October 31- Sunday
Viktor observed the scene as the last champion, Potter, entered the room. The air crackled with magic as the headmasters continued their heated exchange. The Transfiguration and Potions professors arrived, joining the champions and the mustachioed wizard in front of the fire.
"It'z wrong, I tell you!" Madam Maxime pointed her finger accusingly at Potter.
"Wot nonsense is this Dumbledore! I demand an explanation!" Karkaroff barked.
Dumbledore hurried across the room, his gaze fixed on Potter. "Harry!" He gripped the boy's shoulders tightly, causing Potter to stumble backward into a heap of instruments. "Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"
"No, sir!"
"Did you ask one of the older students to do it for you?" Dumbledore's hands shook as he questioned Potter.
Potter vehemently shook his head. "No, sir."
Leaning in closer, Dumbledore's spectacles slipped halfway down his nose. "Are you absolutely sure?"
"Yes! Yes, sir." Potter's hand trembled, his glasses sliding off.
Madam Maxine's face contorted with anger. She advanced, flicking her wrist to clear the room of obstructing objects. "But of course, he iz lying!" She folded her lips, inches from Potter's face. "How else would he 'ave been selected? He iz a cheat!"
The professor with the magical eye stepped forward, glaring at the witch. "The hell he is!"
"Mhm and 'ow could you be zo certain?" She bit back.
"The Goblet of Fire is an exceptionally powerful magical object," he explained.
The mustachioed wizard sighed, running a hand over his face. "Is there any chance that the incantation or wand movements were incorrect?"
Madam Maxine gasped, clutching her pearls. "Comment oses-tu!" (How dare you!)
Dumbledore waved him off. "No, no, everything was fine."
"Leave it to the British to say something so stupid!" Karkaroff exclaimed in Russian.
"Zen 'ow can you explain zis?" Madam Maxine pointed to Potter. "There must be somezing wrong wiz ze Goblet" her eyes darted to Karkaroff before setting them on Potter again, "or someone must 'ave committed a mistake "
Karkaroff scoffed and muttered in Russian, "Dirty half-breed woman."
The professor continued, his magical eye scanning the room. "Only an exceptionally powerful Confundus Charm could have fooled it. Magic far beyond the talents of a fourth year."
Karkaroff confronted the professor, magical sparks crackling around him. "You seem to haff given this a bit of thought, Mad-Eye."
Mad-Eye pushed back with his own magic. "It was once my job to think as dark wizards do, Karkaroff," he warned. "It would do you well to remember, or perhaps your time in Azkaban was not enough." Intense waves of magic electrified the room.
Dumbledore intervened, his magic surging to quell the conflict. "This doesn't help, Alastor!" He placed a calming hand on the mustachioed wizard's shoulder. "I leave this to you, Barty."
"The rules are absolute," the wizard stated firmly, adjusting his tie. "The Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding magical contract." He turned to address the champions. "Mr. Potter has no choice. He is now a Triwizard champion."
"Comme c'est ridicule!" (How ridiculous!)
"If your zchool is going to haff tvo champions, I demand another one!" Karkaroff insisted, joined by Madam Maxime in protest.
As the headmasters continued to argue, Barty turned and addressed the champions with a raised eyebrow. He smoothed his robes. "My apologies for this unusual introduction." He extended a hand to the wizards and kissed the Beauxbatons champion's hand he tried to do the same with Miss Johnson, but she extended her hand.
"I am Barty Crouch, Sr., Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation at the Ministry of Magic. As the overseer of the Triwizard Tournament, it is my foremost duty to ensure fairness and safety throughout this esteemed competition. The integrity of the tournament is paramount, and I vow to uphold it with unwavering dedication."
Viktor studied the man, realizing why he felt a sense of familiarity. He worked for the Ministry, carrying the same air of self-importance as all its employees.
"Therefore, I must ask each of you to sign these contracts," Mr Crouch announced, his wand conjuring four contracts to hover in the air. "Acknowledging that you understand the nature of the tasks ahead and absolving the Ministry of Magic of any liability for potential harm or injury during the tournament." A practiced fake smile adorned his face as he gestured elegantly to the contracts.
"Please understand that this measure is not meant to deter you, but rather to ensure transparency and accountability for all parties involved. Your safety remains our top priority, and by signing these contracts, you affirm your willingness to proceed with full awareness of the risks." He turned to Potter, adding, "As you are not of legal age, Mr Potter, we will need to involve a legal guardian." Crouch sighed, summoning another large stack of papers.
"Take your time to read over the contracts. Once you are ready, simply sign your name on each page, and we will officially commence the games." Straightening his robes, he continued, "Should you have any questions, please don't hesitate to contact me." With a courteous nod, the Ministry employee bid farewell to the bickering headmasters.
Viktor took the contract and, as he had expected, the Ministry washed their hands of any responsibility. With a flick of his wand, he transfigured a quill and signed the papers. As the parchment burst into flames, the other champions followed suit, and the Transfiguration professor approached.
"Mr Krum, Miss Delacour, I'd like to officially introduce myself," the older witch began with a bow. Viktor reached to shake her hand, but she waved it off. "No need for such formalities, Mr Krum. I am Minerva McGonagall, the Transfiguration Professor. I'll be overseeing your accommodations."
"Your quarters have been arranged between the Slytherin common room and the grand staircase tower. Your belongings will be collected and neatly arranged by the time you depart from here. It's important to note that standard student conduct rules apply, even within your quarters. Visitors must leave before curfew, as per Hogwarts regulations." Her green eyes landed on Viktor. "Know that all visitations are monitored."
Viktor's brow arched. Was she insinuating that he would bring witches to his room?
Madam Maxine's voice rocketed through the room. "I demand zat he be tested!"
Potter shrank away nervously.
Karkaroff's eyes narrowed. "A vial of Veritaserum should suffice."
Professor Mad-Eye intervened, blocking Karkaroff. "Leave it to you to suggest that."
The old witch sighed. "I believe you three," she glanced at Viktor, Miss Delacour, and Miss Johnson, "are dismissed." Dumbledore nodded, still trying to placate the two headmasters. She rested a hand on Potter's shoulder. "Unfortunately for you, Mr Potter, you need to stay."
As Viktor and the other champions exited the room, he felt a prickling sensation on his skin as the door swung open.
Hermione paced anxiously in front of the entrance, her arms wrapped tightly around her. She strode towards the champions, her brow creased as she looked at Miss Johnson.
"Where's Harry?"
"They're going to ask him some questions."
Her head poked around the Captain and her brow furrowed deeper. "Is he alright?"
"Yes, he's fine!" Miss Johnson's dark brows furrowed, a hint of magic escaping her. Hermione's lips parted, and she took a step back. Viktor instinctively moved closer, standing beside the curly-haired witch.
Miss Delacour eyed Hermione, offered her a politely practiced smile, and excused herself.
"What's wrong, Angelina?"
Miss Johnson clenched her jaw. "Did you help him?"
"What?"
She stepped closer, peering down at Hermione. "I asked if you helped him cheat."
Hermione's jaw dropped slightly, forming a small "o." "You think he wanted this?" She shook her head incredulously. "You saw how terrified he was! And how could he have gotten past the age line?" Crossing her arms, she continued, "Exactly when would he have put his name in the Goblet?"
The older witch squared her shoulders. "I don't know. But he must have done something to get his name in the Goblet." Her dark eyes narrowed. "There were rumors that you brewed Polyjuice Potion in your second year," she scoffed, "who's to say you didn't do it again."
Viktor's eyes widened. He glanced over at the witch next to him. She brewed something as complex as Polyjuice in her second year and by the way Johnson had said it, it had been in secret. The corners of his lips twitched up.
She was truly incredible.
"You really think he wanted to enter," Hermione paused, blinking. "And that I helped him cheat." Her voice softened, sadness creeping into her eyes as she continued to stare at Miss Johnson.
Miss Johnson swallowed, looking away. "I don't want to, Granger, but how else can you explain this?"
Hermione lowered her gaze, unclenching her hands.
Miss Johnson sighed and walked away.
Hermione stared at the spot where the Gryffindor captain had stood, then closed her eyes. When she opened them, she sighed, meeting Viktor's gaze. His fingers itched to touch her.
"He didn't want to enter, you know?"
Viktor shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets.
"I didn't help him cheat."
"I knov."
"You do?"
"Da."
She blinked a couple of times, and the furrow on her brow returned. "How?"
Viktor smiled. "You call me stupid, no? For vanting to be in Tournament."
Her breath hitched, and a lovely pink dusted her lightly freckled cheeks. She composed herself, "Well, it is incredibly stupid."
"See. You not help friend."
Her eyes searched his, and a beautiful small smile tugged at her lips. "I'm glad you believe me." Her eyes softened, and there was something irresistible that pulled Viktor closer. His eyes traveled from her dark long lashes to the curve of her cheek to her lips. "And Harry, of course."
A wave of frantic whispers rippled through the Great Hall as the double doors burst open, revealing a dozen students clad in vibrant yellow robes. "Have you seen Angelina?" a witch with blond hair asked.
"Yes, she just left," answered Hermione.
Narrowed eyes followed Viktor and Hermione, their gazes lingering pointedly on Hermione. He squared his shoulders, his stance widening as he met their gazes.
"Eh, right," the witch mumbled, and the group shuffled out.
Hermione stared at the blank wall where the ornate oak door had stood moments ago. A faint outline shimmered in the air. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, "I guess I'll wait for him in the common room."
"It is Sunday," Viktor declared.
Hermione stopped walking and turned to look at him, her head tilted to the side. "It is."
He slightly shook his head, waiting for her to catch what he was saying.
She, it seemed, didn't get what he was getting at; instead, she searched his face, her brows knitting together.
"Ve have agreement, no?"
Her brows knitted tighter together. "Now?"
"Yes, vhy not?"
"I thought that you wouldn't want to meet today."
He quirked a dark eyebrow at her. "I need much practice."
"Don't you want to go celebrate with your school?"
"Vill later." He stepped closer, and his eyes met hers; the brown depths seemed to swallow him whole. Her eyes might not be blue, but he managed to drown in them every time. "This is more important."
"Oh," she breathed. "Studying is important." She said in soft hushed tones.
Viktor hummed.
She blinked repeatedly and shook her head, "but I don't have books."
"Is okay, ve do vithout books."
"How?"
He motioned to both of them with his finger, "ve practice today. No learning."
She bit her lip, and her gaze drifted to a distant spot in the door. "It would be helpful to get feedback on my wand movements," she murmured more to herself than Viktor. A smile lit up her face. "Alright! Let's go."
Midstep, she stopped. "Wait, the library is closed today because of the tournament." Her brow furrowed, a small frown etching lines between her eyes. She huffed something under her breath and looked at Viktor.
Viktor observed her, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"I think one of the old Transfiguration classrooms is open. We should be able to use it until curfew."
He motioned for her to walk in front of him. Viktor's pulse raced through his veins. Surely she wouldn't take him to a room where they would be alone, right?
Hermione, though, continued to lead Viktor through a maze of corridors. Each time they turned a corner, he wanted to turn back. Want wasn't the right word he would use because he most definitely wanted to, he should, however, stop.
"Here we are." She opened the door, and with a flick of her wand, the room came alive with the flickering of candles.
The room, though clearly abandoned, was free of cobwebs and dust.
Hermione motioned for Viktor to step into the room.
His mother's stern voice rang in his ears, "You must allow the lady to enter the room first." He glanced at Hermione before stepping aside and gesturing for her to enter first.
As Hermione stepped inside, Viktor followed closely behind, taking in the room with a cautious eye. It was spacious, with high ceilings and towering bookshelves lining the walls.
The moment they stepped into the room, he became painfully aware of the absence of a chaperone. The more he observed the room, the more certain he became that this was not a good idea. The room felt too intimate, too secluded.
He felt his pulse quicken at the thought of being alone with Hermione in such an isolated place. Yet those warm brown eyes of hers held an irresistible pull that he found impossible to resist.
Hermione moved to one of the empty tables near the back of the room, pulling out a chair and motioning for Viktor to sit. He hesitated for a moment before complying and taking a seat across from her.
But instead of taking the seat across from him as he'd expected, Hermione slid into the chair next to him.
His heart pounded in his chest at their proximity. His mother's voice echoed in his head once again, "Always maintain proper distance and under no circumstances shall you be alone with a witch." Yet as he looked at Hermione, her eyes, all thoughts of proper distance fled his mind.
She rolled up her sleeves, and never would Viktor have thought that wrists and hands could be so...tantalizing.
"Right, so I have been practicing," she waved her wand, trying to replicate the energizing spell, "but I can't seem to get it right."
Viktor observed Hermione as she awkwardly maneuvered her wand, her brows furrowed in concentration. He fought the urge to reach out and adjust her grip. "Her-my-oh-knee," he murmured, his gaze never leaving her hands. He groaned at his inability to say what he wanted. Hermione stopped and looked at him. He clenched his hand and relaxed it a couple of times. "Too hard."
She glanced up at him, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. "Oh, right." She loosened her grip on the wand and attempted the movement again.
He watched with curious eyes as she moved her wand again, biting her luscious lips. The sight was unexpectedly appealing.
Without thinking, he reached out and gently adjusted her wrist. His fingers engulfed her small, delicate wrist. His touch was feather-light against her skin, but he could feel a jolt of electricity pass between them, lighting up his magic.
Her eyes went wide, but she didn't move away. His fingers trailed lightly from her wrist to her thumb.
"Like diz," he said, demonstrating by moving his fingers along her wrist. He moved it slowly, deliberately so she could follow along.
He knew he shouldn't be touching her; it was beyond improper. But his skin came alight, and his magic pulsated with hers.
She blushed, and for a second, she let her wrist fall limp in his hold.
As she copied him, she suddenly looked up at him with a curious expression on her face. "Viktor," she began hesitantly. "May I ask you something?"
"Da."
"Do you... do you like being a professional Quidditch player?" she asked softly. "It just seems so," she paused, "too much."
Viktor furrowed his eyebrows.
She continued. "It's just that you are so young, and even from the little I know about Quidditch, I know you have to practice a lot. I've seen how hard my friends practice, and I know it's not easy." She started to fiddle with the hem of her shirt. "I don't mean to say you can't because I'm sure you can, but— it just seems like a lot."
Her soft eyes met his. "You must be under so much pressure." Her cheeks were dusted with pink. "That's why I was wondering if you liked it. If it was worth it."
The question caught him off guard. Courting customs didn't usually allow for such personal questions this early on, not that they were courting, of course, well not yet anyway. But there was a sincerity and concern in Hermione's eyes that had his heart skipping beats.
He hesitated for a moment before responding. "I do, I like it," he admitted. "It is tiring, but it is vorth it."
Her brown eyes softened with understanding as she nodded slowly. "I can tell. You look like a bird when you fly," she murmured.
"Not a dragon?" He smirked, and Hermione's cheeks tinged pink.
"Well, yes, I guess it would be more accurate to compare you to a dragon. Birds aren't fool—" she coughed into her hand, and the pale pink flush on her face darkened. "What I meant to say is that birds don't drop from the sky like that."
"Dragons are better, yes?" His gaze fixed on her. He became weak to her blushing face and closed their distance. The bond hummed with approval, urging him to get closer.
"I suppose so. But it must be incredibly annoying having people follow your every move."
Viktor laughed, and her blush deepened. "I didn't mean—"
He fought the urge to take her hands into his and kiss them. "You are right. It is annoying."
"You must really love Quidditch to endure that."
He shook his head. "Da, I love it." His smile was genuine, and though he did love Quidditch, it was her that made him smile.
There was a moment of silence between them as they continued practicing the spell. Viktor found himself strangely comforted by her presence, by the soft hum of her magic in the room and the rhythm of her movements.
She seemed to be contemplating something before she finally spoke up again. "Do you ever wish you could just... be a regular student? Without all the expectations and pressures?"
Viktor paused, his wand hovering in mid-air. No one had ever asked him that before. Not his parents, not his teammates, not even his brothers or friends. They all saw him as Viktor Krum, the Quidditch prodigy, pride of Durmstrang, and heir to the Krum name.
But not her. Hermione looked at him and saw just Viktor, a seventeen-year-old wizard who was good at Transfiguration and could barely speak a lick of English. She never brought up his fame, fortune, or family name.
"I..." He faltered, unsure of how to respond. "Sometimes," he admitted quietly. "But I knov I am lucky." And he really was. He'd found his passion early on and he'd been supported by his friends and family.
"I don't think it's luck." Her smile was soft, but it still made Viktor smile back. "I think you are where you are because you worked hard to get there."
He had to plant his feet firmly on the ground and his hands on the table to stop himself from taking her into his arms. A strange warmth spread through him as he watched her practice the spell once more. For the first time in a long while, he felt seen. Not as a Quidditch star or a champion or a wizard from an influential family, but as himself.
She was everything he never knew he wanted.
If he had any doubts about courting her, they banished like smoke. He wanted to get to know everything about her. He wanted to discover what made her laugh, what made her eyes light up with excitement, what made her heart beat faster.
She flicked her wrist at the wrong angle and groaned. "How did you get so good at Transfiguration?"
"Much practice."
"With a lot of practice," she corrected.
"Da, vith a lot of practice. I practiced at school and home."
Her eyebrows rose. "You can practice magic outside of school?"
"Da," Viktor's own brow quirked. "You cannot practice magic in home?"
She shook her head, "No, we can't practice at home."
"Why?"
Her brows knitted together. "Because that's the law." Viktor eyed the curly-haired with curiosity. "According to the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, we can't use magic until we are 18."
"But hov do you practice vhen not in school?"
"We don't." Her eyes were fixed on the table, but Viktor could tell her mind was elsewhere.
Viktor nodded. How interesting that England had such strict regulations given their last War. Back home witches and wizards could use magic freely once they got their wand. It seemed almost torturous to give children a wand and then take it away.
They continued to talk about classes. She told him why she liked Arithmancy and about her half-kneezle cat. She asked about Durmstrang, but Viktor informed her that he couldn't talk about it, which only seemed to fire the curiosity in her eyes.
Hermione approached Viktor tentatively. "Viktor," she began, "I've always been curious... do they really teach dark magic at Durmstrang?"
He raised a questioning brow at her. "Dark magic?"
"Yes. Like blood magic."
"Ah, yes."
"Then you practice blood magic?"
There was a flicker of fear and uncertainty in her eyes, and that made Viktor want to sigh.
"I do."
She swallowed hard and clutched her wand. "Is that what you performed today?"
"Da."Because Karkaroff was too lazy to do anything else.
"Oh."
He glanced at her and saw her fingers fidgeting subtly, her eyes darting around the room. A furrow formed between his brows as he noticed her unease, a feeling of discomfort settling in his chest.
"Do I scare you, Her-my-oh-knee?"
Hermione's eyes widened with surprise, and she shifted slightly. Viktor's chest tightened at the thought of her being afraid of him.
Her brow relaxed, and her lips formed a gentle smile.
"No, but to be honest, I was."
"I zee," he said in a low voice. Viktor tried to back away, but she moved closer, her eyes locked on his.
"I was." She took another small step closer. "I thought I was going to be surrounded by dark wizards. Evil dark wizards." She smiled, and Viktor relaxed.
"Dark vizards?"
Her shoulders slumped, and her lips twitched downward. "I… I heard that there are dark wizards in Durmstrang."
"Ne, there are no dark vizards."
"But you practice dark magic." She said almost as if the word stung her tongue.
"I do, but I am not a dark vizard. Dark magic is not bad, Her-my-oh-knee. It is like other magic - a tool."
"A tool."
"Da. A tool."
Hermione's eyebrows knitted together. "But dark magic is used for The Unforgivables."
"The wot?"
"The Cruciatus Curse, Imperius Curse, and," her voice dipped low, "Avada Kedavra."
"That is dark magic?"
"Of course!" She crossed her arms and shot Viktor a glare. "What else can they be?"
"They are magic."
"It's dark magic, Viktor!" Her fists clenched as she stared at him, her voice rising a notch. "Dark magic which is used to hurt people."
Viktor thought, watching the curly-haired witch glare at him, that he had gone mad. Because only a madman would consider an angry witch so enticingly beautiful.
"Magic is not bad, Her-my-oh-knee," he said calmly. His eyes met her fiery ones, and he had to force his lips to remain still. "Magic is magic; it is people who are evil."
She squinted her eyes at him but otherwise remained in the same position. "Go on."
Viktor allowed himself a small smile. "Magic is, er, not good, not bad."
"Neutral."
"Da, neutral." He withdrew his dagger, and Hermione gasped. He looked at her, asking permission to continue; she nodded, and he unshielded the blade. He made a cut on his finger over the chair, transforming it into the half-kneezle cat she had described.
"See, magic is magic."
The wooden feline weaved through her legs and rubbed its head on her thighs. She reached down to pet its head and furrowed her brows. "But then why is blood magic considered as dark magic?"
Viktor clicked his tongue. "One day I explain, vhen English better, yes?"
She smiled at him, and that spark of curiosity lit her eyes. "Yes, please."
Viktor smirked and took a step closer. "I will need many English classes." His figure towered over hers as he stared into those sugary eyes.
"That's not a problem," she replied in a low voice that sent a spark of want coursing through his body. Her eyes traveled down to his lips, and a wisp of her magic reached his.
His heart began to thrum in his chest as the bond urged him to get closer.
But he couldn't.
It was already improper of him to be here alone with her; if he got closer, he wasn't sure he would be strong enough not to touch her.
Hermione, though, seemed to have other ideas.
She inched closer, and Viktor caught a whiff of her scent: jasmine, parchment, and ink. The witch reached for his hand, and a thousand small sparks erupted from the touch.
She cupped his larger hand into hers and examined the cut. Her fingers moved along the curve of his, and he was entranced by her small, delicate fingers roaming over his.
By the Gods, he needed to stop this, but the bond had other plans. His body remained happily rooted in place.
"Does it hurt?" She was about to reach for her wand, but Viktor's hand squeezed hers.
"В пристанището на нейната красота дори най-острата скръб се смекчаваше и най-тъмното отчаяние намираше утеха." (In the haven of her beauty, even the sharpest sorrow softened, and the darkest despair found solace.)
"What did you say?" She asked in hushed tones.
Viktor brought her knuckles to kiss lips and placed a tentative kiss on them. "No, it does not hurt."
Her eyebrows crinkled. "That's not what you said," she sparked.
He smiled into her hands. "I said I cannot hurt vhen such a beautiful vitch is vith me."
Hermione let out a surprised gasp, her lips forming a perfect "o" as a blush spread across her cheeks. The color deepened, highlighting the scattering of freckles across her face.
Her eyes darted to the ground. "You don't mean that."
Viktor's fingers brushed the curve of her jaw, and her eyes snapped to his. A gentle smile played on his lips as he met her gaze, his jaw clenched tight as he spoke, each word measured and deliberate. "I do mean it."
"Viktor," she murmured under her breath, tickling his skin. Her intense gaze sent a tremor of desire through him. His mind went blank, and the only thought was to get closer.
The bond throbbed through him, engulfing him in his senses. His magic rattled, like a caged, angry dragon against his skin.
Her face became softer, and desire shone in her brown eyes - a desire that mimicked his own. Her eyes slowly moved across his face, focusing on his lips for a moment. The playful nibbling of her own bottom lip sent an electric shock through him. Viktor's magic, already tumultuous, went wild within him.
He stirred with a raw, primal hunger to kiss her, to trace her lips, face, and neck with his fingertips, to explore her with his mouth and hands. He leaned in, and Hermione's magic reached his, caressing it, making his body feel like it was on fire.
Viktor paused, his heart pounding in his chest as he gazed into her eyes. He could feel her breath on his lips, sweet and warm, and he longed to close the distance between them.
But just as his lips were a breath away from hers, his conscience didn't allow him to savor her.
He stepped away, hands clenched at his side. He was no better than a wild beast. He would have ruined her virtue.
Hermione blinked, her fingertips touched her lips, and her blush spread to the tip of her ears. She looked at him with those lovely eyes, and he felt himself drowning. He dug his nails into his palm, breaking the skin.
"I-I um," she stammered, taking a small step back.
"It is late," Viktor declared. He inhaled and placed a good healthy distance between them.
She blinked a couple of times before glancing at her watch.
"Merlin! It is."
"Let me valk you to your tover."
"You don't have to, it's really okay. I know the way, I won't get lost. Plus, it is late, and your friends are probably waiting for you."
Shite.
That's right. They were waiting for him.
"Please, let me."
She bit her lip, and it seemed like she was mulling it over. "Alright, very well, if you insist."
Viktor smiled. "I do."
They walked in silence to the lion's tower, both seemingly calming down. The moonlight lit the hallways softly, creating gentle shadows.
Every so often, Viktor would glance at Hermione, his gaze pausing on her for a moment before he looked ahead again.
Would it be prudent to ask about her parents? How could he even begin to ask anyway? What even were muggle courting customs?
As the lion's tower came into view, Viktor felt a sudden surge of urgency. If Oleg came back empty-handed, how was he going to get in contact with her parents?
"Her–"
"Mione!"
They both turned around to find Potter running after them.
"My goodness, Harry!"
Great. So much for that.
Hermione all but launched herself into Potter's arms, and the boy snaked his arms around her and hugged her tight. "Are you alright?" She asked.
Viktor couldn't help the nasty scowl that formed on his face as he glared at the raven-haired wizard.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
Both Seekers looked at each other, and Potter had the gall to hug her tighter and turn her around so her back would face Viktor.
"Come, let's go inside so you can tell me what the hell happened." She took his hand and began to walk toward their tower.
He pushed up his glasses and walked in front of her, leading her away from the angry, scowling Bulgarian.
"W-wait," she stopped and turned around to face Viktor. "Thank you for walking me over." She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "And thank you for helping me out with the um–" Her face flushed like a field of roses, making her eyes glimmer. "Um, with the movements."
"Mione! What are you talking about?" Potter raised his voice and yanked her toward him.
Viktor stepped closer, his eyes narrowing at the wizard.
"My wand movements, Harry!"
Potter glared at Viktor with intensity, and Viktor shot back an equally fierce look.
"Why were you with him?"
Viktor would have ignored the comment if it hadn't been laced with such distaste that made his blood simmer.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "To help me, but it's none of your business anyway."
Potter's face fell.
Viktor smiled.
She let go of his hand, and Viktor responded to the angry Potter with a cheeky smirk, making his face twist even more.
He watched them go, and though his mouth had soured at the sight of Potter next to her, it was satisfying knowing he was not courting her.
Viktor walked to the ship content. He'd been selected as the Durmstrang champion, but Potter wasn't courting her. He and Hermione made unofficial plans to keep working on his English. Potter wasn't courting her, and she told him to fuck off. It was a great night.
Once he got to the ship, he was greeted with suspicious looks, but no one said anything other than their congratulations.
They ate and drank the rakia that Karkaroff was saving for when Viktor was selected as the champion. His night couldn't get better.
And it didn't.
Karkaroff vaulted through the doors of the dining hall and ordered everyone to their chambers.
Viktor was forced to sit through Karkaroff venting about Potter and Dumbledore's dirty tricks. If it hadn't been for the tumbler he held up to his lips, Viktor would have snickered. How ironic that Karkaroff, out of all people, was complaining about playing dirty.
"There will be an investigation," the Russian headmaster informed his pupil. "The disgusting half-breed woman got the French ministry involved."
"I see." Truth be told, Viktor did not care if Potter joined. The only thing that bothered him was that the rules of the tournament were broken.
Karkaroff took a swig of the amber liquor and slammed the tumbler on the table. "Don't worry, Viktor, we will get this sorted out." His lips curled into a sinister smile. "No, it is better for us." He laughed and drank again. "All those dirty half-breeds are no match for a pureblood wizard of your caliber."
Viktor shook his head and hoped his torment would end soon.
Hermione October 31- Sunday"Mione, what was that with Krum?" Harry demanded in a voice that only served to irritate Hermione.
"Nothing," she bit out.
"Didn't look like that," he commented under his breath.
Hermione stopped walking and faced Harry.
"Like I told you, he was helping me practice."
"Practice for what exactly?"
"Exactly none of your business."
She rolled her eyes and quickened up the pace, Harry took two hurried steps and followed behind her.
Harry's face darkened with concern. "I don't know, Hermione. I don't like the idea of you hanging out with him."
She quirked an eyebrow and scoffed. It was the first time Harry had shown any concern over who she spent her time with. He'd never bothered to ask when she was sitting alone."I appreciate the concern, but it's not necessary."
"Well, whatever you have going on with him, you should stop."
She stopped walking, and Harry almost collided with her back.
"Excuse me?"
"Hermione, he's a dark wizard," his brows drew together. "Hanging out with someone like that is dangerous."
"Harry, he's not a dark wizard," she hissed. Sure, he did practice blood magic, but as he had just shown her, that didn't make him inherently evil, or any type of evil for that matter. He was sweet, considerate, and intelligent, and he called her beautiful, which might make him a liar but not evil.
"And how can you be so sure of that?" His voice rose.
Irritation pricked her skin. She thought about Viktor and Oleg. Evil wizards certainly didn't transfigure cute cats and didn't have conversations about runic applications in Muggle items.
"I just know," Hermione didn't feel it was necessary to explain her new friendships. Unlike him, she struggled to fit in. Unlike him, people didn't throw themselves at her shoes to be her friend.
Harry huffed. "What if he's playing with you? What if he's using dark magic to control you?"
"He's not!"
"Again, how would you know? If he's controlling you—"
"Harry, he is not a dark wizard."
"That's exactly what a dark wizard would want you to think!"
"Trust me, they—" Damn, the word slipped out before she could catch herself. "- he's not." She hoped that Harry didn't notice.
But he did because he was Harry and he had an uncanny ability to notice small details.
His eyes went wide. "They? Hermione who's 'they'?"
She exhaled sharply. "No one!"
"Merlin," his voice dropped, and he sighed. "Are you hanging out with more than Krum?"
"Harry—"
"Who sent you the book, Hermione?"
"That's none of your business!"
"It is when a potential Death Eater sent it to you!" He shouted over her.
"Harry James Potter!" Hermione placed her hands on her hips. "How dare you say something like that!"
"It's true!" He protested, his eyes burned into hers with concern. "I have a feeling."
"You don't know that," she sighed. "Harry, you can't make claims like that without evidence."
"They might as well be," he huffed out. "You saw what they did at the World Cup." His jaw clenched. "You saw what they did to Bill and Charlie." Hermione's stomach twisted at the memory. "They used dark magic, and now they are—"
"I know, Harry. I know," she gulped, trying to push down the knot in her stomach. "But you still can't accuse someone without having concrete evidence."
Hermione sighed again. They were getting nowhere, and besides, it was none of Harry's business who she made friends with. Friends who were not Death Eaters and dark wizards.
Yet a part of her couldn't blame Harry. If she hadn't gotten to know the Durmstrang students, she would have thought the same. It hadn't been more than an hour that she was sure that all dark magic was inherently evil (she still had her doubts though).
She bit her lip. Maybe she was biased because she liked the foreign students.
"I know I can't tell you what to do—"
"You'd be correct," she interjected.
He rolled his eyes and continued, "But don't get close to them, Hermione. I don't have evidence, but I have this feeling." He pushed up his glasses. "There's this aura around them, like a mist that covers their magic. I don't know how to explain it."
Hermione reached for his hand and squeezed it. "I'll be careful, okay?"
He gave her a half-smile and shook his bed-hair head.
"I actually have something else I need to talk to you about," she said, looking around the halls for any stray students.
"Er, okay. What is it?"
"Not here."
"Is everything okay?"
"Yes, I just can't tell you here."
"Why?"
"It's rather sensitive," she bit her lip. "But I'll tell you after you tell me what happened."
Harry sighed, and he looked like he was about to be sick. "Oh God. I had forgotten about that."
Hermione continued to lead Harry to the Gryffindor tower, but just as they stepped in front of the Fat Lady's portrait, Harry grabbed her elbow.
The plump woman, upon seeing them, turned her back on them with an indignant 'hmph.'
The curly-haired witch knitted her brows together. The Fat Lady was probably in another one of her moods.
"What's wrong, Harry?"
He shifted from foot to foot, an anxious cloud hanging over his head. "Er, I don't know if going in is a good idea." He looked at her and at the portrait.
She opened her mouth to protest, and as much as she wanted to reassure him, Angelina's words rang in her ears.
"Right, um, how about we meet early tomorrow before breakfast then?"
Harry shook his head, still looking green.
Hermione hugged him, and she felt him relax. "It will be okay. They will know that you didn't do it. Everyone knows that you don't want to participate."
He let her go. "I hope so."
They bid each other goodbye and agreed to meet up an hour before breakfast tomorrow. They both agreed that it would be best for him to go to the Champion's room to let everyone cool off for the night.
Hermione stood in front of the Fat Lady for what seemed like minutes before she cleared her throat. The portrait ignored her until Hermione all but shouted the password.
The plump woman allowed her in, and Hermione thought she heard the word "cheater" as she walked in.
As soon as she came in, everyone erupted into hushed whispers. The lively celebration stopped, and they looked at her like she had dragonpox.
She scanned the room for Angelina, but not only did she not find her, she realized that most of the sixth and seventh-year Mastery students were not there.
"He cheated, I'm telling you," murmured Lavender.
"He didn't!" defended Hermione. How could they even consider it? They all knew him, so why were they doubting him?
Parvati nodded. "Wouldn't put it past him."
"And what about Angelina, huh? She's the real champion here. Harry's just stealing her glory," chimed in an older student.
Hermione's eyes landed on Neville, who looked uncomfortable. He must have seen Hermione's glossy eyes because he spoke up hesitantly. "I-I don't know. I mean, Harry wouldn't cheat, would he?"
Seamus scoffed. "Ah, come off it, Neville! Don't be so feckin' naive. Ya saw how he always tries to hog the spotlight. He's just tryin' to steal Angelina's thunder."
"He is not!" Her indignation quickly turned into anger. "You know him!" She turned to look at Ron. "Tell them, Ron!"
Hermione's stomach twisted. Ron's eyes were filled with something dark, and she hoped, prayed that her eyes were playing tricks on her.
Ron only grunted and darted his eyes to the fire.
Hermione's voice cracked, "Ron. You know he didn't—"
"Do I?" He shouted and stormed off.
Hermione stared at him dazed as he retreated to the boys' dorm.
She bit her lip. If Ron, out of all people, didn't believe Harry, there was no way that anyone else would.
November 1- MondayHermione woke up early the next day and dashed to the Champion's tower. Her heart did a little flip, thinking that she might see Viktor, but decided to push that away for now. She needed to focus on Harry. He needed her, and she would be damned if she let him down now.
She surprisingly found Harry waiting outside.
His usual bed hair was wilder than most days, his hair sticking out in all directions. Hermione ran her hand over it, but it sprung back in place.
"Even my hair hates me," he groaned.
"No one hates you, Harry."
He snorted. "You're a bad liar."
He gave her a small smile and beckoned her to follow him inside. "Didn't want you to get lost and end up in the wrong room."
"Harry!" Hermione's cheeks warmed, and she swatted his shoulder. Would Viktor even be happy to see her?
He simply shrugged and climbed the stairs. "You know, because you have a terrible sense of direction."
"R-right," she said nervously.
He uttered the password, and the door opened. They turned left and followed the corridor. At the end, the corridor split into two.
Harry tilted his head to the right, "this is the boys' section."
The room was different from their normal dorms. For one, each champion had their own private bedroom. There was a plush couch in front of the fireplace, a bookshelf, and a desk. But what caught Hermione's eye was the lavish four-poster bed.
They sat down on the couch, and Harry began telling her what had happened. He started by informing her that, through much deliberation, he was, in fact, competing. There was no way around it. The Goblet practically formed an unbreakable vow that tied the headmaster and their student together.
If Harry refused to participate, not only would he put himself in danger, but also Dumbledore and, by extension, Angelina.
Madame Maxime and Headmaster Karkaroff had insisted he take a truth potion, which he did, and of course, it came back empty-handed.
Hermione waited and nodded, urging him to continue. "Then what happened?"
"Nothing," he shrugged his shoulders.
Hermione furrowed her brows. "Then why did you take so long?"
He scratched his light stubble. "Er, we were waiting for the potion to wear off, and the Ministry needed to assign me a non-convict Wizarding guardian," he finished with a roll of his eyes.
"Who did they assign?"
"McGonagall."
"Professor McGonagall? Why?"
"It was her, or you'll never guess who," he let out a sardonic laugh. "Narcissa Malfoy."
Hermione placed her fingers on her chin. "That makes sense."
"It does?"
Harry gave her one of those 'please explain looks.'
"Yes. She's Narcissa Malfoy-Black. She would serve as your guardian by proxy in the absence of your current guardian, being the closest relative to him. She's mentioned in The Sacred 28." Harry stared blankly at her. "A book about purebloods."
"There's a book about that?"
"Yes."
She felt a tight, uneasy knot in the pit of her stomach. There was so much she and Harry didn't know.
The witch took a deep breath and began telling him what she knew about the bond. She tried to be as thorough as possible, but there were little to no mentions of it in books. Hermione retold him what Ginny had told her, and she was surprised that Harry was taking it so well.
When she finished venting about how utterly unfair and discriminating it was not to inform Muggle-borns of the bond, he stared at her, looking guilty.
Why was he taking it so well?
"Harry?"
He winced and reached for the back of his neck.
"I already know about the bond," he confessed, looking anywhere but at her. "The Weasleys told me about it after me and Ron rescued Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets."
"What?!" She sprang up from the sofa abruptly. "And what? You didn't think to inform me?" She yelled.
These past few days she had been ridden with guilt because she hadn't told him. She tried to get as much information about it to ease any questions he may have had. But all this time, he knew.
"I'm sorry, Mione. I know I should—"
"Yes, you should have!"
"—but I was told that's not something we are supposed to talk about."
"Well, obviously that wasn't a problem when they told you!"
"It's different."
She scoffed. "How so?"
He avoided her eyes and touched the back of his neck again like he tended to do when he was nervous.
"You're a girl."
Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. If he didn't come out and say it, by Merlin's sweet grace, she was going to hex him.
"Harry," she growled.
His eyes met hers, but he quickly fixed them on a spot on the floor.
"Girls aren't supposed to know about that." He swallowed. "When the Weasleys told me, they also told me that I couldn't talk about it… with girls."
"Why?!"
"Because…it's not appropriate for girls to know."
She felt her blood boil. "And why is that?"
"Er, I don't know. It has to do with Wizarding rules or something."
Angry tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Why did it seem like everyone knew but her? But she refused to cry. She blinked until she couldn't feel her eyes water.
"Oh, Hermione, I am sorry, but I did it to protect you."
"Protect me?" She shouted indignantly. "By keeping information from me?"
Instead of the guilty look she was expecting, Harry's eyes hardened. He shook his head and finally met her eyes. "Yes."
"That doesn't protect me, Harry. It keeps me ignorant!"
His eyes were steely with determination.
"I'm not going to apologize for protecting you. Like I'm not going to apologize for telling you to stay away from the Russians."
She wanted to scream, shout—anything, but Harry's magic steeped into the air, stifling the room.
All she could do was turn away, fists clenched so hard her fingers dug into her skin.
"I'll see you at breakfast," Hermione said as she closed the door.
However, she didn't see Harry until dinner.
Or she would have.
Everywhere she went, all she heard was talk about Harry and how he cheated. And even if she was beyond furious with him, she didn't like hearing people badmouth him.
Ignoring the mindless gossip, Hermione immersed herself in "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi" as she deftly navigated her way through the bustling crowd of students toward the Great Hall.
A sudden, sharp rise in familiar voices caused her head to snap up. Rounding a corner, she spotted Harry and Ron standing directly in front of a suit of armor.
"—so how did you bloody do it huh? How did you convince her to cheat for you?" Ron's nostrils flared as he stared at Harry with narrow slits. With every breath he took, a little bit of his magic penetrated the space.
Harry sighed and ran a hand through his already unruly hair. "I ain't gonna have this conversation with you again, mate. If you don't understand, that's your problem."
Ron snorted. The redhead leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. The words were muffled, which launched Hermione to hasten her steps.
A strangled gasp cut off Ron's hushed words as Harry, his face contorted in fury, grabbed the collar of Ron's robes.
To Hermione's horror, Ron didn't back down. He snatched Harry's robes and pushed him against the armor.
And while Ron's magic penetrated the space, Harry's magic suffocated it.
"Harry! Ronald!" The witch yelled, not caring if she attracted more wandering eyes. "What are you doing?" She hissed.
However, they didn't bother to look at Hermione, their knuckles turning white as their hands were balled into each other's robes.
It wasn't until the air cracked with magic that their eyes snapped up.
"Potter! Weasley! What the bloody hell are you doing?" Angelina strode forward, eyes narrowing in on the boys.
Ron quickly let go of Harry's robes. He clicked his tongue and stepped away. "Nothin'"
With a determined stride, she positioned herself between them. Despite being only slightly taller, she didn't falter. Her shoulders squared, emitting a presence of calm authority that commanded attention.
"Thought so." She turned her head to look at Harry. "Potter, Dumbledore is looking for you."
"Of course," scoffed Ron.
"Weasley," Angelina's voice dipped low. "That's enough." She scanned the crowd, "Show's over. Scram!"
The throngs of students slowly dissipated, whispering among themselves. Every now and then, one of them would turn to glare at Harry and Ron but otherwise made no comment.
"Get going, Potter." She started walking toward the Great Hall when she stopped. "And Weasley, that's enough."
The two champions soon disappeared into the bustling Hall, leaving Hermione and a red-faced Ron standing in the middle of the corridor.
There was a heavy sinking feeling in Hermione's chest. She tried to reach out to Ron, but he took a step back, and for the briefest of seconds, his eyes flashed with something that made Hermione's blood run cold.
"Ronald, what is going on with you?"
He laughed, but unlike his usual carefree laugh, it was low, devoid of any life. "Me? I should be asking you that!"
"Nothing is going on with me! You're the one acting like, like a bloody fool!"
He was about to reply, but Hermione kept on talking. "You out of all people should be supporting Harry. He's your best friend, but here you are pointing fingers at him when you know bloody well he didn't cheat!"
He scoffed and stepped closer. "What? You are going to lecture me? That's rich. Especially coming from you."
Disappointment faded into anger. "And what is that supposed to mean?!"
"Oh please, Hermione, we all know that you helped Harry cheat.."
"You have to be kidding, right?" She crossed her arms and glared at him. "You know that I would never put Harry in danger."
He returned her glare with one of his own. "He isn't smart enough to do it by himself."
It was now her turn to scoff. "Tell me Ronald what reason does he have to enter."
"Because he wants to be the center of attention!"
"Ronald you know Harry hates that!"
He clenched his jaw but Hermione wasn't done. "And exactly when would he or I have had time to cheat?" She gave him a triumphant smile. Her argument was solid.
His blue eyes turned icy. "I don't know. But I do know you like sneaking around."
"Wha—"
"Don't play dumb. Don't think I didn't notice how George was looking at you."
"Ronald, you don't—"
" I don't know what, Hermione." His lips quivered in a way she had never seen from Ron. "That my brother was all but fucking you with his eyes."
Hermione gasped. Embarrassment flooded through her and she could do nothing to stop it.
Hermione's heart weighed heavy in her chest.
The Ron she knew was funny, warm, and cunning, an amazing strategist. This version of him felt alien, monstrous, and cruel.
"Is that how you did it? Did you fuck one of my brothers to get his name in?"
Hermione tried to speak but all she could do was croak a measly "N-no."
She wanted to speak up, to defend herself, but the words caught in her throat, suffocating her. It felt as if she were submerged, struggling to breathe as his icy blues bore down on her.
"Or I guess you could have fucked anyone, like the whore you are."
"Wh-what, I didn't-"
"You didn't what? You know George is with Angelina, but that didn't stop you from seducing him."
She blinked, dumbfounded, as his words pierced her soul. The pain was raw, unforgiving, tearing at her from the inside out.
The tears that she was struggling to keep in spilled out. And it seemed like they extinguished his anger.
"Oh shite." He murmured looking at her crying face. "Hermione, I—"
When Ron's face softened, but it was too late. The damage had been done, irreparable and deep.
It was a beautifully, cruel, ironic thing really. The eyes that had made her feel as though she was drowning now served as a lifeboat, pulling her out of her out of the water.
She blinked staring astounded at him. He tried to touch her but she stepped away from him, one slow, small step at a time until she was sprinting, her legs pumping, her lungs burning with each ragged breath.
Her indignation burned hot with anger. How could she have stood there and let him talk to her like that? But his words had been so unexpectedly cruel she couldn't think.
Ron Weasley was not cruel.
Hadn't been cruel.
Then, a familiar bark snapped her out of her frantic sprint. In the moonlight, she saw Fluffy's massive, slobbering form. Sinking to her knees, she buried her face in his thick fur, seeking solace in his gentle presence.
Her tears soaked into his fur, but the gentle giant didn't seem to mind. After her last sob faded away, she felt something warm and wet on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw Fluffy's huge head resting against hers, his tongue happily lolling out, leaving a trail of slobber behind.
A faint smile appeared on her lips. "Gross."
With a heavy sigh, she slowly got up, banishing the wet spot on her shoulder. She scratched the back of Fluffy's ears before thanking him and dragging her feet as she made her way to the Gryffindor tower.
She took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to face the scowling faces of her peers. However, instead of murmurs, laughter greeted her ears. Harry and Angelina sat in the middle of the room under a "two is better than one" banner.
"Hermione!" Ginny eagerly called out as Hermione entered the room. The redhead's smile faltered when she caught sight of Hermione's red eyes. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Hermione tried to smile, her eyes flickering to Harry's happy face and her heart lightened.
"Are you sure?" Ginny's cold fingers touched Hermione's cheeks. "You've been crying," she stated, not asked. "You never cry."
Hermione offered her a shaky smile as Seamus tried a spell but missed a wand movement, causing smoke to fill the room.
"I'm fine."
The smoke cleared, and everyone resumed laughing and chatting.
"What's going on, Ginny? Not that I'm not happy to see everyone getting along, it's just a stark difference from yesterday."
Ginny smiled. "Angelina came in earlier and all but demanded that we stop being arseholes."
Hermione's brows furrowed. "I thought she was mad about it."
The Chaser shrugged her shoulders. "She was at the beginning. But after thinking about it, she realized that there was no way Harry would have cheated without you." She rolled her eyes playfully at Hermione. "And we all know how you feel about the tournament."
Hermione managed another shaky smile. "I'm glad everyone finally sees reason."
Ginny's hand rested on Hermione's shoulder. "Hey, what's the matter?"
The curly-haired witch bit her lip. As much as she trusted Ginny, she couldn't possibly tell her what her brother said.
Shame crawled on her skin and settled in her bones. The way Ron had made her feel went way beyond humiliating. He shamed her, her sexuality, and her choices. And worst of all, she had let him.
Hermione shook her head. "It's nothing."
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" Ginny's soft brown eyes met hers, radiating a calming sincerity that Hermione desperately needed.
"Actually, can–"
"Hermione."
The brunette shuddered and refused to turn around.
Ron tried to reach for her arm, but she yanked it away so hard that she almost stumbled forward. She would not allow him to touch her after he called her a whore.
Hermione's magic viciously whipped around her, drawing the attention of her fellow Gryffindors.
"Don't touch me!" She seethed.
"Hermione," Ron tried to continue, swallowing nervously, "I'm sorry. I–"
The audacity! How dare he! Hermione's face contorted with anger.
"What did you do, Ron?" Ginny asked angrily.
His face paled.
"What's going on, mate?" asked George with one of his playful smiles, draping his arm around his younger brother. "You lookin' a bit green there."
"I say so, Georgie." Fred came around to Ron's other side, leaning his tall frame and peering at his brother's face. "So what did you do to upset our little bookworm?" He shot Hermione a wink, and she glared at him.
Fred's eyebrows shot up, and his playful glint extinguished. "What did you do, Ronald?" Fred's serious voice drew more attention.
Ron swallowed again, looking greener by the minute. "I-I." His eyes darted from the twins to a furious-looking Ginny. "I'm sorry, Hermione."
"Save it, Ronald!" Hermione spat out. She turned on her heels and ignored the multiple "waits" that were shouted.
She dashed upstairs, and Ginny followed her. Hermione tried to get to her room first, but she was no match for Ginny. The redheaded witch slammed her hand on the door, caging Hermione in.
After minutes of arguing and getting nowhere, Ginny finally won.
Hermione told a very enraged Ginny what Ron had said. Ginny's magic exploded, shattering all the mirrors and perfume bottles in the dorms. She apologized, hugged Hermione, and promised her she would set things straight.
Too exhausted to argue, Hermione nodded and drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, Ron's face was a combination of purples and reds.
Viktor November 13- Wednesday"Ah, Mr. Krum, what a pleasure to meet the Triwizard champion," Rita Skeeter began with a saccharine smile, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. "Tell me, how does it feel to be thrust into the spotlight of such a prestigious tournament?"
Viktor, ever vigilant, met her gaze with steely resolve. "It is an honor," he replied tersely, his tone betraying none of the irritation bubbling under his skin.
"Of course, of course," Skeeter continued, her smile widening as she leaned closer. "But let's talk about the real story here, shall we? Harry Potter. What can you tell me about his involvement in the Tournament?"
Viktor's brow furrowed slightly, his patience wearing thin. He scowled, refusing to dignify the witch with an answer.
Skeeter tried to probe Viktor into revealing details he didn't have about Potter and his supposed relationship with Hermione.
He ground his teeth, a deep scowl on his face as he remained silent. He wasn't going to give this witch what she wanted-gossip.
"How do you think she did it?" She tapped a red, long fingernail to her chin.
Viktor glowered but stayed quiet.
"Who would have thought that a witch like her was so talented? It almost seems wasteful, don't you think, Mr Krum?"
By the Gods, this witch was just as insufferable as Ekaterina had described.
Not getting any answers—or any answer for that matter—Skeeter offered Viktor a fake smile.
"Very well, Mr Krum, we are all done."
She didn't wait for Viktor to reply. She strolled out of the room, enchanted quill trailing her.
Could he pass setting the bloody thing on fire as an accident?
He had never been more grateful for his experience with interviews because otherwise he would have hexed this Skeeter woman and walked out. The witch was an annoying menace only seeking gossip. The moment Viktor opened his mouth, she would only spin his words into a web of lies.
The moment they were outside, Skeeter motioned Miss Johnson to follow her. Ludo Bagman, whom Viktor recognized as the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, was sitting behind the velvet-covered desks. He tried to talk to the Bulgarian Seeker, but Viktor was in a foul mood. He scowled at the sleazy blonde, and the wizard flinched.
As Viktor walked across the small classroom, he could feel eyes on him. He didn't need to look up to know they belonged to Potter. He doubted Miss Delacour thought he was more interesting than her nail, though who could blame her when the fat man behind the camera was lewdly scanning her body.
Viktor closed his eyes and enjoyed the stillness in the room. A couple of minutes later, Miss Johnson emerged looking as if she was ready to strangle the witch.
The last to be interviewed was Miss Delacour, who surprisingly took the longest to finish.
"Gather around, children!" Skeeter's annoyingly high-pitched voice called. "It's picture time!"
The four champions gathered together. Skeeter gestured for Miss Johnson and Miss Delacour to sit in the chairs, with Viktor and Potter beside them. Miss Delacour elegantly took her seat, crossing her ankles gracefully. However, Miss Johnson scoffed and crossed her arms stubbornly. Rita's eyes twitched with irritation as she tried to persuade the captain to sit, but she refused adamantly.
"Very well!" The journalist bit out.
Miss Johnson smiled wickedly at the annoyed blonde as she stood behind Miss Delacour.
"Ah, with that we are all done!" proclaimed Bagman. "Come along, everyone." He ushered the champions to the middle of the room. "We need to begin the wand-weighing ceremony."
Potter furrowed his brows. "Wand weighing?"
"We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead," said Bagman. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore."
"There he is now," Bagman stated as the Hogwarts Headmaster tumbled down the stairs with a thin and frail-looking wizard with piercing, silver eyes who introduced himself as Garrick Ollivander, sole proprietor of Ollivanders.
Moments later, Madam Maxine and Karkaroff followed behind the two old wizards. Karkaroff's eyes narrowed on Skeeter, and his lips curled in distaste.
Skeeter's magic quill disappeared in her bag. Her face scrunched up as she and Dumbledore exchanged unpleasant formalities.
Mr. Ollivander collected everyone's wand with delicate, slender fingers, handling each with a reverence that bespoke decades of experience. He took Johnson's wand between his fingers and twirled it before cradling it in his palm, studying it intently. All three headmasters loomed over the wand-maker, their eyes never leaving the wands in his hands.
"Let's see, let's see," Mr. Ollivander murmured, his long, delicate fingers tracing the smooth surface of Miss Johnson's wand. "Miss Johnson," he announced. "Cherry wood, quite supple. And the core, a griffin feather, nine and a half and a quarter inches. A most curious combination..." He flicked his wrist, and the wand tip emitted a single, gentle stream of silver sparks.
Viktor observed the Quidditch captain. She was going to be a challenge. She possessed raw power and determination, qualities that made her someone to watch out for.
With a practiced flick of his own wand, Ollivander summoned Miss Delacours' wand. "Mademoiselle Delacour," he continued, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he ran a finger along the intricate carvings. "Intriguing. Vinewood, nine and a half inches, nice and bendy. But the core..." He raised an eyebrow, "Veela hair. A powerful and temperamental core, mademoiselle." A thin wisp of blue smoke snaked from the wand's tip as he muttered an incantation under his breath.
The blonde witch was perhaps the most dangerous of all champions, including Viktor himself. Though lacking raw power, she compensated with more intricate spells. Viktor reminded himself that danger often lurks in the shadow of beauty.
"Now, Mr Krum's wand," the wand-maker remarked. "Rather thicker than one usually sees . . . quite rigid . . . Elderwood, ten and a quarter inches. And the core, a dragon heartstring. A formidable combination indeed." He pointed the wand at a nearby stack of books, and with a sharp crack, a single book leaped from the shelf and landed with a thud on the counter.
Mr Ollivander's gaze settled on the last wand. He picked it up slowly. "And finally, Mr Potter's wand. Eleven inches, holly and phoenix feather... an unusual combination, Mr. Potter, just like..." He trailed off, his gaze locking with Potter's for a fleeting moment. He turned it around once more, his gaze unwavering. A torrent of dazzling crimson and gold sparks erupted from the tip, illuminating the entire classroom.
Viktor quirked up an eyebrow. It was an interesting combination, and if the wandmaker's face was anything to go by, quite powerful. Viktor scrutinized Potter. There was nothing outstandingly remarkable about him, but perhaps that would be his strength.
After another round of unnecessary photos, they were dismissed.
Hermione was not in class.
Viktor rhythmically tapped his fingers on the desk. He glanced at the time and then at the empty seat next to him.
He had seen her during breakfast eating with the redhead Chaser and a nervous-looking boy with black hair.
His brows furrowed. Where was she? Had something happened to her? He clenched his jaw. Had Karkaroff done something to her?
An uneasy feeling spread through him. She wouldn't have missed Sigurd's final lecture before they began practicing making their runes next week, at least not willingly.
Something was wrong.
For the rest of the class, Viktor tried to be a good "friend" and take notes for her but his mind was too jumbled up. His writing would go from Bulgarian to English to a combination of both.
He sighed and Oleg's eyes snapped up to meet his. The giant's half-brow shot up and slowly nodded as he finally noticed that Hermione was not in her seat. His eyes traveled to Viktor's chicken scratches that barely passed off as notes, and his scarred brow rose higher before turning his attention back to Sigurd.
"Do you know where Miss Grain-in-ger is Viktor?" Asked Oleg as the trio made their way to Viktor's private quarters.
"No. But I was hoping you could find out."
Oleg nodded.
"You two—" Alexei waved his hand in the air. "— are assuming the worst. She couldn't have just skipped?"
"No." They both answered at the same time.
"She wouldn't miss today's lecture on the difference between dragon bone and dwarf metal and how they—"commented Oleg before Alexei interrupted him.
He rolled his eyes. "Yes yes, I was there."
Viktor scoffed and Alexei rolled his eyes. "My body was there anyways," he offered.
They reached the courtyard and Oleg retreated back to the ship.
In front of the entrance to the Champions rooms the Krum brothers ran into two Beauxbatons witches.
"Good evening," one of the witches greeted with a Spanish accent.
"Ladies," Alexei kissed each of their hands.
"Gentleman," the other witch with tan skin and dark green eyes batted her eyelashes at Viktor.
The Seeker scowled and hoped they stopped blocking the entrance.
The green-eyed witch inched closer and Viktor caught a whiff of her overbearing rose perfume. She tilted her head. "You going up to your room?" She asked in a low seductive voice.
His scowl deepened and he glared at the witch. "Yes."
She licked her upper lip, staring at Viktor. "I could use a cup of tea."
"Ask an elf."
"I could," she smiled mischievously, "in your room."
Viktor snarled. If she didn't move he'd be forced to go to the ship. Which actually might not be such a terrible idea. Talking to Karkaroff was the more pleasant option out of the two.
Her smile didn't falter as she ambled her hand to touch his chest. He snatched it before she could touch him and flung it back at her.
"Vho do you think you are?" He asked through clenched teeth.
"I was just–" the witch's smile wobbled.
"You nothing." Viktor sneered, and the witch flinched.
"It is perhaps time ve take our leave ladies," said Alexei with a friendly smile.
The witches nodded their heads and sauntered to their carriage.
"By the Gods Viktor," commented Alexei in Bulgarian as he watched the witches retreat. "You can always be nicer."
"No."
Viktor murmured the password and they walked to his room. "That's how gossip starts. Plus with that Skeeter woman around she will try to get anything she can into her scandalmonger, unscrupulous hands."
Alexei quirked an eyebrow. "You really don't like her."
"No one likes her."
Alexei hummed and slumped down on the couch.
They settled in the plush-red couch and an elf came to offer them refreshments.
Viktor told his brother what happened with Skeeter and how she was exactly as Ekaterina had mentioned, conniving, dishonest, and self-serving. He also told Alexei about the wands and Mr Ollivander's reaction to Potter's.
There was a soft knock at the door and Oleg and Vlad strolled in, their mouths formed into tight lines.
"That can't be good," Alexei tilted his head at Vlad.
Oleg told Viktor about the incident with Potter and Malfoy. Oleg clenched his jaw as he retold the group what the Malfoy heir had said about touching a witch like her.
Viktor took deep breaths, trying to calm his rage.
The giant went on to explain how Malfoy's spell went array and hit Hermione. Viktor saw red as Oleg went on to say how instead of helping her and apologizing until their knees bled, they had laughed at her.
He shot up to his feet. "How—"
"She's fine, it was mostly a harmless hex, but she will be spending the night in the hospital."
Where did they have the balls to call themselves Purebloods? They were nothing more than filth. Filth he wanted to crunch under his boots.
His fists curled into white-knuckled balls, hands trembling with barely contained rage.
They had no honor. If they did they would have never laughed at an injured witch. His fingers itched for his wand.
"Viktor. You can't." Oleg tried to reason with the furious Bulgarian.
"They hurt her!" Viktor boomed. His hands shook with fury. "They shamed her. Those bastards soiled her name and body. They—"
"Yes, they did. They are shite for that. But she is not your witch. It is not for you to defend her honor."
Viktor clamped his jaw down with a force that seemed to raddle his teeth.
He summoned his Firebolt and stormed out of the room.
He flew until sweat beaded on his forehead, stinging his eyes as the wind whipped past him. His arms burned with a dull ache, each pull of the broom strained his muscles further. He ignored the pleas of exhaustion.
Every time he closed his eyes he saw Malfoy's grinning face over Hermione's hurt form and his blood burned hotter than his tired muscles.
His fingers, slick with sweat and fatigue, began to lose their grip on the smooth wood of the broom. One hand slipped, then the other, he sighed and turned his broom back to the castle.
The cool air chilled his sweat-slicked body as he stared at the hospital wing.
Unconsciously, his grip tightened on the broom, urging it closer to the dimly lit window of the hospital wing.
He halted the broom meters away from the dimly lit window. Viktor tilted his head back and closed his eyes.
She wasn't his.
He had no right to be there with her.
Besides it would be incredibly imprudent to visit a witch alone at night, even if they were courting. He ran his fingers through his damp hair and turned his broom around.