Viktor
Viktor trudged through the dimly lit corridor of the Durmstrang ship, his footsteps echoing ominously in the silence. The air was thick with the salty tang of the sea and the musty smell of old wood.
The ship's interior was a stark contrast to the grandeur of its exterior. The walls were bare and unadorned, the only light provided by flickering oil lamps that cast long, eerie shadows across the floor.
The dorms, nestled in the heart of the ship, were a haven of warmth and comfort amidst the stark, cold setting.
Viktor's dorm was a cozy sanctuary, its walls lined with bookshelves overflowing with tomes on magic, history, and folklore. Pictures of himself and his family sat on his desk.
He plopped down on the hard bed. His body was heavy with exhaustion. He closed his eyes and a brown curls came to mind. He shook the thought away.
There was a knock on the door. He waved his hand and the door unlocked.
His brother and his friends strode in.
Oleg transfigured a couch from a pillow. Oleg and Alexei took a seat on it. Vladimir sat in the chair, his chest against the back of the chair.
"Well, that was certainly an interesting feast," Alexei commented in Russian.
Vladimir scoffed. "I'd say. Those twins have balls, I'll give them that."
"They have a death wish," Viktor barked.
"Take it easy, brother. They were playing around."
Viktor scowled at his brother. The loss was too new, too fresh. The Irish only won because they played dirty. They ganged up on the Bulgarian chaser, causing him to get a serious concussion.
He curled his fists as the memory of Todos's bloody face came to his mind. Yet those people dared to make fun of his sacrifice.
Fury kept rising in Viktor. They dared to mock them when they were down. But what else could he expect when they cheered for the dirty Irish?
"According to one of the snakes, the twins are always causing mischief," Oleg said, trying to calm Viktor down. "I don't think they meant any real harm other to raise your hoofs."
"Well, if they are out for blood, we'll give them blood," Vladimir stated with a menacing smile.
"Right, well, while you go start conflicts, why don't you tell me what's going on with you?" Alexei stared at Viktor, who was tossing a snitch in the air.
Viktor tossed the snitch one more time without looking at his brother.
"I can sense the spell you used earlier," he leered at Viktor. "Why were you eavesdropping?" Alexei waved his hand, and the snitch crashed against the wall. "And more importantly, why were you smiling like a damned madman?"
"Oh my dear Alexei, our cold-hearted Vik has found the one," Vladimir dramatically leaned forward on the chair.
The room fell silent. Viktor would have normally scowled at the comment, which like he did when anyone insinuated anything about his private life.
A wave of puzzled expressions washed over the faces of the young men who stared at Viktor.
"No fucking way," Vladimir let the legs of the chair fall.
Viktor laid down again and summoned the snitch. He threw the golden ball. He didn't feel the need to correct him. He wouldn't call her 'the one'. He barely knew Miss Granger's name, but something about her was intriguing. She was a breath of fresh air. She was an enigma, a puzzle he wanted to solve.
She didn't care about his fame or title. She saw him as a person, not a commodity.
Alexei gasped. "Fucking hell. Who is she?"
Vladimir laughed. "A dangerous, fiery kitten."
Oleg and Viktor snickered, and Alexei quirked an eyebrow.
"She almost hexed Karkaroff," Oleg snorted.
"What?" Alexei yelled.
"Oh, yeah!" Vladimir added, almost as an afterthought. "That too."
"That too?"
"Ah, right, you guys don't know," the blonde wiggled his brows at his friend and the younger Krum. "Vik here feels a pull towards the firecracker."
"Really? Is that why you made an arse out of yourself?" Oleg teased.
Viktor tsked and chucked the snitch at the taller wizard. Oleg easily caught the golden ball and tossed it up in the air.
"You guys are arse at explaining things." Alexei slumped back down on the couch.
"Long story short: our firecracker kitten, who I'm pretty sure is a half-blood at the very least, almost hexed our magnificent headmaster. Viktor lost all ability to speak, and Miss Grain-in-ger thought he didn't understand English. And get this." He turned to face the younger wizard. "She gave him a dictionary!"
Alexei's shoulders shook with mirth, a deep, resonant rumble echoing from his chest.
"Oh, but I'm not done! She asked for his name!"
"Seriously?" Alexei eyed his older brother. "She didn't know who you were?"
"No. She knew." Viktor replied, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
"Well, looks like the 'Bulgarian Heart-throb' hasn't conquered all the witches' hearts." Alexei wiggled his eyebrows.
"I'm not so sure about that." Vlad walked over to Viktor. "They seemed to be having a pretty good time flirting."
"You were flirting?" Oleg slightly tilted his head to the side with raised brows.
"Yeah," Viktor remembered the sparks that spurred his body with something he couldn't quite name.
"Well, fuck. Who would've thought that all it took was an oblivious, half-blood English witch who smells of trouble to get our young seeker's attention?" Crooned Vlad, who was now sitting on Viktor's bed.
Viktor hummed as he summoned an elf to bring them something to drink.
"You're serious?" Alexei's brows pulled together.
"I don't know. But there's too much at stake." He thought of Karkaroff and Miss Granger's interaction earlier. The headmaster would never hurt him or anyone aligned with the Krumovs, but a girl with no name was always an easy target. "If we had met under different circumstances, I wouldn't have hesitated."
"So it is serious." Oleg took a drink from the elf, who disappeared with a soft pop.
"I think she might already be in a courtship," Viktor remembered the death glare the young wizard with wild black hair gave him.
"What makes you say that?"
Viktor sighed and took a sip of his tea. "There was a raven-haired boy that came to get her after the feast."
"Did this boy have round glasses?" Asked Oleg.
"Yes."
Now it was Oleg's turn to sigh. "You, my dear friend, are chasing trouble if you choose to have anything with that witch. The boy you are talking about is the infamous Harry Potter."
"The boy who survived that crazy bastard's killing curse?"
"Yes. That one. My father says there's been more Death Eater activity these past few months." Oleg's soft brown eyes met Viktor's. "The name Harry Potter was thrown around more than once."
"Well, it looks like your English rose is a lot of trouble."
"Viktor, it's not a good idea to tangle yourself with someone so involved with Miracle Boy." Alexei got up and walked over to the desk. "Especially with Karkaroff acting suspiciously."
"I'm aware." Frustration tickled his skin. He clenched his jaw, remembering how she had defended him. She was trouble, and putting any attention on her was only going to make her a target.
He pinched his slightly crooked nose and bid his friends and brother good night.
At the crack of dawn, Viktor got up and started his daily regimen. His coach almost forced him into an Unbreakable Vow to promise him that he wouldn't slack off after the cup.
When he was about to finish his laps around the school grounds, he caught sight of Miss Granger. Her wild brown hair reflected the morning's early rays. He felt that pull that he knew was going to land him in trouble. He should have ignored it and flown the other way. He should have.
A warm smile bloomed on her face as she caught sight of him. She waved at him while her other hand clutched a stack of books and parchments to her chest. He lowered his broom and hovered a few feet from the ground. Her eyes twinkled with something that urged Viktor to her.
"Good morning, Krum!"
"Good morning, Miss Grain-in-ger." He hopped off his broom and kissed her hand. It was rude not to.
Her cheeks turned a soft, lovely pink, and those same sparks from yesterday crackled softly throughout his skin.
"Out for a morning fly?"
"Da." He took a tentative step forward but stopped himself. He leaned against a pillar, his broom by his side.
"Does that mean yes?"
He shook his head, and she furrowed her eyebrows. "Yes."
"Oh sorry, it's just that you shook your head, and I thought that you were saying no."
"In Bulgaria," he shook his head, "this means yes."
"How interesting! How about nodding?" To make her point, she nodded. Her curls danced as she moved her head. A single curl on top of her head escaped its confines.
"Means no."
"How do you say no?"
"In Russian, нет," His gaze kept drifting back to the single loose curl atop her head, its rebellious bounce teasing his attention. "In Bulgarian, we say не."
"Interesting. They sound similar, but they are different."
"Da. Interesting."
He found himself drawn into the depths of her warm brown eyes, their velvety depths beckoning him to lose himself in their enchanting embrace.
She brought her hand to her chest and held his gaze. A soft purr broke the silence that had enveloped them.
She chuckled and brought out the cat.
"You keep it?"
"Kept." She corrected him. She bit her lip and dipped her chin.
Viktor chuckled, and Miss Granger snapped her eyes at him. "You kept it."
She nodded and cradled the cat to her chest.
He should keep his mouth shut. There was no sense in trying to seek her out.
"I will, um–" he scowled, looking for the words. "Keep it from dying."
"You'll recharge it?" She asked in a bubbly voice.
"Yes, I will recharge it."
"Great!" She bounced on her tiptoes, the single curl bouncing along.
His brain was slower than his body. His hand reached to touch the curl. He wrapped it around his finger. It was softer than he imagined.
A small gasp escaped her pink lips.
She stood beside him, her petite frame dwarfed by his towering stature. She tilted her gaze upward to meet his.
She pushed the cat deeper into her chest. "I-I need to sign up for the class." She said under her breath. She gulped and turned around.
Viktor saw six sheets of parchment hanging on the wall.
The last thing he thought she would take was Runecrafting, well first was Quidditch, then Runecrafting.
Professor Sigurd was an arduous but fair instructor. He read the paper with the information in the class.
Runecrafting Class
Instructor: Professor Ivar Sigurd
Course Description:
In this advanced course, students will delve into the intricate art of runecrafting, unlocking the secrets of these ancient symbols and their power to shape reality. Through hands-on practice and theoretical exploration, students will learn to harness the essence of runes, imbuing objects with magical properties, crafting powerful enchantments, and even deciphering the enigmatic inscriptions found in ancient artifacts.
Prerequisites:
Successful completion of Charms IV and Transfiguration V
Course Requirements:
Regular attendance and active participation in class discussions and activities
Completion of all assigned readings and coursework
Demonstration of proficiency in runecrafting techniques
Successful completion of a final project involving the creation of a rune-enchanted object
Please Note:
This course is only available to 6th and 7th-year students due to the advanced nature of the material and the potential for hazardous experimentation. Students are encouraged to exercise caution and follow proper safety protocols when handling runes and rune-enchanted objects.
Instructor Information:
Professor Ivar Sigurd is a renowned expert in the field of runecrafting, having spent decades studying ancient symbols and their applications. He is known for his passion for sharing his knowledge with students and his dedication to preserving the legacy of runecrafting.
Viktor leaned against the wall and examined Miss Granger.
"Miss Grain-in-ger."
"Yes?"
"You are a 6th year?" She looked too young to be 18 or, if he remembered correctly, older due to Hogwarts students starting later.
She shoved her hands in her pockets. "No. I'm a 4th year."
Viktor's eyebrows rose in surprise. He read the announcement again.
"I, um, got special permission to join the class," she said sheepishly.
"Have you done Charms IV and Transviguration V?" There was no way Professor Sigurd would allow anyone to slack off in his class. He held all his students to the highest standards.
The witch looked offended. She straightened her back and crossed her arms over her chest. "I have."
The look in her eyes dared him to say something. They challenged him to say anything to contradict her.
Her fiery spirit, like a wild tempest, made something in him shake. She certainly wasn't like the young witches he was used to. Those witches batted their eyelashes and went along with anything he said. But not this witch. She dared people to challenge her.
"I zee. You must be very smart."
A soft blush crept across her skin. "It was mostly, um, time management."
"No, you are smart." He smiled at her. Runecrafting was inherently complex and required a deep understanding of both magical theories and ancient languages. If she got a recommendation, she must be truly intelligent.
She fumbled with her sleeves. "Um, thank you."
The rising sun signaled that he had spent too much time with the brunette. "I must go."
She nodded and checked her watch. "I will see you around then, Krum."
He reached for her hand, and his lips gently grazed the delicate skin.
He thought about telling her that he would see her in class but decided to keep that surprise for later. "I will see you."
He swung his broom over his shoulder and walked off into the open space. With one fluid motion, he took off.
He couldn't help the stupid grin that formed on his face. Didn't he tell himself that this witch was trouble? But then again, she might be worth the trouble.
Overhead on the ship, Viktor heard Karkaroff barking orders.
He enjoyed the crisp morning breeze and contemplated staying in the sky.
"Krum! Get down now!"
Well, there goes that idea.
Viktor landed on the deck of the ship. He caught sight of his brother leaning against the mizzen.
"Sir."
"This school, if you can call it that, is an absolute joke. This place is a bedlam of buffoons! Parading mud– muggle-borns, half–breeds, and who knows what else. Yesterday's tawdry just goes to show their lack of discipline!" Karkaroff's face was twisted with disgust, his upper lip curling back in an animal snarl and his mouth contorting into a series of obscene shapes.
Viktor stood still and silent, his eyes fixed on the headmaster as he spoke. He made no effort to move or interrupt; rather, he stayed in position and let the words wash over him like a rainstorm. Occasionally, he would nod quietly in agreement with some point that had been made, but otherwise remained completely still.
"The insolence of Dumbledore to send a Mudblood to greet us!" Viktor's attention was suddenly snatched by the word "Mudblood".
Karkaroff noticed his reaction and continued viciously, "Yes, the witch that greeted us at the docks was a Mudblood! I could smell her heritage from a mile away!"
Viktor clenched his fists tightly but did not speak. He felt something settle in him like a heavy stone, its weight slowly pushing him down. If Miss Granger was a Muggle-born, then any possibility of courting her would only put a bigger target on her back.
He felt an uncomfortable feeling in his chest, an unnameable emotion that was on the tip of his tongue.
"I need you and Alexei to keep your ears sharp while you are on school grounds. I will be busy with other matters; I entrust that you will keep things under order until we go to put your names in the cup." The older wizard turned to Viktor. "I know you will bring honor to the institute; I expect nothing less from you."
Karkaroff entered the boat and disappeared inside his cabin. The air crackled with wards being set, and after a few minutes, he emerged with several students in tow.
It didn't take long for Vladimir and Oleg to join the Krum brothers.
"Viktor's witch is a muggle-born."
Oleg placed his big hand on Victor's shoulder. "Sorry, brother."
"Well, I was wrong. She's not a half-blood; she's a Muggle-born. But that complicates things a lot more."
Viktor felt a spark of something he couldn't identify in his chest. He thought it was anger, but somewhere deep within him, he detected an unfamiliar emotion. They described her status as a Muggle-born as if it were something inherently negative.
There wasn't anything negative about Muggle-borns; they had the same magic in their veins as purebloods. "It doesn't matter what she is," Viktor said in a low, dark voice.
"Viktor," Oleg muttered.
Viktor grunted and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I know." He sighed. "But I can't help that the bond comes to life when she's around."
"Oh, brother, you are royally screwed, then, if you choose to do anything about that bond of yours."
Vladimir patted Viktor's chest. "Nah, we are royally screwed", he laughed.
Oleg shook his head. "You know we have your back."
"Thanks, I appreciate it."
Hermione HermioneHermione watched as Viktor took to the skies. She couldn't help but notice the strength radiating from his legs, evident in the way his thighs curved and strained against the fabric of his pants. His back was broad and strong, with muscles that rippled like the waves of an ocean when he gripped his broom.
She blinked, struggling to hold back a second glance at his ruggedly handsome profile, and quickly looked away as she shifted her attention to the work ahead of her. She shook her head. She still needed to go to the library and grab some books on Runes, Charms, and Transfiguration.
She tried not to focus too much on the memory of him: his deep brown eyes that held an unmistakable intensity, or the draw that was like gravity, pulling her in closer with an invisible force.
No, she wouldn't, couldn't dwell on that. She needed to focus on this term. If she wanted to get ahead on her assignments, she needed to get started right away. Would she need an open space or lab to practice rune crafting? Maybe they would allow the students to use one of the empty classrooms.
How soon would they be allowed to start crafting?
Lost in her thoughts, Hermione's feet carried her forward without conscious direction. The familiar corridors of Hogwarts blurred into an indistinct backdrop as her mind wandered through the labyrinth of Runecrafting theories and potential supplemental texts.
Her foot caught on an uneven step, sending her stumbling forward. She gasped in surprise, her hands flailing as she tried to regain her balance. She fell on her knees and her hands hit the wooden door of a broom closet.
Her palms and knees stung from the impact. "Ow," Hermione whined.
"-that?" A woman's voice asked softly.
There was some ruffling and then a voice she was familiar with answered. "Granger."
Hermione's heart raced. Realization hit her. There are two people in a small secluded closet. Alone. She was getting up when the door flew open.
Hermione raised her eyes and saw Angelina's skirt on her hips and her shirt open. George's pants were around his ankles. A clear bulge in his shorts.
Her face reddened. "I-I, um."
The soft sound of footsteps echoed from somewhere in the corridor.
Hermione slowly crawled backward, her eyes fixed solely on the floor. Definitely not on George's bulge or Angelina's naked chest. Her face felt like it was on fire, her embarrassment palpable in the heat radiating from her cheeks.
The steps were closing in.
"Shite. It's Flinch." George hissed under his breath.
"Fuck." Murmured Angelina.
Hermione's heart raced faster. She quickly got up and ignored the sting of her skin. She took one tentative step when she felt two strong hands pull her into the closet.
"Wh–" George's hand closed over her mouth.
It wasn't her intention, it really wasn't, but her wondering brown eyes landed Angelina's brown pert nipples. They glistened with saliva against the woman's smooth caramel skin.
"Shh. Quiet." Whispered Angelina.
Hermione swallowed. The instant she stepped into the room, her skin tingled with magic.
Her face was so close to the wall that every time she took a breath, her nose grazed the wall. Her back was flushed against George's front. The tiny room felt like it was on fire, but then again, maybe it was just her. The air was heavy with something Hermione couldn't identify.
She felt her breathing quicken and a tingling sensation began to spread throughout her body. She squirmed, trying to get rid of the feeling, but was met with something hard poking her ass.
George lowered his face to her ear. "Granger." Her breath hitched involuntarily. She had never heard George's voice sound like that. It was low and smooth like velvet, a deep baritone that made her squirm again.
She felt his thick, warm hardness against the swell of her lower back. She gasped as she felt his cock twitch.
"Wh–" George's fingers gripped her mouth with more force.
His ragged breath on her neck sent shivers down to her toes. "Shh."
"I know I heard something, Mrs Noris! They must be around here. Those delinquents!"
A soft, warm hand suddenly ghosted over her arms. Hermione snapped her eyes to the soft caress. Angelina's hand moved ever so slowly from her arm to her elbow.
This whole thing was wrong. But the surrounding air was laced with their magic and something else that spurred something in her. She wanted to get away, but the magic felt—delicious on her skin, calling for her magic. It felt like she was on a cloud.
Hermione swallowed again as the older witch's hand trailed down to her waist. Angelina's hand found Hermione's. Her skin felt electric as the other girl's fingertips glided over her hand.
It was a simple, feathered touch, but Hermione squeezed her legs together. She felt George's chest suppress a chuckle.
She saw Flinch's shadow get closer to the closet. Her heart raced and butterflies began to swirl in the depths of her stomach.
Angelina's hand traveled along Hermione's thighs. She wanted to bite down on her tongue but bit down on George's hand. The witch grazed her fingers over Hermione's skirt.
His hard cock, taut against her ass in anticipation, twitched and quivered as he pressed himself deeper into her ass. He pressed again and started to move. He let out a soft whimper in her ear.
Hermione bit his hand with more force and wriggled her legs. The pressure was beginning to grow into something she couldn't control.
"I'm sure they are here, Mrs Norris."
Tan hands grazed the hem of Hermione's skirt. They ghosted there for a second before her soft fingers touched Hermione's thigh.
The curly-haired witch threw her head against George's chest.
He picked up speed as his hips moved against her back.
Angelina's hands squeezed her thighs and Hermione let out a small whimper muffled against George's hand. She instinctively wiggled her ass against George's cock.
"Mmm, Granger." His breath tickled her neck. She wiggled again and George moved faster.
Flinch's shadow was right outside the door.
She felt her heart rate rising as anticipation built within her. Her breath came in short bursts, and could feel the excitement of arousal coursing through her veins. She was trembling between anticipation and dread, her heart racing in a curious mixture of emotions.
She closed her eyes and waited for the door to open. Maybe it was because the closet was dark and cramped, and it smelled like a heady mix of what Hermione identified as arousal and mustiness. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered violently.
George's hand moved from her mouth to her waist. He squeezed her flesh and ground harder against her.
The dampness in her knickers began to stick to her skin.
Angelina's soft hand went under her shirt and she shivered against the older witch's warm touch. She grazed her finger across Hermione's belly button. Light touches traveled up her stomach.
Her heart raced in her chest as if it was trying to escape and run away without her. Her skin flushed hot like a molten core of fire had been lit inside her.
George's breath grew heavier and more labored with each movement of his hips. His mouth was centimeters from Hermione's neck. His panting tickled and caressed her curls. His arm snaked around her waist.
His hand intertwined with Angelina's. Their linked hands lowered on Hermione's abdomen. Too close, yet so far from where the pulse between her legs kept growing, almost aching.
She glanced at the door and realized she didn't register that Flitch had left. She couldn't hear him anymore. She turned her head to try to hear the caretaker's footsteps.
The redhead's lips caressed her ear. He wet his lips and she let out a small moan as his wet lips touched her ear. "Granger, so close."
Suddenly, her breath quickened and her chest tightened like a vise. Her vision blurred as if the air had become thick and oppressive around her. She felt a wave of fear crash over and swallow her whole.
The reality of what was happening hit her like a ton of bricks. She wriggled out of their hold and fumbled out of the closet.
Her face flushed with shame, her gaze dropping to the floor. Not only had she interrupted George and Angelina, but she let herself get carried away. The wet spot in her knickers was a reminder of how perverse she was.
She knew she shouldn't be running in the halls, but she needed to get away. She briefly thought about going to the Gryffindor common room, but instantly discarded that idea. The idea of running into either George or Angelina was too much.
Oh, Merlin, they probably thought she was a weird, perverted voyeur. The memory of Angelina's soft hands ghosting over her skin and George's moans on her ears made her face burn hotter. Each second that passed felt like an eternity as her mind cycled through the different stages of humiliation, from shock to disbelief to shame and, much to Hermione's horror, arousal.
All she needed was to go to her safe place. She would open a book and forget about it. She wondered if it was too late to change houses. Maybe if she pleaded with Dumbledore and McGonagall, they would let her change.
"Miss Granger! How good to see you!" Greeted Madam Pince as Hermione carefully opened the library doors.
"Same to you Madam Pince. I hope you had a good summer."
Hermione couldn't bring herself to meet the librarian's eyes. Every time she tried, she was sure that the older witch's uncanny senses would know what a pervert she was.
"I did. Thank you for asking." The librarian placed her hands on the desk and leaned forward. "Miss Granger, are you quite alright?"
Hermione quickly glanced at the witch and registered a slight furrow in her brows.
"You are quite flushed."
"Ah, yes, I took a pepper-up potion this morning." Hermione felt the chill of shame in her belly.
"I see! Do be careful with those, we wouldn't want you feeling nauseous."
Too late for that.
Madam Pince's attention returned to a stack of pristine books on the counter. "New books! With the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students here, this year we got new books!"
Hermione's eyes darted to the books. She gave the librarian a grin and nodded along to her excitement.
The older witch's voice lowered as if someone would listen in on the otherwise empty library. "I need to catalog the books, but I wouldn't mind letting you take a look."
The ball in the pit of her stomach banished, and her brown eyes went wide with excitement.
"I know I don't have to worry about you damaging the books."
Her eyes lit up as she bobbed her head in affirmation. "Of course not!"
She looked at the stack of books, spines formed a wall of possibility, their pages waiting to be turned. She ran her fingers along them one by one, feeling each spine beneath her fingertips.
Hermione sucked on her bottom lip. From the Beauxbatons, the only book that caught her attention was The Art of Elemental Charms. On the other side, plenty of books from Durmstrang caught her eye. Beasts of the East: An Encyclopedia, Northern Herbology and Potions, and Runes and Runic Magic of The Ancient Slavs.
With a heavy heart, she faced the difficult task of choosing one. Madam Pince was generous, but not as generous as letting her take four books. She hesitated, her eyes scanning the spine of Runes and Runic Magic and Beasts of the East: An Encyclopedia.
With a sigh, she reached for Runes and Runic Magic. Although she was almost sure she had already read something similar, it wouldn't hurt to recap before the start of class. The other books would still be there.
Clutching the book tightly, she made her way through the stacks to a small and secluded corner of the library. She had discovered it by chance one-day last year while searching for books on Arithmancy history.
The whole year, she had only seen one older Ravenclaw student. Although Hermione wasn't sure, she assumed that the Ravenclaw was either in his 6th or 7th year. Neither cared to talk to the other, which suited Hermione perfectly.
She walked up to the table, her gaze lingering on its shining surface. Settling onto the chair in front of it with a sigh, she leaned against its hard back.
She opened the book and got lost in the contents. The book unveiled the sacred significance of Slavic runes, exploring their role in divination, protective enchantments, and the profound connection between symbols and the natural world.
The world around her was still, but inside her head, a million thoughts were spinning out of control until eventually, she found herself staring at the setting sun through the large window.
It was almost dinner time. She placed her cheek on the table and closed her eyes.
She considered the prospect of skipping dinner, but she was famished and could feel the hunger gnawing at her stomach.
Hermione lightly banged her forehead on the table. Maybe she could ask someone to get her some bread with the excuse that she wasn't feeling well.
Her stomach growled ferociously. She clutched at her stomach and wondered why there wasn't a potion to stop hunger. She sighed as the burn of hunger tore at her stomach. All she had to do was dash in, sit as far as she could from the couple eating, and excuse herself, right?
The twins and their friends usually sat in the middle of the table. If she went in before anyone, she could claim a seat on the edge.
She strode briskly along the path to the Great Hall, her strides long and powerful. The wind whipped around her face as she marched.
She stepped into the Great Hall and all the air seemed to be sucked out from around her. Her stomach dropped. Everywhere she looked, people were talking and looking over their shoulders to see who had entered.
A chorus of disappointed ohs rang through the air as she entered.
She stood at the entrance, her hands clenched at the hem of her sweater. She saw four redheads sitting in the same vicinity and quickly took a seat by the first years that were sitting at the end of the table.
Everyone's heads turn to the curly-haired witch who clumsily sat between two first-year girls. She could feel eyes boring into her head, but she refused to look up in fear she'd see two pairs of brown eyes she was avoiding.
She needed a plan. A good, perfectly reasonable excuse as to why she was sitting here. She looked at the girls who sat next to her. Their faces were a mix of curiosity and trepidation.
"Psh, Hermione!" Ginny called.
Hermione wished she was a bat. If she were one, she would easily locate the young Weasley. But alas, she wasn't one.
She cast a quick look and was lucky to find Ginny on the first try. She waved at the girl and instantly felt more eyes on her.
Ginny leaned over the table. Her red brows were furrowed. "What are you doing?"
Alright, she really needed that plan now. "Nothing." She shrugged her shoulders.
"Why are you sitting over there?"
All rational thought left her when she saw George winking at her. Her face started to get warm. She reached for a cup of juice but ended up spilling the juice all over the table.
She uttered an apology and waved her wand to clean the spill. A small quiet "wow" got her attention.
A black-haired girl with bright green eyes stared at her in awe. Hermione's own eyes widen at the recognition of a muggle-born witch. She had the same expression the first time she had seen spills magically disappear. She also instantly remembered how scary the first month at Hogwarts was. Everything was too new, too magical, but no one ever batted an eyelash at it.
"Hermione!" Ginny hissed and threw a piece of bread at her.
Hermione bit her lip. She was about to do something not very noble on her part. She looked at the raven-haired girl and smiled.
She then turned to Ginny and mouth, "I'm talking with the first years."
Her friends faces looked at her like she had grown a second head. She might as well have, she was not acting like herself today.
"What?" Ginny asked as she eyed the first years.
"Why?" Harry followed,looking equally as confused.
"Yeah, why?" Ron shouted across the table.
Hermione wanted to smack him, that boy had no idea what being discreet was.
She mentally apologized to the first year whom she didn't even know her name for using her. "To embrace this year's theme of being welcoming."
Their gazes were hard, their eyes narrow and unyielding. Her eyes darted from one person to the next, desperately searching for a glimmer of faith and assurance that she had done nothing wrong. But it seemed her words fell upon deaf ears because they all had the same bewildered look.
Okay, well that turned into a mess. But behind every dark cloud, there's a bright one. This was a great opportunity to help another Muggle born witch. A shirvered traveled down her spine as she remembered her unpleasant encounter with the Durmstrang's headmaster.
Dark obsidian eyes flashed in her mind but she shook them away. She was already a tangled mess, and she wasn't going to complicate things further by even thinking about whatever was going on with the Bulgarian seeker.
Hermione turned to the first year who was staring at her with an open mouth.
"Hi, I'm Hermione Granger. I'm a Muggle-born." Simple but straight to the point.
"Um, hi Miss Granger, um I'm Lacey Williams." The young witch wiped her palms on her sweater and shook Hermione's hand. "I'm also a muggle-born."
For the next couple of minutes Hermione talked to Lacey. She told her about how shocked she was to receive her letter but how everything about her made sense. How even today there were certain aspects of magic that still surprised her. She reassured the young witch that if she ever had any questions about anything to ask her.
Though she was genuinely having a good time talking to the young witch, dinner was almost over. She excused herself and dashed to her room.
She thanked Krum and the Beauxbatons for keeping everyone's attention on them. In the safety of her bed, drew the curtains together and plopped down on the bed.
She just needed to avoid Angelina and George for one more day. On Monday, everyone's lives would go back to normal.
There was a light tap on her window. A large, broad winged and short tail eagle continued to tap on the window. The bird's yellow eyes narrowed on Hermione.
She opened the window and the brown eagle remained perched on the window still. The bird extended its leg and Hermione took the parchment. The moment she took the paper, the bird flew away.
Dear Students,
I hope this missive finds you well. As we approach the commencement of a new academic year, it is imperative to ensure that all essential supplies are acquired for your studies in Runecrafting. To facilitate this, an excursion to Diagon Alley has been arranged for tomorrow.
We shall convene promptly at 8 a.m. in front of the school premises. From there, our journey will lead us to Hogsmeade, where we will prepare to apparate to Diagon Alley. This outing presents an excellent opportunity for you to procure any remaining necessary materials and tools required for our coursework..
Our rendezvous is set for 5 p.m. back in Hogsmeade, whereupon our return shall be orchestrated. Should you encounter any unforeseen complications or delays, do not hesitate to communicate immediately.
Best Regards,
Professor Sigurd
Hermione's stomach twisted and her mind was clouded with a thousand different thoughts. All of them having to do with the fact that she couldn't apparate.
She threw the letter on the bed and crashed next to it. She buried her face into the pillow and screamed.