Viktor
October 9 1994-Sunday
Viktor opened the door to his room and found his brother sleeping in his bed. He glowered, his gaze heavy with annoyance. "You have your own shitty bed in your equally shit room."
Vlad and Oleg strode in, taking their designated spots.
"Don't blame him, Vik! He misses his older brother!" teased Vlad as he swatted Viktor's shoulder blades.
Alexei lazily got up, his hair sticking in all directions. "I did miss you." A playful smirk played on his lips. "We haven't slept in the same bed for so long." He patted the spot next to him.
Viktor ambled to the bed and sat down. Alexei quirked an eyebrow as his brother leaned closer, but yelped when Viktor sent a stinging hex.
The younger Krum rubbed his side. "Does your sour mood have anything to do with those redheads?"
Viktor sneered. "They are getting on my last nerve."
"Does it have something to do with how chummy they were with her ?" Alexei pointed out, earning him a scowl from his brother.
"It wouldn't be the first time." Vlad reclined his chair, lifting the front legs. His blue eyes scanned the dark wooden ceiling.
There was a part of Viktor that didn't know why their closeness to the witch bothered him the way it did. She seemed not to care about their arms touching or that redhead's hand on her shoulder.
Flashes of the twins with Miss Granger pestering her flooded through his mind and he smiled at the memory of her rolling her eyes at them and pushing them away. "What do they want from her?"
Oleg stopped drinking his tea, settling the porcelain cup on the saucer. "They want to enter the tournament, according to a Slytherin who has a class with them."
"And they need her for what, exactly?" Viktor probed. The tournament was deadly. If they needed help before it started, they wouldn't stand a chance of winning.
"That I do not know." He picked up the teacup. "That's all the Slytherin told me, other than that they are always causing mischief."
Vlad slammed the chair's legs. "They are looking for trouble." His voice was low.
Oleg and Viktor hummed in agreement with Vlad's double meaning.
They had been ready to ask for a duel at the implication they were associated with the English mad wizard. Viktor had never understood what prompted Karkaroff to take the mad wizard's brand, yet again he wasn't a blood purist intent on 'showing muggle-borns their place.'
He needed to be more careful. Karkaroff, though stupid, was dangerous. His twisted ideals shaped his ambitions, and Viktor knew he wouldn't think twice about hurting Miss Granger if he saw her as a threat. He'd been surprised that Sigurd hadn't mentioned anything to the headmaster. However, there always was a hidden threat in the stillness.
Alexei rose from the bed, still rubbing his side, and strode to the sofa next to Oleg. He summoned an elf and asked for refreshments. The elf arrived with a platter of mekitsa and Alexei thanked the tired-looking elf as it disappeared. He plopped a fluffy, deep-fried dough ball into his mouth. "I don't think you are giving the fiery kitten enough credit." He threw a mekitsa in the air and it landed in his mouth. "I'm sure that if she wanted to, she'd hex them off her."
Alexei snickered. "You saw the way she chased off those witches earlier."
Viktor smiled. "I did." She'd done something he had been wanting to do, but couldn't. As much as he hated the attention, they were still his fans and he couldn't, wouldn't , hurt a witch. He had resigned himself that the only way they were going to leave him alone was when they got bored.
"If all it took was a bit of talking laced with intimidation, you should have asked her to get rid of your fan club a month ago." Joked Vlad.
He shook his head. "Yes," he answered with a smirk. Miss Granger was certainly a force to be reckoned with.
Alexei and Vladimir departed to their rooms. Oleg stood rooted in front of the sofa like a petrified tree. His eyes bore into Viktor, making the Bulgarian size up his friend with curiosity.
Something was going on with Oleg.
Viktor had known the burly wizard for well over a decade and he could tell something was bothering his friend. Though his face was as blank as ever, his demeanor was different.
"Let's go fly." He offered Viktor, standing in front of his room.
Viktor narrowed his eyes at his friend. Viktor shook his head and the taller wizard strode outside. Grabbing his broom, Viktor met his friend outside.
They took to the skies, and Viktor continued to survey his friend's face.
Oleg sighed and pulled something from his robes. He held it up, and Viktor eyed the strange thing between his beefy fingers.
He quirked a dark brow. "What is this?"
"A pen."
"Pen?"
"Yes, it's a muggle quill." He flew closer, and Viktor took the muggle quill. It was made of something that resembled glass in its transparency, but it was of a lighter material. "There's a tube of ink inside. Truly fascinating and ingenious."
"It is." Viktor agreed and returned the pen.
His friend tucked it inside his robes and cast a spell on his pocket. He straightened his back and turned to Viktor. "Miss Grain-in-ger gave it to me."
Viktor's eyebrows knitted together. He fought against that little voice in the back of his head, raddling his body with jealousy. Why had she given a personal token to Oleg? Viktor sighed with irritation, not at his friend or the curly-haired witch, but at the situation. It was one thing giving unwed wizards a gift in a group. It was another thing entirely, giving a single wizard a personal token. "I see."
"Look Viktor, I don't have any intentions of courting her."
"I know," Viktor mumbled, trying but failing to keep calm. He took a deep breath and eased the tension on the grip he had on his broom. "I know she and you didn't mean anything by it."
Oleg's giant shoulders remained tense. "I don't think she realized what the gift meant."
"No, she didn't." Viktor wasn't sure why he felt so confident about his answer. Maybe it was more that he hoped that she didn't know.
They continued to meander over the lake. Viktor had formed a rather unique acquaintanceship with the giant squid. The creature would try to catch him, and Viktor dodged its tentacles. It made for a rather interesting practice.
"You'd think they would teach this to the Muggle-borns," Oleg commented.
Viktor shook his head. "you'd think. They have a class about Muggle studies, but none on Pureblood or even wizarding customs." He sighed and wondered why they didn't have a class. If they did, the brunette would have known not to be alone with that snake.
Oleg hummed and reached for the pen again. "But then again Hogwarts is–"
He paused and tilted his head.
"Is more liberal." Viktor finished for him.
"Yes. It's not just Miss Grain-in-ger, but the entire school is more relaxed on following wizarding etiquette."
It wasn't just the students who were more lax, but also the faculty. They never scowled or corrected the rowdy students, nor did mention the lack of manners when addressing older wizards or witches.
"On that note, Miss Grain-in-ger has asked me to use her first name."
Viktor clenched his teeth. "I see. "He knew not to take it to heart, but it rather seemed that Oleg and she were getting a bit too close. He exhaled again. "Any clue on how to say her name?"
"No idea." Oleg laughed. "I wanted to say it after she told me, but my tongue braided itself."
Viktor scratched his stubble, trying to decipher the correct pronunciation of her name. His eyes crinkled at the corners and an impending smile formed. Even her name held layers of complexity. Her hair didn't lay or stay where she wanted, it was too wild even for her. Her nails weren't manicured, and her fingertips seemed to be permanently stained with ink. She didn't stay quiet, nor did she bow to wizards. She wasn't a pureblooded witch.
She wasn't the epitome of a refined, flawless, pureblooded witch. Her appearance wasn't perfect; it was a canvas of authenticity. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice. It was meant to make you feel. She was like the sun, she drew him towards her by her sheer magnetism. She didn't need beauty spells or polite words. Being her, was enough.
His companion cleared his throat. "I'm going to get her something." Viktor's eyes snapped to Oleg's. "Like I said, I have no intention of courting her, but it is rude not to get her something in return."
Viktor furrowed his brow. For the first time, it had just registered that they were talking about courting her. His hooked nose scrunched. Did he want to court her? Did his… fascination with her extend to wanting to court her? Obviously, Oleg thought so if he was letting him know about his intentions. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dusk light. He wasn't sure if his intrigue were because of her or because of the damned bond. But either way, the thought of his friend courting her didn't sit right with him.
"What are you going to get her?"
" Echoes of Perception: Unveiling the Life of Lee Sun Kyun ." His shoulders relaxed and the corners of his lips quivered. "We talked about theories and implications of using different spells for hearing impairments. I think she'd appreciate Sun Kyun's story and how he overcame his deafness by using a blend of traditional and modern Korean spells and potions."
"That's a very interesting gift." Which was definitely not a courting gift. "I think she'll enjoy it." Viktor suspected that the curly-haired witch would actually enjoy it and not fake enthusiasm over his friend's literary choices.
They circled the lake one more time, avoiding the playful squid, and gracefully landed on the deck.
October 10 1994-Monday
Sweat covered his strong back and thick thighs. Mornings were getting colder, making his wet back chill. Viktor grabbed his brown tunic and shuffled to the bathroom.
When he returned, he sighed and sat in front of his desk. His eyes burned a hole in the three letters in front of him. He picked up his coach's letter and immediately felt a headache forming at the back of his head.
The old wizard's handwriting was god-awful. Viktor squinted at the scribbles. He put his elbows on the table and scratched his head, trying to decipher the chicken scratches. Viktor chuckled. A chicken could probably write better than whatever this was. He had to give coach Adamov credit. The young seeker could almost smell Adamov's sour breath through the letter. The few words Viktor read told, well more like yelled that he shouldn't be slacking off and Adamov demanded a detailed report of his training times. Viktor was glad Adamov had been banned from sending him howlers. The Vratsa Vulture's coach cussed Viktor off for going to school and for good measures, cussed him again for going to another country.
The second letter was a pleasant surprise. His brother Mitko wrote that school was going well. It had taken some time to get used to the professors and their unique teaching styles. The Arcane Arts of Blood Magic was his most difficult class, mainly because he still got nauseated at the sight of blood.
Viktor didn't need to open the third letter to know who it belonged to. His family's insignia was waxed on the back, a stamp only the head of the family used. Taking his dagger from his belt, he sliced his finger, letting the blood drip over the 'к.' It absorbed the blood and the seal glowed before disappearing.
In his letter, Athanasius Krum wrote that the recent attacks had ceased, a development that alarmed The Watch. From their movements, they were preparing for something. They had switched their meeting spots and had been going to dark artifact dealerships. The Krum Lord asked Viktor to report anything that seemed out of the ordinary with Karkaroff or any of his professors.
Viktor clenched his jaw. As much as his fingers itched to put a target on Sigurd's back, Viktor's consciousness stopped him. He replied and informed his father that the headmaster would often retreat to his cabin immediately after dinner and wasn't seen until the following evening. The Krum heir explained that Karkaroff was growing more and more interested in his progress with the Borgia ring. He'd ask when he would finish, and Viktor answered that soon. Since he had devoted so much time to it a month ago, he finished last week.
After breaking through the first two protective layers, Viktor undid the curse, learning them in the process, and cursed the ring with his variation of the spell. He imbued the ancient artifact with a slow-acting poison. Additionally, because of the new network of spells, the curse user could envelop their magic in the ring, erasing their magical trace. The ring would essentially draw on the curser's magical energy, disabling tracer spells. The obvious downside was that the user couldn't use magic when the ring was active.
Viktor eyed Mitko's letter, remembering the first lesson they forced down your throat when learning blood magic. 'A tapestry of magic, woven with threads of gold, but the loom demands its tribute in blood. '
He spun his family's ring on his finger and sighed before calling his Levant sparrow hawk, Strelka. The brown small hawk landed outside the round cabin window. Strelka pecked the glass once, and Viktor allowed the bird to perch on his desk. Viktor scratched the brown feathers on his head and attached the letters to his talons.
"Here you go." Viktor took out a tin of dried lizards and offered one to the all-too-happy hawk. "This letter goes to the Krumov manor, this one to Mitko," the bird erupted in a cacophony of excited whistling noises at the mention of the younger Krum. Viktor rolled his eyes. "So much for not having favorites, huh?" Strelka cocked his head to the side and blinked at his owner. He tapped closer, offering his talon in an apology. "Yeah, yeah, this one goes to the Vratsa's stadium."
The animal blinked once and bounced to the window before taking off.
As the Durmstrang contingency walked to The Great Hall, a wild mane of soft brown curls snatched Viktor's attention. Miss Granger was walking with one of the redheads and Potter. They walked close, too close. Potter dumped her shoulder, and she laughed at something the redhead said.
No one, except the foreign students, batted an eye as the trio strode inside the hall. Back home, a witch would never be seen in such proximity to wizards unless they were properly courting each other. He scowled. Did one of them have an intention of courting her?
Miss Granger waved at her companions before sitting down next to a young witch with short, black hair.
Viktor and his friends took a seat in their normal spots next to the talkative blonde and his band of goons. Even the green snakes had no qualms about breaking pureblood customs. Though they didn't get as close as the lions, they often tiptoed into empty classrooms and alcoves. Viktor and his classmates often joked about how bad security was here if students managed to get handsy with each other on school grounds.
After dinner, Dumbledore approached the podium. "Dear students, I am delighted to announce that the Triwizard Tournament will commence during the Halloween Feast next week, precisely seven days from today." Tumultuous chatters erupted from all four tables. The twins high-five each other over a witch who usually snuck around with one of them.
The headmaster tapped his wand on the marble phoenix's head. "Interested students can enter their names into the Goblet at the beginning of the feast and will have until the end of dinner to do so. After dinner, the Goblet will then select our three champions."
A week. He'd finally know if he was a champion. Viktor's hands itched with the mere thought of the challenge.
Viktor surveyed the room. From Hogwarts, there were strong competitors from what Vlad had told him. He wasn't too sure about the Beauxbatons, but he knew better than to let his guard down because even the most beautiful roses have thorns.
His veins thrummed with anticipation as the Durmstrang students exited the Hall and marched to the ship. His excitement, however, was short-lived. Karkaroff caught up with him. "One more week and we'll be closer to eternal glory."
A snort almost escaped Viktor. We ? Who is this we? If he was chosen, there would only be one champion, and it would be him.
Karkaroff clamped a beefy hand on Viktor's shoulders, his rings dug into the seeker's flesh. "I have no doubts that you'll be our champion. I will get started with the preparations."
"Thank you for your confidence, headmaster, but we have a lot of great potential. Anyone can–"
The headmaster waved his hand and bared his ugly, rotting teeth. "Nonsense. It will be you."
Viktor scoffed in annoyance over his headmaster's obvious favoritism. "Your confidence in me is welcomed, but Dimitrov or Svoboda –"
Karkaroff grunted and clanked his staff.
"Do not worry Viktor. I am already working on getting information about the organizers. He slammed his staff again, a grin spreading on his ugly face. "I'll go ahead and contact some previous associates and I'll see if they can dig around the British Ministry."
Viktor's dark, prominent eyebrow shot up. If Karkaroff was going to contact these so-called associates, it was an opportunity to try to get a lead. After his all-too-brief Azkaban sentence, the corrupt headmaster became a social piranha within pureblood circles. No one wanted to be associated with an Azkaban convict, at least not in public, anyway. The Russian and Bulgarian Ministries assigned the position of headmaster as a way to keep a watchful eye over him. Durmstrang was a gilded prison, preventing intruders from coming in as well as keeping prisoners in. Karkaroff found himself restricted to the confines of the castle grounds, with both the land and skies meticulously guarded.
The skies were patrolled by a Zmei Gorynich. The three-headed green dragon was perched on a mountain. Karkaroff's scent clung to its nose as the dragon took to the skies at night. Rusalkas, spiteful water spirits, lived at the bottom of the magically frozen lake. The surface was enchanted to crack if unauthorized wizards set foot on it. By far the most dangerous threat was the Koshchei. The man-looking creature walked around the outskirts of the castle. Its dark tattered robes bellowed with the wind as trespassers met their deadly fates. The immortal creature had been caught and forced into servitude by the Bulgarian witch Nerida Vulchanova when she founded the school in the Middle Ages.
Once in his room, Viktor wrote a letter to his father informing him of Karkaroff's associates and his intentions. He told the wizard to keep an eye on Karkaroff's incoming and outgoing mail. He sealed the letter and pressed his ring onto the cooling wax. Then he slit his finger over the wax, closed his eyes, and chanted, " Krovi Rodstvennaya Zashchita ."
Viktor grunted and contemplated telling his headmaster to fuck off and let him handle this competition on his own. He felt like a dirty cheater. Getting advantages took away from the thrill of the competition. Yet Karkaroff's involvement could prove crucial for The Watch's investigation.
He let out a frustrated sigh before accepting that Karkaroff's "help" was unavoidable.
Hermione
October 11 1994-Tuesday
"Why?" Hermione fumed. The tip of her wand glowed blue, but the golden car remained happily asleep next to the pile of transfiguration books on her bed.
This marked the sixth failed attempt to slap some energy into the feline. Hermione was amazed that Krum's transfiguration had lasted as long as it had.
In her desperation, she had gone to see her favorite professor. The transfiguration professor's sharp, thin brow rose when Hermione broached the topic of sustained animation in transfigured objects.
"Although I truly understand your fascination with the topic Miss Granger, I am afraid that his particular area may yet be out of your reach." McGonagall grabbed her wand and transfigured a cup into a cat, Hermione's frown turned into a smile, as the familiar cup-cat rubbed its head against her hand.
"Sustained animated transfiguration," the older witch continued. "Requires years of work. "It is simply not something you can learn from theory. It requires mastery of the intricate layers of work." The cup-cat pounced over to the professor and with a swift jump, it transformed back into a cup.
"This year we will be looking at cross-species transfigurations. Next year, we will learn the Inanimatus Conjurus and Vanishing Spells." She took her glasses off and placed them next to her tea. "During your sixth and for most students, their mastery years, it is when they learn how to imbue magic into the correct layers, making their products more like a clock. Each individual layer supports the next, making it so the object is able to remain in that state for a period of time."
Her shoulders slumped, head hanging low, casting a shadow over her usually bright, knowledge-hungry eyes. Not only had she been told that she had to wait years, she actually had to wait. She'd tried and failed to know that Professor McGonagall was right.
She cradled the gold cat, and the feline played with her finger before falling back to its huddled position, cradling the unmoving rose. Hermione scratched its head, trying to ease the irritation of having failed.
The tip of her finger smoothed over the cat's belly. She remembered Krum's offer to re-energize it and her finger faltered. Would it really be okay? Another sigh of frustration left her. She'd gone over all the books, and done the wand movements correctly, but it hadn't worked.
She hugged her pillow and willed her brain to understand what she was doing wrong because she refused to wait years.
Krum made it look so graceful, so elegant, so *. His wand movements elongated his strong fingers. The veins on his hand slightly popped up, making his hand look amazing. His dark eyes came to life as his warm, gentle magic exploded from him. She hadn't allowed herself to bask in the moment because it was all too new and in that moment; it had scared her. But she wasn't sure what she was scared of if it had been the novelty or the thrill that spiked her heart rate.
She blinked and tried to stop the warmth that washed over her at the memory. It wouldn't be imprudent to ask. He'd told her he would do it in exchange for her correcting his English. She groaned. How could she have forgotten? Runes had taken all her attention.
On the subject of runes, Hermione summoned her readings, needing to quickly double-check something. Minutes turned to hours as she got lost in the wondrous world of Slavic runes.
A sharp pain on her neck snapped Hermione out of Ancient Slavic Scripts and Their Significance in Wizardry. She rubbed the sore spot, trying to work out the kink. So much for just double-checking. She sighed. This is exactly why she had forgotten. Hermione stretched her arms and legs, glancing at her muggle clock. If she went to bed now–she groaned. It was already six in the morning. There was no point in going to bed for only an hour. Still trying to work out the knot in her tired muscles, she decided the best way to spend her hour was with a cup of tea and one more chapter.
Book in hand, she made her way to the common room. Should she have Irish or British breakfast tea? It took her a second to realize that the common room was bizarrely dark.
"Lumos."
Fine soot and feathery ash blanketed the cold stone hearth, creeping onto the worn, crimson carpet.
Hermione blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. A small tawny shaky figure stood next to the fireplace. There was a soft clunk, it sounded like a bottle hitting the floor.
"Um, hello," greeted Hermione, the book against her chest as she greeted the elf, who had their back to the witch.
The elf turned around in a frenzy, her eyes going wide as she kicked the bottle before it disappeared. "Oh, no! No!" they yelled and struck their head against the stone.
The curly-haired witch seized the creature by the shoulders. "No! Don't do that!"
The elf's wide, bloodshot eyes peered at the witch. Large tears pooled in her eyes. "Winky is bad elf!"
A strong whiff of alcohol hit Hermione's nose. She stared at Winky curiously. Had she been… drinking?
"You're–" A soft pop disrupted Hermione. Dobby wrapped in and eyes the mess. He grunted and stomped his foot. His eyes landed on the crying elf. "Winky has caused trouble again." He lifted a hand and the mess was banished. With a flicker of his finger, the hearth came to life.
Winky pulled on her ears, tears spilling from her big, round eyes. "Winky is bad elf."
Hermione placed her hand on the small elf's shoulder. "No! That's not true," she smiled, and, trying to reassure the shaken elf, "plus the mess is gone." She felt her stomach tighten when Winky's tears hit the ground and she wailed.
"Harry Potter's friend?" Dobby asked as he reached the crying elf.
She nodded, a bit heartbroken. They'd met a couple of times by now, but Dobby never remembered her name. "Is she okay?" As the light from the fireplace licked the walls of the Common Hall, Winky's frame was leaned against the stone, her eyes unfocused nowhere in particular.
He frowned and carefully tugged on Winky's hand. "Winky is–" he stopped and his large eyes darted around the room as if making sure there was no one around to hear. He dropped his head and whispered, "Winky was freed."
"That's fantastic! What great news!" Hermione marveled, her hand coming to her chest.
Winky erupted into howls. Her nails dug into her eyes and cheeks. Lines of blood dripped from her tear-stained face.
Hermione's eyes narrowed, and Dobby gently patted the other elf's back.
"I–" She stopped herself, feeling like she needed to apologize. No, of course not, this was great news!
"Winky and Dobby go now Harry Potter's friend."
"But–" The elves popped out of existence, leaving a very confused Hermione in front of the warm fire.
Her cup of tea and book lay forgotten on the small table in front of the sofa. All Hermione could think about was how heartbroken Winky looked. But why would she? She was free! She'd been freed from a lifetime of slavery, but had she? Were Hogwart's elves free?
Just as she tried to answer a question, five more popped into her head.
The fire crackling mixed with the noise of students getting ready for the day. She checked her watch and dashed upstairs. She made haste and waited for Harry anxiously.
Hermione tapped her foot on the ground, hands on her hips. "He's running late." He, in fact, was not running late, but that's what it felt like.
"Harry!" she finally called out upon seeing his wild, dark hair.
"Eh-good morning Hermione."
"Yes, good morning to you too Ron." The redhead mocked, pushing up his book bag up his shoulder.
"Morning Ronald." She quickly turned to look at Harry. "Harry," she tried again after taking a breath.
Harry's brow scrunched together, analyzing Hermione's rather chipper morning mood. "Yes?"
As they walked, they made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. "You've seen Dobby around the castle, right?" She asked, moving her book sack to her other shoulder.
"Eh-yes," He answered, his brows scrunching together.
"Good." The gears in her mind moved. Harry would probably know a lot about Dobby and Winky.
Ron murmured something that sounded like "Oh, great."
"Do you think he's happy?"
Harry's brows met the rim of his glasses and he glanced over at Ron, who was staring right ahead at the pretty students in blue. "I guess?"
Hermione followed Harry's eyes to Ron's face. She rolled her eyes, "Not Ron!"
"Huh? Then who?"
"Dobby!"
Harry shrugged his shoulders, his attention caught like a fisherman snared by a siren. More like multiple sirens, dressed in pretty blue silk with enchanting giggles.
Hermione ticked her tongue and slapped his chest.
"Ouch." He rubbed the spot, but his eyes never left what Hermione hoped was a pretty blonde's long hair that cascaded down her back and not her bosom. "I mean yeah–I think, I don't know."
They finally passed the Beauxbaton students and the boys' heads and eyes traveled to their silky bottoms and legs. Hermione snapped her fingers in front of their faces.
"Stop gawking! It is incredibly rude to stare like they are pretty decorations! They are people". She huffed a bit too loud, causing the blue-clad witches to turn to look at her and then at the boys.
Ron and Harry mumbled an apology and blushed. Hermione sighed and assumed it was probably more to do with being caught red-handed than the action itself.
Sometimes Hermione wondered if the Hogwarts boys had any sense of, well, sense. The way they all gawked at the witches made her blood boil. Unconsciously, her eyes darted around to look for the other foreign students. The boys with the brown tunics always kept their eyes forward and always gave small polite bows.
She absentmindedly rubbed the back of her hand and bit her lip. Krum never stared at her the way that Ron and Harry did to the Beauxbatons. But then again, there really wasn't much to look at, anyway.
She shook her head and straightened her robes. "Anyhow Harry, would you say Dobby is happier now that he's free?"
Ron grunted and shoved his hands in his pockets.
Hermione shot him a glare and turned to look at Harry. She raised one brow, something she tended to do when she was losing patience or when there was a specific answer she was waiting for.
"Yeah, I guess, but–"
"Exactly! All elves would be happy to be liberated." There had to be something here that was upsetting Winky.
Ron grunted again and rolled his eyes.
Hermione scowled and wanted to hit Ronald with her book bag at his insensibility. She waited for his comment about how she didn't understand elvish matters and how she was sticking her nose where it wasn't welcomed.
"Have something to say, Ronald?" She challenged him.
"You're assuming," He took a strategic seat next to Harry, sandwiching him between them.
She glared at him but allowed him to continue.
"You think that all elves want to be freed because one didn't like this master." Hermione cringed, at the word master. "You're assuming that they would be happy going against their nature."
Hermione's nostrils flared. "Being a slave is not part of any creature's nature!"
"They aren't slaves, though." He waved a piece of bacon before plopping it into his mouth. "It literally is a part of who they are."
"It is not!" She banged her palms on the table, drawing multiple eyes in her direction.
Ron and Harry dropped their eyes to their platters. Hermione couldn't care less who was watching. Have them watch! Because it seemed that no one cared to spare a single brain cell to think about elves.
"You agree with me, right Harry? Her brown pleading ones looked for his green ones. "They are living like slaves."
Harry coughed into his hand and scratched the back of his neck. His face scrunched up, a sign Hermione knew meant he was uncomfortable. "I mean, they look happy?"
Winky's distraught face flashed across Hermione's mind. How could she be happy? She certainly didn't look happy. She was miserable!
Hermione clenched her hands. Ron was devouring a pastry, shoving as much as he could in. Harry avoided her eyes as if the sausage in front of him was more important than living creatures.
She couldn't stomach eating anything, thinking and finally realizing that this food was prepared by slaves.
Her eyes darted across the Great Hall. Everyone was eating like nothing was wrong. Her stomach twisted. She looked at the professors and Dumbledore. They knew and carried on like they weren't housing slaves. Her gaze darted to the Durmstrang headmaster, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. That man, Hermione knew even without really knowing, he enjoyed the servitude.
Hermione felt a familiar tug of magic. Dark, questioning eyes met hers. The older Krum was looking at her with a strange expression of curiosity and something else she couldn't pinpoint. Tears burned her eyes, and she blinked them away, not knowing why that expression bothered her the way it did. Did he know too? She scoffed and jerked her head away from his eyes. He probably had them, too.
Harry's hand settled on hers, anchoring her attention to the Gryffindor's table.
"Hey, Hermione you okay?"
She shook her head and felt her frustrated tears threatened to spill. She brought down her head and immediately Harry pulled her close to him.
Hermione stared at her plate and pushed it away.
A pair of colder, paler hands clasped on her own.
"Are you okay, Hermione?" asked Ginny.
She steeled herself and nodded, her indignation and anger burning away with each deep breath.
"Elves," was all the explanation Ron offered. His voice was softer and not mocking like she had expected.
Maybe, just maybe, someone would care. She swallowed and was met with Ginny's warm eyes. Her friend gave her a small smile but said nothing. She examined the table and, as expected, everyone ignored the topic. Neville offered her a small sheepish loopsided smile, but he was quick to turn his gaze to the oncoming owls.
Among the parliament, there was a slightly smaller bird with large wings gliding through the mixture of owls. The bird, which Hermione assumed was a falcon, cocked its head before flapping its long and tapered creamy wings with flecks of brown as it descended to stand in front of the witch.
The falcon blinked its obsidian eyes before extending its yellow leg. Hermione leaned forward and inspected the stunning bird of prey. The bird cocked its head and pranced closer to her.
"Is that a hawk?" Questioned Harry. He put his utensils down and examined the bird.
Ron tossed the animal a piece of sausage. "No, it's a Russian gyrfalcon."
The Gryffindors stopped admiring the falcon to regard Ron.
"And how you reckon' that?" asked Seamus.
"It's wings, and it's coloring." With his fork, he pointed to the falcon's lovely breast.
Multiple eyes widen, their eyes flashing between the waiting bird and Ron. Hermione would have also been startled had Ron not asked for a book about birds at the end of second year. He'd been sure his parents would get him and his siblings their own owl after Percy graduated. He sadly had been mistaken.
Lavender peeked her head to get a better look, blond curls dancing on top of her head. "Who's it here for?"
The falcon as if on cue extended its leg again, this time looking intently at Hermione.
Instead of taking the parcel, the witch squinted at the animal. Why would a falcon, not an owl, especially a Russian falcon have something to deliver?
"Hermione, I think the falcon is here for you." Answered Ginny.
The Gryffindors burst out in loud conversations. Their heads snapped to the Durmstrang students and back to the falcon, before scrutinizing Hermione.
Hermione cleared her throat. "Right." She reached for the parcel and the moment she touched it, a light pulse of magic caressed her finger. She undid the bundle and saw a small book and a letter attached.
The tumultuous voices of her fellow Gryffindors grew louder.
"Who is it from Granger?" Fred yelled so loud that the other tables stopped to look in their direction.
With a magnificent flap of its wings, the falcon lifted up in the air, gathering the attention of anyone who was remotely paying attention.
She sunk in her seat and brought her hand to her eyebrows, trying to cover her face.
"Got an admirer there Granger?" Hollered George, making Hermione wish everyone ignored her the way they were a couple of minutes ago.
Ginny leaned her chest against the table, "who's it from?"
"Yeah, who sent it?" quipped Harry. He leered at the letter, his brows furrowed.
Before Hermione could answer, Parvati's unnecessarily commented, "That looks like a courting gift."
"Huh?" Lavender poked her head further, "No way!"
"What!" Bursted Hermione and Harry.
"Is it true Hermione?" Harry fidgeted in his seat.
"No!"
"Then who's it from then?" Ron wandered from his seat to stand behind Harry. "Who would send you a book and a letter? Gotta be someone that knows you well enough to know you would actually like that." He finished pointing to the book.
Leave it to Ron to analyze and dissect the situation so quickly and announce it to everyone. If he could only use his intellect to analyze the situation and stay quiet!
"Yeah, Granger, who's your secret admirer?" Belted Fred, his voice sounded closer. Two pale slender hands clamped down on her shoulders.
George leaned over her shoulder, his cheek almost grazing hers. "Interesting wrapping."
"Mm." Fred bent over, equally if not closer to Hermione. She had to take a deep inhale as her skin vibrated with his magic. He was so close that Hermione felt almost drowsy by the amount of magic her skin absorbed.
Fred lightly moved her finger, something that might have looked like he was being his goofy noisy self, but it didn't feel like that to Hermione and she couldn't explain why.
She had grabbed everything in a flash that she missed the transcription on the front.
Мисс Гермионе Грейнджер
Krum? She shook her head and her treacherous heart beat faster at the thought. No, it was more likely Oleg.
"I do say so Gred." Though his tone was friendly and light, his magic pulsed with anger. It was only a second, but Fred's anger simmered into something so intense that Hermione choked on her breath. "Very interesting!" He joked, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Oh yes, Forge! Who would have thought that a certain someone was brave enough to send our little Gryffindor bookworm a gift!"
The burning in her skin drowned the raucous voices.
Again it was probably just her imagination, but she could have sworn she felt someone else's magic pulse in their direction. It was magic that she recognized, or at least she thought she did.
The noise was muffled by Fred's magic, it was almost as if he was purposefully letting his magic soak into her skin. The sensation tingled from her neck to her toes.
She wanted to look at the Slytherin table but knew that it would only add fuel to the fire. She swallowed, her heart pounded in her chest. The only ones who knew she was friendly with the Durmstrang students were the twins.
More Gryffindors scooted closer, trying to gauge the book's wrapping. The tingling feeling seared her for a second, Hermione gathered the letter and book to her chest so quickly that she spilled pumpkin juice on herself.
Great! Just wonderful!
Her face felt incredibly warm as her audience continued to watch. The twin's grip softened, but they remained on her back, making jokes and poking fun at 'stupid courting rituals.'
Merlin, there was no way she was going to open the letter here. She banished the stain from her uniform and tried to storm out.
Tried.
The twins were on her before she could make her getaway.
"You can't leave us hanging Granger!"
"Yeah c'mon! Tell us who it is!"
Her flush spread from her face to her ears. Oh, Merlin, the professors were probably watching now if they weren't before. What was Professor Sigurd going to think?
"That's enough you idiots!" Ginny sneered from her seat. "Leave her be."
Angelina, like the lovely savior she was grabbed the twins by the back of their uniform. In a low voice only they could hear, she hissed "Stop the pissing contest."
The older witch smiled apologetically at Hermione and in that second the Chaser never looked more beautiful.
Hermione darted out of the Great Hall, her face aflamed and her gaze down. Her legs wanted to carry her to the library, to her safe space, away from the hushed whispers.
She unfortunately didn't have time. Clenching the letter and book against her chest she took refuge in her first class of the day, history.
Her back relaxed against the cold stone, slumping down she stared at the letter, running her finger over Мисс Гермионе Грейнджер. The book was neatly wrapped in a beautiful satin cloth decorated with intricate patterns of flowers. She turned it around and admired Dimitrov's family crest before chuckling.
It was so…Victorian. Her cheeks warmed again and she sucked on her bottom lip. Was this a courting gift? Did Dimitrov want to date her? She shook the thought away, no one would be interested in dating her.
She sighed and tried to break off the seal, but instead of opening, the wax glowed, words appeared and arranged themselves before settling over the wax.
I'm mightier than the sword, yet I don't cut or slice.
In hand, I bring words to life, and thoughts to devices.
I'm not made of metal, nor am I a wand.
What am I, in your grip, ready to respond?
Hermione smiled the anxiety that gripped her earlier disappearing.
"Pen." She answered, her smile widening.
The letters fizzled out and the wax disappeared. Hermione made a mental note to ask which charms he used.
A chuckle escaped her lips as she read the first line.
Hermione, my friend.
Friend. That's all he saw her as. Her heart warmed at the thought. She always struggled to make friends even after coming to Hogwarts, a place that was supposed to accept her for being different. Yet she was still different, still the odd one out.
Oleg had written to thank her for her thoughtful gifts and hospitality. He mentioned how wonderful it had been to study together and proposed that they should meet again to further discuss the theories and implications of using Latin runes for Ancient Slavic rituals.
I have presumed to dispatch unto you this tome. May it afford you pleasure it did to me, and I anticipate with eagerness the receipt of your sentiments thereupon.
Hermione placed the book on her lap and withdrew her wand, pointing it to the neatly wrapped book.
"Engorgio."
She tenderly held, Echoes of Perception: Unveiling the Life of Lee Sun Kyun to get a better look at it. A wide grin appeared on her lips.
She carefully cracked the spine open and caught a whiff of neatly pressed pages. Her fingers grazed the black ink on the first page.
돌고래 몸에 칼난 흉터도 용의 비늘
Oleg's perfect penmanship scribed the translation on a separate piece of paper. She nodded in approval of not blemishing the first page without the owner's permission.
"Even a scar from a knife on a dolphin's body becomes a dragon's scale."
Her heart felt warmed. Not only because of the book but because she had a new friend. Someone who didn't mock her for her love of books and even more importantly appreciated it.
With her new book in hand and a light heart, the day and more importantly the gossip drowned into nothingness as she devoured the book.
October 12 1994-Wednesday
Any time she wasn't in class, she was reading Kyun's book. She bumped into people, inwardly cursing herself for not having yet mastered the art of walking and reading.
The book introduced a new world. Well, to be precise two worlds. Though she had already discussed Oleg's hearing, Master Kyun elaborately explained the theories behind why impairments even existed. Hermione found herself smiling more than once. It was truly fascinating to note that some people's world and perspectives of it were exclusive to the wizarding world. To them, there really was nothing else.
Her heart continued to swell when the Korean Potions Master introduced Korean practices of ancient rituals.
Every page fueled her excitement. Even within the wizarding world, there was so much to still learn and see. Her brown eyes were drawn to a Beauxbaton witch strutting towards the Runecrafting class.
Hermione brought the book to her eyes once again but lowered it to peer at the witch. Did she have special rituals as well? If she remembered correctly, the blond was half-veela. Did she practice Veela magic? How does Veela magic even work when you're a witch?
Her eyes roamed the witch's body until she saw a green wand, with a very delicate handle hoistered on her hip. The older witch reminded Hermione of doxies. Though no bigger than a bumblebee, their poison causes hallucinations and paralysis.
"Oui, can I 'elp you?" The blond witch turned around, her perfect brows tight.
Hermione flushed. Oh, Merlin, she had been staring at her!
"Oh là là! It's you! Fantastique!"
"Excuse me?"
The half-veela smiled at Hermione and in that moment she finally understood why all the boys drooled after her. She brought her pretty hand with perfect lightly pink nails to her chest.
"I 'ave been wanting to thank you, but I 'adn't 'ad the chance to, 'ow incredibly rude of me. My name is Fleur Delacour. My sister is Gabrielle!" She flashed a tender smile and Hermione's heart beat faster.
Gabrielle? Ah, that's right, the girl from the stands. "No need to thank me." Hermione extended her hand, "Nice to meet you, I'm Hermione Granger."
Fleur's perfect brows rose and she giggled. Merlin, that Veela magic sure was something. She stared at Hermione's extended hand and giggled again before taking her hand.
Hermione and Fleur walked together to their class, mostly talking about their rune crafting class. The curly-haired witch bit the inside of her cheek, ashamed that once she instantly thought the Beauxbatons were nothing more than shallow, pretentious witches. The blond was smart and insightful. They got lost in conversation as the French witch explained her interpretations of their last assignment.
Right when they turned the last corner, the large Russian was leaning against the wall, eyes on his book. His scar and the flickering of the torches reminded Hermione of one of those mafia movies her father enjoyed watching.
Hermione smiled warmly at her friend, in return, Dimitrov bowed to her and Delacour.
"Miss Delacour, Miss Granger, good evening."
Fleur tipped her head and for a second Hermione thought she was watching a Victorian movie. The subtle tilt of her head, moved her golden locks perfecting framing her face. Her blue eyes closed, her lashes fluttering like a butterfly.
"Mr Dimitrov, evening."
"Hello, Oleg." Hermione squeezed the book against her chest. Fleur was even graceful in greeting people, while she, was she. "I told you to call me Hermione."
The corners of his lips twitched and he nodded.
Fleur excused herself with a small curtsy that made Hermione feel even more self-conscious standing next to her. If she tried something so delicate, she was sure she would end up on the floor.
Once they were alone in front of the classroom, the Durmstrang student cleared his throat. "Right. Her-mine-ne." His face scrunched up for a second and he cleared his throat again.
Hermione smiled and touched his arm. "It's okay. You'll get it eventually."
He froze, his shoulders tensing. Hermione bit her lip. She didn't want her new friend to worry about saying her name right. It was difficult and even more so for people whose first language wasn't English.
She patted his arm and his brown eyes shot to look at her fingers. She brought her hand to the book, trying to ease the giant's trepidation.
His shoulders relaxed and his intense gaze softened. He took a step back, placed his right hand over the Durmstrang insignia on his right chest, and bowed. "I must apologize."
Hermione's brows shot up and her stomach dropped. Was he apologizing for being her friend? Did he already regret it?. She clenched the book like it was a lifeline. Had she misinterpreted the letter and the book? He had called her friend, but maybe he was being polite.
"I should have not acted like I did." He stood straight and squared his shoulders.
The way he was looking at her made her eyes sting. It was the same look she had seen over and over. The same apologetic look kids had given her when they would tell her that they couldn't be friends because they were being bullied by being her friend.
She wasn't going to cry. She blinked, but the tears glossed her eyes.
Dimitrov's face panicked and the witch tightened her hold on the tome.
"Miss Grain–Her-mine-ne." He bowed again. "I am truly sorry for your pain." He met her eyes and eyed the book. Her brown eyes fell to it too, waiting for him to ask for it back.
"I did not knov your table vould be noisy."
She nodded in agreement. Her soon ex-friend's boots were perfectly polished.
"I have shamed you in front of–"
"What?" Her brow eyes connected to his.
"My givt made you be embara, um, shamed."
Her burrows knitted together. "What do you mean?"
He scanned the book and looked up. "Because of book, you were in troubled."
In trouble? Ah, he must mean troubled. Wait, her troubled? The crease deepened in her forehead.
"I made problem for you."
Hermione roamed his face. His one good brow was pinched slightly. Was he apologizing because her house, and more specifically the twins had no sense of privacy?
She giggled and Oleg looked even more surprised than before.
"Are you apologizing because you sent me the book?" Her heart raced and her palms grew sweaty. The last thing she needed was to misunderstand. There was an amber of hope that he still wanted to be friends.
"Da." He bowed again but this time Hermione stopped him, her palm on his shoulder.
The knot in her stomach banished. "Please don't apologize for that!"
"But your table–"
"My house and more especially the twins have no sense of privacy." She explained but the Russian's magic cracked. She swatted the air. "They were, well, just being them." She smiled, but it faltered remembering Fred's magic, almost choking her. She smiled again, she didn't want to add more bad blood to their already sour relationship. "Don't mind them, they love making mischief. But it's all lighthearted."
"The vay they acted vas not correct. Vey shamed you." His voice was low, almost like he was warning her.
Hermione let out a shaky laugh. "Ah, yes, but again they were just being them."
He nodded. "If you say so." His shoulders relaxed. "Vot do you vink about Kyun's veory of using traditional and modern methods?"
A wide grin plastered her face. They discussed the book and their own interpretations of Kyun's theories until Professor Sigurd strode in.
It had taken all her willpower not to ogle the older Krum the moment she walked in. It was almost as if there was a string attached to her that kept being tugged at by his magic. He had been talking to his fellow Durmstrang students. His sleeves were pushed up, showing his tan forearms. It should have been so ordinary, it was just a wizard talking to his classmates, but the way his forearms flexed and the intensity of his dark eyes on hers sent a shiver down her spine.
She had only been half listening when she called for her Gryffindor's courage to write a note to Krum. She rationalized it by telling herself that one, she needed to ask to focus on class and secondly it would be a learning experience.
She took out a paper making her heart raced and her palms calm up. She peeked at the old wizard, and like always his eyes didn't leave the board. How many times had she scorned Harry and Ron for passing notes?
Her feet couldn't stay still, she drummed her soles against the chair's foot support. Should she get straight to the point? She didn't want to distract Krum, but she also didn't want to be rude. Start simple but polite. Maybe he wouldn't reply. Oh, Merlin what if he thought that she was an irresponsible student?
It's okay. It'd just be two quick messages.
Hello,
How are you?
She folded the paper and carefully slid the note next to his hand. Her gaze snagged on his hands, mesmerized by the elegant dance of his long, slender fingers as they twirled his quill.
His dark eyes found hers and that force pulled her in. She leaned her body closer instinctively. At that moment she wondered why her parents had warned her about 101 things and never about dangerous deep dark eyes that seemed to steal away all her thoughts.
Her trance was broken by the warmth and tingling emanating from her hand. Krum's fingertips nudged her thumb to move and let him take the note.
Her face grew hot and she snapped her head to the blackboard. Great! Wonderful! So much for not being a distraction!
Krum grazed her hand with the back of his quill, the feather was soft, fueling the tingling in her skin.
She glanced at him but found his handsome sharp profile. His eyes glued to the board and he continued to scribble down notes.
His writing was precise and controlled, much like Oleg's.
Hello, Miss Granger.
I am much better now.
And yourself?
Was he ill? Hermione scanned his face and his body looking for his ailment. His face was still rugged and handsome. His strong forearms were covered, much to her disappointment. His dexterous hands looked good, strong–and healthy. Right healthy.
He turned and their eyes connected, a smirk formed on his lips and her face blushed again. Merlin, she was gawking at him. She needed to ask before she started drooling all over their table.
Were you ill?
I am well, thank you.
Her quill lifted off the paper and she bit her lip. She had rehearsed over and over what she wanted to ask. Yet now she wasn't sure, was it because he'd been sick? That hadn't been part of the multiple scenarios she prepared for.
Just ask him and get it done, she repeated to herself. She needed to focus.
Are you feeling okay?
She slid the note to his side again.
She should at least be pretending to pay attention. She wrote down the last line on the board and she should have been upset that she missed its connection to their topic that day, but she found that she didn't care.
Last week there were several cases of the Sneezing Snuffle, maybe he had been infected.
His feather tickled her hand, drawing her weaning attention to him again. His fingertips grazed her skin, as he pushed the paper in her hands.
Ah, I am now that the sun has gifted me its warmth.
Thank you for asking, you're a thoughtful witch.
Hermione nodded, satisfied that he wasn't sick and impressed at the difference between his written and spoken English. Her brows furrowed, had it been cloudy?
I am sorry to trouble you–and even more so to distract you in class, but it seems it is the only time we have together. Your fan group is always so close, it makes it impossible to approach you.
I was wondering if you could teach me the spell sequence and wand movements you used to transfigure the cat? I am a bit embarrassed to admit this, but all my attempts failed.
If you remember, I agreed to help you with your English–I'm not saying your English is bad by any means, but if you want the offer still stands. You can think of it as a form of payment for your time. Not that I think my time and your time are worth the same, you're an international quidditch player–and I am me.
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Krum straightening his slouching back. He inched closer, and the echo of a whisper that tantalized her magic pulsed, the warmth that licked her skin was like the flickering of candle flames.
It would be my honor to teach you. However, the sequence is too many steps, and not possible to teach at one time.
Hermione's heart dropped and sighed before continuing.
It would be great pleasure to have you teach trade. Your English lessons for transfiguration lessons. As you can see I have many to learn. It might take some time, are you okay with that?
The invisible threat yanked her eyes to his, pinning them on his. Again the world around her faded, her attention a moth drawn to his intense eyes. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her breath hitch. His eyes softened and the corners of his lips twisted up.
His soft, kind eyes were not at all what she was used to seeing in her friends.
That would be fantastic!
Would Sunday at noon work with you?
She slid the note and was disappointed when he read it but tucked it in between his notes. He cocked his head towards the professor, who was looking at their table with narrowed eyes. Hermione slid down on her chair and looked at her empty notes.
The last five minutes of class, she kept bouncing her knee. Was he not going to reply?
When class was finally dismissed she quickly gathered her things, determined to get an answer.
Krum stood in front of her, her nose inches away from his chest. A delicate flush crept up her neck as she caught notes of broom polish and sandalwood.
She peered at him through her lashes and the wizard took a small step back and cradled both of her hands in his. He kissed both sets of knuckles, the touch of his lips sent a rush of magic to her core.
"I vill zee you Sunday." He placed a paper rose on her fingers, bowed, and left a fluster Hermione behind.
She cradled the rose and wondered how a paper flower could be velvety, almost rivaling the beauty of a real rose.
Her mind was a whirlwind by the time she made it to her dorm. She had sadly tucked away the flower in her cardigan. When she placed it next to both sleepy felines, Hermione noticed writing on the petals.
She squinted and inspected it. She touched the middle and the petals fell and rearranged themselves to a note.
Скъпи за мен са дните, в които ще те видя, когато облаците не са се разпръснали от седмици, когато топлите пръсти на ръцете и краката са само далечен спомен.
Чакам ги като слънце в разгара на зимата.
She furrowed her brows. Had he forgotten to translate it? No matter how intently she stared at the words, she couldn't read it. With a sigh, she opened her drawer to store the letter when the paper crumpled and formed itself into the beautiful flower.
In the morning she dashed to the library and checked out a Bulgarian-English dictionary.
The rest of the day her face was the color of a ripe tomato. Every time she closed her eyes, his words flashed in her mind.
Dear to me are the days I'll see you when the clouds have not parted for weeks, when warm fingers and toes are all but a distant memory.
I wait for them like the sun in the dead of winter.
October 17 1994- Sunday
Hermione's heartbeat rattled faster the closer she got to the library. She tried to calm her racing heart, muttering to herself that Krum was simply being polite.
Since she had read the letter, she couldn't look at him without turning into a blushing mess. As her luck would have it, he seemed to be looking at her more often in the Great Hall. But it may also have been that the twins threw snarky remarks whenever they crossed paths.
Turning the last corner she took a deep breath. She was here to teach English and learn Transfiguration. Nothing more.
A crimson tide washed over her face as soon as she saw the Bulgarian seeker. He was leaning and his foot pressed against the stone wall. He was wearing a black cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal his sturdy forearms. His collarbone was just visible under the slit in the middle of the shirt. Krum twirled what Hermione assumed was his family ring with his broad fingers, magnetizing her eyes to his hand.
He stopped and tilted his head, his eyes slowly rising to meet hers.
Hermione rubbed her palms on her jeans, trying to soothe the invisible wrinkles.
"Miss Gra-in-ger." Krum stepped closer, swooped her hands, and placed a lingering kiss on her knuckles. "Good afternoon."
"Um, hello Krum. Good afternoon." She stared at his tanned thumb as it rested over the top of her knuckles. He moved to retreat his thumb, caressing her four fingers. Each time his calloused digit moved, thousands of tiny fireworks went off across her skin.
He stepped back, his eyes sized up hers. They were softer than Hermione was used to seeing in class or in the Great Hall.
"Shall ve?" He motioned to the door with his hand.
She shook her head. "Yes! Of course!"
They walked in to find a rather empty library. There were a few Ravenclaw students scattered throughout. They made no effort to look up from their books.
She was about to sit in the middle of the room when Krum leaned over and whispered in her ear, his fresh minty breath tussled her curls. "Vis vay."
Goosebumps erupted all over her skin and she shut her eyes trying to control her magic. She finally nodded and strode behind him.
He chose a table in the furthest part of the library, blocked by a bookshelf.
"Don't vant fans to find." His voice dropped to a mere murmur, sending shivers down her spine and magic. His words barely audible spoke, "vant to be alone."
Her cheeks flushed, not only at the tone of his words but also from the intensity of his mesmerizing dark eyes.
He pulled a seat in front and Hermione blinked before realizing he was pulling a seat for her. "Need to focus on English." He added, a ghost of a smile on his face.
Hermione cleaned her sweaty palms on her thighs. "Of course!" She winced at how high her voice came out.
She took the offered seat and sucked in a breath when Krum sat next to her, not in front of her. Next to her, so close that high muscular thigh brushed against her. She froze remembering the way his thighs and back clenched when he took to the skies weeks ago.
Her heartbeat fluttered and her face grew hotter.
"Here." Krum began. "Transviguration books." He tapped his finger to a stack.
Her eyes darted to the tomes and all previous embarrassment left her. Shame crept on her skin at her improper thoughts. Krum was here to learn and teach. She straightened her back and quickly grabbed the first book.
Hermione furrowed her brows and scanned the other books. "We don't have these books here."
"Ne."
"How did you get these books?" She ran her fingers through the covers.
Krum's fingers joined hers. He traced the titles and the corners of his lips curved upwards. "Vey are mine"
Her fingers halted and her heart fluttered again. She inspected the seeker's face and a warm sensation bathed her skin.
"They are well taken care of." She commented with a smile. She opened one and her head whipped around. "They are in English."
A rogueish smirk danced on his lips, "for you."
Her eyes darted back and forth, flitting between him and the book. "Really?" she whispered, a blush blooming across her cheeks at the incredible gesture. "You translated them?"
"Ne. My brother." He hummed in response, tapping the books. "Alexei is good with charms."
"It's fantastic work," Hermione said, flipping through another book. "You lot are very talented."
He carefully removed the book out of her hands, their fingers touching, and a wave of warmth crashed against her magic. "You too." He smiled and Hermione's heart skipped a beat. He was truly handsome, with his crooked nose, intense dark eyes, and a dashing smile.
"Huh?"
"You are a very very smart witch."
"Intelligent," she interrupted, trying to ease her embarrassment. She lowered her gaze and picked her cuticles. "It's a better word."
He chuckled, and the sweet sound made her face burn hotter. "Da. Intelligent. You are many good things." Hermione bit her lip, wanting to ask what he meant. He continued speaking, his words spun a web of warmth over her already too-hot skin. "You are very special witch." He smiled and she was pulled into those rich dark eyes.
She was sure her heart stopped that time. She had been called intelligent and gifted many other times, but somehow the word coming out of his lips seeped into her bones.
"Thank you. But so are you! Your transfiguration work is utterly beautiful and worthy of being a master!"
A beaming smile lit up his entire face and Hermione made a note to go to the infirmary after. That smile was surely not good for her heart. "I shov you nov." He pushed up his sleeves to his elbows.
Show her? Show her what, more of those tan, strong muscles? Or those heart-stopping smiles? "Here?" She looked around and her heart beat in her throat.
"Da. Here."
She leaned over the table and whispered. "If you want." She clutched the sleeve of her pink jumper, readying herself.
He furrowed his brows, roaming her face and slowly traveling to her bag. But her gaze traced the sculpted lines of his forearms, the muscles flexing and relaxing as he shifted. A tendril of magic escaped her, almost as if it was seeking Krum's magic.
And it must have found it because for a second her magic stirred, enveloping her in a euphoric blanket, closing the world around them.
He cleared his throat and closed his magic. "The cat." A single eyebrow arched, and his eyes sparkled with a suppressed laugh.
"The cat!" She yelped. Merlin! What was wrong with her? Why was she checking him out again? Her face and ears were impossibly hot. She pretended not to know where it was, frantically searching for it everywhere except her pocket, trying to ease her racing heart.
"Here it is." She placed the feline on the table, and it pounced around once before curling itself.
Krum grunted, poking the feline with his wand. A frown etched itself across Krum's forehead.
"What's wrong?"
"Vork is not good."
"What do you mean?" Hermione examined the perfect cat.
"It is," his frown deepened and he clicked his tongue. He scowled his eyes dead set on an empty spot on the table.
Hermione dug around in her bag and gave him the dictionary. "Here." It must be so frustrating not being able to communicate.
His face relaxed, ceasing the deep lines on his forehead. "Ah, vank you." He flipped through the pages his eyes scanning the words. "It is amature vork."
"Amature?" Now it was her time for her forehead to crease.
"Da. Not best vork."
"But it's fantastic craftsmanship! I know to achieve something like this takes years of work and to achieve this at your age is an amazing testament to your skill."
"Your vords make me happy." His eyes dropped to her lips and flickered back to her face. "But it is not best."
Hermione's eyes were still trying to find faults with the golden fur ball. "What's wrong with it?"
"It energy is no good."
Hermione nodded and reached for the texts. She hated not being able to offer a solution. "Was there a mistake with the wand movements?"
"No."
She furrowed her brows, and her eyes traveled from him to the cat. "Oh. The incantation then?"
Krum scooted closer and a hint of something pleasant made her nose twitch. "No." He smiled, his eyes roamed her face to a stray curl above her ear. She tracked his eyes and instinctively tucked it behind her ear. "I vas not focused."
"Oh." Her heart hammered in her chest, she swallowed, her magic coming to the surface of her skin.
It looked like the seeker wanted to say more but he stopped himself. His scowl returned, and he sighed easing the lines between his eyes. "Vatch my hands, is very important. Then ve do incantations."
He took out his wand and pointed to the sleeping cat. His hand, strong and confident was covered with a myriad of tiny white scars. His family ring danced in the air as he raised his wand. With every flick of his wrist, a tendril of magic coated the air. A vein pulsed beneath his skin as his wrist circled the air.
And she, caught in the thrall of his artistry, felt her world shrink. Every breath hitched, every thought stilled, as she surrendered to the hypnotic ballet of his hands. Hermione had never seen hands like his. So confident, so utterly belonging to a man. There was such a beauty in his movements, his control of magic, the way the indications rolled off his tongue like silk.
With the last fluid movement, the cat sprung back to its energetic self. Her heart slowed to a normal rate as Krum thankfully pointed to a book in the middle of the stack and explained that she should start with Theories and Implications of Complex Wand Movements.
After an hour of quietly reading, Hermione's thoughts wandered to the enigmatic seeker next to her. He had finished her assignment and seemed to be working on translating sentences. She had almost forgotten the whole reason why he was at Hogwarts. Next week he would be putting his name in the goblet. She blinked trying to focus on her text, but her eyes sought the Bulgarian.
She pushed her book away, her thoughts scattered everywhere but the book. She knew why the twins wanted to join. The prize money would set them up for whatever they had planned after they graduated. But Krum? She doubted he needed the money or 'eternal glory.'
The cat jumped on her page and she smiled seeing the cat roll around chasing the rose. "Can I ask you something?"
His quill halted, lifted off the paper and he raised an eyebrow. "Vot is it?"
"Are you putting your name in the goblet next week?"
"Da, is vhy ve here." His brows furrowed and Hermione's cheeks dusted in pink at the obvious question.
"Why?"
He set the quill down and flipped through the dictionary. " I vant challenge."
Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes. He was risking his life for a challenge? He was even more ridiculous than the twins!
"You angry?"
"Yes!" She huffed out.
His brows knitted together. "Vhy?"
"Because you're risking getting hurt, possibly killed, for what? Just because you're bored?!" She huffed again. "That's so incredibly stupid!"
His head tilted to the side and smirked, "you care for me?"
"Of course!" She blurted unable to stop herself.
His smirk, initially a mere twitch of amusement, bloomed into a full-fledged grin. "Vhy?"
"Because–" She bit her lip. Why did she care if he joined? She straightened her back. "Because we are classmates."
He hummed, his eyes never leaving hers. She averted his eyes because if she didn't she felt like she'd be sucked into that damned gravitational pull. "No friends?" He asked teasingly.
Krum inched closer, his cheek rested on his knuckles. The answer should have been yes, Hermione would have loved to be his friend. Yet she hesitated. Her cheeks never dusted with color nor did her skin come to life with her magic with her friends.
He took out with wand and transfigured a piece of parchment into a stunning yellow rose. "Vill you be my friend Miss Gran-ger?"
The curly-haired witch took the flower and admired the color and shape of the petals. She nodded and Krum frowned. Hermione corrected herself and shook her head enthusiastically. "Yes. I'd love to be friends."
He beamed at her and she clenched the fabric of her sweater. Should her heart be beating so fast over his smile? "Good." He toyed with the petals, rubbing them in between his rough fingers. "You call me Viktor now, yes?"
Hermione smiled and replied, "Only if you called me by my name." A large part of her knew that he would most likely struggle as Oleg had, but the larger part of her wanted to hear her name off his lips.
"Say your pretty name," he stared at her pink lips before his eyes traveled to her eyes, "for me."
She licked her lips, aware of his burning gaze shifting from her eyes to her mouth. "Her-my–oh-knee." Her cheeks flared as his eyes continued to linger.
"Her-me-own-knee." He mouthed slowly as if he didn't want to butcher her difficult name.
Her lips twitched upwards and she corrected him three more times. Each time his eyes never left her mouth, always intent on getting it right.
After their three-hour study session, Hermione made a beeline to visit Madam Pomfrey.