Viktor
August 31, 1994
Viktor stared at the red-tiled ceiling of his bedroom, basking in the last moments of peace before he needed to get up and face the year ahead. The fire crackled, casting warm light into the room.
For the past few months, his only respite was in the morning before he had to get up and head to training. He snuggled into the warm and comfortable sheets and cherished those few minutes before a soft pop broke the tranquility. With a sigh, he covered his face with the plush, warm blanket.
"Iveli has come to wake up the young Master," Viktor's childhood elf climbed into the bed, attempting to pull off the blankets. "The young master must get up!" Iveli tugged harder. "The young master must not be late!"He huffed.
Another older elf with clipped ears popped in. "Why you late?" Her amber eyes focused on Iveli and Viktor as they played tug of war with the blanket. Climbing into the bed, both elves grabbed the sheets, their tiny hands working together as they fought against Viktor's hold on the fabric. "Master Viktor needs to get up!" They tugged again but failed. "Master is now adult wizard, not small child! Master mustn't do this no more!"
After one more pull, Viktor slowly loosened his grip on the blanket, meeting four amber eyes staring at him.
"Why you do this, Master? Snezhana is too old for this," the older elf began to cry, tears falling onto Viktor's red bed sheets. He took the small elf's hand and squeezed it.
"I didn't mean to make you cry, Snezhana," Viktor said, his sleepy laughter filling the air. "I just wanted to get more rest."
"Then why, master?" Snezhana asked.
Viktor chuckled sleepily and shrugged his shoulders. "I'm tired," Viktor whined to the elf.
Iveli fell from the bed and anxiously tapped his feet on the floor. "Iveli is sorry for waking Master," he said, pulling at his long ears. "But Master must get ready."
Viktor sighed and thanked the elves. He walked to his closet, opening it with a creak to reveal his brown tunic and slacks. His fur hat, blood-red robe, and black dragon-hide boots hung on the side.
He got dressed and made his way downstairs. The early rays of the sun bathed the long polished marble floor halls. He greeted Stoyan, a house elf with tawny skin, polishing the wood and several portraits.
Once downstairs, he opened a set of polished mahogany double doors.
His parents and two brothers sat at the dining table. Servings of banitsa, a pastry with layers of phyllo dough filled with a savory mixture of crumbled feta cheese and whisked eggs, and strandzhanka, a savory dish of slices of bread topped with a mixture of minced meat, onions, spices, and paprika were spread out across the table.
"Vitya, good morning my son." Viktor walked to his mother's side, smiled, and kissed her cheek.
"Good morning." He looked at his father, who nodded in greeting, then to his brothers, who mumbled good morning but paid very little attention to him.
He took his place next to his father and piled banitsa, strandzhanka, and other Bulgarian delicacies onto his plate.
After a few bites, his father, Atanasius, spoke. "Viktor, don't let your guard down around Karakaroff." Viktor stopped eating and faced his father.
"There's been a rise in attacks on Muggleborns and Muggles in the surrounding area."
Atanasius set down his silverware and laced his fingers, resting his elbows on the table. "Initially, we considered them accidents, but it's become evident that these are premeditated attacks. They started innocently enough, but they've grown increasingly dangerous. While we can't directly link them to Igor, we suspect his former group of Death Eaters might be related."
"I'll be vigilant, Father. I'll report anything suspicious," Viktor assured.
"The same goes for you, Alexei," Atanasius directed his attention to his second-oldest son. "You need to keep an eye out for your brother."
Sixteen-year-old Alexei straightened his posture, meeting his father's gaze. "Yes, Father, I'll keep watch."
Atanasius leaned in, "This year will be different. I shouldn't have to remind you to be on your best behavior. Hogwarts is unlike Durmstrang or even Beauxbatons Academy. Stay alert and cautious about whom you trust."
Elizaveta interrupted, waving her hand dismissively at her husband. "Enough of that! Our sons are well aware of the need to be cautious. Don't ruin our last meal with talk of those people."
"I still don't understand why I can't go with Viktor and Alexei," Dimitar protested, slumping in his chair.
Elizaveta reached out, placing her pale hand on her third son's. "You're still too young, my cub."
"It's still unfair! I deserve to go too," Dimitar protested.
Alexei pointed his fork at Dimitar. "And that's why Mitko you aren't going. You're too immature."
Dimitar's face flushed red as he slammed his hands on the table. "You're the immature one!"
Atanasius grunted and glared at his youngest.
"I'm sorry, Father," Dimitar mumbled, lowering his head.
Viktor sighed, addressing his brother. "Mitko, we're not going there for fun. It's dangerous, especially for your first year."
Dimitar's emotions clashed, anger and annoyance struggling for dominance on his face. "I promise to write and keep you informed, okay?"
"Really?" Dimitar's face lit up. "That's why you're the best big brother," he said, glancing at Alexei.
Viktor shot Alexei a mischievous grin.
Alexei gave Viktor an exasperated look. "Yeah, yeah, Viktor is always the best. What's new?"
"You only say that because you don't put in enough effort. If you—" Viktor started, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a napkin.
"I don't need your lectures, Vik!"
"I'm just suggesting that if—"
"I don't remember asking for your advice."
Viktor's jaw tensed. "Maybe you should. It might help."
Alexei scoffed and tossed his napkin on the table.
"Enough," Atanasius's voice thundered.
Their mother sighed dramatically and raised a finger to her brunette eyebrow. "Why can't you two just get along?"
Alexei abruptly pushed his chair back, the scraping sound echoing across the room. "We get along just fine when Viktor doesn't have a stick up his—"
"Alexei!" His mother gasped, appalled.
Atanasius frowned deeply. "That's enough." Alexei met his father's eyes. "You need to control your temper. The moment you let your emotions take over, you give your opponent the upper hand."
Alexei took small, controlled breaths and apologized to his mother.
The rest of breakfast passed in silence. When they finished eating, the three Krum children bid their goodbyes to their parents. Their mother showered them with kisses, amidst her tears, making all three promise to write to her at least twice a week.
At nine o'clock, their Portkey activated, transporting them to Oslo. They found themselves at the bustling train station, preparing to board the train that would take them to Romsdalsalpene, where the Durmstrang castle was situated.
As soon as Viktor set foot on the station, he was surrounded by classmates congratulating him. However, their jubilation was cut short by the clock chiming 10.
The students swiftly arranged themselves according to their year groups. Viktor positioned himself at the forefront, Alexei following in the second row, while a visibly anxious Dimitar quivered at the rear of the line.
As the train doors swung open, Dimitar's frantic gaze scanned the platform in search of his brothers. Alexei beamed at him with an enthusiastic smile, while Viktor nodded, offering a reassuring expression that earned their brothers a shaky smile.
In the seventh-year carriage, Viktor settled at the farthest end. A few minutes later, his friends Vladimir and Oleg walked in.
After exchanging greetings and sharing stories about their summers—mostly recounting the World Cup and sporadically commenting on Viktor's performance. A steward brought their meals, they sat in quiet silence enjoying the snow-capped mountains and azure skies.
After their meal, they discussed the Triwizard Tournament, guessing who would be selected, though most students bet their galleons on Viktor.
Vladimir propped his muscular legs on the empty seat in front of him."So, how's your English?"
Viktor grunted."Shit like always."
"Oleg?"
"Shit, but not as horrible as Vik's." He let out a hearty chuckle.
Viktor clicked his tongue. "I can understand just fine. I can't talk though."
"Yeah, I don't think that's going to be a problem." Vladimir rested his head on the wall and closed his eyes. "I doubt our great, and oh-so-wonderful headmaster will let you have any time to talk." He opened his eyes and wiggled his eyebrows. "I'm serious Viktor, I think he may have some weird crush on you. The man is seriously obsessed with you."
Viktor's face twisted with disgust.
Vladimir and Oleg laughed, which only caused Viktor to scowl at them.
September 3rd 1994
A crisp autumn chill hung in the air, the scent of pine needles and damp earth filling Viktor's nostrils. The vast expanse of a frozen lake stretched before him, its surface shimmering like a mirror under the pale light of the northern sky.
Viktor stood at the edge of the lake, his breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. The Durmstrang grounds stretched towards the vast expanse of frozen tundra dotted with gnarled pines and shrouded in an eternal eerie blanket of fog. The students were preparing to embark on their journey to Hogwarts.
His dark eyes stared at the ever-still water. Karkaroff had announced their school's participation in the Triwizard tournament at the end of last term. The headmaster had gone on and on about something or other.
Viktor couldn't care less about eternal glory. He already had enough of that and he hated the fame that came with it. What made his skin itch was the thrill of a challenge.
A commotion stirred behind him, and Viktor turned to see his fellow students gathering by the lakeshore, their cloaks billowing in the wind. He caught sight of his two friends and his younger brother.
His brother Alexei stood at the back. His lanky, awkward tall figure slouched, earning him a smack on the back from one of the professors. All the young men standing in line bore the same blank, bored expressions on their faces.
In the distance, a magnificent vessel emerged from the mist, its black sails billowing in the wind. The ship, a marvel of Nordic craftsmanship, was Karkaroff's pride and joy, beside Viktor. Its hull was carved from ancient timbers, its sails woven with threads of wind magic, and its prow adorned with the fearsome figure of a dragon.
The ship glided to a halt, its massive anchor plunging into the icy waters of the lake. A gangplank was lowered, and Karkaroff stepped on board.
Karkaroff's gaze swept over the assembled students as he addressed them. "Students of Durmstrang," he began, his voice deep and resonant, "the time has come for us to embark on our journey to Hogwarts. Do us proud. Represent our school with honor and dignity. And remember, we are there to win, not to mix with filthy half-bloods, blood traitors." The headmaster's face scrunched up, "or those "disgusting Mudbloods." He scanned the faces of some of his students, and his eyes landed on Vladimir's blue eyes. "I must also remind you that you are representing our institute, as such you must remain respectful towards the ladies of Beauxbatons. If I catch any of you sneaking out or sneaking someone in, you will face consequences."
One by one, the students boarded the ship, their footsteps echoing on the wooden deck. The ship lurched forward, its sails catching the wind, and Viktor watched as the shores of Durmstrang receded into the distance.
As they pulled away from the icy shores of Norway, the students marched to their assigned posts. From where he was standing, he saw the ship's hull was sleek and streamlined, its dark wood gleaming under the sun. Sails of shimmering silk, woven with threads of wind magic, billowed in the breeze, catching the power of the air and converting it into propulsion.
Beneath the surface, the ship's enchanted hull created a bubble of air, allowing it to navigate the depths of the sea without fear of damage or drowning. Powerful enchantments repelled the pressure of the water, ensuring that the ship remained stable and secure even in the most treacherous conditions.
Viktor watched as his fellow students climbed the rigging, their movements agile and precise as they adjusted the sails and operated the various magical mechanisms. They worked together seamlessly, their voices echoing through the morning air as they called out commands and checked instrumentation.
After hours of grueling manual and magical labor, the ship's bow dipped below the surface, the dark waters closing around it like a silken curtain.
The young men broke their formation and walked around the deck.
Viktor made his way towards a corner of the deck. Vladimir joined him a couple of seconds later.
"Well, I'm going to be sore for days." Vladimir bellowed. "But it's all worth it."
Viktor quirked one of his dark eyebrows.
His friend smirked and placed one of his tan hands on Viktor's shoulder. "Think of all the beautiful witches in short skirts, soft giggles, and even softer hands, Vik!"
The young seeker snorted, causing his friend's face to scrunch up.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Vlad asked as he leaned against the mizzen.
A few paces away, Alexei and Oleg laughed. Alexei stood beside Vlad, "you think the ladies are going to pay attention to you, or any of us with Mr world's youngest seeker here?"
Viktor rolled his eyes and watched as a band of Grindylows tried to attack the ship, only for their claws to bounce back.
"You'll leave some for us, right, big guy?"
"Ah, yes, because Viktor is known to be a womanizer," commented Oleg.
"We are going to compete, not—" Viktor got cut off by Vladimir.
"No. You are going there to compete. The rest of us are just your handsome entourage." He put his arm around Alexei's shoulders. "We are going as moral support. Karkaroff just needed to fill the quota, hence why your brother is here; he can't even enter."
"We don't know who the goblet will choose. We all have the same chance to be picked," Viktor looked at his friends, "you shouldn't sell yourselves short."
"Aw, big brother is sentimental."
Viktor scoffed and lightly shoved his brother.
"We will be arriving in 10 minutes! Get yourselves ready!" A shout sounded from up in the main mast.
Hermione
September 1 1994
The Great Hall buzzed with anticipation as Dumbledore announced the Triwizard Tournament and the imminent arrival of the schools. He explained that anyone over seventeen could enter.
The twins erupted in cheers, blathering about eternal fame and, more importantly, the prize money.
Turning to them, Hermione interjected, "You do know that students have died, right?"
"We know, Granger." George shot her a playful smile.
"Dangerous, you say?" Fred nudged his brother. "Where's the fun if it isn't a bit risky, eh George?"
Hermione objected, "Honestly, it's not just 'a bit' risky; it's potentially life-threatening! The Triwizard Tournament poses serious dangerss. It's not something to take lightly over the promise of glory!"
'"h, glory and a hefty pile of Galleons? What more can a bloke want!" Sure, it might be risky, but imagine the fame and the fortune waiting at the end of it all! Who wouldn't want a shot at that?" George replied.
Hermione huffed. "Your lives are worth so much more than 'eternal glory' and money!" She couldn't believe they would risk their lives for so little. This tournament was deadly, and for what? Five minutes of fame!
Fred leaned against the table and reached for Hermione's hand, intertwining their fingers and wiggled his eyebrows. "I didn't know you cared about us that much."
Hermione's skin tingled at Fred's touch. She felt a nudge to get closer but
she rolled her eyes and drew her hand away. "I do, which is why this is incredibly stupid!"
"Don't get angry, Granger,'"George cooed. "We know what we are doing."
"Apparently not!" She glared at them and turned her back.
She couldn't believe how incredibly stupid they were for even considering it. This whole thing was incredibly risky. The Tournament should have been banned centuries ago. It was barbaric to send teens to get maimed or die.
She glared at Harry with her arms crossed.
"Hey, don't look at me," Harry said, raising his hands. "And even if I could enter, I'm not stupid enough to do it. I just want a nice quiet year."
"This isn't fair!'"Ron protested, glaring at his brothers, his face red with anger. "How come we can't enter but they can!"
"Dumbledore just explained it, Ronald!" Ginny boomed. "It's a good thing too because you obviously aren't mature enough to enter."
Ron sneered and pointed to the twins. "And they are?" He laughed. "Please!"
"Well, those are the rules, so stop whining and suck it up." She bit back.
The headmaster approached the dining table. "To show our hospitality," Dumbledore continued, "we will be selecting two students to act as ambassadors to our visitors. The chosen students shall welcome the schools on their arrival this weekend."
"Isn't one of the schools for purebloods only?" Neville asked nervously.
"Durmstrang," answered Ron. '" says they are worse than Slytherins. They are antiquated and still practice a lot of old pureblood to mention they are known to practice dark magic." Pieces of whatever he was eating shot out of his mouth.
Hermione scrunched up her nose as the food landed on the table. How she ever had a crush on the redhead was a mystery she didn't care to solve.
Looking at the headmaster as he ate, Hermione wondered why he invited them knowing they practiced dark magic. Suddenly, she felt his gaze on her face and immediately turned her flushed face away, focusing on her food.
Harry leaned into Hermione with a huge smile on his face. Hermione's heart squeezed, seeing a happy, carefree version of him.
The rest of the welcoming feast was spent discussing the different schools. Ron continued stuffing his face as he talked to Seamus about the World Cup, praising Krum.
Hermione left the Great Hall feeling happy, full, and enthusiastic. She chatted with Ginny as they trekked to the common room. The redhead complained about having Defense Against the Dark Arts with Moody this year. They both agreed that something about the professor didn't sit right with them. Ginny made a joke about it, suggesting it might have something to do with his eye following you everywhere.
Her good mood was short-lived when she spotted a letter waiting for her on her bed.
Miss Granger,
It is with great pleasure that I inform you of your selection as the Hogwarts representative for the Triwizard Tournament for the Durmstrang Institute. Your exceptional academic record, remarkable magical abilities, and unwavering commitment to success make you an ideal candidate for this prestigious honor. I am confident that you will represent Hogwarts with distinction and uphold the values of our school. Should you have any questions, please don't hesitate to visit.
Headmaster Dumbledore
Hermione's throat went dry. She read the letter again, and then once more to ensure she had read it correctly. This had to be a joke. Were they seriously considering sending a Muggle-born to a bunch of purebloods?
Hermione checked her watch. Perfect. She still had enough time to reach his office. Pushing through Lavender and Pavarti in the corridor, she mumbled a quick sorry and continued through the oncoming rush of students heading to their rooms. Reaching the outer corridor, she collided with Professor McGonagall.
"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall's voice was sharp but not unkind, "you shouldn't be out of bed. It is almost curfew. Is everything alright?"
Hermione caught her breath. "I'm sorry, Professor," she replied, her voice slightly breathless. "I'm on my way to see Headmaster Dumbledore. I have a matter to discuss with him," she added, clutching the letter to her chest.
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow, her gaze piercing. "A matter that cannot wait until tomorrow?"
Hermione hesitated, her mind racing. Should she ask for help? If anyone could assist her, it would be Professor McGonagall. Clenching the letter again, panic surged through her veins. "I've been chosen to represent Hogwarts for the Durmstrang Institute."
Professor McGonagall's eyebrow shot up. "Are you certain?"
She handed the older witch the letter. Watching as her eyes darted across the page, Hermione noticed her lips forming a tight line. "It's rather unusual that you were picked for the role." She returned the letter, smoothing her robes. " But I'm sure the Headmaster has his reasons."
Hermione's brow furrowed. She needed answers. She couldn't shake the feeling of being thrown into the wolf's den. The older witch studied Hermione's face for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, she nodded. "Very well, Miss Granger," she said. "I shall inform the Headmaster of your arrival."
Stepping away, McGonagall whispered something to one of the portraits. "Come along, Miss Granger. The Headmaster is expecting you."
Hermione tottered towards the office, her mind swirling as she tried to comprehend why she was chosen. She was the least suitable for this role. First, she was a Muggle-born. Second, she lacked knowledge about Purebloods and their culture. Third, she had no qualms expressing her opinions.
"Here we are." McGonagall beckoned her to the spiraling staircase.
Hermione stepped into Dumbledore's office, her eyes wide with wonder. The room was circular, with tall windows overlooking Hogwarts' grounds. Bookshelves lined the walls, overflowing with books of all ages and sizes. A massive fireplace dominated one end of the room, its flames dancing merrily.
Dumbledore smiled at Hermione as she entered the room. "Miss Granger," he said, his voice warm and welcoming. "Please, have a seat."
Hermione settled into one of the comfortable armchairs facing the desk.
"Sherbet lemon?" He offered her a handful of bright yellow candy.
"No, thank you, sir."
He nodded and popped a candy into his mouth, then leaned back in his chair, crossing his hands on his stomach. Retrieving a letter from his desk, he began to read it.
As she waited for Dumbledore to speak, Hermione tapped her foot impatiently. Her frustration simmered the longer she waited. Glancing at McGonagall, she noticed the older witch sighing and giving her a small smile.
McGonagall cleared her throat and stood beside Hermione. "Albus, Miss Granger has some concerns about her new role," she said, excusing herself afterward.
Dumbledore slowly put the letter down and placed his glasses on the table. "Ah, yes, that's correct." Crossing his hands together, he rested them on his stomach. "How can I assist you?"
Hermione licked her lips. "Yes, sir. I'm quite confused about why I was selected to assist the Durmstrang Institute." She pinched the edges of the letter. "I don't believe I'm the most suitable or appropriate choice for that matter."
"On the contrary, Miss Granger, you are an exemplary choice." Hermione furrowed her brows and blinked at the wizard. "You have shown that regardless of your background, you are not limited but instead establish yourself as a top performer. Your bravery and intellect have been invaluable to certain students and, I dare say, to the school."
Under Dumbledore's intense stare, the young witch squirmed. "Though I understand this might be uncomfortable, I have no doubt that you will be an exemplary host and guide our guests around."
Her heart skipped a beat at the headmaster's praise. However, what he was asking of her felt overwhelming, and she doubted her capability to fulfill the task. Showing them around wouldn't be an issue; the challenge would be maintaining a friendly and welcoming demeanor. She knew she wouldn't be able to hold her toungue if they said something she didn't agree with.
"You're not at the top of your grade for no reason, Miss Granger."
Hearing one of the greatest wizards in the last century compliment her made her almost agree. Almost. Hermione cursed herself and her need for praise. Still, she couldn't get rid the uncertainty about this whole situation. Nervousness and something she didn't want to accept—fear—twisted her stomach. Enduring Malfoy's insults was one thing; she still saw him as a snooty eleven-year-old, who turned his nose on her and her parents. But being alone with unfamiliar purebloods practicing dark magic was another matter. As brave as she was, she didn't know enough about dark magic for her not to be afraid of it.
Humming softly, Dumbledore scanned her face with his blue eyes. "How about we strike a deal?"
"A deal, sir?"
"Yes," he conjured a stack of parchments and leafed through them. "I see you've always excelled in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy."
"Yes, that's correct, sir." She tilted her head curiously. What did that have to do with anything?
"Good. Very good." He took a moment to sip his tea. Hermione's fingers tapped incessantly against her thigh. "Do you know the history of the Triwizard Tournament?"
Hermione straightened her back and licked her lips. "The origins of the Triwizard Tournament can be traced back to the late thirteenth century—a time when the wizarding world was divided, and prejudice against wizards and witches were deep-seated in the Muggle world. Three great wizards, each from a different school, sought to foster unity and camaraderie among the rising genocide of witches and wizards. They devised a challenge that would test the limits of their abilities, urging them to excel in their studies and refine their magical talents in order to protect themselves against the ruling Muggle monarchy."
Dumbledore gave Hermione an approving smile. "Yes, exactly. Which is why in order to foster a sense of unity between the three schools, and not just among the champions, we will be offering additional classes this year."
Hermione leaned in. "Additional classes?"
"Yes, we'll have extra music classes by Professor Flitwick, and a unique Muggle Studies course, which we will encourage all students to take."
A wave of disappointment washed over Hermione. With so many great classes at Hogwarts, these were the ones they chose? She snickered at the thought of purebloods willingly taking Muggle Studies.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I should note that our sister schools will offer classes as well. Beauxbatons will offer '101 Household Charms' and 'Divination through Tea Leaves.' Durmstrang will offer ' Mastering Quidditch Strategies and 'Runecrafting'."
Hermione's face lit up. "Runecrafting?" All rune classes at Hogwarts only involved translating runes, not actual creation. "I thought runecrafting was only done by Rune Masters?"
"Yes." Dumbledore paused, stroking his beard. "But at Durmstrang, it's offered as an elective. There aren't many Rune Masters nowadays. However, Professor Ivar Sigurd agreed to teach it this year for the tournament."
The more Dumbledore spoke, the wider her smile grew. "That's fascinating, sir!" Anticipation bubbled within her as she imagined the possibilities, texts, and assignments that awaited. "When can we sign up?" Her excitement was palpable. "Will it be on the same day as the announcement?"
"Ah, yes however due to the class nature and prerequisites, it will unfortunately only be available for 6th and 7th-year students."
Disappointment swept away her previous excitement. How was that fair? Why did the upperclassmen get the best class?
"I see. That's a pity," Hermione forced out. Maybe the charms class could be interesting. She exhaled. "What was this deal you mentioned, sir? I'm not sure I can offer you anything."
The older wizard chuckled. "Ah, yes, the deal." Papers from his desk swirled around him. "I see you used the Time Turner extensively last year. You took twelve classes and achieved perfect marks in all of them. Very well done, Miss Granger." Hermione blushed as Dumbledore stroked his white beard before setting the papers down.
"I am willing to personally recommend you for Professor Sigurd's class. Though it's challenging, I think the challenge will be good for you."
A huge smile spread across Hermione's face. "You would do that, sir?"
He smiled weakly at her. "I did say this was a deal, Miss Granger." He clasped his hands. "You can attend Professor Sigurd's class if you accept the position."
"Yes! I'll do it!"
After their conversation, Hermione's apprehensions vanished. Even if she faced mockery, bullying, or hexes, she would endure. This was a rare opportunity, and she wouldn't let it go to waste. Her heart thumped with excitement and anticipation as she strolled through the quiet, dark corridors.