she had to play quidditch, too.
She thought about lying, but she couldn't stomach keeping another lie from her friends, not when they asked her directly.
"He sits next to me, actually." She reached to tuck a curl that had been bothering her and found that her hair had expanded twice its size.
"Blimey! Really?" Ron's smile, one that Hermione hadn't seen in what felt like months, warmed her heart. "Do you think you–"
"I'm not asking him for an autograph." She waved him off.
Harry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Is he smart?"
Hermione racked her memories of their class. He certainly didn't fall behind, but he didn't reach Dimitrov's level, not that anyone could match his skills on runes.
"I'd say so."
"That's a bit surprising." Added Ginny, as she adjusted her gloves.
Hermione was about to protest when the redhead continued. "And I don't mean because he's not smart, but because he has never shown an interest in anything else."
The curly-haired witch squinted her eyes at Ginny, trying to make sense of what she was saying. How would she know if she hadn't talked to him?
Ginny bumped Hermione's shoulder. "He's never mentioned it in any interviews. But then again, Ron would probably know more. Isn't that right, stalker boy?"
"Oi! I'm not a stalker! I just admire his talent!" Ron exclaimed.
"Yeah– by hanging posters and collecting every article about him. Oh, yes, and we can't forget the Krum figure at the top of your drawer."
Harry, Ginny, and Hermione laughed, causing Ron's face to redden.
Ron huffed under his breath "A bloke can't even–" but Hermione couldn't hear the rest as a group of girls passed by.
"Good luck today, Ron." Lavender batted her eyelashes and called out.
"Thanks."
"Can I walk with you?" She asked, head tilted.
"Er, sure."
Ginny rolled her eyes at the curly-blond. "What a tramp!"
"Ginny!" Hermione yelled.
"What? It's true!" She scowled at the group of girls. "The moment Krum isn't within 50 meters, she jumps at my brother! Not that either is anything to look at."
"Hope you aren't talking about me," Chimed Dean as he hurried from behind trying to catch up. He pecked Ginny's cheek and reached for Ginny's broom. She sighed and reluctantly gave it to him to carry it.
Harry scrunched his nose and looked at his boots.
Alone, Hermione and Harry continued to walk a few steps behind Ginny and Ron.
"Are those new gloves?" Hermione inquired, eyeing Harry as he struggled to adjust the straps.
"Yeah, I got them when we went shopping with Mrs. Weasley."
"Here let me." Hermione grabbed Harry's hand and fastened the straps.
"Is that okay?"
"A bit tighter."
Hermione complied and pulled the straps harder. He opened and closed his hand a couple of times.
"Thanks." Harry smiled.
"Anytime." She returned his smile and patted his shoulder.
They reached the quidditch pitch, and Hermione started to walk towards the bleachers. She waved off her friends, but Ron stood in front of her. He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes avoiding direct contact. He fumbled for something in his pockets.
He pushed a chocolate frog box at her. Her brows knit together, and she tilted her head slightly.
"I'm sorry, okay?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I know I was an arsehole, but you're one of the lads . And it was strange seeing you with other people being friendly and you know," he cleared his throat, "er, anyways, sorry."
Hermione wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn't want to ruin the moment. She'd take her wins, however small. In Ronald's case, very small. But still, Hermione knew that apologizing didn't come easy for him, yet he was trying and that's what mattered.
Sharing his precious sweets was one of the ways he tended to show that he cared.
"Thank you, Ronald," she offered him a smile. "Good luck."
He visibly relaxed, his face easing as a bright smile replaced the tension, his eyes no longer strained but showing a sense of relief. "Thanks, Mione!"
Hermione tucked the sweet amphibian in her pocket and continued on her merry way. It was cold, and the humidity in the air wasn't doing her hair any favors.
She stopped as she was climbing the stairs. A group of voices coming from underneath caught her attention. Hermione climbed down and saw a girl with pale pink robes being crowded by a group of five girls.
Let it go, she told herself, it's not your business. And maybe they were friends arguing. Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong.
She sighed and placed her hands in the pockets of her jacket.
"Votre espèce est dégoûtante. Vous, les métis, devriez rester là où personne ne vous voit." One of the voices said with a snicker.
Hermione stopped again. From the brief interest she had in French, she was only able to catch one word. Disgusting. But that could mean a hundred different things.
She climbed higher. She hated how high these seats were. She passed a couple of Ravenclaws that seemed to hurry their steps as they overheard the… whatever was going on under.
"Le seul endroit où tu appartiens est dans un bordel."
She heard giggles and Hermione thought it must have not been a very funny joke because she swore she heard a sniffle.
"Vous et votre sœur ne serez toujours bons qu'à ouvrir les jambes." Another voice rang out.
"Ce n'est pas vrai!" A softer, younger voice cried out. "Vous ne savez pas de quoi vous parlez!"
Leave it alone, Hermione kept repeating to herself each step she took.
One of the voices laughed. "La seule raison pour laquelle tu es ici, c'est parce que ta mère putain a ouvert ses jambes."
Hermione felt a faint crackle of magic coming from the girls, which only caused her to pick up the pace. Every second she hated those damned stairs.
There was a moment of quiet, before a voice, barely audible, spoke up, "C'est ton père qui te l'a dit ?"
If she hadn't been paying more attention than was proper, or in this case any attention at all, she would have missed the sound of a slap, followed by another wave of magic.
Where were the professors? Surely someone must have heard or sensed that. Hermione looked around, but everyone's attention was on the quidditch pitch.
This was none of her business. Hadn't she learned not to stick her nose where it didn't belong? Hadn't been friends with Harry for four years taught her anything?
Apparently not.
She hurried down the stairs as best she could to not trip the students making their way up.
"Expelliarmus!" Hermione pointed her wand at the five young Slytherin girls glowering at a young blonde girl. Her legs were stuck together. She tried to get away, only to fall back down.
Hermione pointed her wand at the blond, and she flinched. "Finite Incantatem."
"Zank yoo."
Hermione nodded, turned around, and placed her hands on her hips. "And what were you five doing?" She glowered at them. "Ganging up on one girl."
One of the Slytherins snickered. "Of course, the mudblood would defend the half-breed."
The older witch rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes" she shooed them with her hand. "Scram before I return the favor."
When they didn't move, Hermione considered jinxing them just to teach them a lesson, but before she could do anything, a group of older Beauxbaton students marched in.
They scrutinized the Slytherins with the same eyes that had scrutinized Hermione for years. There was something oddly satisfying in watching the Slytherins get a taste of their own medicine.
"Gabrielle, tu vas bien? Vous ont-ils fait quelque chose ?"
"Je vais bien. Elle m'a aidé." The young blond turned to Hermione and offered her a smile.
A witch with pin-straight raven hair stepped in front of the young girls. Her lips quirked. "Yoo bettair be smart enough to re-alize zat zis will not 'appen again."
The Slytherins took a tentative step back before retreating.
The Beauxbatons thanked Hermione with a pleasant hug and a kiss on the cheek. They told her that she had their gratitude and they wouldn't forget her kindness.
By the time Hermione made it to the spot where her friends were, the game had already started.
"You missed the opening," Neville called out. He scooted over, making room for her to sit next to him.
"Did I miss anything?"
"Eh, not really." He shrugged his shoulders.
Hermione smiled at Neville and sat. She always enjoyed his company. He was quiet, and although only interested in herbology, Hermione often had great conversations with him.
Hermione scanned the field, looking for Harry. He and Malfoy were roaming the stadium above the players. Fred and George were the beaters. Angelina, Ginny, and a Beauxbaton witch with perfectly styled hair were chasers. She looked at the goal and saw Ron looking nervous.
On the Slytherin team, the only person who caught her attention was Svoboda. He was handsome. He had a strong jawline, piercing blue eyes, and dark blond hair. He had a mischievous smile that only seemed to piss off the witches whenever he blocked them.
After a while, Hermione took out her book. She would glance every now and then and see the score in favor of the Slytherins. Angelina, frustrated, called a timeout and switched out Ron and Ginny.
The Weasley siblings balled their fists. They walked to an area Hermione assumed was where the other players were waiting.
The rest of the game evened out with the older substitutions. Harry and Malfoy would occasionally zoom through, but neither was able to find the snitch.
With the help of Svoboda, the Slytherins managed to keep the score in their favor.
October 9 1994-Sunday
Hermione gathered her things and made her way down to the Gryffindor common room.
The common room was unusually crowded for Sunday. Ginny and Dean were huddled in a corner. Ron and Seamus were playing an exploding snap. Ron had a snarl on his face, his eyes never leaving the couple.
Harry was sitting on the couch, laughing as Seamus' eyebrows caught on fire.
Hermione ambled to the exit. "Where are you going?" asked Harry.
"Library."
"Ah, right?" He tucked his foot under his leg. "Have fun."
She nodded and, with books in hand; made her way to the library.
She made it four steps out of the portrait before she heard her name being called. She hurried her steps, but alas, her shorter legs were no match for their abnormally long ones.
"Hey, Granger!" Fred and George called out in unison.
Hermione huffed and picked up her pace. She suddenly stopped, turned around, and glared at them. "No!"
"C'mon Granger," George took two steps to catch up.
Fred joined Hermione on her other side. "You don't even know what we are going to ask."
Irritation simmered in her skin. Again, they were only talking to her because they needed something. She didn't even try to hide her irritation, "and I told you I'm not an encyclopedia! If you want information, use the library!"
George locked his hands behind his back ."Well, you see, about that–"
"We sorta got banned." Fred casually said as he shoved his hands in his pockets.
She stopped walking, and a horrified gasp escaped Hermione. Banned from the library? How would they complete their assignments? It almost seemed cruel. Madam Pince, though, would never redact such a horrible punishment without a good reason.
Hermione continued to walk. They turned a corner, and the library was within reach. She glanced at the twins and saw they were fighting back a smile. The gull of them! She had pitied them!
"Help a couple of blokes out." Fred draped his arm around her shoulders. She shivered at his touch, and she pushed his arm off.
"Yeah, just tell us a little about the history and what we should prepare. We only have three weeks left."
"If you managed to get yourselves kicked out, you don't deserve me telling you."
"Please."
"No, and I will not be sending you to the gallows!"
They tilted their heads and spoke in unison, "What?"
"It's a muggle expression. It means to execute someone by hanging."
Their red eyebrows shot up, and they brought their hands to their necks.
"That's just barbaric," George commented.
"Do they still do this?"
"No! Of course not!"
"Mm, can't imagine it would be too popular."
She pushed past them and hurried to the library, but the twins cut off her path. She tried to step aside, but they blocked her again.
"If you tell us, you can avoid us going to these gallows," Fred argued.
That sounded reasonable, but she still couldn't and wouldn't approve of them entering. " Like I said no, I'm–"
"Miss Grain-in-ger?" A call deep voice called out from behind the twins. "Is everything okay?"
Hermione stepped to the side and saw Dimitrov, Svoboda, and the Krums standing in front of the library door.
"Ah-," She tried to approach them, but Fred's pale hand went to her shoulder, keeping her in place.
George cut her off. "Why wouldn't she be okay, mate ?" Fred's hand squeezed her shoulder.
She looked up at the twins, and her brows knitted together. Their friendly, teasing demeanor was nowhere to be found. Their heads tilted back slightly and their brown eyes narrowed into slits.
The Durmstrang wizards bore the same looks on their faces, except for the seeker, who had a deep scowl on his face.
Oh, Merlin. This must be because of the incident with the leprechaun.
The blond Russian flashed a taunting smile and quirked his head to the side. "It looks like she is being, um, what is the vord, being pestered ?"
Fred's hand tightened, causing Hermione to try to shrug his hand off. "What did you say?"
Krum's scowl deepened, and he took a step forward when Hermione couldn't shake off his hand.
"She clearly does not vant," he motioned with his hand to the twins, "you."
This was now, probably because they lost against Slytherin. Though Hermione didn't understand sportsmanship, she did understand the sour feeling of losing.
The twins' magic crackled, and Hermione sighed in annoyance. This had gone long enough. It was just one stupid quidditch game, a practice one at that. She grabbed his hand and took it off her shoulder.
"I'm going to the library." She began to walk towards the door and turned around. She smiled at the tallest Russian. "This way."
"You're going to be with them ?" Fred barked.
"No, I'm going with Dimitrov. We have an assignment to finish." She seized the handle, but George caught her other hand, pulling her back.
The air crackled with tension, mostly coming from Krum's direction, but Hermione couldn't be sure.
George pulled her back against his chest and Fred leaned into her ear. "Granger, they are dark wizards. You shouldn't be talking to them."
"We don't know what they are capable of." Hissed George.
There was something in their tone that made Hermione think she was missing something. It was almost as if the twins knew something about the students in brown.
The older Krum and Dimitrov took a step forward. Their faces were etched with a grimace expression. "Let go." Ordered Krum.
Hermione examined the Durmstrang students. How could she have forgotten that it was a fact that they studied the dark arts? But then again, it didn't matter, did it? She was sure that even if they touched upon the dark arts, it wouldn't be anything too different than what she studied. Her classmates were nice, friendly, and respectful. They were nothing like Death Eaters.
"Make me." Answered Fred, reaching for his wand.
The Slavic students did the same, and Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes. She pried herself away from them. She had enough of whatever this was.
"Granger!" Shouted Fred, tailing behind her.
"What Fred?" She turned around and replied, annoyance dripping from every word.
"How come you are so relaxed about this?" Fred's brown eyes roamed over her face. "About them ?"
"They are associated with Dea- them ?" George sneered.
"You are jumping to conclusions, over what?" She shook her head at them.
Their expressions soured, it seemed like they wanted to say something, but they stopped themselves.
She rolled her eyes again. "Right. Here they are just students." She pointed to herself and them. "Like us. Now if you're done making baseless accusations, I need to get going."
She strolled inside. She heard the twins' voices but refused to listen anymore as the door shut closed. Hermione lingered, exchanging greetings with the librarian, her eyes darting to the door. After a brief wait, Dimitrov finally arrived.
She led him to a relatively open area in the middle of the library. As it was a Sunday, there weren't many students around.
They took a seat and started on their work. The wizard organized his work into two stacks. Hermione nodded in approval. For Hermione's part, she liked to organize her work in stacks of three, completed, in progress, and things she wasn't sure about.
She took out a pen, clicked it, and immediately felt eyes on her hand. Was Dimitrov gawking at her... pen? She eyed the wizard, trying to decipher what piqued his interest. Then it connected. This was probably the first time he'd seen one.
Hermione has a strict rule of only using quills in class and for assignments, but when she's brainstorming or taking notes, she prefers the convenience of the simple but mighty pen.
She clicked it again and offered it to the Russian. "It's a pen." She giggled. Who would have thought that she would have to explain what a pen was?
Dimitrov seized the pen and analyzed it by turning it over, clicking it, and staring at the ink inside.
"Is like quill?" He asked, his eyes glued to the pen.
"Yes." She took another one from her bag and began to write her name on a paper.
He nodded and offered it back.
"It's okay. You can keep it." She said with a smile, amused by the giant's clear fascination with something so simple as a pen.
His eyes widened, and he stared at the pen before shaking his head. "I cannot, this is a great gift."
Hermione giggled, and the wizard furrowed his brows. "It's not. It is nothing really. I have more." His eyes scanned her bag, her face, and back to the pen. "I insist, plus you can think of it like a thank you for helping me out on a Sunday." She picked up her pen and started to scribble.
He stared intently at the pen, and Hermione could tell that he was contemplating whether to take it. He clicked it one more time and finally satisfied, he thanked her.
Even after some guidance from her classmate, Hermione continued to struggle with a particular rune. She pulled at her hair, frustration building in her. Giggles erupted again from a table behind the Krums and Svoboda.
The first hour, she had been patient, hoping the girls would cease their noise and start working. However, as time passed, their voices grew louder. Since it was Sunday, Madam Pince was in her office, so there was no one around to keep rowdy students in check.
ore them, they'll get bored, Hermione kept imploring. If they aren't here to study, why are they here? She emitted a grumble and glared fiercely in their direction. "Merlin, they are so loud."
"Da," Dimitrov replied but continued to write without glancing at the squealing witches.
The noise disrupted Hermione's focus completely. She stood up suddenly and walked over to their table, causing the Krums and Svoboda to turn and look at her.
She put her hands on her hips and ordered. "If you aren't here to study, please leave!"
Their sighs drifted off dreamily, followed by another round of giggles that echoed through the air. One of them, a bright beam lighting up her face, couldn't contain her excitement. "He looked at me!"
Another interjected, "No way! He glanced at me. Our eyes locked!"
There wasn't a single piece of parchment, let alone a book on their table. Anger prickled at her skin. He? Hermione furrowed her brows in annoyance and scanned the library. Was the blond flirting with them?
She looked at the said wizard, but he had a bored expression on his face until their eyes met and he smirked. Her eyes darted to the younger Krum, who had an amused look on his face. He turned to his brother and said something and the older Krum's normal scowl deepened.
They giggled again and Hermione lost any reminisce of patience she had. "What's the fuzz about?" Her voice rose and she instantly felt her face heat with the embarrassment of having lost her temper. She exhaled, trying to calm down. "Obviously not a book."Hermione snapped and rolled her eyes at the witches. "If you aren't going to at least pretend to read, leave!" She pointed to the door, but the group simply carried on talking and laughing, completely ignoring Hermione as if she hadn't said a word.
One of them squealed again and Hermione slammed her hands on the table. The few Ravenclaw students there glimpsed at her, they almost looked thankful that someone was finally dealing with the annoying noises. She leaned in close, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you refuse to leave, not only will I report this to Madam Pince, and make sure you get banned," she warned, locking eyes with them. " But I also happen to know a balding hex."
"Hmm. Doubt you've got it in you," one remarked, flipping her hair with a hint of arrogance that only stirred Hermione to actually hex the witches.
"Besides, you are such a know-it-all teacher's pet," sneered another, a smirk playing on her lips.
Hermione's smile was smug. "Exactly. Think any professor would take your word over mine?" She subtly reached for her wand. "But do you care to find out?"
Narrowing her eyes, she gestured toward her wand. "For the last time, if you are not going to read or study, leave. Now."
Their eyes darted to the Seeker's direction, but Hermione clapped her hands sharply. "Now!"
They jolted and they hurriedly shuffled out of the library.
She sighed in relief. Finally, she could focus. She made her way to Dimitrov. She smiled at the three wizards sitting together, a sense of peace waving off her. The Russian and friendly Bulgarian faces were painted with amusement. The scowling Bulgarian had a soft expression that Hermione had only seen when he had handed her the golden cat.
Their eyes met and her heart raced a little, her hands tingled but she shook the feeling off and sat in front of Dimitrov.
She reorganized her belongings, determined to finally tackle the pesty rune, but her attention was once again caught by the light emanating from his wand against his ear.
Up close, she could see soft light twirls brushing his ear up to his temple. This was the third time she had seen him doing this. Was he in pain? Or was this some type of enhancement spell? She continued to examine the patterns before they disappeared and sunk into his skin.
He cleared his throat and Hermione blushed. She had been caught staring at his ear, her brows had probably been furrowed, like she was examining him. Well, she was, which only added to her mortification.
Her sight dropped to the table and without looking she grabbed the closet parchment.
"Is okay." He said.
She gulped and hoped her cheeks were not as red as they felt.
He tapped his wand to his ear, "is spell to help hear."
Hermione's eyes widened. A hearing spell?
Dimitrov's thin lips curled up ever so slightly. "I cannot hear vithout spell."
Her jaw dropped scarcely. "You're deaf?"
He glanced at her with a puzzled expression. "Oh, I'm sorry, deaf means you can't hear."
"Ah, da. Deaf from this ear."
Fascinating. Magic was truly great. Her mind whirled with a thousand questions.
"You have question?" Though he wasn't smiling, Hermione heard the smile in his tone.
"Yes, I do." She rubbed her palms on her jeans, trying to hide her excitement. "If you don't mind."
"Ne, question is good."
Dimitrov spent the better half of an hour explaining and answering the curly-haired witch's questions. Satisfied they got back to work and were able to finish their assignment before dinner.
As they were leaving, she noticed that the blonde and the seeker were at the table. She thought about waiting for them but continued to walk with her new favorite classmate.
"Thank you again for helping me."
"No thanks, Miss Grain-in-ger. It vas good study."
"Call me Hermione." She replied with a smile. She felt that they could move on to first-name bases. He was after all incredibly knowledgeable and helpful.
His scarred brows furrowed for a moment before he took her hand and kissed her knuckles. She immediately blushed again. "I vill try." He offered her a small smile.
As they bid their goodbyes, her attention lingered on the once again scowling Bulgarian. She waved at him but he took a step closer, closing their distance.
He swiftly took her hand and she expected him to follow his friend's lead, however, he placed a tentative peek at the back of her hand.
Her skin hummed and the spot where his lips caressed her skin came to life. She stood there frozen over his towering figure. Her mind was desperately trying to catch up to the situation. It must have been because it came out of nowhere. Yes, that is it! It had been so long since this type of greeting that the shock was what made her mind go blank.
"I vill see you," Krum inched a centimeter closer, making her heart race. His strong hand still held hers, he kissed it again, before dropping it and walking to meet his friends.
