Hermione took to keeping the diary in her pocket to push her magic into whenever she remembered to, which ended up being several times a day. In the meantime, her attention was drawn to a new matter of importance: the Chocolate Frog photoshoot.

"Chocolate Frog cards are a big deal," Tracey lectured her. "Your card could very well outlast you. You need to make sure you look good."

Hermione had rolled her eyes but conceded. As much as she didn't like it, Tracey had a point.

At Tracey's advice, Hermione wore fitted robes made of basilisk skin, the scales cleaned and enhanced to shine a brilliant shifting green. She did her own makeup and hair, carefully scrunching her wet hair with a light mousse to enhance the curliness that had been cursed into it. She brought her sword with her, figuring it would help her look more like a hero, and she debated over the merits of attempting to bring her family crest as well before deciding it was overkill (not to mention staggeringly heavy).

At 8:57am on the appointed day, Hermione sat ready – the Portkey the Chocolate Frog people had sent activated, and there was a sharp yank behind her navel as she was tunneled through space. She skidded to a halt, barely maintaining her balance and breathing hard, before straightening and fixing her robes and hair. She took the opportunity to look around, moving out of the hallway as she did to make room for the next person to Portkey in.

Hermione was in what looked like a waiting room for a family therapist – cushioned chairs and couches on the outside of the walls, cheerful plants in the corners, a carpeted floor with a rug on top of it. There was a table set up with some light refreshments on it, and Hermione opted to help herself, taking some fresh fruit and a muffin before claiming a sofa against the back and looking over her companions, the rush of someone else arriving by Portkey at the front of the room.

The heroic youths the Chocolate Frog team had assembled for the photoshoot were a mixed lot. Nobody seemed to be able to sit still. Multiple guys were pacing around, which was funny to Hermione – they had to make sure not to get in each other's way, all pacing around such a small space. People seemed to be around her age or a bit older, save for one dark-skinned, shaking girl who looked barely eleven. Her heart going out to her, Hermione moved to sit by the small girl, who looked up at her with wide eyes.

"I'm Hermione," Hermione told her with a smile.

The girl smiled shakily.

"I'm Natori," she said back.

"And why are you here, Natori?" Hermione gave her a mischievous smile to know the question was intended in a light-hearted manner. "What manner of great thing have you accomplished?"

"I—um—" Natori faltered. "I um. Helped save a village from a Nundu."

"A nundu?" Hermione was impressed. "That's amazing! Good for you – nundus are extremely deadly."

A nearby boy scoffed.

"What she's not telling you," he said, "is that she blew up the nundu from the inside."

Natori cowered further into the couch, hugging her knees, and Hermione scowled at the boy.

"And how would you have taken down a nundu?" she snapped. "Tried to stun it by yourself, when it usually takes a hundred wizards to do the job? Sounds to me like Natori saved her village, whereas you would have died, and the village would have been overrun."

The boy turned red and stomped off, and Hermione turned back to Natori with a kindly smile.

"Everyone always has grand plans of how they would save the day," she told Natori, offering her a piece of her muffin. "Few people actually ever do."

Natori giggled, taking the muffin from her.

"He's here for beating the grand master of Wizard's Chess," she confided in Hermione. "I looked at the clipboard. He's not a hero at all."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It figures," she said, acting very put-upon, and Natori giggled again.

"I—I didn't even blow it up like they think I did," she confided to Hermione. "I was playing with muggle toys – fireworks. They're strictly forbidden, as they can light the bush afire, but I made sure I was in a safe place outside the village walls. When I saw the nundu, I lit what I had left – a big block – in five places and threw it at the nundu."

Hermione fought to stifle her amusement. "You threw fireworks at an extraordinarily deadly creature?"

"I didn't know what else to do," Natori admitted, smiling with a wince. "The nundu ate it, belched poison, and then charged after me. I screamed, which brought the villagers out just in time to see the nundu explode."

Hermione snickered.

"Well, you're a hero," Hermione said, nudging Natori with a smile. "Best let them think it was your exceptional skill at protective magic than breaking the rules, right?"

Natori nodded.

"That's how I ended up here," she admitted. "I—I keep not telling anyone from the village what actually happened, and they all think I have some great magic lurking inside of me—"

"So?" Hermione shrugged. "Let them. If you grow up to be powerful, they will crow that they knew it, and if you don't, they'll conclude you used up your one big burst of magic to protect the village. It doesn't matter either way, really."

Natori looked cheered by this idea, and Hermione shared the rest of the muffin and fresh fruit from her plate with the small girl while more people continued to arrive. Eventually a harried-looking man emerged from a nearby hallway with a clip board and whistled sharply.

"If I could have all your attention, please," he called. "Your attention, please. Thank you. We will begin the photoshoots momentarily. Everyone, please wait your turn. We will have Natori and Pavel first."

Natori gave Hermione a shaky smile as she stood up, going to the clip board man with the boy who had snapped about her before, and Hermione smiled at her in turn until Natori turned the corner. Hopefully she'd gained enough confidence and bravery to face down the bullying boy, Hermione mused. Taking down a nundu was much cooler than beating some wizard's chess record, in her opinion.

"You were very kind to her."

Hermione looked up to see an older boy looking down at her. He was tall and thin, with dark hair and dark eyes. His nose was large and curved, reminding Hermione of Snape a little bit, and he spoke English with a heavy accent.

Not knowing what response he was looking for, Hermione shrugged.

"She seemed scared," she said. "It costs nothing to be kind."

The boy seemed taken aback by this, before pausing to consider this.

"The rest—" he gestured around "did not want to speak with her for fear. They think she used the Dark Arts to kill the nundu."

His 'th' sounds came out like an odd cross of a T and a D – "dey tink she used", almost. It caught Hermione by surprise – she'd thought he was Russian or German, but his accent wasn't one she recognized at all.

"So what if she did?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows. "Any 'Dark' magic that can save a village doesn't sound so Dark to me at all."

The boy seemed very surprised by this, before his face split into a grin. His teeth looked like they needed braces to even out the front, but his smile was unexpectedly warm. He fell onto the couch next to Hermione with a huff of air from the protesting cushions, and he smirked at her.

"The others," he said, gesturing widely. "They fear the Dark Arts. They thought a child was a Dark witch."

"And you didn't?" she quipped.

The boy shrugged. He paused, weighing his words.

"I care not if she is," he said. "Dark Arts… should to be only magic. Casting evil with them is Dark, but the magic is not."

Hermione grinned.

"I agree entirely," she said. She tilted her head. "Your accent. I can't tell if it's Russian or what. Where are you from?"

The boy winced.

"Bulgaria," he said. He paused. "We learn Bulgarian, Russian, German, sometimes French in school. English, we do not learn. English is... work in progress."

"That's already three languages more than most people!" Hermione praised, impressed. "You'll pick English up quickly enough, I'm sure."

The boy looked very surprised by this, before grinning tentatively. Hermione realized other people around the room were giving them both looks – unsubtle non-Slytherins, the lot of them. She hoped they weren't making her new friend uncomfortable.

"I'm Hermione," Hermione said. She twisted her sword to show him her written name on it, then gave him a sheepish grin. "Sorry about the looks everyone's giving us – I imagine no one expected someone to show up with a sword."

The boy paused.

"Viktor," he said finally. "Why you brung a sword?"

"Oh," Hermione said. "Um. Well. I'm here because I cut the head off a basilisk that was terrorizing Hogwarts. I thought posing with the sword might be appropriate."

Viktor laughed. His laugh was dark, like a bark, but it was amused.

"So you made friend with other girl," he said. "You also killed a beast."

"I didn't know that when I sat down next to her," Hermione objected, flushing. Viktor grinned crookedly at her.

"What else do you like?" he asked her. "When you don't to kill monsters."

Hermione laughed.

"What else do I like doing?" she mused. "I like studying a lot. I really like learning advanced magic, and ritual magic, too."

"Ritual magic?" Viktor repeated.

"Yes! Like, my friends and I, we did a protection ritual around a tree house we built," Hermione said. "We used gold and silver rune stones and everything."

Viktor looked impressed.

"Gold and silver… serious ritual," he said, nodding. "You shared blood?"

Hermione bit her lip, but seeing no judgement on his face, she nodded.

"Blood magic is… frowned upon here," she admitted. "It has bad connotations, with a Dark wizard not long ago. People think it's Dark. But it's powerful."

Viktor paused.

"The English think blood magic is Dark?" he said slowly, baffled. "Only because someone bad used it?"

"Err, yes," she admitted. Viktor scoffed.

"This is stupid," he announced, folding his arms. "Both good and bad people need to defend themselves. Not magic is bad. People are bad; they are not magic."

Hermione beamed at him.

"I agree entirely," she said, laughing. "Only… well. I understand why people are hesitant, given what the last Dark wizard did. But that doesn't mean I agree with them."

"This is stupid," Viktor said succinctly. Hermione was taken aback, but he continued, "The dangerous weathers are when you need old magic the most."

Hermione blinked at him.

"…dangerous weathers?" she said slowly. "Like… hurricanes and tornados?"

Viktor abruptly went scarlet. He muttered something under his breath.

"Not weathers," he said, wincing. "Times. Dangerous times."

Hermione smiled at him.

"English isn't easy, is it?" she said, commiserating, and Viktor made a face.

"Not the worst," he said. "But even this is not the easiest. Many sounds Bulgarian does not."

"I appreciate you trying with me, Viktor," Hermione reassured him. She smiled. "I certainly couldn't speak to you in Bulgarian or Russian."

Viktor grinned back at her.

"I could to teach you," he said, and Hermione laughed.

"I don't think we have that much time before they call one of us up," she said ruefully, gesturing to the front of the room, where the man with the clip board was collecting another two people. "One of our photoshoots will interrupt."

Viktor scowled.

"I hate photo shoots," he said darkly, the H in 'hate' coming out like a cat's threatening hiss.

Hermione blinked. "You've done them before?"

Viktor paused, wary. "Now and then."

"I think it'll be fun," Hermione said. She grinned. "I'm going to pose as overdramatically as possible for my card. I want to look very heroic and over the top."

Viktor smirked.

"You have a sword," he said. "Easy to look formidable with a sword."

Hermione laughed.

"You could just scowl at them and look formidable," she teased him. "Even without a prop."

"Prop?" Viktor repeated, puzzled.

"Err—a thing you pose with. Something inanimate," Hermione said. "Like I brought a sword. If Pavel had brought a chess set, for example."

"I see," Viktor said. He made a face. "I was told that they would have prop for me."

"Oh!" Hermione said. "That works too. What are you getting recognized for, anyway?"

Viktor froze, his face going pale.

"I set a flying record," he said finally. "Fastest dive."

"Oh, that's incredible!" Hermione said. She grinned. "I would never, but I have a friend who likes flying. He gets up to such speeds on his broom it's frightening."

Viktor tilted his head.

"You don't like to fly," he said, and Hermione paused.

"Not on a broom," she admitted. "They frighten me. But my friend loves it. He's even on the Quidditch team."

"Quidditch is the good way to learn to fly," Viktor said, nodding. "Practice all the time."

"Do you play Quidditch?" Hermione asked.

Viktor paused again. "Yes. Seeker."

"Oh, that's what my friend plays!" Hermione exclaimed. She grinned at Viktor. "I don't know how he catches the Snitch with everything else going on. I feel like I'd go mad!"

Viktor grinned crookedly, tentative.

"Seeker requires a certain skill," he said. "Not everyone can to play it."

"Hermione Granger!" called the man with the clipboard, and Hermione stood, grinning at Viktor apologetically.

"My turn," she said. "Good luck with the photoshoot, Viktor!"

Viktor smiled. "You also, Hermione."

It was the first time he'd said her name – 'Haer-me-ON-ae', almost, like it was in Greek. It made her name sound exotic, like a person out of legend rather than just her.

Well, she mused to herself, following the clipboard man, it was a Greek name before Shakespeare used it, wasn't it?

But despite his butchered pronunciation, she found she had rather liked how it sounded when he'd said her name.


The photoshoot was a lot of harried people running around behind a photographer and a light charmer. The photographer seemed utterly uncaring of the people behind him telling him to hurry.

"So you're the Heroine of Hogwarts?" he asked. "Killed the basilisk and saved the day?"

"That's me," Hermione said, stepping up onto the round dais they had in front of a backdrop.

"Finally, something interesting!" the photographer said, quirking his lips. "And you brought your sword! Excellent. Let's get some basic shots to see how the lighting likes you, and then we'll do some dynamic poses with that fabulous sword."

Hermione posed as directed with her sword before the photographer directed her to a couple more dynamic poses.

"Rest the sword just over your shoulder – yes, just there – and now smirk at the camera. You're a confident, strong woman who could cut anyone down where they stand. Yes! Just there—"

The camera flashed a few times, Hermione blinking to clear her eyes each time.

"Now – crouch down slightly, holding the sword in front of you. You're en guarde, waiting to defend from a deadly snake strike—"

This pose was harder, as it required Hermione to hover partially crouched while the camera flashed. Her thighs started to burn, and Hermione wondered if she was out of shape. She wasn't overweight, she thought, but she certainly didn't lead an athletic lifestyle.

"Now stand straight up, sword directly down in front of you. You are foreboding and forbidding, intense and blocking the way. No one will get past you today—"

This pose was significantly easier. The photographer was beaming as he shot, then he paused.

"…how do you feel about hovering poses?" he asked.

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"My assistant charmer," he said, gesturing to the woman next to him, "can hover you in place, if you're willing. So you can pose like you're jumping and swinging the sword down, or like you're diving, or just more dynamic poses, really—"

"That sounds awesome," Hermione breathed. "Let's do it."

The assistant sighed and withdrew her wand, swish and flicking it, and Hermione rose into the air.

The photographer directed Hermione into several different poses in the air, all of them extremely cool and dynamic, and Hermione found she was having fun. She used her air magic to cheat a bit, helping hold her up (as it was clear the assistant was exhausted at this point, and Hermione didn't exactly want to trust her safety to someone overworked and magically depleted), but Hermione had fun holding adventuring poses with her sword without the limitation of gravity.

By the time they were finally done, the assistant was completed drained, wandering off in search of a potion to help, but the photographer was beaming.

"Great shots," he praised. "No idea what shot the uppities here will choose, but these are all going in my own portfolio. You looked great, girl."

"Can you send me a set of them all, too?" Hermione asked. "My parents would love them, and I'll pay for them gladly!"

The photographer blinked.

"…I don't think they made me sign anything that said I wasn't allowed to sell what I shot to third parties," he said carefully. "I'll have to check." He winked at her. "I'm sure I'll find a loophole somewhere."

The harried man with the clipboard escorted her out the side, out a door, down a staircase, and outside, reciting a goodbye statement as they went.

"Thank you for participating in the Chocolate Frog Official Winter—"

"Is my Portkey not going to work?" Hermione asked, and her question threw the wizard off his spiel.

"Oh," he said. He paused, panic flashing in his eyes. "Err—we didn't spring for custom return locations. You can get home from Diagon Alley, right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'll be fine."

She exited onto the back streets of Diagon Alley nicknamed 'Galleon Alley' where all the wizarding businesses were, and she wandered around for a bit, wondering what companies had headquarters there. With the Wizengamot demanding regular chunks of her time and her plans with her coven, Hermione hadn't seriously pursued a summer internship this year, but part of her wished she had. She could have probably gotten away with using her Time-Turner to pull it off, if she wanted…

"Might as well make the best of ending up here," Hermione mused to herself, heading up the street toward Diagon Alley proper, Gringotts looming closer, gleaming in the sun. "I've even got my sword."