"You know you're the only one here who can understand what they're saying, right?"
Yes, he knew.
Since Viktor Krum signed the contract with the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team, he had been thrown into all the language classes his agent, Nikolai Ivanov, could find.
Initially, three essential things were expected from the youngest (if not the best) Seeker in history: intense physical preparation, a restrictive diet, and exemplary academic records. The first, Viktor executed as if it were just another Tuesday; he had been training every day since he knew he wanted to play professional Quidditch years ago. The second was a bit more challenging: food was directly linked to Viktor's mood just as lightness and agility were linked to the Seeker position; and being a tall and broad boy by nature, his menu was always the most limited by the coach. As for the last requirement, it was his mother's demand, who was willing to do everything to make her son's dream come true, except compromise his education.
But the day after his first match in the red and black uniform, Viktor saw his face plastered on the front page of various newspapers and sports magazines, with passive-aggressive articles praising his performance as a Seeker while questioning his intelligence and education. Why? Within the chaos of journalists and photographers who surrounded him, he hadn't understood a word of the questions shouted in various languages (none of them being in damn Bulgarian) and therefore he didn't answer any.
Thus, his already packed schedule began to accommodate French, German, English, and Spanish lessons. He didn't need to be fluent, as Nikolai had well pointed out, but he needed to know the basics to communicate in future interviews. For such a young player at the beginning of his career, having his intelligence questioned would put his strategic contributions to the team at risk.
Despite the man's argument, Viktor would have hired an interpreter without a second thought.
Over a year later, being the only Durmstrang student who could speak decent English within the crowd of native speakers crowding Hogwarts' corridors, he still would have hired an interpreter. Definitely. The constant translation wasn't a problem, but nothing justified the headache of being forced to interact with people.
"I know," Viktor replied, and shot a frustrated look at his childhood best friend, who responded with a laugh. Yan Kostova was his complete opposite: short and so cheerful he almost skipped when he walked, which couldn't be more irritating.
"Aren't you too young to be so grumpy?" teased Yan.
"I'm just adapting to British habits."
"Planning on stuffing yourself with tea as well?"
Viktor didn't reply, but almost smiled (it was his way of laughing out loud most of the time). They continued walking in silence through the castle's corridors, Yan leading the way, turning corners and climbing stairs (how do people find anything in this place without a map?!), until they arrived at a pair of huge wooden doors in the middle of an especially dark corridor. From the silence emanating from the other side, there was no doubt it was the library; in any other context, the British were terribly noisy.
"They're not that bad," said Yan, hesitating with his hand on the door handle, reading his friend's thoughts.
"Who?"
"The British."
Viktor audibly scoffed. The reason he was standing there, in front of a library, the last place he would step into willingly, was that the British were that bad.
A week ago, when the Durmstrang ship docked on the shore of the Black Lake and its members entered through the doors of the Great Hall, the hospitality of the Hogwarts students was unquestionable. Everyone seemed eager to interact; Viktor was approached several times around the grounds and found himself shaking more hands than he could count. This eagerness lasted as long as the other Bulgarians' basic knowledge of English allowed: once the language became a barrier preventing deeper communication, the hospitality vanished. Suddenly, no one was available to explain the announcement made by Headmaster Dumbledore during one of the meals, or to give clear directions to the greenhouses.
Yan took hours to find the library the previous day, as every time he asked where it was, he received hurried and disdainful responses. Once inside, he couldn't understand the organization of the books, and when he asked for help, he was interrupted with a "sssshhh!" and dismissed with a wave of hand.
"How about we get this over with?" suggested Viktor, pointing to Yan's hand still on the door handle.
"Being impatient won't help."
"Again, I'm just adapting to British habits."
Yan pressed his lips into a thin line, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
In contrast to the dark corridor, the room that opened before them was like someone had casted a damn Lumos Maxima. The library was immense, much larger than any other Viktor had ever seen (not that he had seen many). The ceiling was high, with windows that stretched from floor to vaulted ceiling, the light reflecting on the light stone walls, making the room so bright it almost hurt. Dark wooden round tables were scattered everywhere, occupied by students of various ages, hidden behind piles of parchment and thick volumes. The shelves, crammed with colourful books, were equipped with lamps of warm orange lights, and the wood was adorned with golden arabesques.
It was beautiful. And intimidating.
Yan cast a nervous glance at Viktor and whispered, "Dramatic, isn't it?"
Dramatic was a fair description, especially considering the sombre appearance of the Durmstrang library.
Viktor scanned the shelves with his eyes, looking for plaques or something to indicate the sections. He found nothing.
"What exactly are you looking for?" he whispered back.
"Fiction."
With a grunt, Viktor turned to his friend. "Fiction? Really?"
"What?"
"I thought it was something important!"
"Distractions are important," Yan retorted, in a defensive tone. "I'm not going to spend the whole year reading only what the professors assign. I'll die of boredom."
Viktor scoffed again and crossed his arms, but decided not to share the huge list of distractions his friend could have in his free time. Instead, he began to assess the students present in the library, to see who would be the best candidate to ask for help.
It wasn't hard to decide. Aside from those who were too absorbed in their own tasks and those who seemed as lost as they were, there weren't many other options, except one. Among the shelves, a girl with full curly hair walked confidently, using her wand to pull some books from the shelves and deposit them in a floating pile that followed her. She seemed to know exactly what she was doing and where everything was, which was promising.
Pulling Yan by the arm, Viktor approached her.
"Excuse me?" he said in English, opting for a simple, direct approach without introductions.
The girl turned to them, her curls bouncing between her shoulders, and Viktor's confidence dropped from its peak to the bottom in a matter of seconds. Despite her round and friendly face, her large, dark brown eyes were critical, almost accusatory. Viktor felt exposed almost immediately, but he maintained her gaze, trying not to become defensive.
With a simple wave of her wand, the pile of floating books was deposited on a table with a loud thud.
"Yes?" she asked carefully, the "E" taking an extra hesitant second between her lips. Her analytical gaze left him and danced between the boys, lingering on their red Durmstrang robes, and Viktor sensed Yan shifting his weight nervously from one leg to another.
"Mmn," Viktor tried to find the right words. "We are looking for the fiction section."
The girl raised an eyebrow. "Magic fiction or Muggle fiction?"
Viktor repeated the question to Yan, taking a moment to switch from English to Bulgarian without stumbling over the words. Either option would be interesting to him, he knew, but the way Yan's face contorted with curiosity and anticipation at the mention of Muggle fiction was enough to reveal his choice.
The interaction did not go unnoticed by the girl. She immediately understood the translation dynamic, and her analytical gaze dissolved into an empathetic smile, revealing a pair of slightly larger-than-normal teeth.
"He doesn't speak English," it wasn't a question.
Viktor shrugged. "He understands a few words."
The girl nodded, taking the information quite seriously, a small wrinkle of concentration appearing between her eyebrows. After a moment of consideration, she seemed resolute:
"I can speak slowly and stick to the basic words. Do you think that would help?"
That was... very thoughtful. More considerate than anyone had been since they set foot in Hogwarts.
Briefly forgetting all the English words he knew, Viktor nodded, hoping it looked encouraging and not completely stunned.
Now openly smiling, the girl offered her hand for Yan to shake with a jerk. "Hello! My name is Hermione Granger!"
Hermy-what? What the fuck?
Surprised but no less excited, Yan took her hand without hesitation and gave a firm shake, before slowly replying in English with a strong accent: "Pleasure to meet you, Her... Hermy... Hermionini."
Hermionini, apparently, was not offended by the attempt.
"It's quite close!" she validated. "And what is your name?"
Yan placed a hand in the middle of his chest. "Yan Kostova," he said solemnly.
Hermyoni pondered for a moment. "Kocs... Kocstuva?" she tried, and laughed along with Yan, apparently finding the whole situation amusing.
Viktor watched everything with growing incredulity. She could have said Yan easily; the pronunciation was simple and, he was sure, quite common to British vocabulary. But she chose the surname, knowing it would be harder, so his friend wouldn't feel bad.
That was fucking thoughtful.
What followed was a free pronunciation class.
"Her-mi-o-ne."
"Kos-to-va."
"Her-my-knee?"
"Kus-to-va?"
"Her... mio... ne?"
"Kos... to... va?"
Amongst laughter and pats on the back when (finally) the names were nailed, Viktor took a deep breath and extended his arm towards the shelves.
"Mmn, books?" he reminded.
"Oh, of course!" said Hermione, practically tossing a lock of hair over her shoulder. "Come with me, I'll show you where the fiction section is."
Spinning on her heels, she began to walk towards the back of the library, with Yan and Viktor close behind. As they advanced, Hermione pointed out corridors and shelves and slowly listed the names of the sections: Transfiguration, Dark Arts, Herbology, Charms, Potions, Magical Creatures... It made no sense at all. No alphabetical order? No colour or number system? Nothing? And yet, Hermione walked naturally, dodging floating books returning to the shelves as if she already knew their trajectory.
He had to ask, "How do you find yourself in this place?"
Hermione took a moment to answer and did so by casting a guilty look over her shoulder.
"I spend a lot of time here," she justified, her voice low and embarrassed. "You get used to it."
How much time does a person need to spend in the library to look at a pile of old parchments and indicate Ancient Runes without blinking? She must be in her later years of study. Viktor observed Hermione's back closely, analyzing her determined posture and the confident way she moved, and tried to guess her age. Sixteen, probably, maybe older. Sixth year then.
"Viktor hates libraries," Yan laughed, nudging his friend in the ribs.
Viktor responded with a killer look; it was no coincidence that he hadn't mentioned his name yet, trying to avoid any screaming reaction from the girl. One of the disadvantages of following his profession so young was the growing fanclub among teenagers. At Durmstrang, his classmates were already used to him and almost didn't pay any attention, but at Hogwarts, every step was followed by at least four giggling youths.
Guessing his thoughts, Yan continued, "Oh, please, she knows who you are!"
Hermione didn't even dignify them with a backward glance, but kept her voice low. "Viktor Krum, right? The Bulgarian Chaser?"
"Seeker," he corrected automatically.
Yan coughed to cover a laugh.
Hermione finally entered a corridor between two shelves and turned to look at them, announcing the Magic fiction section. Yan immediately began to inspect the names on the spines, completely forgetting the other two, and Viktor leaned back against one of the counters to wait.
Already settled at the counter in front of him, Hermione crossed her arms and resumed her analytical look. Viktor squirmed mentally, trying not to show discomfort under those big, dark eyes.
Why does she look at people like that?
"Do all athletes hate libraries, or some of them just hate books?"
"I don't hate libraries. Or books. I just don't care."
"Why not?"
"There's nothing interesting in reading about the theory of the world. I'd rather see the real thing."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, challenging. "I suppose having a Bludger breaking your nose in reality is more interesting than reading about it."
Surprisingly even to himself, that almost made him laugh. Almost.
"Did you watch the Quidditch World Cup finals?" Viktor asked, although the reference was quite obvious. That was the last (though not the only) time his nose had been smashed in a match.
"I did. I'm not very fond of the sport, but I remember well the amount of blood."
Viktor almost laughed again. Almost.
"Perhaps it would hurt less if it were figurative," he conceded. Hermione smiled slightly but said nothing. She shifted her gaze to Yan, who was beginning to assemble a pile of book options on the counter, some with illustrated, moving covers. "If you don't like Quidditch, why did you watch the game?" Viktor asked, drawing her attention back to him.
"If you don't like books, why are you in the library?" Hermione countered, in a playful tone.
Viktor's eyes went from her to Yan and back to her.
"A friend asked me to."
Hermione smiled again.
"So did mine."
They spent a moment looking at each other, the orange light from the lamps leaving Viktor a bit dizzy and quite warm. Hermione was nice, he figured. Thoughtful and nice.
"Hermione?" Yan called with empty hands, apparently changing his mind about the books he had selected. "Do you mind… mmn… pointing at a Muggle book?"
Hermione frowned for a moment, confused, her analytical gaze shining. "Point at…? Oh! You mean to recommend?"
Yan nodded, relieved she understood, his neck and cheeks turning red. "I'm sorry, it's just that I get so confused sometimes I forget the words..."
Hermione dismissed the apology with a wave, while guiding them to another book aisle. "You really don't need to apologize. I know what it's like to be in a totally strange place, with absolutely no clue," she said, conciliatory. "Let's just make a deal: every time you feel confused about the language, you can just say that you're English-confused and I'll know what it means. Then we can just figure out another way to understand each other."
Yan smiled and agreed, happy with the idea.
Wait a minute, does that mean...
"That means we can come to you when we need help?" Viktor asked, kind of perplexed.
"Sure."
"Anytime?"
"Of course. I'm always here, so really anytime."
Hermione was way too nice, he figured.
The boys leaned against the counters as Hermione searched with her fingertips among the thousand spines there for a Muggle fiction book. It didn't take long, and she handed Yan a medium-sized volume, with a hardback blue cover illustrated with silver snowflakes that didn't move.
Yan took the book in his hands. "A Winter's Tale?" he asked, reading the back cover.
Hermione nodded. "It's a tale by Shakespeare, quite famous among Muggles," she explained, a bit embarrassed. "You know, whenever I have difficulty with something, I repeat it over and over until I understand."
As Yan flipped through the pages, Viktor positioned himself behind his shoulder, curious about what might be there. Unlike his conversational skills in English, his reading could be much, much better: English characters were very different from Bulgarian, which always meant a headache and irritated him. The content of the book seemed like a sea of meaningless things, but a word among many stood out: Hermione. The name was repeated on several pages, sometimes more than once.
Again, thoughtful.
Next to him, Yan made a sound of understanding. "Is that where your name comes from?"
"Yes. It's my mum's favourite."
"Beautiful, really."
"Thank you. I hope you like it."
When Viktor took his eyes off the book, Hermione was extending another one towards him. He tried not to grimace, in vain, and kept his hands away from the thin, red-covered volume.
No. No. No, no.
"Have you read poetry before?" she asked, without withdrawing the book, her big, dark eyes fixed on his face.
Viktor shook his head. "I don't read, really."
"I figured that just right," Hermione countered, resolutely. "But you said there was nothing interesting to read about the theory of the world. Well, this," she tapped her index finger on the book's cover, "is not theory. Poetry is the experience itself. The real thing, like you said."
A pang of curiosity hit him hard, but Viktor only took the book when Yan jabbed his ribs with an elbow.
He cleared his throat and thanked her, reluctantly.
As Hermione guided them back to the library entrance, Yan called him in Bulgarian:
"Hey," and indicated the girl with his head. "I like her. She is a bit intense, though."
Viktor shrugged, downplaying it.
"Probably because of the eyes."
It was beautiful. And intimidating.