In a flash, Harry whipped around, the tip of his wand illuminating the harsh planes of Viktor Krum's face.
"Potter. Why was a murderer in the fireplace?"
=/=/=
"Viktor!" Hermione squeaked.
Harry's eyes narrowed, his face taking on the look of pugnacious obstinance he always wore when something wasn't going his way and he was upset about it.
"How long have you been standing there? Listening in?" Harry demanded, his voice ringing harshly in the otherwise silent room. Any hope Hermione had that they could play this off as a misunderstanding was dashed upon the rocks of bitterest disappointment.
Lord, Harry could be such an insufferable idiot sometimes. The very worst kind of brash, unthinking Gryffindor.
Not that her own brain was coming up with anything particularly helpful for getting out of this situation with her friendships and her relationship intact.
It was, surprisingly, Ron who spoke up. "He's Harry's godfather. It's just family, you know?"
Hermione thought that that sounded pretty stupid, but Viktor just grunted and crossed his arms, glancing at all three of them in turn before his gaze landed solidly on Harry. Who still looked upset and out of sorts, but seemed to be cautiously willing to follow Ron's lead.
"Not coming to Hogwarts?" Viktor asked.
Harry shook his head. "No. I don't know where he is. I just had some questions for him."
Viktor snorted and rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly. Suddenly, Hermione realized what it must look like.
"Questions about Mr. Crouch," she whispered quickly, worried about the rest of the dorm hearing their conversation. "Not the Tournament. He…" she didn't know how to talk about Sirius Black like this. Did she call him Sirius? Would that put Viktor in a tight spot, to not only have seen a face—a face he could pretend he didn't recognize—but to have also had the identity of a supposed mass murderer confirmed right like that?
"He," she finally repeated, shrugging and tilting her head towards the fire "used to work with Mr. Crouch. And we're…worried that Mr. Crouch might be…"
What did they worry Mr. Crouch was up to? It was so hard to put it into words.
Viktor supplied a ready answer for her when he curled his lip and he muttered "cheating."
"What?" Harry exclaimed.
Viktor arched a brow and looked at Harry like he was stupid. "You think we do not notice Crouch gives you extra points? I get five point taken away because burned. Fleur get five point taken because burned. You burned too, get no point taken away. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons already know Crouch cheats for Hogwarts. Did not need old friend to tell you this."
Hermione's brain stuttered like an engine that hadn't fully engaged, revving and spinning its wheels but gaining no traction.
Harry flushed bright red and Ron began viciously defending Harry's honor. "Harry didn't ask for any special treatment. He didn't even want to be in this tournament."
Viktor shrugged, as if to say he agreed and also didn't care. "Old friend will know nothing." With a harsh scoff, Viktor shook his head and began to turn back towards his dorm. "Should have asked about Tournament."
"Just what's that supposed to mean?" Ron exclaimed angrily.
Judging by the hard, scared, angry look on Harry's face, he knew exactly what Viktor had implied.
Harry was in over his head. And didn't have a clue.
And if he didn't get one soon, he might get seriously hurt. Or worse.
=/=/=
"Viktor?"
Hermione approached him slowly, working her way towards their library table. It had been a long time since they'd had the chance to study together, but she'd discovered him waiting today, scribbling away at an essay as if nothing and no time had passed.
Viktor looked up at her, his eyes rimmed by dark circles but a small, weary smile on his face nonetheless. He gestured towards her usual seat with the tip of his quill. It was an odd thing, stripped bare except a small bristle of black barbs at the end. Next to Malfoy's ostentatious peacock quills or even her own red and black striped pheasant quills, it was bizarrely plain. She'd noticed it before of course; he was a creature of habit and used the same one every day, but she'd never noticed it in the way she did now. Her brain, after all, seemed quite content to run at an alarmingly fast pace, anxious and tripping over itself to catalogue absolutely everything it came in contact with.
It was only mid-afternoon and already she was exhausted.
She nearly asked him about his quill as she sat down, but already her mind was jumping back to the cause of her trepidation today: Viktor Krum and Sirius Black.
Perching on the edge of her seat, she started to gingerly remove her scrolls and quills and books. She'd already dropped her Potions text twice today and knocked over an entire bottle of ink in Charms class, completely ruining both her essay and the sleeve of her shirt. And she had no desire for yet another repeat performance of her own nervous apoplexy.
Finally, when she seemed doubly, no triply, sure that Viktor wasn't going to say anything at all, she took an audibly deep breath and broached the subject of the previous night.
"I'm sorry you saw that. You know, Friday night."
Viktor turned to look at her, laying his quill across the desk and momentarily distracting her with the neat lines of Cyrillic that marched across his parchment.
He frowned a little. "Sorry I saw or sorry you did?"
She grimaced. "Sorry you saw." When he didn't seem inclined to say anything else, she continued. "We really needed to talk to him. And I think he really needed to see Harry. Make sure he was ok."
Viktor's lips pressed into a thin line, his shoulders tensing before he finally deflated. Reaching over, he grasped her hand in his. She hadn't even noticed until that moment that it had been shaking. That she had been shaking.
"You have secrets. Potters secrets, I think." She nodded, her throat feeling thick and uncomfortable. "Please tell me you are safe."
And just like that, Hermione started to cry. Afterwards, she wouldn't have been able to say exactly why, except that everything had been bubbling inside her until it was too much to be contained and burst out as silent tears and quiet sniffles. It was mortifying.
When Viktor's arm wrapped around her, she took the opportunity to bury her face within his red uniform jacket, deeply inhaling the smell of vetiver and oakmoss and shakily exhaling her nerves.
It took only a few minutes for her to gather herself back into something that resembled a functional human being, but several more before she was willing to abandon the comfort she'd found in Viktor's arms. In fact, she was quite content to curl more tightly into him, smiling softly as Viktor gently stroked her hair.
"Have been thinking," he murmured, his voice rumbling against her ear. "You think Crouch does more than give extra points."
It wasn't a question.
And it was so much easier to answer him when she didn't have to see his face. She'd been thinking all day and night about how much to tell Viktor if he asked. She'd discussed with Harry and Ron for over an hour about what to do until she'd finally won them to her argument: Viktor could be let into the bare bones of it all. After all, he already knew about the disappearance of Bertha Jorkins, about their suspicion that something sinister stalked the forests and hills of Albania. He'd even agreed to tug on his own contacts and find information for them.
But Harry had also been clear that he didn't want Viktor knowing about certain things. He didn't need to know anything else about Sirius, especially that he was obviously in contact with Remus. He didn't need to know that it was Voldemort they thought was hiding in Albania. Ron had insisted that she reveal nothing about the Marauders Map or Harry's cloak—things that gave him a distinct advantage and would be major, staggering losses if Viktor decided to tell someone else or somehow take them.
Which was ridiculous and stupid and paranoid.
But she'd agreed nonetheless because she'd gotten tired of trying to get Ron and Harry to trust Viktor, or even to trust her.
And it had been after midnight. Well past curfew and an exhaustingly late hour.
"Harry and Ron saw him in Professor Moody's office the night of the Yule Ball."
She could practically hear Viktor's eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "But Crouch was not at Ball. He send his aid instead. With red hair."
She nodded, finally extracting herself from his embrace and brusquely wiping the dried tears out of the crevices around her eyes. "Exactly. We're worried that either Crouch is up to something, or he thinks Moody is."
Nodding along, Viktor looked deep in thought. "Both are dangerous wizards." He pursed his lips again, pensive and momentarily silent. "But why ask old…friend?"
Hermione pretended that last word hadn't dripped sarcasm.
"Because he knew him. Really well."
Viktor shook his head. "But he does not know him now. Ask someone who knows him now."
Hermione scoffed. Of course, if she'd had another option she'd have asked them. But who did she know that knew Mr. Crouch and would answer questions about him without ratting them out? The only person who even came to mind was Percy Weasley and he'd immediately tell his boss that someone by the name of Hermione Jean Granger was asking persistent, uncomfortable questions.
"Well who am I supposed to ask, then?"
She was really growing tired of Viktor's 'I can't believe you're this stupid' face.
"The elf."
"What?"
"The. Elf." He repeated.
And suddenly, she remembered. Not even a month ago, she'd made an—admittedly ill-advised—sojourn to the kitchens for the very first time in her Hogwarts career. Her reception had been frosty at best, and she'd stormed up to breakfast with her pockets still stuffed full of mismatched hats and socks. Not even Viktor's stormy gaze had stopped Draco Malfoy from laughing endlessly at her failed crusade after spying half a dozen puce and green socks go tumbling out of her pocket and onto the flagstone floor.
But she'd been so upset about Winky that she hadn't even stopped to remind Malfoy that S.P.E.W was not spew, even when he'd started to pretend to be violently ill at the breakfast table. Instead, she'd spent the whole breakfast viciously stabbing at her potatoes and regaling Viktor with every injustice that had led Barty Crouch's disgraced house elf to end up in the Hogwarts' kitchens.
How could she have been so stupid?
If anyone knew what Bartimaeus Crouch did in his spare time, it was Winky. If anyone was going to know if he was up to something, it was Winky.
Winky. The sloppily sauced house elf so drunk on Butterbeer that she could hardly stop vomiting. Winky, with the bloodshot eyes and runny nose. Winky, who was right down in the kitchens.
As if sensing she was already ready to abandon him for a crusade, Viktor gently grasped her elbow and tugged until she looked over at him. He raised both eyebrows and gave her a cautious smile.
"What?" she asked.
"Perhaps, think about what to say before you do?" Perhaps sensing the shocked, angry disbelief growing in her belly, he quickly continued. "House elves do not like you, da? Perhaps, go in with plan."
Hermione let out an indignant huff.
How dare he say something like that to her?
And, even more importantly: how dare he be right?!
If anyone else had told her to effectively cool her jets and use her head before she totally bungled something, she'd have been irate. As it was, there was something about Viktor that made it easier—not easy mind, but easier—to step back and look at things objectively. Perhaps it was the fact that there didn't appear to be any judgment attached to his advice. It was…just…advice. Something she could take or leave and he'd accept that that was her decision.
With a rueful grin, she looked back at him. "I suppose you might have a point."
He smiled back a bit less hesitantly. "Da. Brain is not all for show."
A thought crossed her mind, and without consciously considering it, she blurted it right out. "Could you talk to Winky with me?"
Viktor seemed initially taken aback, his eyebrows jumping back up towards his hairline before knitting back over his eyes in concentration. He scowled for a moment, wrinkling his nose a little before finally replying "Da. But not today. Or tomorrow. Karkaroff has me very busy."
"Oh."
Well there went that idea.
But then again, it wasn't that important was it? Not so important that she couldn't wait until Friday when Viktor was almost certainly free.
"Friday, then? Maybe after dinner?"
Viktor nodded. "It is a date."
Hermione laughed. "And what a date it will be! Sneaking down to the kitchens to interrogate a drunken house elf. Very romantic."
She hadn't expected Viktor's whole face to shutter at her teasing. But it did. His face fell and his shoulders sagged and for a long moment he seemed utterly entranced by the shape and size of his own hands. When he spent the next several moments in continued silence, Hermione reached out to gently grasp his hand.
"Viktor. What's wrong?" Giving an experimental tug on his hand, she finally loosened his grip on his own cloak and was able to twine her fingers together with his. As if gathering strength from her touch, he glanced back up at her with a pained expression.
"I know I have been busy. Very busy. I do not give you the time you need. I do not give you the time you deserve. Am not very good boyfriend."
"Oh Viktor."
Oh, how did she fix this? Could she fix this? Other people's emotions had never been her forte. She just didn't understand them, not in the ways they needed her to. No matter how much thought she put into it, she could never say the right thing. And now here was Viktor, needing her to say something, anything at all. And all she could do was stare at their hands, her mind whirring, searching desperately for some response that wouldn't be dismissive or embarrassing or belittling.
She tried out several versions in her head.
'Oh it's fine, I knew I'd never see you.'
No, that wasn't right.
'I'm sure if you wanted you could find the time.'
No. Definitely not.
'It's ok, I don't need to see you all that often.'
Sure Hermione, tell him you don't even care that he's busy.
In the end, she settled for a smile and reached up to touch his cheek, rubbing the pad of her thumb gently across his cheekbone. He'd done that for her when she was in a tizzy and it always made her feel better, so perhaps it was something that would help him, too.
"I think you're a very good boyfriend," she finally stuttered out. With a toss of her head and a small sniff, she put on her best impression of Ginny and concluded "And I'm the only one who's opinion matters."
"You do not mind that I am always busy?"
"Well, of course I mind. But it's not your fault." Something about the look in his eyes made her feel brave. "Besides, I know a way you can make it up to me."
His eyes glittered at the teasing tone in her voice. "Oh?"
"Mmhm. You can kiss me."
And he did just that.
With gusto.
=/=/=
As if her flippant comment had flipped a switch in poor Viktor's brain, she suddenly found herself being kissed considerably more often. They'd always enjoyed kisses in the library, or on the grounds, but they'd been sedate things that happened only when they'd been in the right place at the right time.
Now, Viktor seemed to happily view every time they saw each other as an opportunity and every place as a potential location to snog her senseless.
There'd been a chaste peck on the cheek as he sat down to breakfast Wednesday morning.
Draco Malfoy had dropped his spoon and splattered eggs all over Pansy Parkinson, who'd looked so mortified Hermione had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud.
There'd been a slow kiss on the third floor that had started out sensuous and testing and had quickly gotten out of hand and stopped only when Hermione's back had collided with the statue of the one-eyed witch hard enough to leave a significant bruise.
Viktor had tried very hard to apologize for that one.
She hadn't let him.
Instead, she'd borrowed the Marauder's Map and finally, finally caught him outside the greenhouses, pulling him into a delicious, toe-curling kiss that ended entirely too quickly. Fang the Boarhound had apparently been following her and thought this was a grand time to demand treats or ear scritches or both.
And so it was that Friday evening finally rolled around and Hermione found herself hand in hand with Viktor on her way to the kitchens, giggling quietly as he waggled his eyebrows, abruptly pulled her into a shaded alcove, and thoroughly kissed her.
Their first few kisses had been sweet and safe, but this one? This one was decadent.
It had tongue.
Which really had been a revelation.
Oh, she'd always known that French kissing was supposed to be sexy and adult, but she'd never given it much thought. In fact, the idea had often struck her as somewhat disgusting.
Revolting.
Soggy.
In reality, it was none of those things.
Except, maybe, a bit soggy. But only now and again and in a way she really didn't mind, even if afterwards she sometimes felt the need to surreptitiously wipe her chin on her sleeve.
The feel of Viktor's tongue against hers did things to her insides that she wasn't expecting. And he seemed to have a similar problem, for after a few minutes, he broke back from her, nearly panting before he ran an unsteady hand through his hair and made a concerted, if ultimately unsuccessful, attempt to pull himself back together.
Hermione acknowledged his restraint with a small, impish smile and a quick pat pat of her hand on his broad chest, right below the curve of his shoulder.
They caught each others eyes and laughed before Viktor swooped down and placed three tiny, hard, teasing pecks on her lips. One. Two. Three.
He pulled back, his eyes lit with mirth and looking younger and freer than he'd been in ages.
Hermione was glad she wasn't the only one who'd desperately needed to cut loose and have some fun.
"So, to the kitchens?"
Viktor groaned dramatically, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling. His soundless chuckles tightened the muscles in his chest and belly. Not that she noticed of course. She definitely did not notice the way they contracted beneath the hand she still had on his chest.
Why had she wanted him to leave this alcove, again?
Oh. Winky.
And Mr. Crouch. Who may be trying to save Harry from Mad-Eye Moody. Or maybe was after Harry. Or maybe was up to something nefarious and unconnected to Harry. Which she didn't think was likely because somehow everything came back to Harry. Even this. Because Viktor was Harry's direct competition. And because thoughts of Harry when she'd just had her tongue in Viktor Krum's mouth were exceptionally unappealing.
Here was Harry being a wet blanket in her relationship and he didn't even know it. He'd probably be proud.
And tell her she was being stupid.
Hermione sighed and shook her head, letting the part of her that desperately wanted to take care of all this mystery business later take a back seat.
Back burners are important, she reminded herself.
If they both needed a moment to straighten themselves out before stepping out from the alcove, well, no one would need to know.
Although Fred Weasley, who'd just rounded the corner carrying a truly massive stack of cakes, probably could have taken a solid guess and gotten it in one. Instead, he just waggled his eyebrows and winked at her.
Prat.
Thoroughly embarrassed, she walked quietly with Viktor the rest of the way to the kitchens before gently tickling the pear and stepping inside.
All movement ceased the moment she stepped over the threshold. A hundred pair of big, round, incredulous eyes stared at her. Unblinking. Judging.
Oh she was so glad she'd brought Viktor with her.
"Miss! What's Miss be doing in the kitchens?" came a shout from the hearth before Dobby elbowed his way through the mass of elves and gave her bow. He was adorned in four separate socks: red and green stripes and orange pumpkins on his feet; purple polka dots and neon green splotches on his ears.
She could practically hear Viktor's confusion behind her.
Summoning her friendliest grin—which Harry and Ron had more than once told her was too sharklike to actually be friendly—she stepped forward. "Hello Dobby. We've come to see Winky, if that's alright."
It was not.
Dobby's ears flopped so far forward that he had to grip each of his ear socks in a tight fist to keep them from slipping off entirely.
The rest of the elves decided to pretend that she wasn't there, although she did see several of them glare at her before turning and offering Viktor anything he could possibly want: tea, cakes, biscuits, an entire steak and kidney pie.
Hermione tried smiling again. "Dobby, I've brought my friend Viktor with me. We just want to talk to Winky. Maybe it'll help. You want to help her, don't you?"
Viktor wisely ignored her blatant manipulation before stepping forward.
"Dobby. Take us to Winky, please."
With a final wring of his ears, Dobby bowed again. "This way Mr. Krum. Miss." Leading them through the teaming kitchen, he worriedly mumbled "Winky is not doing good, Miss. Not doing good at all. Dobby is very worried she gets sacked again. And no one be wanting free elves, Miss. No one."
Uncertain what to say, Hermione chose to hum and nod. In another moment, she was confronted by the pathetic sight of Winky the free elf. Her little body was unwashed and she stank.She was curled up in nest made of a ratty Henley that may once have been white, the surrounding area littered with empty Butterbeer bottles and used tissues.
Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea.
Before she could step forward, Viktor gripped her hand and briskly shook his head, squeezing her fingers once more before stepping forward without her.
This had been the plan. But she still felt annoyed at being sidelined.
"Winky," Viktor started, crouching down on the great hearth stones. The fire threw his face into sharp relief, and for the briefest of moments, Hermione thought she'd caught a glimpse of what he'd look like in ten years. The thought that she might still be in his life in ten years was a heady one, and was the only defense she had against the distraction that was Viktor's broad back and strong thighs squatting in front of her.
Winky looked up after a long moment but said nothing.
"You were Mr. Crouch's elf, yes?"
At this, Winky burst into great big, fat, ugly tears that rolled down her face and drenched the decorative edge of her filthy tea towel.
"Winky is so sorry, Mr. Crouch. So sorry. What must Mr. Crouch be doing without Winky? Who presses his clothes? Who cleans his house? Who cooks his food?" She exclaimed, becoming more and more hysterical.
When she'd quieted back down, Viktor turned to her again and gently pried the bottle from her hand, passing it behind his back. Hermione took it from him, uncertain what exactly he thought she could do with it. Catching Dobby's eyes, she shrugged and he took the bottle from her, whisking it off to who-knew-where.
"Oh, Winky is a disgrace!" the little elf cried, burying her face in her hands.
"Yes." Viktor said, not harshly but not kindly either.
"Viktor!" Hermione exclaimed, "what are you doing?"
But he paid her no mind, just reached behind him to pat her on the leg.
Oh, if this wasn't part of some plan, he was going to hear about this later.
Winky, meanwhile, was looking at Viktor like he was the only thing in life that made sense.
"Winky is such a bad elf. To be dismissed. Winky bring disgrace on Mr. Crouch and Master Barty. Oh, what would Winky's family think? What shame?"
Viktor nodded. "You have disgraced your employer and been dismissed. And now you disgrace your new employer, too."
At this, Winky looked up harshly. "Winky owes nothing to white beard man. He hires free elves."
"Yes. And he hired you. Hogwarts is your new employer. What would your mother think, knowing you disgrace every employer?"
Winky hiccupped, but for the first time in their conversation, her eyes held a tiny glint of lucidity.
Viktor continued, his voice low and even. "I think you want to be good elf. Honorable elf. But you must work hard to earn your honor back. And I do not think you are working hard."
Winky burst back into tears, the intensity of them wracking her tiny frame until her whole body shook with each desperate gasp to breath between sobs.
"What must Winky do? Winky wants to be good elf?"
Viktor paused.
"Mr. Crouch comes to Hogwarts often. He would not like to know you disgrace him here, too. You must work very hard. You must learn Mr. Crouch's lesson. You must learn to be good elf."
By now, they'd attracted the attention of at least half the house elves in the kitchens, most of whom were looking at Viktor like he hung the starts in the sky. One particularly ancient elf hobbled forward and wrenched Winky hard on the ear.
"You is cleaning lion tower. You is cleaning lion tower alone. Or you is never going to be nothing."
Everything within Hermione told her she should defend Winky, and yet, Winky looked alive for the first time since she'd seen her at the World Cup, shaking and holding Harry's wand like it was going to bite her. Like it had already bitten her.
When they finally left the kitchens, Viktor tucking a small pastry into his pocket, Hermione's frustration was peaking.
"I don't agree with anything that happened in there. And we didn't even learn anything!"
Viktor crunched down happily on an apple. "We learned Winky is very loyal. She will not give up secrets easily, not even drunk."
He offered her the apple and took another large bite when she glared at him.
"Hermione, I have important question."
"What?"
"If Mr. Crouch is Mr. Crouch, who is Master Barty?"
That…was a very good question.
Hermione snagged the apple from Viktor's hand and took a bite, her eyes bright as she caught yet another thread of this mystery.
"I don't know. But I think I need to find out."
The two made their way up to the second floor where they parted ways with one last lingering kiss, oblivious to the slow, deliberate, thumping steps that tailed them the entire way.