Hermione
October 23 - Friday
Hermione's smile widened as more words filled the page. While she had only meant to write to occupy her time while waiting for Ginny, she found that she had a lot to say about her two new friends. She told her mother about Oleg and the book he gave her.
Her heart fluttered, and her smile grew as she told her mother about Viktor. Hermione shared all she knew about the Seeker and wished there was more to tell.
"Are you here, Hermione?" Ginny asked, waiting outside her curtain.
The older witch put down her pen and rubbed her palms on her thighs. "In here."
Ginny didn't look much better. She played with her hair, her eyes darting everywhere except at Hermione.
"Hey," Hermione greeted the redhead, ushering the witch to take a seat on the other side of the bed.
Ginny's smile was small and shaky. "Hey."
"Are you okay, Ginny?"
"Yes, just a bit nervous, that's all."
Hermione's stomach dropped. She rarely saw Ginny nervous, not even when she played her first Quidditch game. She exhaled and offered an equally shaky smile. This was the first time she had heard anything about the magic that pulled her towards wizards. She had found nothing in books. Nothing. As time went on, she had been so sure that the problem was her.
"I'm sorry," that's all Hermione could say.
Ginny shook her head. "Nah, it's fine," she exhaled, and her shoulders relaxed. She yanked a strap on her forearm guards and placed them on her lap. She flashed Hermione that confident and beautiful smile that was so utterly Ginny. "Not like anyone is going to explain this to you."
Hermione bit her lip and fiddled with the hem of her shirt. Her heart was steadily beating faster. "Thank you."
The redhead leaned her hands on the mattress. The incoming sunset light filtered through the windows, making her red hair look alive. "Don't sweat it, Granger." She pointed her thumb to the curtains, "you mind?"
Hermione shook her head and cast a Muffliato and a Quietus. Magic filled the air, tingling her skin before fizzling out.
"Right, okay," Ginny gulped, took one breath, and played with her fingerless gloves. "So the bond, um, the magic you feel, pulls you towards other people." Hermione held her breath. The bond, that's what the pull was called. "It pulls you, makes you attracted to wizards who you are magically compatible with."
The older witch nodded and waited for Ginny to continue, her eyebrow arched inquisitively. "Right." Hermione leaned forward, beckoning Ginny to go on.
Ginny twirled a red silky strand of hair on her finger. "The bond makes it so you find someone whose magic is a complement to yours."
Hermione's eyebrows rose, unsure how to process this. On one hand, it was amazing that magic could do that. Her brows furrowed, "so theoretically, a witch could have multiple connections."
"That's right."
"Where does the magic come from?"
Ginny shrugged her shoulders. "Heck if I know."
The crease in Hermione's forehead deepened. "Does the wizard feel the pull too?"
Ginny smirked. "Oh yeah. It's a two-way connection."
This whole time Viktor felt it too? Wait. That meant that Fred and Malfoy felt it as well. Hermione shuddered at the thought. The first time she had felt the bond, had been with Malfoy four years ago, but he had immediately forced it shut. "Can you close the bond?" Hermione asked.
Ginny's brows knitted together. "Yeah, but it's more work than not."
"What do you mean?"
"You can force it to stay quiet, but you need to be constantly pouring magic into it."
"Huh, interesting. So the bond attracts you to people even if you aren't interested in them."
Hermione's mind whirled with questions, yet the most obvious one remained unanswered. "I don't understand why something this important isn't talked about." The more she thought about it, the more it made sense to inform students of this.
"It is," Ginny explained, her lips curving slightly, forming a tender yet sorrowful expression. "Well, if you can call that a talk. Our parents explain it to us when we turn 13."
Hermione clenched her hands into fists, frustration building. "I see. But I still don't understand why it's frowned upon, and more importantly, why I haven't been able to find any information about it."
"Because of wizarding culture," Ginny explained, rolling her eyes. "Old farts with their old-fashioned ways of thinking. They don't want to, nor do they think it's prudent to mention it. I also think it's because it's assumed that your parents will tell you and never talk about it again."
"Why didn't you ever mention it?" Hermione didn't want to, she really didn't, but a huge part of her was angry and hurt that no one bothered to tell her and Harry about it.
Ginny stopped playing with her hair and looked at the ceiling. "I guess because of Mum. You know how she is. In that regard, she and Dad are very much still part of the old wizarding world. After she told us about the bond, she banned talk of it." She smiled and leaned back on the bed. "But I guess having so many older brothers comes in handy." She swatted the air. "Brothers like Charlie and Bill. My other brothers are useless, especially Percy. He always has a stick up his arse."
Hermione tilted her head. There was still something missing. There had to be a reason as to why even the Weasleys, as liberal as they were, avoided talking about it. "Why don't people talk about it?"
"It's the sex," Ginny exclaimed. Hermione took in a sharp breath; that was not what she was expecting. Ginny couldn't help but giggle. "The bond works in a way that your magic seeks out compatible magic. In the process, it enhances the physical connection." She winked twice, a mischievous smirk slowly creeping onto her face. "If you catch my drift." Ginny laughed, amused by Hermione's startled expression. "Old prudes believe that merely discussing it encourages everyone we share a link with to get freaky under the sheets." She rolled her eyes with a hint of exasperation. "And they think it's like airing your knickers to dry in public. It's extremely shameful."
"Okay, but that still doesn't really make sense as to why I have never heard about it until now."
Ginny sighed. "It's a pureblood thing. It mostly has to do with courting customs and relationships. Can you imagine the mess it would cause to be engaged to someone, like a lot of purebloods are from young, and then announce you have the uncontrollable hots for someone else? That's why it's not mentioned; it causes a lot of problems with relationships. Most of the time, the bond is subtle enough to ignore it. Plus, pure-bloods do it to control their children from getting freaky before marriage."
Hermione scoffed. "So all of this is because of celibacy?" How ridiculous.
"I guess."
"But it's part of you. It's your magic. It's like your sexuality. It's not something other people can control."
"Maybe. But that's not how the wizarding world sees it. I mean even we, blood traitors were taught to believe it was something shameful, something you ignore and move on. Because only Merlin knows how disgraceful it would be to give in to 'primal magic' as my mum puts it."
Indignation burned hot in Hermione's veins. The reason she felt like there was something wrong with her was because purebloods believed that sex was wrong. She scoffed; how utterly ridiculous. "That's beyond stupid," Hermione sneered. She couldn't help the venom that slipped.
"It is."
Ginny patiently spent the next thirty minutes answering to the best of her ability all of Hermione's questions. The Chaser informed Hermione that the only way to stop feeling the bond with multiple people was to get married. With pureblood marriage rituals, the pair are tied together, essentially uniting their magic.
The more Ginny explained, the more questions Hermione had. Unfortunately for her, Ginny was almost as clueless as she was.
As the game neared, the two witches walked to the Quidditch pitch. The night air chilled Hermione's burning skin. She inhaled, trying to stop her rage from spilling out. All Hermione could think about was how unbelievably unfair this was.
Ginny bumped Hermione's shoulder, breaking her out of her reprieve. "Hey, so you never told me who this mystery wizard is, who you may or may not like."
The curly-haired witch sighed and hugged her chest. She bit her lip, hesitating before answering. "It's Viktor."
With a raised eyebrow, Ginny questioned, "Krum? Really? Never took you as one to like muppets."
"Yes, really." Hermione stood straighter. "And he's not a muppet! He's incredibly intelligent and a genius at Transfiguration."
Ginny held up her hands in the air. She eyed Hermione before her brown eyes met hers. "You like him."
Hermione nodded, and Ginny hummed, looking at the stars. "You feel the bond with him, don't you?" She added, looking at the older witch with almost sad eyes.
A smile crept across Hermione's face before she could catch it. "Yes."
The rest of the walk to the pitch was strangely quiet. Hermione was sure she was going to be interrogated by the lively and rather nosy Weasley, but Ginny's eyes stayed focused straight ahead.
They separated ways as Ginny met up with the team, and Hermione climbed the treacherous stairs to her spot next to Neville.
Hermione noticed how noisy and spirited the crowd was.
"What's going on?" Hermione asked Neville, who was uncharacteristically hyper. "Did I miss something?"
Neville leaned close, his eyes were scanning the Slytherin area. "Yeah! Krum is here!"
Hermione's heart involuntarily beat faster. "Oh."
The game started, and the players took to the sky. She waved and wished good luck to Harry and Ron as they passed by. They had this goofy, childish smile on their faces that warmed Hermione's heart. Ron pointed to the Slytherin stands, a beaming grin on his face.
Her brown eyes tracked Ron's finger. She squinted, trying to make out the figure, though she was certain who Ron was talking about.
Madam Hooch flew to the middle of the pitch and released the four balls—Bludgers and Quaffles.
From her spot in the stands, Hermione felt her heart hammering against her ribs. Ginny's face contorted in concentration, chased a Bludger while Angelina soared gracefully, deflecting a rogue Quaffle. A Beauxbatons student took her position next to the Gryffindor captain and passed the Quaffle to Ginny, who tried to score but was blocked by Slovoda. The flirty Russian winked, and Ginny flipped him off, causing a nearby McGonagall to gasp. A Slytherin beater batted a Bludger towards Angelina, but George walloped it away with a resounding crack.
The Bludger screeched, changing course to menace Malfoy, who swerved sharply with a snarl. Fred, grinning devilishly, met the Bludger head-on with his bat, sending it hurtling back towards the Slytherin Chasers, momentarily disrupting their play.
And then, there they were: Harry and Malfoy, locked in a silent duel for the Golden Snitch, a tiny glint of gold against the dark sky. They zoomed past the stands and darted toward the Slytherin goalpost. Their broomsticks swerved and dipped, inches apart. Hermione frowned. The way Harry was playing was different, more careless, so much so that Neville commented on it.
Suddenly, the Snitch darted, a flash of lightning. Harry, with reckless abandon, dove after it, broomstick tilting at an impossible angle. Malfoy snarled, hot on his heels.
Time seemed to slow. Hermione watched, frozen, as Harry leaned forward, his shins holding his weight, and stretched out a hand, fingertips grazing the Snitch. But the wind snagged his robes, throwing him off balance. His broom spun, hurtling him towards the unforgiving ground.
A collective gasp ripped through the crowd. Before the earth could meet him, a blur of green shot forward. It was Slovoda, his jaw clenched tight, pulling his lips into a thin, taut line. With a deft twist of his broom, he deflected Harry's trajectory, slowing him just enough to break his fall with a bone-jarring thud into the grassy pitch. With a sickening thud, Slovoda slammed to the ground beside Harry.
Harry crumpled to the ground, the breath whooshing out of his lungs in a pained hiss, and a small pool of blood poured down from his arm, soaking into the emerald grass.
The Russian scrambled to his feet, movements jerky and strained. His green robes were spattered with dirt, and a thin line of crimson trickled down his temple, partially hidden by his windswept hair.
Hermione's chest constricted, and the world around her blurred. She steadied herself on Neville's arm. Taking a deep breath, she stopped the world from spinning and raced down the stands, ignoring the jostling crowd, her eyes fixed on Harry's prone bleeding form.
Viktor
"He's going to lose control of his broom," Viktor told his brother and Oleg seconds before Potter lost control.
Vladimir dove after the seeker, and they both crashed to the ground with a loud thump.
The whistle blew, and the players halted their movements. The school's flying professor approached Vlad and Potter. The blond waved her off, cocked his head toward Potter, and shook his head.
The professor with short blond hair crouched next to Potter and took out her wand to diagnose the boy. Both captains landed next to the professor and looked over their players. A boy with short black hair and crooked teeth asked something of their keeper, but Vlad waved him off and grabbed his broom. The witch placed her hand on Potter's shoulder. Her smile faltered, the corners of her mouth dipping downwards as she shook her head.
Potter shook his head and tried to grab his broom, but his captain yanked it away and shook her head. His face contorted, surely from a broken bone by the way he had landed. He reached for it, his brows furrowed.
A flurry of hair raced across the field, and Viktor leaned closer. Hermione approached the sitting wizard who was still arguing with the lion's captain. Her hands cupped his cheeks, and her eyes traveled across his body. She gasped when she saw the blood pooled on the floor, and her hands snapped to his.
She pointed to the castle and aggressively nodded, but Potter looked to the broom and shook her hands off before arguing with both witches. He stood up and winced but managed to grab his broom from his captain. He smiled and gave a thumbs-up. His captain, obviously satisfied, nodded her head.
Hermione, though, was enraged. She snatched the broom from his hands and shot both Quidditch players a deadly stare.
Alexei laughed, the noise muffled by his hand. "That's some glare." He swung his leg to rest on his other knee. "Are you sure nothing is going on between those two?"
"Yes."
No.
The curly-haired witch pushed the Seeker's broom at the captain, grabbed Potter's arm, and jerked him towards the castle. He protested, planting his feet firmly on the ground. Hermione shoved her slender finger into his chest and said something, and Potter relented with a sigh. Both captains took to the skies again and called over their respective teams.
"That sure doesn't look like nothing. She's practically dragging him away against his wishes. She's undermining his authority."
Viktor clenched his hands. Alexei was right. No wizard would allow himself to get bossed around by someone who wasn't a close family member or an intended.
Alexei continued. "You need to get your act together, Viktor, if you have intentions of courting her. And the first thing to do is to ask her if she's courting Potter or one of the redheads."
"I can ask if you want," offered Oleg.
Viktor shook his head. "No, it's something I have to do."
Hermione and Potter were walking when she stopped and turned around. She motioned with her head to her friend, and she ran back.
Viktor furrowed his brows. His nails almost broke the skin of his palms when she snaked her arms around Vladimir's middle. She squeezed him, let go, and said something to him. Viktor's jaw clenched, and he gritted his teeth.
Alexei sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Merlin's nuts. That witch has no sense of decency."
Oleg tilted his head, murmured two spells, and spoke, still looking at Vladimir and Hermione. "She's thanking him for saving Potter. Don't think anything of it, Viktor. I told you, for her, touching wizards is not indecent."
Viktor knew too fucking well that was the case, yet something ugly clawed at him. "Right." He watched her retreat with Potter hanging onto her. She held him like he would break if she let go. He flexed his clenched fists, calming the ugly beast that was poking its head through.
The lions, without their star player, struggled to find their rhythm throughout the game. The Slytherin Chasers were swift and relentless. They dominated the pitch, while the twins were head-to-head with a fellow Durmstrang student, Ivan, and a rather ruthless French brunette.
Hermione's friends, who made up half of the team, struggled to find their footing with their new Seeker. The redhead witch was a surprisingly good Seeker. She had good reflexes and great speed. Viktor could easily see the girl as a Seeker or a Chaser. She had a lot of raw potential to play either position.
The other redheaded friend, the Keeper, though young, displayed impressive reflexes and agility, but his skills were far from the polished ones from Vladimir. Even after his fall, he was able to block most of the shots from the lions. The new Chaser, a boy with dark skin, hesitated most of the time. His throws lacked power and accuracy.
Every now and then, the blonde Seeker would swoop by, executing a series of sharp, serpentine-like twists and turns through the air.
As the Snitch darted near the stands, a flicker of gold against the night sky, both Seekers surged forward. The Malfoy heir, however, held back a fraction of a second, calculative, and experienced; he cut across her path, his green robes billowing.
The witch, thrown off balance, swerved sharply. Her broom bucked, momentarily losing altitude. It was all the time Malfoy needed. He shot forward, his hand outstretched, fingers brushing the Snitch's delicate wings before it could vanish again.
Perhaps if it had been daytime, the redhead would have stood a chance. Her mistake had been diving for the Snitch without thinking of the next move.
Viktor waited for the crowds and for his fan group to disperse before casting a Disillusionment Charm. He savored the hushed silence of the empty Quidditch pitch. He closed his eyes, and a deep breath of the chilly air filled his lungs.
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, missing the thrill and adrenaline from matches. His muscles craved the satisfying scream of exertion and the bittersweet burn in his lungs after a long chase.
Just as he turned to depart, a flicker of motion snagged his gaze to the spot where Vlad and Potter crashed.
"Tьmozrѣnie." Viktor blinked a couple of times, his eyes adjusting to the darkness.
The professor with the magical eye bent over the red spot on the ground before vanishing the blood. He tucked something in his pocket and waddled to the castle.
Having no appetite for dinner, Viktor sought refuge in the skies. His skin and bones ached for a challenge, craving the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.
He steered his broom toward the dense forest. The trees stretched before him, blanketed by the night and illuminated by the moonlit sky. Viktor withdrew his wand and pressed the tip to his temple. His eyes burned before adjusting to the darkness.
"Fuck it."
His powerful thighs clamped onto his sleek Firebolt, his body leaning forward, and with an explosive burst of energy, he catapulted into the woods. The wind roared in his ears as he zipped through the dense forest, a blur of motion weaving effortlessly between the towering trees. Adrenaline surged through his veins, every muscle in his body responding to the exhilarating thrill of speed.
Approaching a sharp corner, he leaned harder into his Firebolt. The muscles in his thighs strained with the effort, his body crouching low, the broomstick tilting with unparalleled precision. The broomstick responded immediately, swerving sharply while narrowly avoiding the gnarled branches.
Suddenly, a colossal tree came into view. Its gnarled and twisted branches reached out in all directions like outstretched claws, its weathered bark bearing scars and grooves. Its massive branches thrashed widely as Viktor neared.
He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the crisp air, savoring the adrenaline already coursing through his veins. A ghost of a smile played on his lips, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of anticipation and exhilaration.
Viktor's fingers clenched with an iron resolve around the broomstick handle, his knuckles turning white as he tightened his grip in anticipation of the impending challenge.
As he hurtled towards the looming, towering magical tree, its branches thrashed. It swung its branches, trying to catch the taunting Seeker. He circled the tree and it swung three branches back and forth, a fourth snuck around Viktor, almost trapping him.
Viktor guided the broomstick upwards. The whooping branches, eager to ensnare their prey, swept upwards with menacing force. Viktor's senses sharpened. Time seemed to slow, allowing him to calculate his movements. In a heartbeat, Viktor sailed beneath the whipping limbs, the loose branches and sharp leaves scraping his hands and face.
With his bleeding hands, he jerked his Firebolt to the side and emerged on the other side, a triumphant grin playing on his lips.
Tired and bloodied, Viktor tilted his head back and savored the burn in his muscles. He flew slowly back to the ship, considering adding the tree as part of his training.
October 30 - Saturday
Viktor spent his Saturday cooped up in the belly of the ship with the Hope Diamond, his newest assignment from Professor Kamen. The cursed, dark grayish-blue diamond posed a significant challenge. He had to handle it with runed gloves to avoid activating the curse.
The diamond imprisoned the vengeful spirit of a witch who had been tricked into slaughtering her family, allowing her husband to remarry a younger witch and claim her family's wealth.
If Viktor were to activate the diamond, the spirit would relentlessly pursue him, wreaking havoc until his family met a dire fate.
He slouched over piles of texts, scouring them for a solution to handle the artifact without unleashing its curse. After hours of research, he cracked his back and called it a day.
Viktor lumbered through the ship's deck to his cabin when his headmaster called out to him.
Karkaroff stood in the quarterdeck, his hands behind his back. "Viktor, there you are."
"Headmaster." Viktor clicked his heels together and marched closer.
The old wizard turned around and gestured towards his private quarters.
"Come, let's have dinner."
The Seeker clenched his jaw and followed Karkaroff's command.
Karkaroff's private chamber exuded a luxury that seemed out of place for him. It was adorned with a stunning oak table and an opulent grand sofa. The expansive room seamlessly transitioned into his bedroom through large, imposing doors.
"Take a seat," Karkaroff commanded once more, and Viktor obediently settled into a chair. "Domovok." The scrawny elf materialized in the room, respectfully lowering his head. "Fetch dinner."
"Yes, master," the elf bowed and vanished.
Within moments, Domovok reappeared, skillfully presenting – sauerbraten, marinated roast beef accompanied by potato dumplings and red cabbage. Two tumblers filled with Firewhiskey materialized in their hands.
Karkaroff took a swig of the amber liquid and set the glass on the table. He cut a piece of meat and chewed on it. "Finally, some decent food. None of that watered-down shite they serve in the castle."
Viktor hummed in agreement, grateful for the hearty stew. He swirled the Firewhiskey in his glass, tapping his ring against the rim, awaiting Karkaroff's purpose for their meeting.
"I have unfortunate news," the headmaster stated, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "My sources have yet to find a reliable English mole."
"I see, that's… unfortunate."
"But don't worry. We are making progress. By the end of next week, we should know your first assignment."
Viktor nodded, too fatigued to argue. He hadn't heard from his father and assumed The Watch had yet to uncover anything.
"Tomorrow, you shall become our champion," the old wizard declared, intertwining his fingers in front of his face. "As the representative of our school, I anticipate nothing less than perfection from you. You are not merely an individual but the embodiment of Durmstrang's image."
On his feet, Viktor slightly bowed. "I will, Headmaster," he said, straightening his back. "Do you need anything else?"
"No," Karkaroff replied, eyeing Viktor's drink on the table, dismissing it with a wave of his hand.
Without wasting another moment, Viktor turned on his heels and strode to his room. His eyes stung with exhaustion, and his shoulders and neck felt like lead.
As he opened his room, all he wanted was to crash into his bed.
"Where have you been?" Vlad demanded, throwing Viktor's snitch at him from his usual spot at the desk. Viktor caught it and sighed. So much for resting. His stomach twisted at the sight of his friend. All he could see was Hermione's face pressed against Vladimir's chest. "You've been avoiding me."
Viktor sat on the couch, closed his eyes, and pinched the corners of his eyes. Gods, they hurt like a bitch. "What do you need, Vlad?"
Vlad scoffed. "You know very fucking well why I am here."
The burning sting in his eyes prevented Viktor from looking at his friend, or at least that's what he told himself.
"You're pissed. I get it."
Viktor scrunched his brows together. Was he pissed off? He exhaled, dropping his shoulders. Yes, he was pissed about the hug, but it was mostly at himself. He had wanted to send Vladimir flying the instant her arms encircled him.
"You're right," Viktor said, opening his red eyes and looking at his friend.
The blond reached for something in his pocket and chucked it at the Seeker. Viktor caught the cold metal tin. "New formulation. Should help with the irritation."
"Thanks," Viktor's lips quirked up. He opened the tin, scooped the cold, blue goop onto his fingers, and slathered the paste over both his eyes. The mixture seeped into his lids, his eyes burning for an instant before relief washed over them. "It's much better than the last two batches."
"It should be, I added sage powder and chopped ditany. I also cut the brew time by two minutes."
Basking in the relief, Viktor hummed. The chair scraped and Vladimir's footsteps stopped.
"You've got your work cut out for you with that witch, Viktor. She's like nothing like the witches back home."
"I know," Viktor smiled. "She is quite unique. She's effortlessly herself, and that's why she's worth all the work."
October 31 - Sunday
The Great Hall buzzed with students, cobwebs draping the normally pristine stone walls, their silken strands catching the flickering light of hundreds of jack-o'-lanterns lining the tables.
The Goblet of Fire stood in the center of the room, encircled by magic and runes. Its bronze surface was etched with indentations, and burn marks scorched most of the surface. Runes coiled around the rim. Black soot dripped and hardened from the bowl to the stem.
A palpable aura of magic pulsed around the artifact. As Viktor neared, the air grew thick and heavy, charged with magic.
"That's an impressive barrier," Oleg commented, scanning the ground.
"It is," Viktor agreed. Not only had the person, whom Viktor assumed was Dumbledore, used runes to fortify the barrier, but they also employed a combination of charms and Arithmancy.
The tall Russian stepped closer and nodded. "Alexei, can you try stepping closer?"
The younger Krum obliged but was propelled backward. "What the fuck?"
Oleg smiled. "Amazing. Truly fascinating."
Vlad laughed, "Oh yes, nothing more fascinating than runes."
"This level of detail is fascinating though."
The blond rolled his eyes and marched to the Slytherin table. The rest of the Durmstrang contingent took their places and waited for the rest of the students and the headmasters to arrive.
A familiar tug of magic pulled Viktor's eyes to the door. Hermione walked in, talking to the lion's Chaser. Their eyes met, and she looked away, a beautiful blush creeping onto her skin. The redhead snickered and wiggled her eyebrows. She met Viktor's eyes and nudged Hermione with her elbow.
Those lovely, warm brown eyes met him again, she smiled, and Viktor's heart skipped a beat. His face contorted into a scowl when the twins appeared.
One of them dropped his arm around her shoulder and pointed to the Goblet. "Please, Granger, who else but you can give us last-minute information!"
She shrugged him off and replied with something Viktor couldn't make out.
Oleg uncharacteristically rolled his eyes and with a low voice commented, "How disgraceful. They have no shame, continuously embarrassing her."
Viktor scowled deeper when the other redhead placed his hands on her shoulders and slid them down slowly. Hermione flinched at the contact and stopped talking to the other twin to look at his brother. A smirk appeared on his face, and the son of a bitch met Viktor's eyes, his usually playful smile turned challenging as his hands reached her elbows and he led her to their table.
Viktor's knuckles turned white, and his breathing became uneven. "That son of a bitch."
Alexei's hand clamped down on his brother's shoulder, anchoring him to his spot. "She is not yours to claim and defend, Viktor."
Yet.
"Your brother is right. Plus, the fiery kitten can, like always, defend herself." He cocked his head towards the lion's table, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
Hermione had shooed the twins away and was sitting between Potter and the Keeper.
"Karkaroff is going to arrive soon. Don't let him see you all riled up. It will give him an excuse to summon you after you get chosen."
Viktor exhaled and tore his eyes away from those redheads.
The three headmasters, professors and an older wizard with a mustache walked in and took their respective seats. Dumbledore, as the host, sat in the middle, with Karkaroff immediately to his right and Madam Maxime to his left.
The Hogwarts headmaster rose from his seat. "Students, as we gather for the All Hallows' Evening feast, embrace the magical atmosphere and festive decorations." The old wizard clapped his hands together. "This is a time for celebration and camaraderie. Enjoy the feast, savor the magical delights, and embrace the spirit of the season with enthusiasm."
With a flick of Dumbledore's wrist, mountains of food appeared on the tables. Among the feast, a hearty borscht garnished with a dollop of sour cream caught the Seeker's eye.
Viktor eyed the Goblet, and his fingers drummed a lively rhythm on the table. He finished the soup and piled succulent beef stroganoff served alongside fluffy buckwheat kasha onto his plate.
His eyes drifted to the curly-haired witch, who was smiling and talking to the Chaser. His lips twitched, and he took a bite of the beef, trying to hide it.
After dinner, dessert was served. Viktor took a pastry ball from a tower of delicate croquembouche adorned with spun sugar and squeezed it in his fingers before plopping it in his mouth. His brow arched as Oleg piled on his very own sugary tower. He took another pastry from the pile and scrutinized it.
The adrenaline kept building as the seconds ticked by. Scanning the room, many of the older students looked tense. Viktor tilted his head and eyed the badger's table. There was a boy with light skin and brown hair whose eyes didn't leave the Goblet. Though the most determined looks came from the Gryffindor table. The Chaser and Captain, her gaze narrowed, were fixed on the Goblet ahead with unwavering focus.
Tonight, most of the noise came from the younger students. A soft laugh drew his eyes to Hermione's group. Her laugh wasn't just a sound; it was a melody. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Fuck sake, Viktor!" hissed Alexei in a low voice. "You look like a god-damned fool."
Vlad leaned closer, his lips twitching as he spoke in Bulgarian. "When you're in love, even a crow looks like a falcon to you."
Viktor scowled at him and clenched his jaw. Hermione was art among painted faces. Sometimes she was colorful like now, and sometimes dull when she wasn't interested in something, like Quidditch. Sometimes bright, with hopeful eyes, when she spoke of things she liked, sometimes only black and white. But she was always a piece of exquisite art.
"You're slipping," commented Alexei, his back straight as a needle. He tilted his head towards the front table. "You're lucky Karkaroff and Sigurd are occupied."
Viktor stared at the sticky ball in his fingers. He brought it under the table and took out his wand. He breathed and focused on the soft texture of the sweet treat. Viktor envisioned soft, light wings coming from it and willed his magic to obey. The ball squirmed before two wings made out of sugar emerged from either side. Fluttering in place, the Seeker pointed his wand at it, and the words 'Wish me luck' formed on the surface before vanishing. With a flick of his wand, the snitch-looking pastry flew away.
It darted and dodged feet, zigzagging its way to its destination. It traveled upwards with the speed of a snitch and stopped in front of the curly-haired witch.
Her brows furrowed as she cupped the ball. She touched it with her delicate finger, and the sugar words came to life. Soft, brown eyes found him, her lovely face relaxed, but instead of smiling, she bit her lip. Hermione's eyes scrutinized the Goblet and then returned to Viktor's. The furrow in her brows returned, she shook her head, and mouthed 'no.'
His lips twitched in amusement, and she defiantly turned her head away from both him and the Goblet.
"Did you just get rejected?" asked Vlad, failing to look uninterested.
"Yes, I think so," Viktor replied, amused.
The three headmasters stood up, and Dumbledore stepped forward, tapping his wand on the marble phoenix. The room quietened, and Viktor's heart beat faster.
"Dear students, as we embark on the excitement of the Triwizard Tournament, I must remind you of the gravity and danger that come with this magical competition. The Age Line that surrounds the Goblet of Fire is not merely a formality—it is a protective measure to ensure that only those of legal adult age may participate. Consider the risks, and remember that once your name is entered, the magical contract is binding. The challenges that lie ahead are not to be taken lightly. Choose wisely, for your safety and the success of the tournament depend on it. May your decisions be guided by wisdom and courage."
The old wizard clapped his hands and the corner of his eyes lifted with a smile. "Given the nature of the tournament and its challenges, the champions shall be granted their own private rooms in the castle. Additionally, to celebrate the union of our sister schools, starting next week students will be allowed to si
t where they please."
The room exploded in a joyous cacophony of whoops, hollers, and high-fives. Students beamed, their faces aglow with shared enthusiasm, as they turned to their peers.
The Durmstrang and Beauxbaton headmasters joined Dumbledore. "We united in the spirit of magical camaraderie, shall now collectively ignite the Goblet."
Dumbledore raised his wand high, the tip glowing with ethereal light, while Madam Maxine and Karkaroff encircled the Goblet. In unison, they chanted an incantation, their wands emitting sparks that danced around the Goblet until it ignited.
The Hogwarts headmaster, with a piece of parchment in hand, tossed it into the fire, eliciting a hiss from the flames. Viktor's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Leave it to a great wizard like Dumbledore to come up with something as complex as using parchment. Then again, it shouldn't have surprised Viktor; he couldn't imagine Hogwarts students using blood magic.
Following suit, Karkaroff alarmed the students as he drew a dagger, slashing his hand over the quiet flames, which hissed in response. Nothing new from the Russian. He would never bother to come up with anything that required him to work or even think outside the box.
Finally, Madam Maxime delicately pinched a piece of her hair, plucking a strand before tossing it confidently into the Goblet, the flames reacting with a subtle hiss once more.
Viktor wanted to snicker at how perfectly each ritual suited their respective schools. Hogwarts was renowned for condemning dark magic, while Durmstrang embraced it, leaving the French school in the middle. White, dark, and gray, a perfect presentation.
As Madam Maxime gracefully stepped back, a surge of magic enveloped the Goblet, bringing it to life with a luminous glow. The once-dormant artifact pulsed with energy, making the age line glow.
"Students, now that the Goblet is ablaze, I invite each of you to step forward and submit your name, should you wish to participate in the Triwizard Tournament. Approach with both caution and conviction, for the path you tread may lead to challenges beyond imagination."
The old wizard took a step back and signaled for the Beauxbatons headmistress to come forward. The giant French witch stood straight, her silk robes billowing with her movements. "Beauxbatons students, step forward," she commanded, her French laced voice carrying across the hall.
The Beauxbatons students glided forward, moving with remarkable grace, and elegantly plucked strands of their hair, dropping them into the Goblet with fluid motions. Some paused in their steps, casting flirtatious glances and batting their eyelashes at Viktor, before sitting down.
Viktor glowered at them in return. They were now the competition, and though they looked like frail lilies, they hid thorns beneath their petals.
When the last witch stepped forward, Karkaroff approached the Goblet. He bowed and kissed the French witch's hand. She inclined her head and strode to stand beside Dumbledore.
"Students of Durmstrang, approach," Karkaroff declared, and the brown tunic students rose in unison and marched to stand in line. Viktor felt the energy coursing through his veins, urging him forward. He stood in front of the Goblet, the magic around him tingling his skin. Taking a step closer, he passed the age line.
Karkaroff smiled, his lips stretching too wide, revealing uneven and stained teeth. His eyes shone like a deranged convict on the brink of freedom.
Viktor took out his dagger, his heart beating faster as the magic from the Goblet mixed with his own. Logic gave way to instinct, and Viktor's skilled Seeker eyes found their target. Hermione was looking away until the Chaser called her name and tilted her head towards the Goblet.
Hushed murmurs erupted as Viktor smirked at her. Her lips parted and curved up, but her eyes went wide, almost as if she had forgotten why he was standing there with a dagger in hand. Her smile died, and she turned away.
With a quick slash, his palm opened. The sting disappeared as soon as Viktor's blood touched the fire. For a second, the magic from the Goblet engulfed him, like a cold snowy breeze. The Goblet's magic seeped into his skin, reaching his own magic and taking hold. It felt as though his being was being constricted for a second before the feeling melted into nothingness.
Durmstrang's headmaster was glaring at him with a suppressed snarl on his face. Viktor straightened his back and walked back to the snake's table.
"What the fuck was that, Viktor?" Alexei nagged as Viktor sat down.
Viktor shrugged. "Exactly what it looked like."
The younger Krum clenched his jaw. "Karkaroff looks like he wants to skin you."
"He'll have to wait."
The rest of the ceremony passed in a flash. The twins were among the first ones to enter from Hogwarts. The lion's captain followed suit along with the rest of the lions.
"Most of Hogwarts' participants are Gryffindors," remarked Oleg, his eyes continuing to scan the line.
Viktor hummed in agreement and wondered why there was such a discrepancy between the houses. The lions made up at least half of the participants, followed by the snakes, then the badgers, and lastly the ravens. A blonde, older student with blue robes was the last one to drop his name into the Goblet.
"Is there anyone else?" Dumbledore inquired, his voice carrying throughout the hall as he scanned the room. No one stepped forward, and the great wizard nodded. "Very well." He held his hand in the air and waved it at the hanging lanterns and decorations, banishing them. The tables were pushed to the walls, and the Goblet floated to the middle of the room. Dumbledore, Madam Maxime, and Karkaroff walked off the front where the other professors were and gathered to stand at the back of the Goblet.
"Now the moment we all have been waiting for, the champion selection!" announced Dumbledore.
The three headmasters walked up to the Goblet with their right hand held up. In synchrony, they all touched the Goblet and stepped back. The Goblet came to life as red angry flames rose up. The two headmasters stepped back to stand behind the headmistress.
Madam Maxime gracefully placed her hand up, and a ribbon of fire coiled around her wrist. She smiled and held up a large palm. "Fleur Delacour!" The Beaxubatons clapped, and a witch with blonde hair tied up in a ponytail waltzed to the front. She curtsied in front of Dumbledore and Karkaroff and took her place next to her headmistress.
Karkaroff stepped forward and copied the headmistress' moves. The moment the fire touched the Durmstang's headmaster's skin, Viktor felt thousands of small delicate tendrils of magic whirl around his body. "Viktor Krum!" shouted Karkaroff.
Viktor's heart sped up at the thought of the challenges that would push him over his limit. His brother, friends, and fellow Durmstrang students congratulated him as he made his way to Karkaroff.
He kissed the back of Madam Maxime's hand and shook Dumbledore and Karkaroff's hands.
"I knew it would be you," said his headmaster in Russian. His hands clamped down on Viktor's shoulders, and he sent a wave of magic. Viktor clenched his teeth, trying not to wince at the searing pain. "Don't think I didn't see you, boy."
Viktor's fists balled up at his sides, knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. He shrugged off Karkaroff's hands, took deep breaths through his nose, and willed his magic to stay calm.
"The Hogwarts champion is Angelina Johnson!" The hall erupted in cheers. Johnson threw her hand in the air and bolted to stand next to her headmaster.
Dumbledore extended his arms. "Excellent! Now we have our three champions." He brought his hands to his chest and intertwined his fingers. "But in the end, only one will go down in history."
The mustache wizard emerged with a covered object and placed it in front of the hall.
"Only one will hoist this chalice of champions, this vessel of victory, the Triwizard Cup!" The headmaster pointed at the object, and the sheet disappeared, revealing a glowing glass mockup of the Goblet. The hall filled with clapping and cheering.
Suddenly, the Goblet's flames danced wildly. The blue flames turned to red as a whip of flame erupted and tangled itself around Dumbledore's wrist.
"What is the meaning of this!?" bellowed Karkaroff.
Dumbledore stayed quiet, looking at his shaking palm. His voice was low as he finally murmured, "Harry Potter."
Viktor furrowed his brows, his confused face mirrored by everyone in the room.
"Harry Potter?" Dumbledore asked, looking frantically around the room. "Harry Potter?"
Gasps filled the air. Karkaroff's magic seeped off him as his eyes narrowed into slits, also searching for the Potter boy.
The groundskeeper shook his head violently. "No. No. No."
The Hogwarts headmaster sent a wave of magic, his voice roaring. "Harry Potter!"
All eyes turned to Potter. He was holding onto Hermione, his face had gone pale, and he looked sick. Hermione's face was much the same. He stared at her, and she put her hands on his shoulders and said something to him. Potter, however, remained in his spot. Hermione got up and shoved him towards the headmaster.
Potter dragged his feet, looking more sick by the second.
Voices from all over the hall asked the same questions. Potter hadn't put in his name in the Goblet, how was it that he was selected? Did the headmasters make a mistake?
The Transfiguration's professor tenderly placed a hand on Potter's shoulder before stepping in front of a wall. She murmured a combination of strange words and a door appeared.
The mustached wizard's face had gone pale, his eyebrows furrowed." Come along."
The second everyone had decended the stairs, pandemonium erupted.