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Chapter Text

“Don’t be so nervous,” Monica told him as they followed the tall older woman who’d shown up at their door only a few months ago with a letter and an explanation for why their daughter had some rather miraculous things happen around her since she was a baby.

Never mind that she was nervous out of her wits as well, trying to put on a brave face for Hermes and Hermione who were more curious and excited than anything.

Hermione held her grandfather’s, Hermes, hand, excited and doing her best to appear as fearless as she looked with her hair fluffing up in the late August chill. They’d debated for months about it, months of going back and forth, delaying it for a full year, until Hermes, Monica’s father, had put an end to it and directed their attention to Hermione who sat on the other side of the table. They hadn’t even noticed the way she stared at her plate, the way everything on the table hovered a good few inches off the table.

Minerva had been present for the conversation and shocked that a muggle-born child had such power at so young of an age. It isn’t until she has a moment alone with the girl that Hermione tells her, in no uncertain terms, that she’d practiced because she remembered making something float as just a baby after her mother had fallen in the kitchen. When she asked exactly how she practiced, Hermione, rather sheepishly, admitted to spending a lot of time in the library’s section about witchcraft most of it sounded like rubbish, but there were a few texts that she’d found that seemed to be worth something.  Minerva chocked it up to something about the side of town her grandfather lived on in Athens.

That had been all of a week ago that Hermes had, more or less, forced his daughter and her husband to do what was best for Hermione even if that meant sending her off to school again much earlier than they’d intended, so here they were at the entrance to Diagon Alley following Minerva around. They’d had quite a row about it before it was decided as it would be the second time that Hermes had stepped in, the second time that they would have to send her away and maybe only see her on holidays.

But Hermes had won out in the long run because as much as Monica and Wendell wanted to spend the rest of their lives with Hermione to try and learn her, to be the parents they wanted to be to her, to make up for the years apart, they all knew that keeping her from her birthright, keeping her in a world that would never fully understand her would be antithetical to being the parents they always strived to be.

Her parents were a tad wary about what exactly was on the list for school, it being the oddest school shopping trip they’d ever been on, but Hermes had taken the lead, at the currency exchange, establishing a bank account for Hermione with the Goblins at Gringotts, helping her trade a portion of her muggle money from her bank shaped like a large book into wizarding and storing it in the small vault she’d been given along with his own contribution to the store. He made a note to move her college fund to the wizarding bank and took charge of procuring the things on her list while her parents looked around trying to cling to one another for sanity.

“Thanks, pappoús,” she said as they walked ahead of her parents who were still staring into the shops, confused and muttering to one another.

“Anything for you, mikros,” he said as they journeyed into the shop that had all of the cauldrons apparently.

“Cauldrons and then clothes?”

“Must we save the books for last?”

Hermes laughed, squeezing her hand, “Alright, chemistry stuff, wands, pet, books, and then robes.”

She pouted, “You’re plotting against me, pappoús.”

“Only plotting to get back to the non-magical side of the world before your parents turn tail and run.”

She looked back at them looking more and more freaked out as they walked along, Hermione looked up at her grandfather.

“You aren’t… surprised?”

“Me?” He asked with a scoff. “My great-grandmother used to tell me stories of magic quests and things. Considering how old she was when she passed, this isn’t particularly surprising… not to mention solid marble doesn’t move around on its own to help tiny people get up to the higher shelves of the bookcase...”

She smiled, wrinkling her nose at that one. Not to mention Hermione had always been different from other children. Muggle children were usually born with a soulmark. They started off as birthmarks, but by the time one was about five years old, they begun to take shape. Sometimes they were letters, sometimes numbers, they would always be some clue as to when, or if, you would meet your soulmate. They usually changed over time.

Monica and Wendell had their alma maters on insides of their wrists in each other’s neat cursive. Hermes had his wife’s nickname on the back of his left ring finger in her neat cursive. Hermione never had soulmark. When the letter had come from Hogwarts, he could only nod and say that made perfect sense. There was no way his Mia wouldn’t have a soulmate. Wizardry was really the only option.

He didn’t know how wizarding soulmates worked, but he was sure that she’d meet hers in enough time.

Hermione worried her lip, “Do you think… they’ll be okay?”

He hummed, “It… will take time, mikros, but they will get there.”

Hermione nodded and walked into Potage’s Cauldron Shop. There are a few other groups of people around and though they enter, her parents stay outside, apparently deciding that they needed a moment before entering any place else.

*

Lily smiled indulgently watching Harry nod and listen to Severus about the differences between the Cauldron makers, insisting that he get the better pewter cauldron made in London by the oldest Cauldron makers in the wizarding world. It was probably the closest thing they would get to a bonding moment for at least another year or so.

“I would hate to have to deduct points for melting your cauldron in class.”

“You wouldn’t!”

Severus gave him his normally flat look making Lily and shake her head, “Come on, Harry. We still have to get it engraved.”

Harry nodded giving Severus a suspicious look before picking up the suggested cauldron and moving towards the front to pay for the cauldron he’d selected. Lily turned seeing the very out of place pair. The older man looking at cauldrons and trying to speak to the shopkeeper. His smile bright in his dark face, his hair peppered gray. She would have guessed a grandfather to the young girl who had her face obscured by the Cauldron Magazine she was reading. Only the volume of her hair visible over the top.

“Muggles,” Severus said seeing where she was looking. “Rather personable muggles at that.”

Lily smiled turning towards the pair and Severus watched her go. Harry looked up at him.

“She’s having one of her moments isn’t she?”

Severus pat him on the shoulder, “Hopefully you inherit these moments along with your eyes. I assume the wit will come in your seventh year.”

Harry glowered at him, “Just you wait… when I pass Potions with flying colors.”

Severus nodded, “That would be a sight indeed.”

Hermione lowered the magazine, then looked up at her grandfather before turning to look through the rows of cauldrons, muttering to herself and glancing at the magazine in her hand as Lily grabbed her grandfather’s attention. Hermione looked between the rows of cauldrons by type, then by manufacturer until she found the one she was looking for. She lifted it, finding it surprisingly light and carried it in her arms back to her grandfather who was conversing with Lily and Harry as Severus had gone outside to speak with someone.

“Mia,” Hermes said with a smile, “Where’d you get off to?”

“I found the best,” Hermione said, walking towards him with the cauldron she’d picked out. “For a first year at least.”

Lily nudged Harry who seemed shocked with an amused smile as the cauldron was the very same one that Severus had identified as the best in the lineup.

“Be careful,” Lily whispered to him. “It looks like you and Draco will have some competition.”

Hermione smiled at them both and held out a hand to shake with Lily and Harry. With niceties exchanged, they went on with their shopping, Lily giving her a kind smile and a pat on the shoulder before leaving with Harry. Severus came back to join them with a shake of his head.

“Are you going to tell me to make friends?” Harry asked as they exited and Lily laughed.

“That’s what school is for, dear,” Lily said.

Severus let out a scoff of laughter and continued down the alley to gather the rest of his supplies for school. For Harry, it feels more like a chance for his mother and stepfather to be stopped and asked for an autograph.

Hermione’s trip through Diagon Alley was very odd and exciting. Hermes tricked her with a stop for ice cream and then through three other shops before the bookstore.

“You sneaky old man,” he only grinned at her and opened the door gesturing her into the establishment and watching her get lost in the stacks, finding first the books that she needed and three others as they’d agreed upon. What he isn’t counting on is them being the biggest books she could possibly find.

“Magic… is a wonder. I’m sure this book is meant to be in multiple editions.”

She beamed at him, “I think I rather like the wizarding world.”

Hermes shook his head and helped her get her books to the cash register. She counted out the money herself, making sure she was sure of the amounts before loading them onto her cart and heading out. Crookshanks meowed at her from within his cage contentedly as they headed back towards the rather large fireplace. Minerva sent them to the floo point where they’d parked and helped the load things in before giving her her ticket.

“Welcome to Hogwarts, Ms. Granger,” she said kindly.

“Thank you, Professor.”

Chapter Text

She sat alone in her room, her two roommates, Lavender and Parvati were down at dinner. She’d taken it upon herself to sneak into the Great Hall and then run straight out after the catastrophe in the corridor earlier that day.  Crookshanks leaped up onto her bed as she dried her eyes and forced herself to breathe, familiar long breaths that did n Nothing for the burning in her eyes.

He crawled into her lap, purring and rubbing himself against her happily, probably sensing her mood. She’d only been in classes for a few weeks and already… She’d managed to alienate herself from most of her housemates, her roommates, create an enemy out of the richest kid in their year, one Draco Malfoy, and remain completely alone.

Why had she thought the wizarding world would have been any different than the muggle one? Why would she be any different in it than the muggle one at that?

She glanced towards the tonic sitting on her bedside table. Her parents and grandfather had been sure to notify the school of her special brand of depression, providing a prescription for her. Madame Pomfrey had given her a week’s worth of potions to take at night before she went to bed, but not without food. She’d been taking them religiously, but tonight she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to be able to stomach food let alone a potion that took this away from her. The sort of heady near addicting emptiness that came with these spirals.

To her credit, the potions weren’t exactly helping.

The pills she’d taken since being diagnosed made it easy to control her anxieties so she didn’t end up isolated among books for any spare moment she could manage. Made it easy to toe the line of “level” without dipping too far into either side. They made her almost outgoing in class. The potions did much of the same without the general loss of appetite, maybe even more so given that the pills had made her feel a little less like the world was on her chest some days and others she was absolutely free and high and prepared to do anything.

See where that got me, she thought bitterly thinking of the way Severus seemed to dock points from her even when she was absolutely right.

An Insufferable Know-It-All…  

It had been harsh, to say the least, but to answer his question honestly would have made it all the more embarrassing than Ron’s He’s got a point you know.

It had been just the first week of class. She was just off the pills and started the potions the night before. The potions had done nearly everything the pills had done without stripping her of her already paltry appetite. They also seemed to lean too far to one side of level so that, rather than pulling her up from a depth, the potions flung her into a high. She couldn't imagine why that was so hard for Madame Pomfrey to understand. Her brain already moved too fast, quick calculations like sparks whizzing through the dark, around all the edges and back in a matter of moments. But this was worse, she hadn’t had a true episode since taking the pills, but that didn’t mean she forgot the signs of one coming on. Impulsivity, higher energy levels, lack of appetite, and, worst of all, insomnia, endless nights of reading with no rest, running herself into the ground and another part of her screaming “stop” to the side that was running too fast. She'd been running too fast, faster than she could stop herself so answers she usually kept behind her teeth came spilling out, hence Snape giving her the epithet of "Insufferable-Know-It-All."

Madame Pomfrey had told her that it would take some time to adjust to the difference and perhaps in a few days it would subside. That had been weeks ago and surprisingly muggle doctors and wizarding doctors had that in common: the complete inability to manage the symptoms caused by the medicine. She didn’t think she’d ever miss the sight of those three pills, but she was out and, per the rules, her parents and Hermes wouldn’t be sending her anymore.

She looked over to the potion again, knowing that she should eat, take it and hope for a better day, but, honestly, she just didn’t feel like, much rather sinking into the depth of it. It may not have been the exhilarating high, the seemingly inexhaustible energy, but she had far more control over it than that other Hermione.

Yes, she thought. The other Hermione was untameable, uncheckable, and unstoppable until she crashed. This Hermione was always the one to mend the pieces sometimes in a hospital bed, sometimes beneath a mountain of blankets. For now, she would crawl under her blankets, draw her curtains and try to sleep to the sound of Crookshanks at the foot of her bed.

It doesn't surprise her that, n Not even an hour later, she woke with a start, her heart hammering and her clothes drenched in sweat. She took breath after breath, gulping the air down with no help for her shaking hands. Crookshanks meowed leaping onto the bed to try and soothe her maybe, but there would be no help. She got up, rounding her bed to open her trunk and find one of the books she’d brought from home, one she’d been meaning to read.

The Iliad in Ancient Greek, Beowulf in Old English… she chose The Iliad and crawled back onto her bed, settling herself against the headboard and drawing the curtains back around the bed before opening it and starting from the beginning. She’s read most of it in that ancient language when she hears the first bell chime. She glanced to the bedside table where her potion still sat before getting up and getting ready for classes.  Before the other girls can get up, she’s gone down the stairs, down the other set, and straight to the Infirmary where Madame Pomfrey is tidying beds and checking on students who were waking up.

“Please tell me it isn’t another-- Miss Granger?” She looked at her, taking in the state of her. Blood-shot brown eyes that are oddly listless, shaking hands, her bag on her shoulder. “This way.”

She guided Hermione behind a screen and put up a silencing charm, “Sit down.”

She did so, eyes cast down and Poppy drew up her wand, “You haven’t slept.”

“I couldn’t,” Hermione said softly.

“Is the potion no longer working?”

“I didn’t take it,” Hermione said.

“My dear, the point of the potions is that you take them regularly. Just like those muggle things.”

Gods , she sounded just like Dr. Newlin back home almost as condescending, almost as dismissive. Some part of her calls it almost maternal, but the look of confusion on her face hits her too close to home. Her mother would look at her like that sometimes, when she was younger, when Hermione couldn’t muster up the ability to inflect, to speak more than a few words at a time even when she was perfectly fine, a normal, sometimes bully free day, at school.

Ma petite belle, what’s wrong? Did something happen at school?

“It’s getting worse,” she said.

Poppy huffed, “My dear, I told you it would take some time to adjust.”

Hermione said nothing as the woman turned, fiddling with her rack of bottles to pull out a small vial and turn back to her.

“Take this, eat something and be sure to take your potion tonight, do you understand?”

Hermione looked at her and then the vial before getting up and leaving without it.

“Miss Granger!”

She didn’t want to deal with Poppy-Newlin words swirling around in her head, she had enough going wrong at the moment. So she went to class and said nothing, forcing all of her energy into just lifting her quill to write notes, to stir the cauldron at the right time, to stopper it and hand in her essays. Everyone seemed to give her a wide berth for the most part. She didn’t sit beside Ron again in Potions, preferring to sit at the end, distanced from everyone even as Slytherins pelted her with magicked balls of parchment. It’s an oddly… liberating feeling not caring about any of it. Not caring about food, not caring about people, not caring about anything… just letting the information come into her brain, scatter and reform into proper constructs.

It feels a bit like she was little and she’d spend all day with her pappoús. Her parents had been grateful for him coming to London to take care of her so they didn’t have to hire anyone, but they resented that he only spoke Greek to her so her first word was “pappoús” instead of “dada”.  The word right after was “biblio”.  Hermes had laughed and settled her into his lap as he read her a story. Her parents had been right put out about it and only then had he started speaking more English to her. He’d lived with them through her first year of pre-school. After the incident, she’d been taken to a litany of doctors. Her parents had panicked after being told what happened at school and seeing her clinging to Hermes in terror with nothing to say for herself or about what happened. They always took her to the doctors without him, preferring to report back when they were done. She wondered if perhaps that had been part of the problem.

Dr. Newlin was the first. He'd called it schizophrenia and post-traumatic stress from the bullying and gave her prescriptions. The pills had lasted all of a few days before Hermes had a fit. They made her sick, too sick to do anything in school, but pass out in the corridor. The doctor after Newlin called it depression with a little bit too much Asperger's and perhaps she was a little farther down on the autism spectrum than most people. In the end, it had led to her changing prescriptions again. She didn’t remember the rest of their names, all faceless people with degrees, her parents hanging on their every word in the hopes to make her normal and Hermes there to pick up the pieces.  She’d had greek every night as it was the only thing she would always, consistently, put in her mouth. After the second incident, one that she looked back on as the moment no one could deny that Hermione was something else, they let Hermes take her to Greece with him, enroll her in a private international school where she could learn all she’d like and there were several hundred safeguards against bullying. Sure, she didn’t make any friends really, but she’d needed the peace that came with the school.

It hadn’t been until her most recent doctor, a friend of Hermes, who’d come in to observe her at school when she was five or so, that it was called high-functioning depression along with bits and pieces of other diagnoses. The woman agreed that Hermione had several symptoms indicative of multiple things, but the major issue was her trauma and depression. As usual, she didn’t fall into any set category. Almost scarily so considering that she was so young. She’d always called it highly logical, the ability to compartmentalize her emotions, shut them off or turn them on when she needed to and anxiety, but regardless of what it was called it landed her with a regimen of pills to take: a blue, a red, and a green pill to try and keep her brain steady, forcing the other Hermione to calm down and this Hermione to stand up, meeting somewhere half way.

And now she was in the wizarding world where they didn’t do pills as muggle medicines were generally frowned upon, sitting in a classroom, reading the charms textbook in her mind while her classmates pelted her with paper balls whenever Professor Flitwick wasn’t looking. She felt the familiar leveling of just not carrying descend. Had it always been this deep? Had it always been so…

Comforting. She felt untouchable because she was nothing.

“Hello everyone, we have a very special project today. First, does anyone know what the TriWizard Tournament is?”

She heard her own voice reciting the entry from a book she’d read in the library word for word. The words struggled with her teeth and tongue, but she felt nothing. She grabbed for a pen and began to write, like copying from a textbook.

The TriWizard Tournament was a three school event that was meant to challenge students from each school in a series of magical contests--

“Yes, Miss Bones?”

“That’s the tournament that a bunch of people have died in isn’t it?”

-- It was discontinued in 1792 due to the number of underage wizarding deaths in the previous years.

“Well… yes, but the Ministry is speaking of bringing it back with several provisions in order to avoid that outcome. Hogwarts has been chosen to host the event in three years time. In that time, we will be seeking to… bridge the gap between the three schools through letters.”

He flicked his wand so a box came hovering in and explaining that everyone would choose a pseudonym with which to write, write it down on a scrap of parchment along with a brief greeting message.  They were not to share where they went to school or any identifying information about their school or location. All letters would be translated into the appropriate languages. And, at some point, you may have the opportunity to meet each other.

“Well, how are these matches being decided?”

“Excellent question, Miss Brown! Your magic will decide! Today we’ll be learning what's called an Anima Charm. Can anyone tell me what it is?”

Someone nudged her as her fingers moved to write the answer on a scratch piece of parchment. It was always easier to write when she was like this, her mind taking in whatever was said and storing it away like a magazine article in the pages of her life that she could flip through as she lay in bed sleepless.

“A soul charm?”

“Excellent guess! Five points to Ravenclaw!”

Someone nudged her again as Flitwick asked if anyone knew what it was for. Her fingers wrote the answer down.

“ Granger ,” someone hissed at her. “Say something.”

“Miss Granger?” She looked up at Professor Flitwick. “Are you quite alright?”

“Yes, Professor,” she said. “Perfectly fine.”

Never mind that her insides were running around, she was sure her pulse had kicked up and her breathing was coming in harsh low pants. The world shimmered and her hand shook. It was coming just like she knew it would. Her heart kicked up in panic-- she couldn't...

She hated these.

Breathe, Mia, she could almost hear Hermes coaxing her, pulling her up against him, stroking her hair and murmuring in Greek. She hadn’t had one in a while, she assumed she was overdue with the added stress.

She forced herself to breathe and start opening compartments in her mind, shoving the wild thoughts away like a crazy round ‘em up until it wasn’t such a struggle to breathe in for four counts while reciting the numbers of pi.

One seven four eight eight one five two zero nine two zero nine six two eight...

He gave her a strange look as she took a slow steadying breath and continued reciting the number, the long stream of them streaming through her mind one after the other. Madame Pomfrey came in around the thousandth digit and went to him whispering in Flitwick’s ear before leaving again.

“Miss Granger, you are to head to the Infirmary after classes. Now, can anyone answer my question?”

Hermione felt her fingers moving, her mind occupied with pi, her body occupied with breathing through the attack brewing in her, her right hand scribbling the answers to the long list of his questions that no one had answers for. She wasn’t sure how long it was before the page vanished, floating across the classroom towards the Professor’s hands. Her right hand froze without parchment to write on, her left clenched around her wand.

“You have been quite occupied all class, Miss Granger, perhaps this will teach you to pay more attention whether you are doing well in the class or not.”

She heard the Slytherin’s snicker behind her as he began to read the page,  “The Fidelius Charm…”

He read on, out loud growing more confused by the moment. The answers to all of his questions there, in detail, as if she’d been copying them from a book though she had no book on her desk.  He looked at her as she set her quill in her bag and the end of the class bell rang. She stood and exited the door, taking a right instead of the left that led to the Infirmary. She found herself in the library, alone in her favorite corner with a thick book on her lap to read until her next class, straight through lunch. She heard the bell chime sometime near the middle of the book. She checked it out, put it in her bag and walked to Potions. There would be an exam today, she knew that and set herself up properly: book in her bag, ink pot on the desk beside her parchment and waiting for the rest of her classmates to arrive. Severus posed a question to the class, for the person who got it right, their entire house could use their books for the exam.

Someone nudged her and nudged her hard enough to bruise she was sure, but she didn’t feel it, staring at her parchment and waiting. She didn’t care if she knew the answer or not, didn’t care about Snape’s offer, about the pain in her side. All of it went into a neat compartment, shut away in the dark. No one answered it as the test began, the question became a bonus question on the board.  She answered it easily in high and exact detail. The words and facts pouring out of her mind and onto the page at a steady rate. She caught errors nearly as fast as she’d made them, checking her answers and receding back into the comfort of knowledge and facts, the ease of books.

Books didn’t care how much she read. They didn’t care how many times she raised her hand. They didn’t care how lonely she felt either, but they were always there waiting to be opened and teach her something, distract her. They didn’t care that she couldn’t care either, it was a relationship born of mutual apathy and the logic that if she couldn’t talk to people, she would at least fill her mind with something interesting.

She signed her test at the very bottom, the way he preferred and dusted it with drying powder before rolling it up and tying it closed. Others had wax, a seal to use, the seal maker had never obliged to make her one with the influx of pureblood requests… She’d fallen somewhere off the list and would probably never go back to get it either. She hadn’t told anyone that, just bought a spool of neat cord and tied it, or a drop of hot wax without a seal. She walked towards the front to turn in her exam as well as her homework from the day before and returned to her desk to sit quietly.

As was customary, Severus opened the scrolls he’d been given, keeping an eye on the not-so sneaky first years attempting to cheat if they dared, especially the Gryffindors who seemed to not be interested in trying to be sneaky. Harry kept his eyes and his parchment to himself, probably knowing that he would never hear the end of it of Severus ever caught him cheating, one of the disadvantages to being the stepson of a professor.

Beyond that, there had been a subtle shift in the classroom over the last few days. Neville seemed to be ruining his life more and more, perhaps he’d deducted more points from the Lion’s house more than usual… but there was something else…

His eyes drifted to Hermione. Her hair seemed as voluminous as ever,  as frizzy and uncontrolled, but it was her eyes that told him something else. They were bloodshot as if she had not slept and empty as if she did not feel anything.  Upon reading her exam, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. She very clearly had the answer to his question, what exactly had stopped her from raising her hand and getting Gryffindor the right to use their books… a thing that would have greatly improved the Gryffindor cause for the House Cup.

“Miss Granger,” he said as everyone began to leave. “A word.”

Hermione lifted her bag from beneath her chair, heavy with her latest procurements from the library and walked around the bench as everyone else began to file out. She stopped in front of his desk, piled high with scrolls of parchment and waited.

“Have you a reason for this?”

She said nothing waiting for him continue maybe. His eyes narrowed a bit as he turned the page towards her.

“You very well had the answer, I would have thought that you would have relished the chance to prove yourself, as usual, a know-it-all. Yet you say nothing…”

“I thought you wanted me to shut up, Professor.”

Severus blinked an eyebrow quirking at her flat tone. It isn’t sarcasm, far too empty for that, without malice--it’s almost an automated response as if she’d only programmed herself to speak.

No, he thought, not a programmed response.

Her hand tightened on the strap of her bag as she regarded him from her bloodshot eyes and absolutely flat affect. It was a tad unnerving to see her this way considering how hard it was for him most days to manage even the basic inflections and sentences that were more than a few words at a time. She looked as if she was so very deep in Occlumens that she couldn’t even hear the basic demands of her body for sleep or food…

She looked like he had in the days of the war.

“You look like you’ve missed quite a bit of sleep, I did not think you one to keep late nights over such things.”

“Other things keep me up,” she said.

Severus sat back regarding her. Logically, there was no one in her life to teach her Occlumens. More importantly, the depth of practice that would dissolve whatever affect she had would take at least a few months for a gifted student. She had not been involved with the wizarding world for that long, he knew from speaking with McGonagall about her.

“Go. I won’t have you late to your next class on my account.”

She turned. Severus watched her go, something in his gut niggling and uncomfortable watching her walk away. He’d like to think that it was his conscience, but he was pretty sure that only reared its head where Lily, or perhaps Harry, was concerned. He looked at the page in his hand, reviewing her answers and set it aside. Perhaps… he should speak with Albus about this.

*

“Miss Granger,” Hermione looked up from her place at the Great Hall’s table. Poppy stood over her looking determinedly put out and stern.

“With me this instant,” she said.

Hermione got up, slinging her bag onto her shoulder and following the woman towards the Infirmary.

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

She looked at the girl who seemed unaffected by the fact that she was blatantly going against orders.

“Were you not told to come to the Infirmary?”

“After classes.”

“And you did not come because?”

“I did,” Hermione said. “You weren’t there.”

Poppy frowned and sighed, rubbing the space between her eyes tiredly. Hermione would have had to have come just after her classes ended and walked right back out to dinner.

“This is not good for you,” Poppy said. “You understand that don’t you?”

“Good’s relative,” Hermione said flatly, blinking slowly.

“You need to eat, surely you understand that?” Poppy tried at a loss for what to say to the girl. Most students suffered from basic anxiety, a touch of depression before they made friends and seemed to get better. Hermione seemed to be… quite happy to remain as she was. She bet it was her muggle heritage. She knew that when Hermione came to Hogwarts with the muggle medications and a letter from her grandfather that she would be trouble. Madame Pomfrey hadn’t thought it would be this much however.

“I’m not hungry.”

And she had no will to eat, and no will to listen to Poppy’s lecture about eating either.

She didn’t take the potion Poppy gave her, having dropped it when a Slytherin rammed into her and laughed. It crashed to the floor, breaking open and she watched it for a moment sliding on the floor and then kept walking. She could have repaired it, could have done anything, but she didn’t. She didn’t return to the Great Hall or the library, content to find and empty corridor that no one walked through to sit down and read in peace. It doesn’t take long to get lost in the pages, less time than it takes for the end of dinner bell to chime. She walked up the stairs to her bedroom. She bathed, crawled into bed and settled herself for a long night of reading, perhaps dozing off, perhaps not.

She did doze off eventually, startling awake at the sound of screaming in her dreams. The weeks went on that way, bleeding into a near month before Minerva pulled her aside after her Transfiguration class and into her office. She’d known it wouldn’t be long, she’d been so unsteady on her feet that it had been quite a feat that she’d managed the transfiguration in class. Minerva, unlike some of the other professors, kept a close eye on the students. She’d known something was wrong with Hermione all of a few days in when the girl refused to raise her hand for anything after a steady streak of raising her hand for everything. Hermione looked at her flatly as she called a House Elf to deliver a set of letters and bring up some food.

The Elf reappeared with a plate of food.

“I’ve had the Headmaster get in touch with your parents,” Minerva said. “Your grandfather will be here tonight to hopefully talk some sense into you, dear girl. You’ll make yourself sick like this.”

Hermione looked at her plainly as Minerva sighed.

“Please,” she said. “Eat.”

Hermione looked at the plate of food, the smell of it not stroking anything, but nausea in her and making her eyes burn.  She wanted to curl up and disappear.

“Professor McGonagall?”

She looked up, “Stay right here, Miss Granger.”

She swept around the table towards the door to answer it. It was a summons from Dumbledore to bring Hermione up to his office to wait for Hermes to arrive. When Minerva returned, she found Hermione having not moved a muscle towards eating or leaving. She led Hermione down the corridor towards Albus’s office and watched the Gargoyle hop aside. When she turned, she found Hermione on the ground, unconscious. Her brown skin a bit fever-flushed beneath the mass of her hair. Her hand twitching intermittently.

It seemed that her body had finally given out.

Minerva’s heart jumped, kneeling to check her pulse, her temperature and calling up the stairs for Albus before levitating Hermione towards the Infirmary. Students gasped, chatting among themselves as they walked past. It’s something like a spectacle, but no one says much of anything as she floated past and into the Infirmary. Poppy makes the bed as comfortable as possible, but there isn’t much she can do besides pour potions down her throat.

Chapter Text

Hermione woke up hours later with Hermes sitting at her bedside, a hand in hers and worried.

“Pappoús?” Hermione asked weakly.

“Mikros,” he soothed looking at her, stroking her hair. “Uncanny, no?”

She swallowed moving to sit up and he pressed a hand on her shoulder, “Shh, we need to talk, mikros.”

Hermione looked at him and then towards the blankets over her, “About what?”

“You haven’t been completely honest in your letters, have you, Mia?”

She shook her head as he let out a breath. He leaned over to the table where food was set out.

“Eat, Mia,” he said helping her to sit up, setting pillows behind her. “You need to eat.”

“I… I’m not,” she struggled with the words and the burning in her eyes. “I…”

He looked at her and watched it in pieces, her falling to pieces and confused. She’d gone too long without rest, without food, and without proper medicine too. It chilled him and pissed him off all at the same time. They promised to take care of her, promised that she’d be cared for and here she was no better than her years in London hopping between doctors who settled on the first diagnosis that came to mind. He set the tray aside and moved to join her on the cot, pulling her against him.

“ Talk to me, ” he said the familiar greek pouring over her sense, soothing her and at once breaking her resolve to keep it to herself.

The tears came, the sobbing and struggling Greek. How perfectly horrible it had all been since arriving at Hogwarts, how she’d tried to be strong, but more often than not it was a struggle to just put something in her mouth. How the potions made her feel like she was heading into an episode and how much she hated it.

“My parents hate me because I’m all messed up and --and--”

“Mikros,” he said gently, stroking her head. “Your parents don’t hate you. Sure, they haven’t done the best with everything, but they do what they think is best for because they love you.”

Hermione shook her head, burying her face in his shoulder.

“She won’t even talk to me…” she said. “Like it’s easier to trade letters because she doesn’t have to look at how much of a freak I am.”

Hermes stiffened at the word and made her look at him, cupping her chin and formulating his words carefully.

“You are not a freak,” he said. “My brilliant, Mia. Your mother loves you. She wants to be there for you, wants to hear from you--you should see her when I tell her not to write to you every hour. She frets, Mia.”

She sniffled as he wiped her tears.

“She comes home and stays in your old room, writing stacks and stacks of letters because she can’t just call you. I won’t even mention your father who has been put on a strict one letter every three days regimen.”

Hermione’s jaw trembled, “Really?”

He sighed, his daughter and her husband had been frightful about their little girl since the first incident, in a state of panic, rushing her to any doctor that seemed remotely promising as they could fix her teeth, but not make her feel better. Struggling when Hermione couldn’t express herself very well and really had no will to do so.

“You know she started to brush up on her Greek? Your Dad, too.”

She sniffed, "Really?”

Hermes nodded and grabbed the plate, “Eat and I’ll tell you more. Just a few bites okay?”

Hermione nodded and sniffled lifting a warm potato to her lips and eating. She wondered who he had to threaten or beg to get her Greek food this far north, settled against him and breathing in the familiar scent of olive oil on his skin and the Mediterranean wind.  She managed a piece of pita, a strip of lamb, and another potato before her body caught up with the fact that she was starving. He smiled at her indulgently, watching her eat, relieved. Getting her to eat was always the hardest part, once that was done, the rest came easily.

Monica Apostrophes had all but shed her Greek heritage when she left home after her mother died. Hermes had let her go with gritted teeth to England. It had taken a long time before she was ready to come home to see him and even still she struggled. Hermione had taken to being careful about speaking English around her as she always had a certain kind of melancholy in her eyes when she spoke Greek.

“She thought it would make you more comfortable,” he said.

“She doesn’t… think I’m a disappointment?”

Hermes shook his head, “They love you to bits and pieces, sweetheart. I’m pretty sure the only reason that I’m here instead of them is because I’m retired and they aren’t.”

She laughed a bit, continuing to eat until she was full, feeling a little more settled.

“If you want to come home,” Hermes started. “It is an option, Mia…”

She worried her lip, “I… I don’t think I should. I don’t belong there… I don’t really belong here either, but at least I’m not… a freak here.”

At least not in the same way.

“Nonsense,” he said. “My Mia belongs anywhere she well pleases and I believe you have a couple of spells to make sure people know it.”

Hermione smiled up at him sighing.

“It’s hard,” she said softly. “I wonder… if this was a good idea or not.”

“Are you frightened, Mia?”

She nodded.

“There’s nothing wrong with being frightened. You’re twelve years old. I’m as ancient as dust and I get scared.”

She snorted, “I doubt it.”

“I’m scared that one day you’ll never want to come back to the non-wand waving side and visit me,” he said. “Afraid you’ll leave us all behind…”

Just like your mother had, it’s something he doesn’t say but he knows from the way she squeezes him that she understands.

“I wouldn’t, pappoús,” she said with a sigh. “Who else is going to roast lamb the way you do?”

He laughed and tickled her, “That’s what I’m good for, huh? Lamb roasting.”

She laughed, wriggling around until he stopped. In a decidedly better mood, they shared the baklava he’d brought with him on the train up and talked lightly about the fact that Albus had nothing but great things to say about her academic standing, passed on from all of her Professors, even Snape whom Hermione thought for sure hated her with a passion.

“None of them could tell me how you were doing otherwise.” Hermione looked at him, “I'm guessing that's because they either didn't notice or expected you to bounce out of it.”

Hermione had never given them any reason not to think so since it was so very obvious that the wizarding world had little understanding of mental illness where magic wasn't involved. They took it as quirks and eccentricities rather than the potentially destructive force and everyday battle it could be. Then again, wizards really had a loose sense of time with their Time-Turners and spells. Who cares if you couldn’t get up for a week, you could go back and relive those moments whenever you felt better.

“I'll let her know, mikros. For now, get some rest okay? I'll be here for the weekend it seems.”

Hermione nodded leaning back, comforted by his presence and whatever calming potion had laced her drink.

“Pumpkin juice? Apple wasn't good enough?”

She chuckled, “I don't really care for it.”

Hermes nodded and held her hand as she dozed off. Poppy returned to deal with the muggle man’s sleeping arrangements and to take note of what he had to say about Hermione’s potions. She wasn't sure if it was his tone or the words he used but she took the warning to heart: fix it, let her take the pills, or he'd find somewhere else to send her as Hogwarts was not the only school that had come to claim Hermione, they just happened to be the closest to her parents. This was a detail that Hermes had not shared with her parents as he was put down as her official guardian, being retired and having far more freedom with which to tend to tend any issues.

Hermione woke up to a new potion custom made for her and another plate of Greek food. Her grandfather was apparently not one to be denied. He stayed with her the weekend making sure to keep an eye on her and her wellness, being the person between her and Poppy to make sure her potions weren't causing unnecessary stress for Hermione. He even managed to twist her hair and tame it into a bun while giving her a distinctly loving care package from him and her parents. Sunday night, he hugs her tight at the entrance to Hogwarts before dinner.

“Write to me for anything, Mia,” he said stroking her hair and kissing her cheek. “Mikros.”

She nodded, “I will, pappoús.”

“Trounce them?”

“Always. Tell them they can write as much as they want.”

He nodded and warned her not to regret that statement later. He kissed her head and followed Hagrid out. She took a deep breath and turned taking the familiar pathway to the Great Hall and entering. For a moment, they're all quiet staring at her, but she took a breath and walked to the end of the Gryffindor table to take a seat as if they weren't staring at her. She filled her plate, pulled out her book and ate without paying attention.

“Uhm, hello?”

She looked up to see a dark-haired boy with eyes that felt familiar. She thought about the woman in the cauldron shop.

“Uhm… I'm in Charms with you.”

“I know. Hello, Harry.”

He blinked, “You know who I am?”

“You're friends with Ron and Seamus.”

He winced at that, “Erm… well, yes. Anyway, I told Professor Flitwick that I'd give you this...since you weren't in class…”

He held out a piece of parchment to her. She glanced at it and then to his face.

“It's… the one that was for you. I could explain how the Hermes Charm works...if you want.”

Hermione licked her lips, glanced down the table where people were staring at them, and shook her head, “No need, but… thank you, Harry.”

She took the parchment from his hand and turned back to her book.

“Uhm… what are you reading?”

“Standard Book of Spells Level Four.”

He blinked and nodded turning away before stopping and turning back.

“He was lying.”

Hermione looked up at him.

“When… he called you insufferable,” Harry said. “He… he can be harsh… but… he’s not always like that and... well, it’s nice to have someone who isn’t… afraid to answer, who's actually prepared for class. So... don’t let him make you feel like it’s not… He’s not very good when it comes to being here...”

Hermione blinked as he flushed red and turned, “Right, I’ll um… let you get back to your book.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said a slight smile over her just a bit too large front teeth. “I think… I needed to hear that.”

Harry nodded, “Gryffindors should stick together.”

Hermione nodded slowly and watched him head back to his group of friends. She turned back to her book with an odd sort of smile before looking at the parchment in her hand. Sealed with a dollop of black wax.

She opened it and breathed.

Dragonheart, she thought curiously. It was probably a translation, or maybe not, from the way the letter was written, the person who wrote it clearly didn’t speak English as a first language, but it was definitely written in English. Upon further inspection, she felt something while reading the words on the page, just a feeling she couldn’t quite put her finger on. All she was pretty certain of was that the writer was male, definitely older but not by more than two or three years.

Hello,

I am from place called Lozengradtsi, Bulgaria. You have probably never heard of it. Is just on edge of Bulgarian-Greek border near muggle station Makaza. Have six brothers, all older than me. Forgive bad English-- is seventh language. Bulgarian and Greek are first. Family from Istanbul teach me Turkish, learn Romanian from comrade at school. Norwegian and Italian from other comrades. Russian from tutor. I am happy to meet you, whoever you are. From what professor say, we have three years to know each other. Am glad to make friend in another country.

Tell me about you,

Dragonheart

Chapter Text

“Viktor!”

He looked up seeing Vlad cross the room carrying his bag along with Ivan and Boris, his brothers. The five of them all have a certain way about them that never failed to make him smile. They were really his only friends at Durmstrang as his brothers had left behind quite the legacy before they’d graduated, as had his father, his uncles, and even his grandparents from what he understood of the family.

“Come, the letters have arrived. Karkaroff is rather impatient to get this done.”

“I hope whoever I get paired with is not an idiot… Imagine conversing with an idiot for three years?”

Viktor snorted standing to follow them. They chat about the Quidditch season, rumors about professional scouts coming to watch them play. As they reach the main hall, he isn’t surprised to see the entire school talking amongst themselves with a curious and excited air. Correspondence with people who were to be their rivals in three years. Viktor only hoped that he’d have a chance to meet them in three years time, assuming that he still felt that way. He took a seat at his usual table, ordered by year. Durmstrang was a small school situated in the icy north of Norway. The winters were bitter, the summers were infrequent and short and it was a far cry from the warmth of Bulgaria.

He never stayed over the summer, quite happy to Floo home from Skarsvag as soon as he was able to. Karkaroff took his usual place in the front of the hall, calling for their attention and telling them that they would come up in order to receive their letters. Some of them would get multiple letters depending on their magical abilities, some would only receive one, or none if no one was found to be magically compatible with them that year. For those graduating, they would be allowed to continue correspondence with the person if they chose to. They started calling the upperclassmen first.

“What is this all for again?” Boris asked.

“The Triwizard Tournament in three years time. We will bring the trophy home to Durmstrang.”

Viktor’s lip twitched, perhaps.

“Krum.”

He stood up heading to the front to reach inside the box. There was only one letter for him there. Sealed neatly with a dollop of red wax. He opened it curiously and was met with some of the neatest handwriting he’d ever seen.  There’s something about the feeling radiating from the letter that tells him that the letter is from a girl, something about the way the latent magic in the writing, the intent, and formulation of the sentences that feels feminine. The words aren’t flowery, but precise, concise and an obvious attempt to sound friendly. He almost felt bad for her as he did not think his letter gave the same feeling.

Hello,

It is very nice to meet you. I hope you’re from somewhere far more interesting than I am. I’m from Oxford, England, but my parents are not. I still have yet to figure out what made them move so far north given where they are originally from. I spent most of my childhood with my grandfather in Greece. I’m named after my grandfather, and it is perhaps a very large part of why he dotes on me so. He tells me often that though I am named for him, I am most like my grandmother. I have no idea what language you speak, but if English isn’t the easiest, I’m fluent in Greek, German, French, Arabic, Latin, and Old English if that helps any. The last two are a joke of course, though I have no way of knowing if you find it funny. In case you’re curious, my pseudonym is a portmanteau of the two things I think make up the majority of my personality: books and logic.

I hope we can be good friends,

Biblio-logical

He smiled, tilting his head at the words, before folding the letter back up and walking to class. It doesn’t take long to hear from Aleksandr that his correspondent seems a bit daft, or illiterate. Angel is only grinning, waving her hands, free from any letter. They glower at her.

“Lucky,” Ivan said shoving his letter in his pocket. “What about you Viktor?”

He shrugged, “At least I may not have to write letters in English ever again.”

“Oh?”

“She’s fluent in Greek and German.”

“She? How do you know it’s a she.”

He hummed, “I… it is just a feeling.”

Angel regarded him strangely before nodding. “We should get going to class. You know who hates late students.”

He laughed following them towards their next class with a sigh. The lesson is simple enough, Dark Arts always was and the day passed on until they were outside after classes and a scream came through the air. They turned to see the bustle of a fight happening.

“What are you doing?”

“Stay out of it, Krum.”

His eyes narrowed recognizing the group as the same group of students who’d thought wearing the insignia of Grindelwald was a good idea. The same group that he, Boris, Ivan, and Alexander had taught a lesson to just last year.

“You must need a reminder of last year. Let him go.”

They sneered at him but did as he said, dropping the boy to the ground and leaving. Viktor kneeled at his side, moving to get him up and onto his back as gently as possible.

“I’m too--”

“I will take you to the infirmary. What happened?”

The boy was a scorekeeper for the Quidditch team, part of the reason that one of their friends didn’t make the team as a beater after letting their seeker get badly injured. They’d been trying to get a Seeker for weeks before the game in January but to no avail.

“We haven’t been able to find anyone who can fly fast enough to catch the snitch.” He sighed as Viktor set him down and let the school healer patch him up.

“You should try out,” Ivan said, clapping Viktor on the shoulder.

“I have no interest in it,” Viktor said turning away. His father had been a Quidditch player in school, a beater from what he remembered. All of his brothers had played as beaters or chasers since trying to live up to the legacy their father had set up at Durmstrang.

“We’ll have to forfeit the next game if we don’t find someone since Ivanov is still unconscious and won’t be able to fly for weeks after.”

“You fly well enough, don’t you? It’s just one game, right?”

Viktor wrinkled his nose, “I…”

Angel nudged him, “Seeker for one game would be much better than a mediocre beater for seasons on end.”

Viktor glowered at her, “I told you, I don’t care about that.”

“Then do it because you want Durmstrang to win ,” she said. “Who knows? Maybe your father will actually pay you some attention and see you for who you really are for a change.”

Viktor huffed, leave it to Angel, his dear cousin, to know what to say to get him to do anything. Curse his undying loyalty to the men who had been brothers when he so desperately needed them too. He agreed to try out, not thinking he was particularly gifted on a broom, certainly not gifted enough to be a seeker in place of someone who’d played Quidditch all their lives. Sure, he’d spent most of his life on a broom since his grandmother had taken it upon herself to teach him to fly, to teach him what his namesake had so loved. He had a broom even, a gift from his grandmother, but being able to fly and being a seeker were two different things. She’d taught him to fly because being on the ground was sometimes too hard for the Viktor who only wanted his parent’s approval. He took after his grandfather with his dark features which set him apart from the rest of his brothers and his mother. They were delicate in their beauty, near Grecian Adonis look alike taking after her father… Viktor did not even look much like his own father beside the dark features common to the Krum line. His father's face was cut with gentler strokes while Viktor’s face was all hard angles and cheekbones.

He was the spitting image of his grandfather, the great Viktorius Krum who'd been killed in the first stage of the war by Grindelwald. It had at once been something that bothered him greatly, but as it became obvious that he would be forever sacked with his less than beautiful features, he took pride in the fact that he was leaps and bounds smarter than his brothers...and better on a broom.

The try-outs were that evening before twilight. Everyone was expected to pass a simple speed test and then there would be a game simulation to see how they did with the chaos of the field. Viktor passed the speed test with more than just a few seconds to spare.

“All you need to do is find the Snitch, catch the Snitch, and not get knocked off your broom while doing it.”

Viktor winced seeing another student take a bludger to the chest and go crashing to the ground. The two teams developed for the skirmish weren’t playing very nice, but since they were going up against a Norwegian school that was known to put players in St Mungo’s for extensive care, they had to be a bit mean.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Viktor told Ivan looking up at the players. The last person still crying out in pain from the bludger that had rammed him into a wall.

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “We won’t let you get hurt too badly.

He looked between the two and mounted his broom, ascending to the lineup and trying to breathe. This wasn't how he imagined today's time for flying to be spent. A flash of gold in his peripheral caught his attention as the whistle blew and he flew up and out of the way of the bludgers, whirling on his broom until he hung upside down to scan the field.

“What the hell is he doing?”

Ivan smirked at the question, “Being Viktor.”

“That’s just… unreal.”

Ivan grinned watching Viktor dive down from the slow arc, straight through the fray, barely missing the quaffle and bludgers’ path across the field and pulling up to make a tight turn. He stood on the crossbar of his broom, holding his body up as the broom shot straight up towards the glint of gold. He stepped left, swinging his body around the broom to avoid a bludger sliding down to avoid another until he just hung on his crossbars and let go to grab onto the broomstick and tilt the broom beneath him, swinging up to straddle it, spin and change directions to follow the glint of gold.

The Snitch dove, but Viktor was close enough to swing down, holding his body up by just his legs and swipe the Snitch out of the air as the broom flew. The wings fluttered and folded in on itself. He remained hanging from his broom as it coasted around the pitch and contemplated the Snitch in his hand. So much work and hassle for this tiny golden ball? He looked down to the pitch where the team captain stared up in disbelief.

“How is he doing that?”

“Viktor was practically born on a broom,” Angel said. “That isn’t something he inherited from his father either.”

No, from the pictures, Viktor flew like the old Wing as he was called. Viktorius Krum hadn't ever played a day of Quidditch in his life, but he'd been an exceptional Auror for Bulgaria. Angel bet that if Viktorius had decided to play Quidditch, there would have been a very different legacy in the family for Viktor to live up to.

The broom descended slowly as Viktor pulled himself up and swung his leg over his broomstick so he straddled his broom backward, hunching forward as he looked at the golden ball in his hand.

“Well… you fly like that and you might end up being our Seeker for the rest of your time at Durmstrang!”

Viktor looked at the captain who beamed at him then to Ivan and Angel.

“The Old Wing would be proud.”

Viktor grinned at her and swing himself off the broom, floating to the ground. Yes, Viktor had inherited his wings from his namesake.

“Do you think grandma will be okay?”

“I think she’s been waiting for a reason to come to see you,” Angel said with a shrug. “This is as good as any.”

Chapter Text

Come January, it was quite obvious that while Gryffindor would win the Quidditch Cup with Harry as their new seeker, they would not be so lucky with the house Cup as Hermione was still on proverbial strike even after spending the Holiday with her grandfather galavanting around the magical side of Athens. They'd picked up new quills, more ink and anything else she was out of and spent the rest of the time taking the sights, trying wizarding pastries and the like. Her parents had come for just the holiday and went back at the end of the week for work. He'd said crush them and she did, even with her issues and a few slip ups in her potions with the Quidditch season, she had maintained her top of the class standing in all classes. She was still rather friendless, Harry being the only one to talk to her besides the upperclassmen who needed the books she had or Neville who was more or less in the same weird boat as her. She found a friend in Luna Lovegood, who while strange always had interesting things to say. She’d met Luna while running around in the rain one May afternoon. It was an entirely muggle thing that no one really understood, but Luna had joined her saying she heard that there were Clarins in the rain. A mystical type of tiny creature that enjoyed having people to play with. They met in the rain every time sometimes just to run around, sometimes to practice their water manipulation.  

And then there was Dragonheart who honestly was probably the only reason she got through the days when Madame Pomfrey just hadn't had time to make her potions due to the influx of Quidditch injuries. They wrote in Greek or German depending on the day and sometimes they'd teach each other things in other languages, from books they'd read. They talked about everything that they could and wouldn’t give away where they were though they could guess.

When Hermione had come back from the break, it seemed that she’d taken to heart Severus’s words about being a know-it-all and quite frankly kept her mouth shut even when professors desperately needed someone to say the answer.

“Hermione?”

She looked up to see Neville coming to sit across from her, “Hello Neville.”

“I… I don’t mean to be a bother and I wouldn’t ask really since I know… how you feel about P-Professor Snape, but…”

Hermione gave him a kind smile and closed the book she was reading, “What can I help you with Neville?”

*

“Mr. Longbottom,” Severus began in that drawl of his. Hermione worried her lip from a few stations down.

“Tell me what is the proper order to add the four main ingredients of the Warts Potion.”

Neville swallowed and Hermione breathed giving him an encouraging nod as he stared up at his worst fear.

“C-Crushed s-snake fangs, s-sliced sheep b-bladder, one rat tail, spider jam and then the last two rat tails…”

Severus blinked as Hermione grinned uncontrollably, “Well… it seems you have been at the least attempting to improve.”

He walked away to terrorize a different student as Hermione gave him another nod and Neville panted, breathing out his moment of absolute terror. Studying with Hermione had apparently been paying off. When class ended, she found Neville leaning against the wall.

“You did it!” Hermione cheered, nudging him. “I told you you could.”

“Now… I just have to get something better than a Poor on my essay.”

Hermione nudged, “Don’t worry, Neville, you’ll do just fine.”

To his surprise, when he opened his scroll after the next class, there isn’t the usual “P” or “A” at the top of the scroll but an “E” in fact with only a few minor corrections on his page.

“Hermione,” he said. “You’re a magician.”

She laughed, “I’m actually just a witch and you don’t give yourself enough credit. He makes you nervous so you freak out, that’s all.”

He nodded slowly and headed to the next class with a promise to meet at the library after dinner.

For once, it isn’t Neville’s cauldron that explodes or melts through in Potions though she can tell by Severus’s tone that he wasn’t expecting it to be a member of the Slytherin house. She wondered how much it pained him to have to deduct points from his own house and spare the Gryffindors for an entire class.

“What’s been going on with you Neville?” Seamus asked. “It’s been weeks since you’ve screwed up in Potions.”

“Hermione’s been helping me.”

“Granger?” Ron asked with a snort. “Shouldn’t be surprised she does spend all of her time with her moldy old books.”

“Don’t talk about her that way,” Neville said looking at Ron. “You don’t know anything about her.”

Seamus laughed, “Sounds like Neville’s got a crush on Sabertooth Granger.”

“Yeah, why else be so defensive?”

“Because she’s a nice person and she doesn’t deserve to be insulted by you.”

Seamus’s eyes widened as Ron’s jaw dropped. Harry came up behind them as Neville turned to leave them behind.

“Doesn’t matter, even if we don’t lose all of our points because of Neville, we’ll still lose.”

Harry shrugged, “At least there’s the Quidditch Cup.”

“Yeah…”

As usual, Hermione sat at the end of the table with a book propped up, reading quietly and occasionally putting food in her mouth. It was always the same food too: whatever was closest, not greasy, and generally easy to eat without much attention. Harry thought it odd to see someone so uninterested in food, seeing eating as more of a chore than a chance to enjoy the food…

Then again, Severus ate that way sometimes, his mother too, when they were busy sitting across from one another talking about something Lily was working on for the Ministry, picking Severus’s potion brain. Sometimes they would just… say things to one another without being prompted and it being exactly what the other needed. Lily told him that it was the power of soulmates, that Lily and Severus were soulmates, bound forever. He’d been… so confused as to why it was Severus and not his father, the late James Potter. Why she’d married his father if Severus was her soulmate? Why Severus was alive and his father was dead…

How could she be okay knowing that her soulmate had been a death eater?

Your father and I, we loved each other, Harry… but in all honesty, what kept us together were things that shouldn’t keep any two people together.

She always said it was complicated to explain how you could love someone who was not your soulmate, how you could see yourself without your soulmate, but he didn’t think he’d ever understand. It had been hard growing up with Severus and his own brand of… aloofness. Lily had tried to explain that Severus was not nearly as cold as he appeared to be, though more or less incapable of inflection and the normal show of emotion, he did feel them in blinding flashes--a symptom of having suppressed his emotions so long as a triple agent during the war. He’d gotten better over the years, but it still wasn’t the same as Sirius or Remus. He could go flying with Sirius and Remus, they laughed and talked with him, held him when he cried… He and Severus had yet to find something they could truly bond over in all the years that he’d lived with them. Sure, Severus was always the one to make sure his wounds had been healed properly after fumbling around with Remus and Sirius, but it wasn’t the same as a well felt hug.

“Attention everyone!” Dumbledore called across the hall earning, mostly everyone’s attention. Hermione didn’t bother to look up, already split between making sure not to bite her fingers and still understand the words on the page.

“It has come to my attention that there has been some discontent with the structure of House Points. An emphasis has been placed on participation in classes and quidditch as the only way to contribute meaningfully to the house points. After much discussion with the staff, we’ve decided to revive an old Hogwarts tradition in an effort to give more students a chance to contribute to the House Cup points.”

A whisper flickered up and down the table and Hermione took the time to look up, eat the rest of her sausage, and grab an apple.

“This a dueling tournament,  teams will be formed one from each level to face off in a series of dueling contests. Your House Heads will be speaking with you all tonight about nominating team members as the competitions will happen just after the final Quidditch match of the year.”

With announcements over, Hermione grabbed her book and vacated the hall, heading to the library still reading her book. It was about time for Dragonheart’s letter to arrive and she wanted to be somewhere quiet to read it. As she settled into her usual seat in the library, the letter appeared on top of her open pages. She smiled and opened it, delighted that it was a rather long letter.

“Hermione!”

Madame Pince hissed the person to be quiet before a group of footsteps came around the corner, wandering the library to search for her.

“Where on earth could she be?”

“We should have asked Neville to come with us.”

“It can’t be that hard to find one girl in this place.”

“Split up.”

Hermione smiled and laughed quietly at the letter. Apparently, he’d been trying to teach an underclassmen to fly, but the boy had such a fear of heights that it was turning out to be impossible.

I don’t believe he will ever get more than a few feet off the ground without screaming, but I keep trying so he can pass his class. He is very brave, but very scared and I’m not sure what to say to him. My grandmother taught me to fly when I was--

“Hermione!”

She looked up at the call of her name and looked over to see Harry, flushed from running perhaps. He called back that he’d “found her” and approached the table.

“Hello Harry,” Hermione said. “Are you alright?”

“We… need to talk. We’re having a meeting in the Gryffindor common room with Professor McGonagall.”

Hermione sighed looking longingly at her letter before folding it up and following him out of the library. The others had gone ahead leaving them to walk back to the tower, her reading her book as they walked along seemingly ignoring him and he swallowed.

“It’s pretty crazy, yeah?”

“What is?” She asked turning a page and walking up the moving stairs.

“The new contest.”

“What new contest?” She asked.

“Weren’t… you listening at dinner?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t have any interest in the House Cup.”

“But… why?” Harry asked. “I mean… you don’t want us to win?”

Hermione looked at him over the top of her book, “This… may surprise you Harry, but Gryffindor House isn’t exactly kind to me. What interest should I have in a collection of individuals I was sorted with because I have courage but have shown themselves to be cowardly?”

Harry gaped at her, but couldn’t answer for a moment, instead he asked if she’d been brave. Where the question came from he had no idea. She gave him a thoughtful and almost amused look. It made him think of Severus right before he told Harry that he’d asked a question he already had the answer to.

Hermione looked at him, “I think stepping, more or less, alone into the wizarding world coming from a strictly muggle one could be considered pretty brave.”

Not to mention enduring months of bullying with her head held high, managing to keep her grades at the top of the class despite the mishandling of her medication and the harsh nature of Hogwarts’ social climate. Yes, she’d say she’d been brave and now she was just very tired, happy to skate by pretty much undetected until her seventh year.

“But you’re always in your books,” Harry said. “The only reason we’re talking right now is because I asked you a question.”

“Surprisingly, it wasn’t the Slytherins who started “Sabertooth Granger”, or “Bushy-Haired Know-It-All” or… anything else most of the Gryffindor House called me.”

Harry winced, knowing that Ron was actually to blame for some of those.

“ Mental ,” Hermione said flatly, looking at him with that completely untouchable gaze. Harry flinched getting rather uncomfortable under Hermione’s gaze. “I think in terms of trying to be brave, I’ve done the gambit.”

Harry winced trying to think of something else to say.

“Is it brave to pick on someone?”

“Well… no, but...”

“But?” She asked as the stairs stopped.

“My Mom… always told me that being brave was more like… always getting back up.”

Hermione looked at him.

“Even when it seems hopeless.”

“Did she tell you what being tired was like?”

He blinked as the staircase stopped.

“It’s like a weight that only gets heavier the longer you drag it along,” she said and stood straight carrying her book. “Heavier and heavier until you can’t even move.”

He followed her up the rest of the stairs.

“Well… that’s why you have friends,” Harry said.

“That’s why you have friends,” Hermione said. “Perhaps. I have books. Neville and Luna don’t care that I couldn’t care less about the House Cup, or if I never comb my hair. How big my teeth are, how many books I read. Those are friends. When I’m tired, they give me time to be so, words of encouragement, patience and understanding.”

“If they were friends, then they’d tell you to be brave.”

“They do,” she said. “It takes a lot more to be okay with being on the outside than constantly trying to force your way in, or falling in so you’re accepted. That’s bravery.”

Harry swallowed following her to the portrait. She gave the Fat Lady the password and walked in to take a seat at the back of the room while Harry stood near the portrait hole. His eyes followed Hermione through the crowd trying to figure out what she was getting at.

“We’ll be having proper dueling classes in the weeks ahead and will select our best duelists for the job. Everyone will have their fair chance to participate as dueling etiquette is something that all witches and wizard should know.”

Harry looked to Hermione as the announcement was over and everyone began to split up. Hermione walked towards the table to take a seat, Neville joined her and he swallowed walking forward.

“Mind if I join you?”

“What are you doing Harry? I thought we were going to play Exploding Snap.” Ron asked coming up beside him.

“I’d… rather be brave instead.”

Harry offered Hermione a weak smile which she wasn’t sure how to interpret given who he was, but she said nothing as he joined the table, pulling out his potions homework and beginning to work, listening to Hermione explain things to Neville.

“How do you do that?”

Hermione looked at Harry, ”What?”

“Explain it so well?” Harry asked. “Not just Potions but...Charms too.”

“I read a lot, beyond what's asked of me,” she said. “And I read it in different languages.”

“I didn't know you spoke something else,” Neville said looking at her in shock.

“Greek is my first language, English is a close second.”

Harry blinked, “That's really cool.”

Hermione shrugged, “Means I really have to know it and explaining it helps me remember.”

Neville told her she was beyond a godsend. His grandmother would have a fit if he failed his courses. Harry, being Gryffindor brave, asked what he thought was an obvious question, one that should have probably been in his notes already, but wasn't.  Hermione directed him to the place in the book and explained the answer rather calmly. For the first time, Harry went to bed with his homework done and didn't have to stay up with Ron and the others to try and figure it out. It was... rather nice.

Hermione on the other hand got to bed and opened her letter rather than her newest book. She scanned to find where she left off.

My grandmother taught me to fly when I was two years old. She was on the broom with me. She'd take me flying and then lead me around on the broom by myself. It was the happiest time of my life. She lives in Greece in a muggle neighborhood in Athens and works for the Greek Ministry as a Spell Breaker. She comes from a family of broom makers but she only does it as a hobby.  I try to spend as much time in the summer as I can with her as going home has no such joy beyond the library. She told me that it’s been passed down through my grandfather’s family since the first daughter of the line.

I've spent most of my free time on a broom, reading high above the city. It's peaceful. I think you would like it since you say it is hard for you to quiet your mind. Flying on a broom is a feeling more than a science. You know the first broom was made by a woman to save a child from a tree? Brooms now are more utilitarian, but they all react to feeling.

I am sorry that your dorm mates are not kind to you.  At my school, we do not have dorm rivalry, we are all students of the same school and there is no division based on where in the castle you live. Have you no one to talk to? With a mind like yours, I can't imagine you not having friends. You have a warm heart I can tell. Perhaps one day they will see it too and they will be sorry for not meeting you as you are rather than what you look like. I look nothing like my siblings or very much like anyone at school, so I understand sticking out, but in time I think people grow up and learn that those that look different are people to be embraced just like anyone else.

As for your snake problem, I would suggest a well placed hex, perhaps one to make him hiss instead of speak for a full day? Or give him scales. Your dorm mates, I have no idea for, but perhaps if you waged war on them, perhaps if you fight back, they would leave you alone? It is hard for me to understand why they treat you so badly. It does not seem that you have done anything to deserve it. Should you chose to take my advice, I’ve included a list of titles that may come in handy for you.

I hope your exams go well, at the very least better than mine. I have studied all I can, yet I feel as though it is not enough.  I thank you for your advice, the books were very helpful. I did not even know we had them in the library, it was a nice surprise.

As for Quidditch, I am unfortunately expected to continue playing. The sport is growing on me, if only because it lets me practice flying, but I do it more because of my parents. I don’t mean to be so personal, but I think I know you well enough through our letters to say this. I am the youngest boy and all of my brothers have been beaters or chasers. My father was a beater in school, but my grandfather who I am named after was a brilliant flyer. He was an Auror. They called him “Wing”.  My grandmother says that I inherited more than a name and his looks, but his skill on a broom as well.

I have never fit in with my family, inheriting my looks from my grandfather while my brothers took after my mother’s side of the family. I do not even look much like my father beyond the color of my hair, so I stand out in the house. I never had much interest in Quidditch and as I’ve said I only played because our Seeker was injured and my cousin being the way she is. I didn’t think it would make a difference.

But it did.

My first game was just a few days ago. We won, but that did not matter to me. I can’t explain the way he looked at me. I had only told my grandmother in hopes that she would be there, but he was there. Our High Master is an old friend of his, I suppose he told him as he works in the Quidditch department for the Ministry of Magic. I saw him in the stands when we took to the air and he had such a strange expression at the calling of my name. I think he was surprised, maybe? I am not sure, but the look only continued to change as the game progressed.

I’m embarrassed to say that I was injured and our opponents were rather ruthless, but when I caught the snitch, I didn’t really feel anything about it, still so at peace in the air though I could hear everyone screaming with excitement. When I saw him after the game, my father hugged me. I know this might sound strange to you since you are so very used to parental affection, but I can’t remember the last time my father actually hugged me. He told me that he was proud of me. He’s never said that for anything before: grades, dueling, anything…

My grandmother told me that it’s because he was never good enough on a broom to be a seeker and I was the first seeker in the family. My mother told me she was proud of me too and then they went off to speak with my High Master and I went to the Infirmary.

Is it wrong perhaps to want to play for just their approval? It hurts to think that nothing else I can do will make him happy, but it is still a chance to have what I’ve only ever wanted from my parents. Is it wrong to want that? I wonder still if it will be enough in the end.

I don’t know. I don’t have an answer for it. I can’t really wrap my head around the way I feel or how I should feel about it. For now, the school is cheering my name for the win, the Quidditch captain is hoping to keep me on, and I think my High Master is plotting something, but I am not sure.

I am sorry if this letter was a bit too personal, but I have no one else besides Angel to speak about this with and I don’t think she’d understand my conflict with it.

Best,

Dragon Heart

She worried her lip and turned the parchment over to pen her own letter as seemed to be their way of doing things.

Chapter Text

Viktor came back from practice, exhausted with adrenaline still rushing through his veins. They’d put him on a rather dangerous obstacle course, in between the beaters and chasers accuracy and flight practice. He wasn’t sure if it was because his upperclassmen resented him a bit, or if they wanted to make sure that he would be okay against the german team the would be playing.

Either way, he’d never been so grateful for his grandmother’s training, sure that it was the only reason that he hadn’t been knocked off his broom, no matter what they’d thrown at him.

He opened his eyes and grinned, reaching for the floating letter above his face, his own greek handwriting on the outside. He didn’t know if she would have time to respond to him so soon.

Everyone else wasn’t convinced of their correspondents gender, but Viktor felt it in his heart. Her handwriting was always neat and the parchment always smelled of old books and ink.

He smiled at the ink fingerprints, it seemed that she’d had an exam that day, or perhaps she had just finished writing an essay. He smiled and looked at his own hands. His fingerprints would overlap hers by a rather large margin, he imagined she had small delicate hands, graceful fingers meant for instruments. Why her letters never seemed to be sealed with anything more than a dollop of wax he had no idea, but didn’t dwell on it as he opened it  and began to read.

Congratulations on your win! I bet you were amazing! Serves them right for injuring you, I do hope you’re taking care of yourself. Quidditch season at my school always results in the Infirmary being overrun.

Two? You have to joking. I can’t imagine a toddler being on a broom! But something tells me that you aren’t joking which means you’re probably more a bird than a person now. Reading on a broom, I couldn’t imagine. How on earth do you keep balanced enough on a broomstick to read? Let alone be relaxed enough to do so above the city.

I have tried flying and while I passed my lessons it is not something I would like to regularly engage in. I can imagine that broomsticks were born out of necessity, but I don’t think any broom of today likes me very much.  Perhaps one day I will be more receptive to the idea, but at the moment I am quite comfortable on the ground.

Thank you for your words of encouragement, I can’t tell you enough how it feels to know that I’m not alone at feeling on the outside all the time. I’ve… made friends of sorts. There is a girl in another house who goes out into the rain with me, she tells such fantastic stories and actually listens. Then there’s a boy in my house who I’ve grown quite fond of while tutoring him. I think he needs just a bit of encouragement and he’ll be fine. He also doesn’t seem to care that I seem to prefer books to people.

Viktor frowned at that. He didn’t get that impression from her letters. He pulled down a piece of parchment to write on and kept reading.

There is one boy who I think may be trying to get to know me. We had a very interesting conversation about what being brave meant.  I don’t think he was accusing me of being a coward, but I think it is rather hard for him to understand being on the outside and a different definition of bravery. He’s popular, his mother is a well-known hero from the war, and his stepfather is as well. He’s never had to be brave in the sense of continuing to be yourself.

I’ve found the books you’ve suggested and my how interesting some of these hexes are. I’m pretty sure people think I’ve finally given up on people reading a book in greek and laughing to myself in the library. Then again, I suppose people would actually have to be in the library when there isn’t a test coming up in order to do so.  Perhaps I will start to fight back, I am not sure though.

My school has revived a tradition in an attempt to let more students contribute to the points system. Dueling of all things. I suppose it is a contest of wits, but some people are just better at spell theory than spell work. It is a good try if anything, even if it is a little narrow minded and just another sport really. I’ve read enough about it to have an idea, but I think to truly understand it I will have to see it for myself. They’ve added an extra class in place of flying to teach us proper dueling etiquette and start getting together a team of duelists and their seconds. I’d rather not, but I can see that everyone will be expected to chip in on the efforts to wrestle the House Cup away from the currently leading house. But more on that when it all starts I suppose.

My exams did go very well indeed! Top marks across the board, I think I may have set a new record and agitated the snake more than usual. His godfather is the potions professor,who is also the stepfather of the boy I was talking about. The two of them have such a rivalry for his approval though they don’t seem to notice that, more concerned about outdoing one another.  I believe they scored about the same on the exam and it irked them to no end to share a class ranking. I pray I never get so annoyed with anyone that the thought of sharing a class spot with them would put me in such a state. No doubt if they have to duel, which I’m sure they will, it will be quite a thing to see. After all, they’re both related to rather well known wizards and witches, and this school is one of legacy. A professor will probably shove them up there to duel expecting their parents to have taught them a thing or two about the sport. They’ll probably do wonderfully and become even more popular than they are now.

I don’t know what your brothers look like, or what you look like for that matter, but it doesn’t matter. They’re your family and you shouldn’t feel like the odd one out because you look different and they shouldn’t treat you that way either. You deserve better than that, Dragonheart.

I’m sorry that your parents haven’t given you the kind of attention they should have. That’s terrible, but I’m glad you have your grandmother and your cousins. I can’t imagine what I would do without pappu, I spent most of my life with him after all and while my parents have always tried to be supportive, it’s been hard for them dealing with me. I know I’m not what they expected in a daughter. I know I’m not what they expected in general, but it will get better with time I hope.

From experience, when you do something for someone else without taking anything for yourself out of the act, it’s not selfless. It’s not altruist, it’s putting your life on hold for someone else. It’s ignoring what you need for what someone else wants and it never works out the way you hope.

When I was younger, I was told I had an illness. No one could really agree what the illness was, but they all agreed that there was something wrong with me. I did my best to be everything my parents wanted, to be normal, to pretend like my illness wasn’t there. I was too young to understand that my illness wasn’t something that I could just pretend away. Everyone thought it was just a blip and moved on, except pappu. I don’t think he was ever really fooled, but he was so far away that there wasn’t ever any real time to press me for answers.

I pretended for almost two years and during that time the thought of pretending another day, another moment, broke me. I resented my parents. I resented pretty much everyone around me.  But I resented myself the most because I just couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t happy. My parents were happy. They were proud of me. Everyone seemed to be doing better when I faked it except for me.  I thought it was just me, that it was just my fault that I couldn’t be happy when everyone else seemed to be. I stopped eating. I couldn’t sleep. I got weak enough that I passed out one day and my parents found out what had been happening. It had been months since I’d eaten a decent meal. I’d gotten thinner, weaker. My pappu said he couldn’t even recognize me when he came to see me to take me to Greece with him to recuperate. It was hard and I know I scared him rather badly some days. I had to decide for myself that making my parents happy shouldn’t be my top priority.  I had to decide to face what was wrong with me and be okay with it. It took a long time and I still struggle with it most days, but I’m pretty sure if I’d kept going the way I had been, I’d probably be dead.

I don’t think it’s wrong to want their approval. I don’t think it’s wrong to play to make them happy if that’s what you want, but it would be a grave disservice to yourself if that’s the only reason you do it. You said you love to fly and as a seeker, as I understand it, flying is your main job. If you do it only for someone else it becomes a chore and I would hate to see the day when your greatest reprieve, your love for the air, becomes a chore. After it’s a chore, you begin to resent it and that is the worst feeling ever.

Take the time to figure it out before it gets to that point. As for your High Master, have you told your grandmother? She seems to be someone in your life who would step in on your behalf if you wanted.

And nonsense. I hear friends are supposed to be there to be personal with.  I just hope I haven’t freaked you out. I don’t believe I’ve ever told anyone about that, it’s nice to have someone to tell these things to.

Be brave,

Biblio-logical

He swallowed and jumped as the door opened and his roommate came in.

“You okay, Viktor?”

He nodded slowly, folding the letter up, “Time for food?”

“Yes, but Karkaroff wants to see you after.”

Viktor nodded slowly, tucking the letter into his robes and following Wolfgang out of the room and into the mess hall. He ate thoughtfully, mulling over Biblio-logical’s words and his own rather confused feelings about it. He liked the team for the most part, his captain was very kind to him, careful to make him feel comfortable, to check on him. The game was fun in that it challenged him to fly harder, faster. It pushed his instincts in ways that just flying over the arctic tundra, or even over the Norwegian Sea couldn’t.

When he walked into Karkaroff’s office, he’s only partially surprised to see his mother and father there, seeing the fourth member of the room is what surprised him.

“Viktor, this is Sergei Apostolov, he’s the head coach of the Vratsa Vultures.”

“Sir,” Viktor bowed respectfully looking between them and Karkaroff. The man looked smug as he told him to take a seat.

Sergei told him plainly that he’d been in the stands watching Viktor play. He thought he had talent and in two years his Seeker’s contract would be up.

“I would like to extend an offer to come try-out for the Vultures at that time,” Sergei said with a calm smile. “You have quite the talent on the broom.”

Viktor’s stomach churned and he looked away. He’d just be seventeen in the middle of the season leading up to the World Cup.

“I… am flattered, but I don’t think--”

“We will consider it,” his father, Iliya, said gruffly, taking the contract from him. “It is quite sometime away.”

Sergei looked between Iliya and his wife, Aello, before looking at Viktor who looked very much he wanted to disappear before nodded and saying that they’d be in touch closer to the time. Sergei shook Viktor’s hand and left leaving Viktor with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“We’ll have this contract looked over,” Iliya said standing with Aello and leaving without another look in Viktor’s direction. When they leave, Karkaroff tells him how much this will change his life, cajoling him then threatening him to take the deal should his parents agree.

He returned to his room, feeling sick and uneasy. He grabbed for his broom but couldn’t make himself go flying.

The day when it becomes a chore,  Viktor stepped back, going to his writing table and writing furiously to his grandmother, a plea for help, a plea for something anything and sent it, not sure if what he’d written had made any sense.

He didn’t sleep that night, his future stretching out before him a dark road even as he wrote a reply to Biblio-logical. He didn’t want flight to be a chore, he hadn’t ever given any thought to it being a profession either. It was something he did to calm himself, it shouldn’t cause him stress. It was the one thing that he had complete control over. It seemed to be the only thing in his life that he’d chosen truly. He smiled a bit thinking of watching his grandmother come flying in from town.

Baba, tova, koeto pravite? Mozhe li da? he ‘d asked barely standing up on his own at the tender age of barely two years old.

She’d taken him by the hand inside and told him that she was flying and yes, he could do anything he wanted if he wanted to learn. She’d dressed him for the weather, warming charms, anchored him to herself, to the broom as well and took him up. He’d been hooked ever since. He didn’t want that feeling to turn into resentment.

Chapter Text

The wind smells like the Mediterranean, the spices and warm of the coast drifting on the wind. The sun rising slowly in the distance.  In the distance she could almost make out Egypt and its glorious pyramids. She smiles at the feeling of hands on her shoulders, warm lips pressing against her neck and his voice in her ears. She can never make out what he’s saying, but she speaks to him softly, words of care and fear. They had only just found one another, did she have to be prepared to wait for another chance so soon? Could he not stay here with her where it was safe? Could they not just forget the world outside this room?

This dream had come again. In which arms wrap around her and a warm body stands behind her, rocking her slowly, gently, settling her back into her skin. He will leave soon, perhaps to never return… perhaps to return victorious, she can never be sure, but it does not matter. They had crossed oceans of time to be together in this lifetime, they could do so again. That did not mean that she wanted to. He kissed her cheek meaningfully and turned to leave.

“Return to me,” she said not turning to watch him dress and leave. “Return to me.”

Whether he agreed or not, she never knows but she can guess that his reply was something along the lines of “Always”. It made her heartache and her eyes burn. It would be the last time she would see him in this lifetime.

Hermione opened her eyes to the sound of Crookshanks purring and sat up, stretching. The rectangle of parchment lying on her other pillow told her that Dragonheart had responded. She always slept best on the nights she dreamt of the Grecian villa of fluttering curtains and strong marble columns. She always woke up up on the edge of crying, but it was always a restful night. She’d read somewhere that, unlike muggles, wizards had a very different relationship to their soul mate. They could have visions, share dreams, sometimes even take a peek into past lives before they’d even met. She wondered if maybe her soul mark just hadn’t appeared yet, or was somewhere strange. She reached for the letter, peaking out of her curtain to estimate the time. Long before dawn, she had plenty of time to read the letter.  She got up, grabbed her potion and got dressed for the day before heading down the stairs towards the Great Hall. It was empty save her, giving her plenty of time read her letter in peace. As usual, Dragonheart had some crazy story to tell her; at least it came with the knowledge that he’d successfully gotten the upper classman he was teaching to pass his class, even if the boy had fainted just after. He would not tell her what his High Master had been planning, but told her that he’d written to his grandmother about it all and hopefully there would be some resolution going forward.

She’s half way through her reply when people start coming into the Great Hall and food begins to appear on the table. Today would be their first dueling class, taking the place in their schedules when flying classes used to be. She managed to get through the day relatively easily before joining the Gryffindors outside. Minerva pulled two groups of seven students, one from each year for the demonstration. Hermione watched them with a small amount of interest, she’d already read on basic dueling etiquette from more of the world. Interesting that Minerva hadn’t picked any girls for the two line-ups.

It took all of a few moments before they were ready. Hogwarts had two dueling types: singles and triples. The objects was to eliminate everyone through disarming or otherwise making them unable to stay on the floor because of injury or physical removal from the dueling strip. They had to leave the dueling strip willingly in order to be subbed in. If they didn’t they were considered still part of the duel. If one side was still on the strip and completely incapacitated they would lose. That particular rule had come from the wizarding battlefield as it was often that wizards would cast containment charms around the area they were dueling in.

Honestly, the most surprising thing of the entire affair was Harry… He was bloody terrible. Not as bad as Neville, but still bad . He just couldn’t seem to get the spells out fast enough. Dean Thomas had him beat in that regard and Ron was no better.

“Hah!” Dean said, “Looks like I'll be on the team. Anyone else?”

Hermione watched on a little disinterested, but no less watchful. It was practically the same thing match after match. Sometimes two girls would duel, but usually it was boy vs boy. In the rare cases that a boy and girl dueled, it usually ended in the boy’s victory. Hermione shook her head. In all honestly, the boys had more practice casting hexes because they were usually hexing people in the hallways. It wasn’t an accurate representation of anyone’s dueling abilities.

She watched, bored, and hoping for this to be over, for her to duck out without having to be apart of it at all. That was until Dean went too far and humiliated Helena Abernathy, Hermione’s fifth roommate and best friend to Faye Dunbar, by drenching her and levitating her upside down, forcing her to hold her skirt or be even more humiliated.

“Mr. Thomas, that is--”

The girl righted herself in the air and floated back down gently as Hermione stepped out of the crowd with her wand raised, lowering Helena down. Faye moved to console her best friend and looked towards Hermione as did most of the Gryffindor girls in shock.

“I’ll duel you.”

Harry looked at her incredulously as the boys laughed, “Sabertooth Granger’s going to duel me?”

“You can always forfeit,” she said plainly.

Minerva looked at her and then Dean, “Well… Mr. Thomas, a challenge has been given. Will you accept?”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “You know I won’t go easy on you because you’re a girl.”

“And I won’t go easy on you because you’re a tosser.”

A snicker came from behind her, a girl it seemed. She curtsied politely though Dean did not offer her the same courtesy and set her stance.

Minerva tilted her head, a ghost of memory may be clouding her thoughts as she saw Hermione. She knew for a fact that the girl had never dueled before, but there was a power and a confidence in her stance that would have told everyone otherwise. It wasn’t the English traditional style that focused more on stationary wand work and very slow backwards and forwards movement. This seemed to hail from somewhere else.

Dean set his stance, very English.

“Didn’t your father ever tell you that boys were stronger?”

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you it isn’t nice to humiliate a lady?” Hermione asked. “No worries, I’ll teach you now.”

“On you mark.”

“You’ll regret that Granger.”

“I doubt that highly.”

Their brown eyes met across the distance and for a moment Dean saw something else on Hermione’s face. Not fury, but a sly smirk, too close to Slytherin intentions glittering in her eyes.

“What’s with your stance anyway?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about it,” she said kindly.

“Go.”

“Locomor--”

“ Anteoculatia!” she said cutting him off with a swish of her wand. “Vox Asinum! Capillos sectis. ”

Minera and the rest of Gryffindor starred in horror as antlers grew out of his head, his spell turned to loud braying in his mouth and his thick bed of curls vanished leaving only “I’m a Rude Git” in the familiar black curls that had once been his afro. He brayed in rage trying to raise his wand as she twirled her wrist.

“ Flipendo Confunto! ” He flew back over the crowd behind him and hovered there as she turned her wand in circles so he spun in time.

“Think of this the next time you want to pick on someone!"

There was another string of spells that turned his pants into a standard issue skirt that billowed as he spun around effectively flashing everyone his briefs.

“Ms. Granger… I do believe that is enough for one day.”

She looked at Minerva and raised her wand, “Finite Incantartem.”

He dropped onto the boys, antlers and all and the bell for lunch rang. She turned to grab her bag, reopen her book and head indoors after Minerva dismissed them and asked some of the boys to help Dean to the Infirmary to get the antlers removed as it was very clear that Hermione would not do it.

“And a change of clothes.”

Per usual, she found herself alone at the lunch table, that was until Helena and Faye appeared.

“That was amazing,” Faye said taking a seat. “Why on earth didn’t you do that to Lavender and Parvati for all the trouble they cause you?”

Hermione looked up seeing the two of them there and setting her book aside.

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Thank you,” Helena said with a small smile. “I know we’re not the best of friends… or anything…”

“Friends or not, you didn’t deserve that and Dean needed to be taught a lesson.”

Dean walked in, now completely bald and coughing as if his voice was still shifting back from braying like a donkey. At least he was in pants again.

“Right… quite a lesson it was...Could you teach us to duel like that?”

Hermione looked at her confused, “Like what?”

“Well,” Faye started. “It’s no secret that the boys have more practice dueling because they like to wave their wands around, but… that doesn’t mean we should get trounced like we were today…”

Hermione looked between them warily, “I suppose… I really just followed my instinct. I’ve never dueled before.”

“Never?” Helena asked. “People are saying your parents were duelists.”

She snorted, “My parents are dentists--muggles. The only dueling they know of is fencing.”

“What’s that?” Hermione gave them a hopeless smile.

“It’s like dueling, but instead of magic, you use swords.”

“Why would you do that? That sounds dangerous.”

“Well it was usually to the death,” Hermione said. “Now, it’s a sport.”

Faye nodded and began to eat, “So, when do we begin?”

Hermione shrugged, “After classes perhaps?”

They grinned and went on to ask her what she was reading, eating with her. When they apologize for not reaching out to her more she regarded them and shrugged.

“I didn’t exactly make it easy.”

“You didn’t make it hard either,” Faye countered. “I just wasn’t sure what to say after a while… then you got so quiet in class. I was a coward.”

Helena winced, “Me too.”

Hermione shook her head, “I can’t say I was in the proper state for friends.”

“Well… are you now?”

“I guess we’ll see.”

*

“You wanted to see me Professor?” Hermione asked coming into Minerva’s office and seeing a group of students. It had been weeks since the Dean incident. Faye and Helena spent quite a deal of time in the library with her. They couldn’t talk about everything, but there was something like camaraderie there and growing. Luna and Neville joined them often enough and somehow Hermione’s little circle had grown to include Harry at times.

He’d told her that she was amazing for what she did to Dean and that he hoped he never made her that angry. Dean was still braying at times and glaring at her. It was about a week before the first dueling match was supposed to take place.

“Yes, come in, my girl. Boys, this is Hermione Granger.”

She looked around smiling lightly at the six boys in the room. They were all older than her each by one more year than the last.

“With her agreement, I believe our dueling team is complete.”

Hermione looked at her, “Professor, I’m not understanding. I thought there were to be seven.”

“With you there is,” one of them said.

“I must decline,” Hermione said, apparently shocking them.

“Whatever for Ms. Granger?”

“I have no interest in dueling for sport, the Dueling Cup, or the House Cup,” Hermione said. “Let alone to the benefit of the Gryffindor House.”

They gawked at her and Minerva took a deep breath, “Boys, could you give us a moment.”

They looked at Hermione strangely with her book pressed against her chest.

“Come sit down, child,” she said kindly and Hermione obeyed her, setting her book flat in her lap, her bag down beside her and regarding Minerva.

“Ms. Granger, if I may be frank, you are by far the best duelist in your class. I would wager with a little practice, you could probably best a fourth year rather easily…. What you did for Ms. Abernathy was quite brave and extraordinary, so forgive me if I am confused by your statement.”

“I did it because no one else would,” Hermione said plainly. “People of the school have been allowed to terrorize students at will without check, without notice, and without care. It’s been a fend for one’s self deal since I arrived here. Gryffindor is supposed to be brave and all that, but all I’ve seen are a bunch of frightened children. To be frank, I was tired of it so I taught him a lesson.”

Minerva nodded, “Yes, there is a great inequality in the halls that is frankly unnerving, but such changes are not done merely from the faculty side, such changes must come from students as well.”

“Since we are being frank, Professor McGonagall, I do not believe I came here to babysit other people’s children.”

Minerva laughed, “No, I suppose that is my duty.”

She stood up and went to the window, looking out, “I took to the Quidditch field while I was in school to remind people that a girl could play for Gryffindor. I was a beater and a darn good one too.”

Hermione watched as she turned around, “I see in you a great struggle, Ms. Granger. One that is not unique to you or your age. The inequality you speak of is not something that can be changed from the outside… It is not easy, it is almost never pretty, but I believe that you are not a young woman who would sit idly by and let it continue.”

“Why didn’t you pick any girls for the initial line-up?”

Minerva smiled, “Because it is hard to drag someone from the front to the back of a group.”

Hermione considered that for a moment and regarded her.

“The House of Gryffindor, in all the years of the dueling tournament, has never been represented by a young woman. Whether through lack of interest or systemic roadblocks, it never happened. The one time it could have, dueling was ended as a sport and Quidditch became the only sporting event of the school. You are from the muggle world so you don’t know the things that young witches and wizards are taught. Like me you came from the muggle world, with that difference comes a bit more freedom.”

Hermione regarded her.

“You were never taught them, so you are never bound to them,” Minerva said with a smile. “You were never taught that young girls weren’t made for sporting events, let alone an event like dueling. You were never told it was unlady like to cast a hex, even when someone deserved it… I called you here in hopes that you would start the change in Hogwarts, in this post-war age. Lily Evans, now Lily Snape began it with her involvement in the war.”

Hermione looked down at her book, “It is never that simple.”

“No,” Minerva agreed. “It never is.”

“It will never be easy.”

“No, it never will be.”

“I would have to be three times as good as anyone else to get anywhere.”

“If you’re lucky,” Minerva agreed. “Given the history of the Gryffindor house and the other members of the team, it will be more like four.”

Hermione looked at her, “Why me?”

Minerva smiled, “Because you’re the only one who stepped out, you’re the only one who was strong enough to do something… You are everything a Gryffindor should be...and we must always lead by example.”

Hermione looked down, “Gryffindor Brave….”

“You may hold no true allegiance to your House, Ms. Granger, but you were sorted here for a reason. Ravenclaw would have left you to your books, I am asking you to take what you have read and change the school for the better.”

Hermione looked at her.

“Be the first female duelist champion of Hogwarts,” Minerva said. “Be the first female duelist to represent the House of Godric Gryffindor.”

Hermione swallowed thickly. She’d promised her pappu that she would crush them… Did she want that? For herself? To be so well known? To be so…

Revolutionary?

“Okay,” she said with a nod. “On one condition.”

Minerva smiled, “Go on.”

“My uniform can’t look like theirs,” she said. “If I’m going to do this… if it’s going to make any changes, it has to be right.”

Minerva smiled, “I was thinking the same thing.”

She slid a piece of parchment across the table.

“This is the room that the Gryffindor team has reserved for practice, all matches will be held in the Great Hall. Will you be a single or a triple?”

“Both,” she said, tucking the parchment into her book. “I will see you at practice, Professor.”

Minerva nodded, “Godspeed.”

*

Viktor took the quickest path back to his room, sliding in and taking a seat, feeling himself settle back into his body. It had been… rather intense, tangled together in the classroom, a hand around her throat, the way she’d looked up at him, begged him for more. He was almost dizzy with it. She’d been so desperate, who would have thought the upperclassmen who seemed to take no shit from anyone wanted to be held down?

Who would have thought that he would be able to give her what she wanted?

A new letter appeared as he walked silently across the room. He grabbed it out of the air and took a seat by the fire to read. His roommate was already fast asleep, fooled by the charmed lump in his bed. Viktor flicked his wand to dissolve the illusion before unfolding it.  She’d been giving him updates regarding her school’s revived dueling tournament. She’d talked with her House Head, met her teammates and practiced with them and the reserves. From what she’d told him, she was slowly becoming a rather revolutionary and controversial figure in her House. If he was right, she’d already watched the first match and the first match she’d be participating in would be tomorrow.  

I don’t even know where to begin! I’m so nervous, my stomach is in knots. The first match of the season was just last week. I would have written, but it was just so busy between exams and the Quidditch flurry. We won our Quidditch match and our House has the cup. Everyone’s banking on us winning the Dueling Cup to secure the House Cup as well. No one knows I’m on the team yet either. The team members are all… rather skeptical of me. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m a girl or what, but they are even though I can outrun them all. And I’ve kept up with our training easily enough. I haven’t received my uniform, but my House Head and I have an understanding: I’m not doing this for the House Cup, but I’m doing this because I believe it’s right. No one should think that they shouldn’t or can’t do something because no one’s done it before. No one should be limited in what they can and can’t do because of their gender or anything as simple and unimportant as that. I’ll be the first female duelist to represent my house and it’s only worthwhile if I win.

Last weeks duel was brutal. The team I was hoping for didn’t win any of their matches. The triple matches are worth more to the house, but there are more individual matches so it makes sense to try and win a balance of both. I’ve studied and practiced my form and casting and I think I’m ready, but I’ve never competed for anything like this before. It’s tomorrow, for heaven’s sake and I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. Did you feel like this before your first Quidditch match?

On an up note, I’ve asked the Healer to let me make my own potions for my illness as it’s been quite some time since she’s had time to make them for me. I offered up an apprenticeship of sorts with her so she could have a little more time to deal with the injuries and gear up for the dueling season.

It’s rather nice to be making it myself, I don’t have to worry about missing a dose and it’s always good to learn something new. She’s been teaching me some healing spells too since I’ve been training rather roughly. I think they’re trying to get me to quit because they have someone else they want on the team, but I’m taking your advice and fighting back. It seems to be working rather well for now.

I’m going to try and go to sleep at a decent hour, go for a run and do some meditation before the match in the hopes that it will calm me down. I hope your exams and things are going well. How has your season been going? You’ve seemed troubled for quite some time. Have you figured out what your High Master is planning?

He smiled and lay back, breathing deeply before getting changed and washed up for bed. He turned the letter over and wrote his reply with a smile, sending it with a wave of his wand before writing a note to the Olivia in seventh year about the possibility of their next encounter. He’d promised her an answer after getting her back to her room and warmed up before crawling into bed with a sigh.

He dreamt of small, delicate dark brown hands twined with his and two sets of feet in crystal clear waters. His own and a smaller, daintier brown feet sloshing around. There was the muted sound of her voice. He could never see her face, nor hear her voice clearly, but the heady warmth always overtook him, spreading through him and keeping him in a deep sleep.

He always slept best when he dreamt of her, he’d begun to call her Gaia for the tone of her skin and how steady she made him feel.

*

“Wonder who’s on the team from our year,” Ron asked. “Maybe Dean?”

“I’ve already asked Dean and he said it isn’t him,” someone said.

“Hermione?” She looked up at the third year standing behind her.  “Professor McGonagall wants to see you in her office.”

She nodded and got up. Faye and Helena gave her a wary look and she nodded reassuringly at them. Tonight was her first match and she had only told Faye and Helena that she would be competing. The walk to Minerva’s office had never seemed so long, but she walked it and put her hand on the door knob. Hermione took a deep breath and entered Minerva’s office.

“You wanted to see me Professor?”

Minerva looked up, “Yes dear girl, come in.”

She stepped in and set her bag down.

“You must be nervous,” Minerva said, “Come sit for a moment.”

Hermione took a seat.

“Do you feel ready?”

Hermione shook her head, “I’m not sure.”

Minerva nodded, “Felix has given me his line-up for the triples. You’ll be in the second heat  with Marco and Anthony.”

She figured as much.

“Up against a fourth, fifth, and third year.”

Hermione winced. What was Felix thinking?

“Professor…”

“I know,” Minerva said with a sigh. “But the Headmaster is intent on keeping the rules as they stand.”

Meaning that each team had two heats of triples and each single duelist was randomnly matched no matter what. Felix thought it best to group the three lowest years together and the three highest leaving their fourth year Henry as the only person only dueling as a single. Hermione thought it was the dumbest idea, but he was so very stubborn and unwilling to listen to a first year when he was so much older and a pureblood.

“And my single?”

She sighed, “A fourth year.”

Hermione looked at her, “You have to be joking.”

“I am afraid not my dear. Even if it was by year, my dear, the Ravenclaws put their first year as their final backup in their triples only.”

Fantastic.

“There is also the matter of your schooling.”

“Yes?

“The Headmaster has spoken with all of your Professors and they think perhaps that you should be on an accelerated track.”

Hermione tilted her head, “As in graduating early?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “Pending your performance, I believe he plans on calling upon your grandfather about it.”

“Great…” Hermione said. “Anything else in particular?”

Minerva laughed and reached down to grab a box, sliding it across the table towards her.

“Your uniform of course.” Minerva said. “Per the Headmaster it was fitting that you should have a different style of uniform as all the current uniforms are style after the old dueling uniforms with little modification. It may also interest you to know that you are the only girl in the competition this year.”

“Talk about an impact,” Hermione said opening the box. The Gryffindor colors were strong, The shirt a bright red with gold trimming, the Gryffindor crest on the back of the cloak.

“Madame Malkin was quite happy to make it with a note that she’d be here to watch.”

Hermione laughed remembering Madame Malkin from her time in the robe shop. She was a very sweet older woman and maybe one of the only shopkeepers in the Alley who didn’t believe that just because she was muggle born she should get second class service.

Knock them dead, dear, the note said and she laughed drawing the rest of the uniform out. The vest was more of a waist corset in black and a black skirt with pleats, knee high boots and long socks.

“Ah, and this as a token for good luck.”

She opened the box Minerva handed her and found two clips each with Gryffindor crest on them and a length of wire connecting them. She picked them up and they leapt from her hands flying up to her head and twirling around her voluminous curls to get them up and off the back of her neck.

“I think I like this.”

Minerva nodded, she thought she would.

“Go on and enjoy your lunch. I will see you at six thirty.”

She nodded pulling the combs from her hair and setting them back in the box along with the rest of her uniform. She tied the box closed and headed to the Gryffindor tower to set it into her trunk and breathed before heading back down to finish lunch.

“Is everything okay?” Faye asked.

“Just fine,” she said. For now at least...

The day seemed to get slower by the hour. The halls abuzz with it the unveiling of the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw dueling teams, people trying to guess who it was. Draco had been on the SLytherin team, no doubt because he couldn’t play on the Quidditch team yet and he was fairly handy with a wand.  By the time it was time for dinner, Hermione thought she might throw up.

“Are you alright?” Helena asked. “You look a bit ill.”

“Just… nervous I suppose.”

Faye eyed her warily but then a letter appeared, hovering over Hermione’s plate and she opened it.

I threw everything up before my first Quidditch match. Nervousness is normal. Fear isn’t something to be avoided, but to be understood and controlled. I fear before every match, but I know it is because I fear letting my team down.

What are you afraid of, Biblio-logical? And is it enough to make you fail?

She swallowed and gabbed for her quill and ink pot, writing furiously before the end of dinner to try and get her answer. She still had to go change, to breathe and meet with the team before they entered the Great Hall.

She sent it, unfolded and nervous without the use of her wand, stuffed her dinner in her mouth and rushed off. Faye and Helena were just behind her, following her up to their room and trying to get her to breathe, only to find that she was, very deeply, slowly, almost meditatively as she moved to shower and began to dress.

“You’ll be fine!” Faye insisted. “You’ll be just fine, you’re going to wipe the floor with them, just you wait.”

Hermione focused on her breathing, ignoring her shaking hands as she pulled on her long socks her shirt and skirt, the corset and laced it tight enough to be a brace. She pulled her cloak on and fastened her dueling cuffs on each wrist. The boys had gloves she knew, she only wanted wrist braces for each hand. Minerva had asked her why and she’d told her that she felt she needed to learn to duel with both, to cast with both to be sure. She was ambidextrous though she usually used her right and favored her left. She always felt she had more control with her left hand than her right.

The letter appeared as Faye and Helena left her outside of the meeting room they were using.

She opened it.

You fear letting yourself down, of not living up to your own expectations? Or your fear this not being the route to get what you want.

As you say, if you do this for a higher cause, do this for yourself first and foremost. You have nothing to fear.

You’ll crush them. I believe in you.

P.S. A prayer of luck that always calms me:

I pray my song the Pallas Athena, the keeper of the city and war. May she give me the strength to overcome my enemies and the wisdom to grant them forgiveness. May she see over me in my time of fear and find me worthy of courage. May I have the strength to face my doubts with my head held high fearless and better than the person I was before.

She swallowed folding the page. Better than the person I was before, she thought.

Better, braver, stronger… Yes, this didn’t have to be about anyone else. This didn’t have to be about anything else.

She stood tall and opened the door marching in to see Minerva glaring at Felix who had a first year boy at his side, Dean Thomas.

“Well she isn’t here Professor, we can’t throw our first match.”

“Ms. Granger--”

“Is here,” she said and looked towards the clock. “I was under the impression that I was on time.”

Felix and Dean turned with the rest of the group to see her, looking every bit a daughter of Gryffindor in her red, gold and black.

“You are Ms. Granger. If you would Mr. Thomas proceed to the Great Hall.”

Dean glared at her and brushed past her as she stepped further into the room and regarded Felix.

“I don’t appreciate you trying to give my spot away,” Hermione said with a smile. “Let’s agree to not do it again shall we?”

His eyes narrowed as Minerva urged them to line up in order of year so that Hermione would enter last.  The proceeded down the corridor lining up as the Ravenclaw team entered the Great Hall. The sound of cheering and chanting filling the air.

“The House of Godric Gryffindor was the last house to hold the Dueling Cup,” Minerva said. “I hope to see it remain with us for quite sometime.”

She walked in and the procession began.

Faye and Helena stood on the Gryffindor side of the Great Hall  as the began to walk in. The cheering started but they said nothing until Hermione could be seen. Then, all bets were off cheering for their roommate while the rest of their year seemed shocked to see her, whispering between one another.

A girl?

Is she serious?

Hermione paid them no mind, only stepping up in line with her team to bow politely. The order was simple: three singles at a time, one triple, the next three singles, and then the final triple. Hermione would be in the second heat of both.

She took a seat with the Gryffindors and watched anxiously. Felix managed to win his match, but the other two were not so lucky. They lost the triple heat of the upper classmen thanks to a particularly powerful spell from a sixth year that incapacitated them, freezing them where they stood.

As it stood, to win this match, they had to win their next triple and score enough points in the singles. Hermione did a quick calculation upon reading the line up. The two in her singles heat were lucky, their opponents were in years below them, they would be alright given that they won in a timely fashion. Singles were awarded for the elegance of their defense, offense, and the speed of their spellwork. Assuming that the two didn’t lose, all she had to do was win and they had to win their heat. Triples were given more points for teamwork, combination spells, and of course the speed of the match.

Henry won his match easily. As did Owen, leaving it to be Hermione’s turn against Alexander Dumont of Ravenclaw.

The room went quiet as she curtsied politely and raised her wand.

“ We’re going to lose,” Faye heard someone say. “She’s got no chance against him.”

“Who thought this was a bloody good idea?” Ron asked. “It should have been Dean up there, he has the best hexes.”

Hermione set her stance breathing in. She had to do this right, they needed the point boost. Depending on how quickly this ended, they would tie with Ravenclaw whether they won their second triple or not. Her eyes flickered over him, his stance, his eyes.

He thought she would be easy, but he wasn’t going to underestimate her.

“On your mark.”

Hermione took a breath and let it slide out.

“Go!”

“H--”

“Flipendo!” Alexander went flying off the dueling strip a powerful blast sending him out of bounds and winning Hermione the match. She blinked, a little shocked. The entire Great Hall shocked before Faye was yelling.

“Granger! Granger! Granger!”

Hermione stood up straight and looked to Minerva who was smiling, her eyebrows raised and shocked along with the rest of the staff.

“Well,” Albus began. “I’m not sure how else to declare a win of that magnitude…”

Hermione stepped back to join her team who stared at her like some wild thing as the points on the board shot up so they were thirty points ahead of Ravenclaw. One hit, speed bonus, and the strength of the spell…

Nice, she thought.

“Will the second heat step forward?”

Hermione, Marco, and Anthony stepped forward to face the Ravenclaw group.

“Just take my lead,” Marco said, a third year. Anthony agreed and Hermione said nothing, looking over the group.

“We need a defense,” Hermione said.

“We just need to hold on so the duel ends in a draw.”

“If that happens then we’ll lose,” Hermione said.

“They’re upperclassmen, you got off a lucky shot that’s the best we can do.”

“Or we could have a defense,” Hermione said. Marco rolled his eyes.

“Look Granger, you made it clear that you don’t care, so just keep your mouth shut.”

She grit her teeth but curtsied to her opponents.

“On your mark.”

“Go!”

Hermione put up her shield as soon as they were allowed and watched the other two get blown away and out of the ring.

Felix stood up, “Professor!”

“Hermione is still standing,” Minerva said looking at the two boys as they struggled to their feet.

“You can’t expect--”

“I expect her to do what she feels she can,” Minerva said. “And for you to learn something from this.”

Hermione held her shield solid against the blasts, digging in her heels to keep from being pushed out of bounds.

She bit her lip waiting for the moment and pushing forward.

“Just forfeit Granger!” Marco yelled after her.

She dropped the shield and dropped to the floor, “Erecto!”

Stone sprung up between them and she twirled her wand around her head vanishing before someone called out “Reducto” and the wall moved aside. The room gasped.

Where was she?

Disillusionment? Minerva thought incredulously. When on earth had she learned that?

“ Silencio .” They heard and shot a hext in that direction only for it to break against the containment ward.

“Where is she?” One of them asked.

Hermione moved slowly, careful to keep herself low to the ground.

“Langlock! ”

The seventh year dropped his wand as his tongue stuck itself to the roof of his mouth.

“Flipendo!”

He flew back still panicked as the other two began to fire hex after spell after jinx in the general direction of her voice. Hermione crept closer, under the arc of their blasts.

“Locomotor Mortis!” She said rolling to the opposite side of where she’d thrown her voice.

“Libera--”

“Incarcerous! Expelliarmus!”

Ropes shot out entwining the two before the one with the leg lock’s wand went flying away.

“Finite Incantartem!”

He was lucky and the spell broke over her revealing her to be in the center of the dueling strip.

“Levicorpus!” They went flying up hanging upside down by their feet and wrestling for the angle on the one wand between them.

“Rictumsempra!”

He burst into laughed, wriggling around in their bonds until his wand dropped and Hermione let out a sigh of relief she stood up with an incredulous laugh before undoing the enchantments and getting the two back on the ground.

“Well… that was certainly unorthodox,” Albus said. “But a victory nonetheless. Gryffindor wins.”

She let out a breath and looked at Minerva who grinned, then to madame Malkin who beamed at her. She turned to Gryffindor who stared at her like she as if she was crazy and felt her stomach churn.

“Granger! Granger! Granger!” Faye and Helena started and soon most of the girls in her class followed suite, spreading into the rest of the house until the entire Hall was filled with it. She laughed incredulous and curtsied, tucking her wand away before going to her team. Felix looked at her.

“That was… pretty sneaky.” Hermione waited as he winced, “Perhaps...we should rethink strategy.”

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head before turning to Minerva with a smile.

“How was that?”

“I believe that it was a very valiant start Ms. Granger.”

Hermione nodded, she thought so too.

Faye and Helena walked with her back to the dorms along with a rather large group of girls asking her questions about dueling, if she could teach them, did her parents teach her.

“My parents are muggles,” she said. “And I taught myself for the most part.”

Viktor got the letter as he was dropping his upperclassmen back to her room, wrapped in her cloak and ladened with warming charms. His head was a little fuzzy with the tail end of it, but he felt good . Good enough to waltz back to his room and slide into bed to read the letter. It was simple, the shortest note she’d ever written him over the year.

I won.

Chapter Text

Over the next few weeks, they traded letters about anything and everything including the fact that next year, the Dueling Season would be in time with the Quidditch season, Dueling matches taking place on opposing weekends so that every week of the season would have a match of some sort.

She doesn’t tell him about the older girls who put hexes on the baths so that it’s always either freezing or scalding when she tries to bathe, she’s just glad that she’s never in the baths alone anymore.  What she does tell him is that her social life has seemed to improved. Sure, Luna, Fay, and Helena were the only girls that didn’t see her as some heroine for equality, but she also seemed to be getting along better with her teammates as well.

They actually started listening to her, watching out for her and the like. They were still strategizing for the final match against Slytherin, having strategy meeting after each match and spending a lot of time in the library. Besides them, it seemed even boys in her own years seemed to be taking a bit more of a shine to her.

Apparently, being good at a sport was all it took to get them to stop being so terrible to me… I supposed that will last as long as it will last, though.

The day of the final match, after Gryffindor had securely won the Quidditch Cup and it was rather clear that they would very much be a threat to Slytherin’s standing, she gets caught in the hallway by group of Slytherin boys, surrounded really and before she even needs to whip out her wand, Severus appeared.

“What is going on?”

“N-Nothing Professor Snape, we were just… talking to Granger.”

“About your last potions essay, Mr. Crabbe? Seeking tutoring perhaps.”

“Uh-Uh…”

“Go,” he said flatly and they scurried off. Hermione grabbed her books, shoved them in her bag.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“Ms. Granger,” he began, stopping her. “The Headmaster would like to see you this evening after the match.”

“Yes, Professor.”

She nodded and went on her way with Severus watching her go. She reminded him so very much of Lily when they were in school. It was perhaps why he’d felt the need to step in though he knew sure well that his first years were no match for her. She sat down in the library and opened the letter, feeling something in her churn uncomfortably at the writing. It was nowhere near as neat as it usually was, slanted with pain and perhaps anger. Dark red smudges that she knew to be blood. Her blood went cold at the state of the library and the world began to shake almost too much to make out the words on the page.

I will not be able to write to you for some time, perhaps not until the beginning of the next school year. I have been injured rather badly and will be spending the summer with my parents in Vratsa. I cannot tell you why,  perhaps one day I will, but not today. There are things I must figure out. Please do not take it as a plea not to write to me, just know that I cannot reply. I would still like to hear from you.

Take care of yourself.  

Hermione worried her lip and turned over the page to pen her reply. She took a breath to steady her hand and wrote.

I understand, whatever has happened, I hope that it does not affect your ability to fly, or read, or do anything else. I’m sorry to hear that you’ll be staying with your parents… Hopefully, it’s a chance for them to get to know you better? I will write to you, even if you cannot answer. I’ll take care of myself if you promise to take care as well.

The state of your letter has my heart pounding with fear for you given what you’ve told me of your High Master. I hope you still have time to visit your grandmother or do something that will give you a bit of joy in the days ahead.

Hoping for your happiness,

Biblio-logical

The note arrived and he read it while Angel dabbed at the blood on his face, his black eye and glaring at his crushed hand.

“Viktor,” she started. “What happened?”

“They signed the papers without my consent,” Viktor said. “And when I said I didn’t want to… Karkaroff… and Ilya…”

Angel’s eyes went hard, “You have to tell her about this.”

“No.”

“Viktor!”

“I said no Angel,” he said with a shake of his head. “And don’t you either. Give me your word.”

Angel clenched her jaw but nodded begrudgingly.

“This is my problem,” Viktor said. “I won’t have her worrying over me, frightened… she has already done so over grandfather.”

Angel swallowed and sank to the bed, “This… isn’t right Viktor.”

“No,” he said. “It isn’t… but if I play hard enough… well enough… I can leave for good and then… whatever I want.”

Angel looked at him and sighed, “Northgard will not heal you?”

“Karkaroff called it discipline,” Viktor said looking at his hand. “I have a potion that will make it heal properly, but in the normal time.”

Angel growled, “I wish I knew healing magic, you shouldn’t have to suffer like this!”

“It’s fine,” he said. “I… will be fine.”

Another note appeared on his lap and he opened it. It was from Olivia asking after his health. She’d apparently heard about it from a student in his class. She was a very caring soul that honestly needed someone to care for her. He grabbed for his quill and Angel lifted it out of his hand, offering him a Quick-Notes Quill instead.

“Let’s not make it worse shall we?”

He groaned, he hated Quick-Notes Quills. They were so very impersonal and… He shook his head focusing on the one reply he wanted to send before sending it and growling.

“I’d rather not.”

“Well too bad, you can’t use your hand.”

“I know that.”

The problem wasn’t that he didn’t know that, instead it was that his father didn’t realize that letting Karkaroff do this to him and then allowing his brand of “discipline” meant that he couldn’t use his hand, which mean virtually no training unless he wanted Viktor to be in pain, no shaking of the hands, no joy for the entire summer.

Ilya didn’t care. He was determined to make sure Viktor was prepared to give his best show when the time came, thus, Viktor found himself, every summer and every holiday after on his broom with his father’s old Quidditch buddy “training him”. It was really just a constant test to outfly the older man and his tricks. He did so with ease, a fact that was both wanted and hated. It was obvious that Viktor didn’t need a flying tutor, but when his grandmother came to go flying them him, it was actually a challenge. She taught him things that his grandfather would have if he were still alive and while they flew there wasn’t that melancholy in her eyes.

He found himself exhausted after flying with his grandmother, the limits of his strength tested and surpassed every day.

At least, he’d managed the use of his dominant hand before the start of Hermione’s second year. She’d told him about how she’d been taken out of her normal classes and put on an accelerated track. She’d sat for her O.W.L.s in private and was set to take her N.E.W.T.s soon too.

When Ilya invited Sergei over for dinner not even a full two years after that conversation, it was after the pick-up game they’d force Viktor to play in with the local minor league. Sergei had brought with him the owner of the team to watch Viktor play and since his parents had already signed the form for him to try-out for the team, all that was left was Viktor’s contract. Sergei commented on how much better Viktor's flying had gotten, a freedom in the air that was almost unheard of at a time when most people didn’t spend that much time on brooms.

“If you could leave us,” the old man said looking at Ilya and Aello.  “You have given your blessing and now it is time for me to have a talk with young Viktor.”

They opened their mouths to protest, but the man didn’t seem to be interested in hearing them out. They cast looks at Viktor who didn’t look at them and eventually left. The old man sighed with relief and offered a gentle smile.

“Parents,” he said with a shake of his head. “Your grandmother owled me quite some time ago about you.”

Viktor looked at him.

“I knew her when we were in a school… would have married her too if not for the old Wing...you fly just like him.”

Viktor looked away as he smiled at him.

“Your parents may have signed the paperwork, but I don’t take anyone on my team who doesn’t want to be here… Yet I know that if you decline, your parents will take it out on you.”

Viktor swallowed.

“I offer up an alternative,” he said. “But first a few questions.”

Viktor looked at him.

“You graduate soon, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You like the game?”

“It... has grown on me.”

He laughed, “Grown on you enough to play regardless of your parents?”

Viktor let out a breath, “I...do not want to resent Quidditch or flying...I fear playing will do that.”

“Should you chose to play, and play well, there will be people vying for your attention, your life will be made public knowledge to some degree, fans all over the world will know your name. Everything you do will be speculated about, who you date, what you do, everything… Your grandmother thinks that your High Master wants you to participate in the upcoming Tri-wizard Tournament. It seems, Viktor, that you are on the cusp of having a great amount of attention on you. After that, there will be questions about your soulmate, as soon as you are of age in fact.”

Viktor swallowed thinking on those meetings in abandoned classrooms, the look on her face, on the face of Anastasia, a girl she’d referred to him, on being put out in the world. Those private intimate meetings… The question of his soulmate coming into question and perhaps having her deal with that…

He swallowed.

“Are you willing to deal with that? Fully prepared? Your parents are only a problem so long as you are underage and allow them to be, Karkaroff is only your problem so long as you are at Durmstrang. The kind of fame that you could have is something you may have to live with for the rest of your life.”

Viktor breathed considering it for a moment, a great terror in the pit of his stomach. Of course, he would do everything it took to keep others out of the spotlight. Of course, he knew that his parents were only a temporary problem as he had no fear of being disinherited-- he was more than capable of making a means of living for himself without them.

But this terror… this horrible fear… What was he so afraid of? That he wasn’t good enough? That he wouldn’t ever be good enough? That perhaps along with his name, his heritage, only this extra fame would be what anyone ever saw him for?

That even his soulmate would only see that? He licked his lip, would he want a soulmate that could only see him as a son of the Krum line? As a seeker?

The year was 1993 and the season he would be coming in on would be leading into the 1994 World Cup, the year of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Karkaroff had not spoken about it, but he was sure that his grandmother was absolutely right.

Ivan Belov watched Viktor, intrigued by a young man who had so much talent, so much promise but so much wisdom to truly consider the repercussions. He’d turned away many foolhardy men who’d wanted to play for Bulgaria because they had not thought on the repercussions of it. Most of the ones who’d had a break elsewhere were currently strung out on fire whiskey or at the very least greatly unhappy.

“I...am afraid,” Viktor admitted. “That all of this will change me perhaps… perhaps not. And if not change me, then make it so no one sees anything else.”

Ivan tilted his head.

“It is… all my parents see now. I know they will never see anything else now,” he said. “But… I don’t believe I would want to spend my life with anyone who would only see this.”

He looked at him, “I like Quidditch, enough to play, enough to continue to play it for just myself, but… how do you protect the people you care about from the effects of fame?”

Ivan smiled, “You read the fine print and you don’t let fame change you.”

“Quidditch gives me a challenge on a broom,” he said. “That’s the only reason I want to play.”

“And will you lend my team your talents Viktor?” He asked.

“Represent Bulgaria?” Viktor asked. “To represent myself? Yes... On certain conditions.”

He smiled and leaned forward, “Ask.”

An hour later, the door opened. Ilya and Aello stood, KarKaroff turned as the exited the room. Ivan and Viktor shook hands.

“I’ll be in touch, Viktor. Welcome to the Vultures.”

*

Hermione ducked as Fred flew a little too close to her head and took off. She heard Molly yelling at them in the distance and shook her head as a new letter appeared, hovering in mid-air. She opened the letter and walked forward. It seemed like they’d retrieved Harry successfully, but better than that, Dragonheart had officially moved out of his parent’s house, breaking most ties with them. The last thing to do was to graduate for him. He seemed much happier now that he’d apparently set his High Master straight with the help of his grandmother and a well-placed hex.

He is still pushy, but we have reached an agreement: I play along only as far as I wish.

It seemed that without the backing of Dragonheart’s parents, his High Master was a bit of a coward. Most bullies were in her experience. She lifted her wand, reflecting a hex that sent one of the twins tumbling out of the air.

“Nice try, George.”

“Boys!”

Hermione shook her head and walked on, continuing her letter until she arrived at the door to hug Molly and thank her for the hospitality. Ginny appeared, beaming at her and showing her up to their room in the cozy burrow.

“We’re so glad we managed to convince them to let you have one summer off! I’ve never heard of professors so unwilling to let a student go!”

Hermione laughed taking a seat, careful to fold the letter up and store it in her bag. George came in with his tongue several sizes too big for his mouth.

“Hermione!” She looked up seeing Harry coming down the stairs taking the hug warmly. He turned and looked at George and laughed.

“That’s what you get,” he said shaking her head. “‘Mione isn’t the Gryffindor champion for nothing.”

Hermione shook her head, “It’s not quite that extreme.”

Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. Bless her and her modesty. Top of all the classes, on an accelerated track, set to graduate early and potentially have an apprenticeship and nearly guaranteed a job, not to mention the only member of the Gryffindor Dueling Team who remained completely undefeated and the only reason the Dueling Cup remained with Gryffindor for the last four years.

She was right. She was more like the Gryffindor Queen and a favorite of Professor of McGonagall. He was pretty sure there wasn’t a girl at Hogwarts who didn’t know who she was and looked up to her in some way. She wasn’t captain of the team, as that was always held by the eldest person on the team, but she was pretty much in charge of recruiting.

“How are Faye and Helena?” Harry asked sitting down beside her as Molly shrunk George’s tongue and scolded them for trying to hex Hermione.

“Good,” she said. “They’re off shopping in Rome with Fay’s parents.”

They weren’t as close as they were in the first year, but they weren’t on opposite sides of the world like she was with Lavender and Pavarti. It seemed that once Harry had decided to befriend her, a good portion of the Gryffindor boys had followed suit. She and Neville were still close and she’s pretty sure that she and Luna would always be the closest as strange as she was.

“Luna?”

“Working with her Dad,” she said with a laugh. “She sent fudge and pudding.”

Harry nodded, “Very Luna. Where’s Ron?”

Molly shook her head, “Outside I’m sure trying to emulate that seeker he likes.”

Ginny sat down looking at Hermione, “Please tell me you can teach me? Please? Please? I signed up for dueling this year and I should be allowed to take advantage of you being practically my sister.”

Hermione laughed, “If Mrs. Weasley says it’s okay.”

Molly sighed, “I don’t see why you’re so fascinated with it dear. You’re so pretty! Surely you don’t want to be waving your wand around all day?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a good duelist,” Ginny said. “Like there’s nothing wrong with a girl playing Quidditch.”

Molly sighed, “I just don’t see it benefiting you. No young wizard is going to want someone who waves her wand around all the time or spends her time beating boy around on a field. No offense Hermione.”

Hermione shrugged and Ginny’s jaw dropped, “I cannot believe you’re okay with this, Hermione.”

“It’s not my place to change anyone’s thoughts on it,” Hermione said. “And quite honestly, I couldn’t even if it was. I can only do what I think is right. There’s nothing wrong with dueling and there’s nothing wrong with playing Quidditch. If this mysterious young wizard was worth it, he’d like you for doing what makes you happy. Not what someone else says is appropriate.”

She stood up as Molly gawked and Arthur winced, “I have letters to reply to. Whenever you’d like Ginny, or Mrs. Weasley allows it.”

Harry swallowed looking between Molly and Hermione. It wasn’t exactly a new conversation. Ever since Molly began to hear about Hermione from Ron and Hermione from Ginny it had been a consistent conversation. One that Ginny had with her mother often and resulted in angry bickering with Molly screaming at the top of her lungs, Arthur trying to vanish away from the two women and everyone else at the table trying to be inconspicuous. Harry had a feeling that it wouldn’t ever end.

“I’m… going to go hang out with Hermione.”

He left and Molly regarded Ginny, “Do you want to be just one of the boys?”

“At least Hermione is doing what she wants.”

“Is she happy, though?” Molly asked, shaking her head.

“Why don’t we ask her instead of assuming that she isn’t?”

Molly huffed and Ginny got up before Molly looked at Arthur.

“Will you say nothing?”

“Dear, you can’t be in such a hurry to get Ginny into a relationship… she’s only in her second year.”

Molly threw up her hands, “That’s when you and I met!”

“Yes but Ginny is not you or me,” Arthur said calmly.  “And you can’t rush these things. You know you can’t be tested until you’re seventeen and even that is a shot in the dark until they finally find a matching spell.”

“If she doesn’t start acting right now, she’ll end up in her fourth year with a bunch of male friends and not a single boy who sees her as a girl. Just like Hermione.” Arthur sighed, “Hermione is a smart girl, a good role model for academics, but in social skills, she’s surely lacking.”

Harry found Hermione stretched out on the grass, her hair seemed to have gotten a little tamer, lighter in the summer sun, she’d grown taller over the years. He could only smile seeing the circle of tiny, gleaming bluebirds circling her head, singing a gentle song into the breeze as she read her letter. He’d never managed to ask who she was writing to, but he assumed that she was writing to the person she was assigned in the first year.  She laughed a feminine gentle thing that he’d never heard before and took a seat beside her.

In fact, it was so rare that Hermione laughed at all that it made him smile.

“Hey, ‘Mione,” he started. “Are you alright?”

Hermione sighed and looked at him, “I’m fine. I’m just… I shouldn’t have to explain myself to anyone.”

Just because she wasn’t interested in perfume and whatever else she was supposed to be interested in. It hadn’t been a problem in the first or the second year, but somehow in her third year the rally of girls who wanted to be something more than they were told they could be dwindled. She figured it was because mothers like Molly lectured their daughters about the things that would land them alone… the fact that Hermione hadn’t been interested in dating and no one seemed to be interested in her seemed to be the reason.

It didn’t matter. Her pappous had raved for days about her victories, proud to place her medals on his mantle if her parents ran out of space. Her parents had gotten a better about it and their relationship. With their schedule, they had enough time to come on the larger trips, but not all of them. It was Hermes who took her school shopping, took her to the wizarding sides of town before the school year and took her to the train station. His neighbor, and current best friend, was fantastic, a female voice telling her along with a few others to win and never bother to hide how amazing she was.

No one could deny the fact that she was an extraordinary duelist-- big teeth and all. She wore loose muggle clothing and generally looked like a tomboy. So she didn’t attract attention with her plain face, she wasn’t doing anything to make her physicality anymore appealing, but she could care less about any of that. She was fifteen for heaven’s sake, she had plenty of time to be concerned with the male species and hopefully by the time she was they were men and not boys.

“Who are you writing to anyway?”

“Dragonheart,” she answered.

“You still write to the person you were assigned to?”

She nodded, “He’s a nice guy. I’m hoping he’ll be with the bunch coming for the tournament.”

Harry eyed her, “You seem rather happy to meet him.”

Hermione gave him a smile,  “He’s kind to me and --”

“Oi! ‘Mione!” She sighed and turned seeing Ron hovering on his broom above them. “Haven’t you studied enough?’

“Well someone has to be the brains of this operation.”

Harry laughed getting up.

“You won’t say that when I beat you!”

“If you could.”

He whipped out his wand and opened his mouth, but she already had hers out, saying a simple hex that had his broom shooting off.

“That’s… impressive.”

Hermione shrugged, “It’ll wear off when he falls off.”

She sighed looking back at her letter before folding it back up and tucking it into her jumper as Ron came storming over, cheeks flushed and wand drawn.

“Ron, I wouldn’t--” Harry started, but it was too late, a plot of earth exploded between them and Hermione moved, light on her feet in her own special style that no one had really been able to figure out.

She stepped again as Ron fired at her, his hexes falling short of hitting her as Molly, Ginny, and the rest of the Weasleys came out.

“Ron what are you doing?!”

Harry sighed, “Well Mrs, Weasley--”

“You can do it, Ron!” George yelled and then told Fred that he had five sickles on Hermione.

Fred scoffed,  “I’m not taking that bet.”

Ginny watched on as Hermione moved, flipping out of the way, spinning, practically dancing out of the range of Ron’s hexes until he was too exhausted to do anymore.  She landed in her normal stand, wand in her right hand.

“Are you done?”

Ron’s eyes narrowed, “Ex--”

Hermione pulled her arm back and thrust it forward from her stance and sent Ron flying back with not one word. He skidded through the mess he’d made, tumbling dirty and angry as Hermione summoned his wand, twirling it in her left hand.

“Really Ron, was that necessary?” Hermione asked, waving her wand to fix the patches of Earth and approaching him to hand his wand back.

“You’d be a better duelist if you weren’t so angry.”

He growled and snatched his wand out of her hand, “Like you would know!”

“She is the Gryffindor champion,” Ginny pointed out.

“Whatever!”

Ron yelled, flushed and embarrassed as Hermione shook her head and watched him go. Molly huffed and went after him as Arthur scratched his head.

“I can go home,” she said simply, tucking her wand away.

“No, no, no,” Arthur said. “There’s no need for that! He’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, except he’s been trying to practice to take your spot on the team and got trounced,” Ginny said wryly.

“Why?” Hermione asked. Ron didn’t even like dueling.

Ginny shrugged and Arthur cleared his throat, “Let’s get inside… I think that’s been quite enough excitement for the day. “

Hermione followed him and glanced at Harry who winced. They walked into the Burrow with Ginny hanging back.

“So all that fancy movement… that’s new right?”

She laughed, “My pappous signed me up for gymnastics and dance.”

“What’s that?”

“They’re muggle activities that mostly consists of fancy movements.”

Ginny nodded, “Can you teach me that too?”

She laughed, “I could try perhaps.”

Ron sat fuming on one side of the table with Harry trying to get some words out of him, but having no luck. The twins chatted with Hermione about the exams she sat for over the summer.

“I can’t tell you that!” Hermione said giving them an incredulous look.

“But ‘Mione!”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “Besides, I’ll be taking the N.E.W.T.s at the end of this year anyway.”

“You should tell us how it goes.”

Hermione scoffed, “Not on your life.”

Ginny asked who was going to take her place on the dueling team when she graduates and Hermione shrugged.

“Maybe Dean,” Hermione said. “Maybe Ron.”

Ginny gave her a strange expression, “Right… well, put in a good word for me?”

Hermione laughed, “A good word won’t make you a better duelist.”

“Yeah, but a bit of tutelage and a good word would.”

Hermione laughed at that. They talk a little more even though Molly and Ron seem to firmly keep out of the conversation before heading up to bed. Hermione changes and climbs into the bed that’s been transfigured for her on the other side of Ginny’s room.

“So this person you’re writing to, what’s he like?”

Hermione hummed as she looked at the letter she’d been trying to read since she got it. Dragonheart was kind, definitely an intellectual. He was poetic even and his hands either smelled like a crisp sea wind or broom polish, which made perfect since he spent so much time on a broom and lived near the ocean.  He was…

“You’re in love with this guy,” Ginny said and Hermione’s jaw dropped. If she were Ginny’s complexion, she would probably be bright red.

“I-I wouldn’t say that. We’re good friends.”

“Right… which is why you’re talking about him, someone you’ve never even met like he’s some fairytale prince.”

She pouted, “I am not.”

“You are too!” Ginny said. “Must be nice… do you think he’s your soulmate?”

Hermione shook her head, “I don’t have one.”

“What do you mean? How do you know?”

“No ink,” she said, gesturing to her unmarked hands.

Ginny frowned, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“That’s how you know.”

“Maybe for muggles, but you’re a witch, Hermione. The rules are different… Hasn’t anyone told you?”

Hermione shook her head as Ginny sat up. She knew that wizards had visions, but she didn’t know that they might not have ink to go with them. Wizarding soulmates weren’t anything like muggle soulmates. The theory was that muggles got ink because that was all the magic their body could muster. Wizards and witches know their soulmates, usually be a few things: they have visions of one another’s day to day life, their vision changes from black and white to color, they share dreams and sometimes can see their past lives. They didn’t necessarily have ink to go with it, most wizards didn’t actually.

“I have aunts that say that you can feel your soulmate when you meet them, how their feeling if they’re near. There’s a bunch of others but it isn’t as simple as just having magic ink on you.”

Hermione hummed and added it to her list of things to research.

“Is that why… you haven’t dated?” Ginny asked. “Because you thought you didn’t have a soulmate.”

Hermione shrugged. She was sure that it was part of the reason, but it wasn’t the main one. When she thought of soulmates, she thought of the stories Hermes told her about meeting his wife Adia one day on a trip to Cairo. She’d been attacked on the street, but she fought to keep her bag, covered head to toe as was customary in Egypt. He stepped in and wrestled her bag back from them to give to her. He escorted her to the hospital, watched over her. She’d seen his hands where her nickname in her neat handwriting was written on his ring finger and asked him his name. They’d called on one another ever since until he asked her to marry him, whisking her away from her horrible brothers to Greece for their own slice of Happily Ever After.

She didn’t have any idea what meeting her own soulmate would be like, but she also wondered if her soulmate would really want to put up with Hermione’s brand of…

Mental.

Another letter appeared hovering over her lap and she lifted it out of the air and set it aside. She opened the letter from earlier and picked up where she left off.

Everything hurts. My new coach is hard on us, but it’s for the best. I think I put on at least twenty pounds of pure muscle just this training season, but we’re preparing for a big game, so I understand. The team we’re going up against is known to be a little ruthless, but we are Bulgarian, we don’t back down from any challenge, ruthless or not.

I looked up gymnastics. It looks a little like flying. Perhaps when we meet you will be more agreeable to flying with me--

“You are totally in love with him,” Ginny said sitting up. “What if he’s already met his soulmate?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “I am not in love with him…”

“You sounded so confident. No wonder you don’t give anyone the time of day.”

“No one’s exactly declaring their undying love for Sabertooth Granger.”

Ginny winced, “Well… maybe it’s because you haven’t really given them a hint that you’re interested. I’m pretty sure you’ve made yourself sexless to most of the male population at the school.”

Hermione shrugged, “Not my problem.”

“Well… what about Ron?”

“What about him?” Hermione asked.

“Well… would you date him?”

“Ginny,” Hermione started. “We can be like sisters without actually being related.”

She winced, “I’m not asking because of that. Would you?”

Hermione shrugged, “Hadn’t devoted any thought to it.”

“Well, devote some thought to it. Who else are you going to go to the ball with since Harry’s pinning for some Ravenclaw girl if not Ron?”

Hermione stopped her eyes from returning to the letter and looked at Ginny who seemed rather put out.

“Ginny… are you… are you still crushing on Harry?”

Ginny flushed and Hermione hummed, “I see what this is about. No worries Ginny, Harry and I are strictly friends. I’m not competition.”

“That’s not… Not what I was and…”

Ginny shut her mouth and Hermione smiled, score for her.

Mark me, I’m not saying that as a joke! I mean it. I will get you on a broom somehow. I’ll even duel you for it.

She laughed. As if she would ever agree to that duel even if she thought she could win.

I will have to leave you for a while. My parents have arrived with my High Master, I must attend to them. Pray to any god for me?

She turned the letter over and reached for the other and laughed at the first line.

I can’t believe the nerve of my parents and my High Master. I never understood the rush to be out of school early, but I understand it now. If I had to deal with another year of this I think I would be put in Azkaban. They came on my break from training to drop off a stack of books to read in preparation for the school year, another training regimen on top of that. I graduate this year, my N.E.W.T.s have already been set. I’m at the top of my class! When I asked why my High Master says it’s because of the Tri-Wizard Tournament!

Her heart skipped, she gasped and Ginny looked at her, “What is it?”

Hermione dug for her muggle pen knowing it would be strange, but she didn’t have the time to fish out ink, a quill, and drying powder. She scribbled her questions on the back and sent it off.

Viktor sat glowering at the tower of books, soaking his body in a tub of ice-hot potion and trying not to shiver when it went achingly cold. He’d overtaxed himself today he was sure, at least that’s what their very grumpy medi-wizard said.  The letter appeared hovering above him and he grabbed it.

You’ll be coming to Hogwarts for the Tri-Wizard tournament?

He grabbed his wand and with a whisper wrote his reply before sending it back.

Hermione threw up her hands in excitement and Ginny sat up.

“What is it?”

“He’ll be here, Ginny!” She said. “I might very well get to meet him in person!”

Ginny beamed and gave her a sly look, “Oh yeah? Going to snog his face off?”

Hermione sputtered, “Don’t be silly, Ginerva!”

Ginny nodded and turned over, “Right, well I’ll go to sleep now.”

Hermione huffed, setting to writing a full reply this time.

Chapter Text

Viktor sighed as the potion turned warm, soaking into his body and looked down at his feet. His grandmother swore up and down that he was still growing and would grow into them in time, but he was already extraordinarily tall for a Seeker. He couldn’t really afford to get any taller by League standards. A teammate wandered in and climbed into the tub beside his shivering at the rising potion level.

“Hey, Viktor.”

He looked over and grinned, “Mikhail, how’s your face?”

“Ha, ha, didn’t know you young people were so disrespectful.”

Viktor laughed. Mikhail was the oldest member of the team, not even six years Viktor’s senior and the keeper. He was almost holding a cooling poultice to his face.

“Sergei’s pushing hard.”

“He wants to win,” Viktor said.

“I saw your family and the demon, are you alright?”

Viktor let out a groan, “I am expected to prepare for the Triwizard tournament.”

He grunted, “I am glad that I dodged that bullet. You have no way out?”

“None, all seventh years who are old enough are going to Hogwarts come October.”

Mihkail nodded, “I am sorry Viktor. I wish there was more I could do than saying that, but try not to dwell on it. What is one more claim to fame?”

Viktor glowered at him. Between screaming fans, giggling girls, and generally too much stress, Viktor had found his reprieve in his private flying, martial arts, and meeting up with Anastasia or Olivia whenever they wanted. Olivia spoke of dating seriously soon, so there was no chance of meeting up now that she was out of school. Anastasia would be in Durmstrang for the entire school year leaving them both at a loss.

“That sigh was of a different frustration,” Mikhail said with a laugh.

“Sounded like a 'I need sex' sigh,” someone said coming in to step into the other tub, his potion was more heat than anything and generally turned him into walking goo. “Nice flying out there, Vik’.”

“Thanks.”

“So what’s the sigh for? Lost your girlfriend to fame?”

“No, not a girlfriend--”

“You have a sex buddy?” Mikhail gasped looking at him. “I would have never guessed! You always seemed so… noble .”

Viktor glowered at him as Marin laughed as more players came into the recovery room and Marin took great pleasure in telling them that Viktor had a sex buddy.

“No fair! Lucky newcomer.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever look at you the same way again.”

“It’s not like that, they---”

“They?!” The room erupted as Sergei came in and the entire team began interrogating him about this they .

Viktor didn’t give them much by way of detail, just that the they were only two women whom he’d met in school, it was a beneficial arrangement for all and no one was being hurt.

“And now it’s over?”

“Something like that...I’m going to Hogwarts with the rest of the eligible students… but Karkaroff…”

A few of them hissed, the few graduates of Ddurmstrang. Karkaroff was probably the most self-serving chauvinist, mysoginistic peice of shit that they'd ever met.  

“He is pushing for you to prepare isn’t he?”

“Along with my parents. It seems that they love my fame more than anything else about me.”

Sergei pat him on the shoulder, “This is your last year. It will be over soon.”

“Perhaps we’ll get some more details about these sex buddies of yours!”

They laughed as a new letter appeared on fresh parchment and they oohed. They knew about Viktor’s Greek letters, convinced that he was wooing a Grecian goddess or something.

“She’s from one of the other schools participating in the Triwizard Tournament.”

“So you might meet her in person soon?” Sergei asked with interest.

“Perhaps…” Viktor said opening the letter to read:

I’ll be there too.  I can’t believe it’s been three years. I didn’t ever think that it would actually happen that we may get to meet, but here it is… You’re going to Hogwarts come October. I must admit I’m a tad frightened at the prospect. It’s been easy to talk to you partially because you’ve just been words on a page, a scent, a written voice. I’m a tad frightened that perhaps it won’t be as wonderful as I imagined it.

But doubts aside, it is still rather exciting. I’m sorry you--

The letter vanished from his hands and he looked up at Theseus who seemed to sniff the letter curiously.

“Very odd for a love letter not to be scented,” he commented trying to get a better scent. He smelled nothing really beyond the ink, maybe olive oil and shea butter but that was it.

“It isn’t a love letter.”

He hummed and opened it, stepping out of Viktor’s reach from the bath and reading it to the locker room.

“ I’m sorry your parents are stressing you out, especially in the middle of your training. Are you planning to go pro-Quidditch when you get out of school? Or are you training for something else? I’m sure you’ll do fine either way--you’re amazing. ”

Viktor flushed, glaring daggers at Theseus as he passed the letter off around the room so everyone else who could read Greek could read a bit out loud, teasing him.

“She thinks you’re amazing Viktor… ”

“Shut up!”

Viktor instantly regretted ever wishing for a true brotherly bond, all it seemed to do was to embarrass him. The real problem was that he was naked and they knew how he felt about being naked in front of them: he was still so awkward in his skin in the light. It was much easier in the dark, not to mention he was still growing, muscled from playing Quidditch and the unique brand of athleticism required to fly through the air the way he did, but they were a bunch of grown men. It was awkward for him.

“She thinks you’re amazing Viktor and she doesn’t even know.”

“You haven’t told her?”

“For shame.”

“Probably wants to keep it personal and not bring the “Krazy” part of him into it.”

They laughed as Belov cleared his throat and pitched it in an almost irritatingly sweet and sultry tone. Belov did the best voices and the amount of sex he seemed to be pouring into his characterization of Biblio-logical made the entire locker room go up in catcalls.

“ A friend of mine explained wizarding soulmates. No one ever told me that it was different than muggles. She asked me if because I thought I didn’t have a soulmate that I didn’t date. To explain, this comes on the wings of an ongoing argument about dueling not being a proper thing a young woman should do if she wants to 'catch a young wizard’s attention' . ”

“Your Greek goddess is a duelist?” Sergei asked Viktor as he sat helplessly in his bath. “That’s quite amazing.”

“Is she good?”

“She’s undefeated at the moment, could I have my letter back--”

“ I don’t think I would ever want a young wizard’s attention who was intimidated because I wield a wand better than he does. I don’t think anyone should stop doing what they want to do because someone thinks it’s inappropriate for their gender. This is the twentieth century for Merlin’s sake! ”

Viktor laughed as the other listened on and the letter was passed back to Mikhail.

“ Perhaps I’m crazy, but if I have a soulmate, I don’t think he’s concerned about my wand-wielding abilities. I’m sorry, I think I’ve ranted a bit, but seriously. It’s just so infuriating that I’m expected to watch from the sidelines what I could very well do for myself. I’m not a damsel in distress.

On a different note, I would never accept that challenge, good sir, even if I thought I could win. I don’t believe flight and I should change our relationship as it stands. We say hello in the halls and I think that suits both of us. I’m friends with several Quidditch fanatics. One of them is a seeker, the other fancies himself a keeper if he ever plucks up the courage to try out, and the third would be a hell of a beater if her mother wasn’t always lecturing her about what was proper to get a boyfriend. ”

“She’s friends with a Seeker sounds like competition.”

Viktor snorted and they laughed.

“Well of course not, who can compete with Viktor “Krazy” Krum?”

Viktor shook his head, “Could you finish reading me my letter if you aren’t going to give it back?”

Mikhail oohed, “Very well.”

“ Today, he decided, the Keeper-in-training, to try and hex me! As if I would let him. Apparently, he wants to take my spot on the dueling team, but no one will tell me why since he doesn’t even like dueling. They’re all being very strange about it all, but enough about my current issues.

I spent most of my summer at school sitting for sixth-year exams. I’m taking the N.E.W.T.s this year, I think I’ve told you, and graduating early. The healer is putting in a word for me to start an apprenticeship here and the healing school in Athens before entering the workforce officially, assuming I do well enough on my exams. I’m going to the World Cup with friends and-- ”

“Wait, what?” Viktor said looking up at Mihkail.

“She said she’s going to the World Cup, dear Viktor… perhaps you’ll find her in the crowd.”

Viktor worried his lip as Mihkail continued to read the letter, wondering if their letters were always so long and extensive seeing as they didn’t use owls to carry them back and forth.

“ --all they can talk about is Ireland this, Bulgaria that. I know you play Quidditch so perhaps you can help me? Viktor Krum? I’ve heard more than once that he’s apparently the youngest professional player in history and has some outstanding record. Quite honestly, I haven’t paid enough attention to them quoting stats ad nauseam while I am trying to read my letters. It seems that every time I get ready to finish reading one of your letters, someone shows up and demands that I stop and 'have fun like a normal person”...which translates to listen to us gush over an athlete. I think sometimes, they’re about three seconds away from packaging up a pair of their knickers and owling them to him. ”

Viktor grimaced as they laughed. It was a well-known fact among the team that Viktor hated his fan mail as it was about ninety percent women’s knickers and letters about being soulmates because people dreamt of flying.

“I’ve suggested it to them several times and everytime they’ve gotten rather tangled in their speech and leave me alone. I think it’s a tactic worth keeping up. But I am serious, if I don’t pick a team to root for one will be thrust open me by the twins and they’re Irish supporters. I think on principle, Bulgaria being closer to Greece than Ireland, I should root for Bulgaria… then there’s you, but I don’t think you’re the type to root for your national team just because. My roommate suggests I root for the “Bulgarian Bon Bon” just because he’s supposedly the hottest person in the game and the closest to our age. I’ve never seen him, though I’m sure that will change soon enough. I also just deplore Rita Skeeter, she’s the worst journalist I have ever had the displeasure of reading.

Tell me how your training is going? How’s your grandmother? Your cousin? Are your teammates still teasing you? I’m going to try and head to bed, though I’ll probably be up before the break of dawn per usual. I think perhaps I added a bit too much mandrake in the last batch of potions I made, but no matter. With me, it’s always better to be too up than down. “

Mikhail sighed a little disappointed, he was really hoping for a love letter meanwhile Viktor was grinning not even bothering to scold them before grabbing his wand and scribbling his reply with the edge of it and summoning a length of red cloth, his Bulgarian red scarf that he wore rather frequently before wrapping it together and waving his wand to send it.

“At least she’ll know what you smell like.”

Viktor glowered at them before reaching for his towel and wrapping it around his waist before getting out of the potion bath and letting it out.

“Enough meddling from you all for one day. I’m going to sleep.”

They laughed as he left and got dressed to head to the barracks he was staying in during training. He shared the room with Mihkail, but it wouldn’t matter. They’d eat and then sleep.

In the morning, Hermione is up before anyone else, even Molly who is generally up in enough time to start making food for the whole house. Hermione gets dressed for a run, leaving her tennis shoes behind, taking her wand and singing her cadence as she ran around the Burrow. The sun hasn’t even risen when she’s doing her gymnastics routine on the flattest piece of land she can find. She flipped and tumbled, leaped and twirled until she was out of breath and she could face the sun.

Admittedly, she’d started it all when she realized that relying on a potion, or pills for anything would get her nowhere near healing. Not to mention they very rarely did anything when she was having a particularly bad day.  She had anxiety attacks because she had anxiety and she'd read that excercise was supposed to make you relax. Besides that, she needed something that could get her spirits up or at least put something else on her mind for a time. Physical activity seemed as viable an option as anything else. 

It had started at running, then Hermes had suggested gymnastics for the adrenaline rush of flying through the air. Dance for the fun of it and yoga for the calm. She took a seat and closed her eyes, sinking deeper into her breathing, letting the silence and peace of the early morning fill her up before she heard Ginny yelling after her about breakfast. Hermione stood and jogged back towards the Burrow, cleaning her feet and walking in.

“Where’d you get to?” Ron asked looking at her in her athletic wear.

“Morning routine.”

“Is that a part of dueling?” Ginny asked. “I’m pretty sure no one else on the team gets up that early.

“No,” she said. “It’s just for me. What’s on the docket for today?’

“Flying,” Ron said. “Don’t think you’d care to join us.”

“No,” Hermione said. “I’m quite happy not to.”

“You got a package last night,” Ginny said, eating. “It was on your bed this morning.”

She frowned and finished eating to go see what was in the package. It felt soft and she opened it with a smile. It was a wonderfully warm scarf that smells of the sea wind and… something else like bourbon and fresh cut grass maybe? It was probably the softest thing she’d ever had in her hands. The letter inside made her heart quicken.

I will also be at the World Cup. It will be cold in the stands. Root for Bulgaria. Viktor Krum is the youngest seeker, but he’s never not caught the snitch since the beginning of his career. If he catches the snitch this game, he’ll have broken the record. No, I do not root for my country’s team just because. I root for them because they are good people. Don’t worry about returning the scarf, I have plenty in my country’s color.

Yes, my teammates tease me. They took to reading your last letter out loud while we were in the locker room. It is my fault for wishing for brothers that actually cared about me. They call you a “Greek Goddess” and tease me constantly. I think they are more disappointed that your letter is so very personal but not what they were expecting. I assume words of passion and love.

Please do not encourage them to send their knickers to him. I have it on good authority that he hates fan mail that is little more than talk of soulmates and knickers. Dreaming of flying is not enough of a reason to believe your soulmate may be an international Quidditch player. And if not dueling, then there has to be a way to get you on a broom. I would not let you fall. Could I persuade you with chocolate perhaps? Real Swiss chocolate? How about Belgium? I remember you saying you had a particular weakness for it.

As for soulmates, I didn’t know you didn’t know that there was a difference. I’ve written a list of books on the subject below that you may find interesting. I don’t think you don’t have a soulmate. It’s a matter of when you meet, not if for you. I wish there was a simple way for us to figure out if we had a soulmate or not. It would no doubt assuage a lot of anxiety about the idea if we did, but alas with more magic comes more complexity.

My grandmother teases me about as much as my teammates do and has threatened to set me up with her friend’s granddaughter who goes to school somewhere abroad. She jokes of course, but sometimes I wonder if that is actually the case. All the gods know that my parents like to shove girls at me ad nauseam. My brothers relish it, but I would rather be left alone and find my soulmate through less needle in a haystack of needles sort of way.

Hermione laughed surprising Ginny as she entered the room.

“That’s a really nice scarf,” Ginny commented.

“A gift and an elimination of Fred and George trying to force Ireland on me.”

“Of course not, your letter-bound love has already claimed you for Bulgaria.”

Hermione shut her mouth and glowered at Ginny, “That’s quite enough out of you.”

“Well, what are you two chatting about anyway?”

“Everything,” she said. “We trade letters just about every day.”

Ginny eyed her before sitting down, “You know Hermione… there are people around you to talk to too.”

Hermione looked at her and then folded her letter, setting the scarf on top. She waved her wand at the door to close it and slipped an anti-eavesdropping ward over it. She had a feeling that this was coming with Ginny having spent all summer with Molly while the boys frolicked around and did who knew what. 

Molly had the ability to get into someone's head and screw with their sense of things if you allowed it. She'd learned that the first time she'd met the woman. While Arthur was generally harmless and fascinated with muggle life, Molly had a ruthless and cunning streak that was subtle enough to take some time to realize it was there.

As her mother said, Molly liked to play "older female/maternal games" and she would have gladly put Molly in her place if need be...

It had been quite the bonding moment.

“What is this about, Ginny?”

“Perhaps, I should get Mum…” Ginny started. "She could... explain it a lot better."

Hermione waved her wand, breaking the enchantment, “By all means, let’s invite the whole family.”

She stood up, walked to the door, and pulled it open, Ginny went after her as she descended the stairs and gestured for Ginny to take a seat while she called everyone’s attention. Arthur winced. Molly looked at her.

“Hello everyone,” she said politely. “Let’s just do this all at once and then I don’t want to hear about it ever again, shall we?”

Fred and George looked at one another and then to Ron before looking back at her.

“What’s this about?”

Ron shrugged.

“Ginny, if you could please start this conversation?”

She grimaced, “‘Mione, I didn’t mean...Well…Mum was worried and I was worried and well… It’s just… It’s not normal.”

Hermione waited and looked at Mrs. Wesley, “Mrs. Weasley anything to add?”

She flushed under Hermione’s cool gaze and Fred and George looked at one another in surprise. They’d never seen Molly on the hot seat like this. The twins loved their mother but there were times they wished that someone, anyone, would just tell her how it is and not back down when the woman started shrieking.

“Well dear, it’s just you seem rather preoccupied with this… person you’ve been writing to. It’s just not normal.”

“Ron? Fred? George? Harry? Mr. Weasley, would you like to chip in?”

Molly nudged her husband hard and he stammered, “I… didn’t really notice… Is this about the dueling again or…?”

Molly glared at him and he shut his mouth. Fred and George raised their hands.

“This about those letters you get randomly?”

“Didn’t that start a few years ago?”

“Yes,” she said, “Before you stopped making me the object of your pranks.”

Fred and George grimaced, “Well, you were a bit of a stick in the mud.”

“Still are,” Ron grumbled.

“Ronald?" She asked looking at him. "Anything to add?”

Ron looked up, “Well… it’s not natural you writing to some random person the way you do. You don’t talk to anyone else really. ”

“Harry?”

Harry shook his head, “I’ve got nothing. We talk all the time.”

Ron gawked at Harry who only shrugged. While Ron was his first male friend, had been since childhood, Hermione actually listened to him. Harry could trust Hermione to tell him the truth and keep secrets... With Ron... 

He could go flying with him, for sure, but Ron couldn't be trusted with secrets. It was why he still hadn't told him about his visions and was planning on telling Hermione when they got a chance for some privacy.

“Thank you, Harry. Mr. Weasley, this is about it being completely normal to write a friend consistently,” she said. “But while we’re on the subject, we can talk about dueling too. Let’s just get it all on the table as I’m sure this will be the first, and last time, I’ll ever be back.”

“Well, it’s just not normal!” Molly said throwing up her hand. “You’re filling Ginny’s head with these crazy ideas about being a duelist and playing Quidditch. You’ll get hurt and scar up your best assets! More than that no boy is going to want to date a girl who is always around a bunch of boys. You’re fifteen, you should be… trying on perfume, flirting with boys--not fighting .”

Molly sighed, “I don’t know how it is in the Muggle world but wizards just don’t do things like this! You’re supposed to grow up, get married, have kids...Be a wife not a warrior unless you’re defending your kids!”

“Is that all?” Hermione asked looking around the table.

It seemed that Molly wasn’t done, launching into another tirade on Hermione’s clothes, her need to carry so many books around. How she didn’t comb her hair and so many other things like her relationship with her mother and the idea that her grandfather was turning her into a tomboy. When she finally announced that she was done Hermione smiled coldly and Harry winced at her expression. He knew that her parents were a hot button for Hermione and had witnessed first hand how ruthless Hermione could be when she was put in a mood.

Molly had probably no idea what she'd just done.

“Just a few corrections to make,” Hermione said, pleasantly. “As much as I appreciate the care, I have a mother, who has her own career, her own everything and any distance between us has nothing to do dueling, my hair, or anything you bring up. She gives me perfume and all sorts of things that you’re suggesting, we frolic the city window shopping and everything else you could consider “girl appropriate”. My grandfather is the most supportive and loving man I have ever known, he encourages me to duel just as easily as he takes me dress shopping. And it doesn’t get any less tomboy as gymnastics and ballet in the muggle world.”

Molly gawked at her.

“I didn’t come to Hogwarts to find a boyfriend, nor did I come to be tormented by silly boys with hexes because teaching a girl to duel is frowned upon. I don’t know how it is in the wizarding world, but in the muggle world a woman has every right to defend herself when she’s attacked. I wouldn’t want a boy who won’t even take the time to get to know me, who’d rather call me Sabertooth Granger, bushy-haired or anything else that a coward would. I deserve better than that. And finally, my letters to Dragonheart are no different than having a conversation with Harry or Ron--”

“Except you’ve never met him!” Molly said. “You’re getting your hopes up for some boy who’s never even seen your face. You think that’s smart?”

“It’s not as though boys who’ve seen my face, met me in person, heard my voice are particularly interested in talking to me. Save Harry perhaps and I have no hopes for Dragonheart. We’re friends.”

“Well, maybe if you made yourself a little more approachable.”

“Perhaps they shouldn’t be so afraid to approach,” Hermione countered. “It isn’t as if I’m putting up a Do Not Disturb Sign on my forehead.”

“With all of your books and bushy hair and your clothes? You think that isn’t what you’re doing? Writing to some faceless stranger when there are boys all around you? It’s a fantasy!”

“Being comfortable?” Hermione asked. “Doing what I like? Not what’s expected of me? Fantasy? Fantasy is pretending that just because I put on a little make-up that will change my personality. Will change who I am, change how people treat me in any way that matters.”

Molly huffed, “You are missing the point, Hermione. How long do you expect to keep on like this? Do you want to be alone for the rest of your life? You’ll run off anyone who’s even remotely interested in you if you keep it up.”

“Last time I checked, they weren’t declaring their existence,” Hermione said. “And I’d rather be alone than miserable in a relationship. And I’m fifteen for goodness sake, I didn’t realize my worth as a woman worth dating had such a short expiration date.”

“You can’t expect--”

“Some one to speak up?” Hermione asked. “No, I can’t. That‘s why I do.”

“Well maybe you’ll attract a confused girl, but that won’t attract a man!”

“I think you mean boy .”

Molly gawked at her nonplussed face, “Why do I even bother?! You clearly are a lost cause.”

“Clearly,” Hermione said and turned back to the rest of the group. "And for the record do not confuse my hair texture with lack of personal grooming."

For emphasis, she drew her hand straight through her hair. The strands were soft, curly and easily separated.

"Now, is there anything else you'd like to address?" Hermione asked.

Molly said nothing, burning hot and angry in her seat. The rest of the table sat quietly and for the first time the Weasley house wasn't cowering from Molly's screeching. Hermione was sure it was a novel concept for all of them. 

“Fred, George, take my book again and I’ll hex you into next week. Ron, throw a hex at me again and I’ll show you a thing or two about hexes. Ginny try an intervention of this caliber ever again and you can find yourself haplessly trying on perfume with Lavender Brown and the rest for the rest of my time at Hogwarts. And all of you, save Harry, will find yourselves suddenly in the library trying to figure it on their own. Everyone good?”

Molly got up and left the table, storming out the back door.

“Great,” Hermione said and turned from the room, strolling up the stairs the people left at the table hissed as Arthur picked up his newspaper.

“Well, I believe that will be the end of that conversation for quite a while.”

Ginny worried her lip and went up the stairs to where Hermione was sitting on the bed, reading her letter, humming to herself, unbothered by the entire exchange.

“‘Mione… I… I didn’t mean it like that.” Hermione looked over as she took a seat on the bed. “It’s just...well… when you told me about the soulmate thing I thought…I thought perhaps I thought maybe you just were scared, maybe? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you or anything. It came out totally wrong and...”

She sighed in frustration.

“I know,” Hermione said and looked at her. Hermione flicked her wand and cast a ward over the door before setting her letter aside and regarding her. “Perhaps you can tell me what’s actually running through your head?”

Ginny winced and she sat down, “I… I don’t want to do the whole… get married settled down have ten kids thing like Mum. I’d… like to have nice things for once in my life and not have to yell at my partner all the time.”

Hermione nodded, “Partner?”

Ginny flushed and she looked away.

“It’s okay, Gin’,” she said. “Secret’s safe with me.”

“I just don’t… want to disappoint her. You know how much she’s wanted a daughter with all the boys running around...and she saw you as kind of another one.”

Hermione snorted. Molly was used to control. Control over her husband, her kids, the house, and being bowed down to as the smartest person in the house. She knew that Lily never gave her the satisfaction and because Harry was the son, and stepson, of such favorite wizards she always treated him differently. 

“You can’t let what she wants run your life, Gin’,” she said kindly. “It doesn’t do you any good in the end. And I bloody well won't let her try and run mine.”

“How come you and your Mum aren’t close? You always talk about your grandfather, but not much about your parents.”

Hermione sighed, “Well, my parents love me… it’s just hard for them to deal with sometimes… It’s not that we’re not close.”

“Is it you being a witch?”

“Among other things," she said with a shrug. "We just live in different worlds most of the year.

Ginny opened her mouth when a knock sounded on the door.

“‘Mione? It’s me, can I come in?”

Ginny swallowed and Hermione waved her wand to let Harry in. He left the door open behind him.

“Hey,” he started. “Uhm, was I interrupting?”

Ginny worried her lip.

“A little, but you wanted something?”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry… I know it’s not exactly… fair to have to hear all that. I think you’re bloody brilliant.”

Hermione snorted, “What are you apologizing for, Harry?”

“I guess… not being brave enough.”

“You’re plenty brave Harry,” she said. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. People are going to think what they want whenever… and thanks. It’s nice to know someone is on my side.”

Harry swallowed and backed out, “I’ll… leave you two to it. We’ll talk later, yeah?”

Hermione nodded and watched him go before placing the ward back up.  Ginny let out a breath.

“You can’t tell anyone, ‘Mione.”

“I wouldn’t,” she assured. “And I appreciate the apology.”

She sighed, “Sometimes… Mum can be pushy, but she means well.”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

“She may also be trying to get you to notice Ron.”

Hermione snorted, “Right.”

“I’m serious… everyone, but you two, knows he fancies you.”

“Means nothing if nothing is said.”

“What about you?” Ginny said. “Jokes aside…”

“No,” Hermione said. “I don’t. He’s Harry’s best friend and occasionally I feel bad enough for him to help him with his homework.”

“Do you think you could ever?”

Hermione shrugged, “Maybe if he grew up considerably… and I got hit really hard with a bludger.”

Ginny laughed, falling back on her bed, “Shame, though. Mum would love to have another daughter…”

“Mrs. Weasley wouldn't know what to do with a daughter like me," Hermione said with a wry smirk. "She’d also like everyone to have twelve children starting at seventeen.”

Ginny shuddered, that was probably too true. When it’s time for dinner, the table is quiet while she, Ginny, and Harry chat about the game the next day and they try to explain to her the finer points of the two teams playing. After dinner, Molly ordered Ginny to come help her with the dishes as Hermione went outside with Fred and George. They apologized and thanked her for telling Molly off. While it wasn't the best apology, they at the very least meant it. 

"I'll teach you that spell you wanted to learn," she offered. "Truce?"

They grinned at her. Harry watched with Ron on the sidelines as the twins made a show of casting spells against Hermione’s shield. She gave them pointers and showed them the proper wand movements before allowing them to continue practicing.

“What’s going on with you mate?” Harry asked Ron. “You siding with your Mum against Hermione?”

“It’s not normal,” he said. “Hermione’s always writing to whoever or in her books, she doesn’t really talk.”

“Would help if you wanted to talk to her not just when it’s convenient for you…. Even Draco, who practically hates her, talks to her more than you do.”

“Well, how am I supposed to when it’s not about classes?”

Harry gave him a look, “You… you fancy Hermione.”

“As if! I wouldn’t ever fancy that bushy haired know-it-all, she’s more boy than a girl and that’s just weird mate.”

Harry nodded, keeping his mouth shut.

“Do you fancy her?”

“No, she’s… like the sister I never had.”

“And Ginny?”

“I don’t think so.”

Chapter Text

She’d been to large sporting events before, but she was pretty sure nothing would ever compare to the wonder of the Quidditch World Cup. Of course, it was made even better by the knowledge that somewhere in the stadium, within a few miles of her, Dragonheart was enjoying the festivities as well, hopefully free of his parents. Ron went on about Viktor Krum and his scheme to get his autograph if it was the last thing he did.

“Perhaps he can even sign your doll,” Ginny said kindly and Ron glared at her.

“Shut up.”

“It’s a collectible figurine,” Hermione said with a smile. “Be nice.”

Ron looked at her strangely for a moment as they said goodbye to the Diggorys. Arthur set up the tent near the edge of the fairground as Hermione scanned the grounds taking in the sights.

“Come on, let’s go look around,” Harry said, taking her hand and leading her down the paths. “I’ll be your official tour guide.”

Hermione laughed, “Will you now? Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Away from the Weasley camp,” Harry said, mischievously. “Preferably before Ginny starts a war with Ron about his figurines.”

Hermione nodded in understanding, no one wanted to be there for that, especially not with the twins egging them on. They fell into step somewhere around the concession stands.

“How has your summer been?”

Harry hummed, “I’m sure it wasn’t as productive as yours, but I did manage to hex Malfoy.”

She snorted, “You are going to have to start getting along. He is your stepfather’s godson... and your godfather's nephew.”

He wrinkled his nose, “I know that, but…”

“Has it gotten any better?”

Harry shrugged, “I… Not really… I spend most of my time with Remus and Sirius.”

“Harry!”

He winced, “I know!”

Hermione shook his her head, “You know, just because he isn’t your father doesn’t mean he didn’t practically raise you.”

Harry swallowed and she stopped walking upon seeing his expression. There was a darkness and a confusion there that wasn't a good sign in his eyes.

“What is it?”

“Can we go somewhere?” Harry asked looking around. “It isn’t something I want to talk about out in the open.”

Hermione nodded and led him away from the activity before casting a circle of wards around the clearing. Harry sat down and all at once his sunny disposition melted away.

“Mum and I… we had a bit of a row.”

Hermione sat down as he sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

“About… about him.”

“Severus?”

“My father.”

Hermione looked at him as he trudged through the story. It had been bloody awful. Remus and Sirius had been there to pick him up. They’d started a bit of a fight with Severus over something. Then, Lily had gotten involved and Sirius said something about “the last time” and everyone fell silent.

“I didn’t ask about that part, but I’d never seen Severus look like that. Mum was in a bit of a state, trying to calm everyone down… It’s always like that when they’re left alone for too long. I think Sirius and Remus still resent Severus a great deal… I think it’s a bit mutual, but…”

Severus had responded rather oddly.

“He told them that whether they liked it or not, my father was dead, he was still here and there was nothing any of them could do to change that. Then, he left. I’ve never seen him like that.”

Severus had gone cold. Not that he wasn’t usually reserved with his emotions, but he'd gone cold even for him. Part of him wondered if Severus would pull out his wand and curse his godfather and adopted uncle, but he didn’t. He just left the room.

“And then Mum was in a right state about it. I’ve never seen her so angry… And without thinking I asked why she was so angry about it. About them bringing up the past, about bringing up my Dad in front of me…”

Hermione winced, she had a feeling she knew where it was going. Lily had been rather reserved on telling Harry much about his father, about how they met and the like. She'd told him enough and that James loved Harry, but Hermione always had her suspicions about what Lily was leaving out.

“We argued about it and I told her that I deserved to know…. But I can’t ever ask because of Severus. Remus and Sirius joined in, telling her that I deserved to know about my father and she… she sighed.”

Lily Snape, once Lily Potter, once Lily Evans had looked between the three of them. She’d known that Remus and Sirius still had doubts about the way James died that night.  They knew Peter Pettigrew was responsible for it, but they’d never trusted Severus with Lily or anything.

“She… sat us all down because it wasn’t just me that had questions… I had no idea that Remus and Sirius didn’t know how Dad died… I thought they were just waiting to let Mum tell me… and she told me… what happened that night… or rather she pulled the memory out and let me see it in the Pensieve.”

Hermione sat in the grass, her back to the rock Harry was seated on listening to him. He didn’t want her too near, didn’t want really to talk about it, but he needed to tell someone. Ron was too much in a snit, too occupied with the coming of the game that night to be ready for this, but Hermione… they always talked… Always.

“The night… he came to Godric’s Hollow…” Harry started. “Mum and Dad had had a row.”

It had been about what they usually fought about: their relationship. Lily had told him that if he wasn’t happy, he could leave. James had been livid about her suggestion. It was, apparently, a fight he loved to start with her. She suggested that perhaps she should leave. She’d take Harry with her until James could manage to calm down enough to be sensible. James had been the only one angry and Harry had been in his crib upstairs. She went upstairs to pack her and Harry's things. James had followed her upstairs and they were still arguing when he’d arrived. Lily had moved to grab her wand and James had whirled on Voldemort who regarded them both, freezing Lily where she stood with his long wand pointed at her.

Trouble in paradise? Voldemort had asked, all but gliding into the room.

James had raised his wand, but then lowered it strangely.

Are you here for her? He asked bitterly before looking at Lily. Tell me Lily, is your precious soulmate here to collect you? Is Harry even mine?

Lily had flushed with rage, You think this is the proper time?

You can’t escape death, Lily, he’d hissed. Besides, it wouldn’t behoove him to kill Harry.

Voldemort crossed the room, Oh? And why would you say that Potter?

Self-fulfilling prophecies, James said regarding the less than human visage. You attempt to kill Harry, you could set the whole plot in motion… No, you’re not here to kill him. You’re here to kill us and take him…Or better yet, Harry isn’t even the child in the prophecy…

He looked at Lily, He’s Severus’s son isn’t he?

Are you mad? Lily asked him. You know bloody well that he’s your son.

Can I be so sure? He is your soulmate.

Lily glared at him, Do not start, James Potter.

You can have them both, James said with an odd detachment.  You can kill us both…so long as I get a chance to kill him.

Lily’s eyes widened and James gave her a cruel smirk with a touch of madness in his eyes, You’ll know what it is to be miserable Lily. To go every day knowing that he’s dead and know it’s your fault.

Voldemort had laughed, My, my Potter there is hope for you yet, unfortunately, that isn’t in the plans. Avada Kedavra!

James froze in the burst of green light, falling to the floor dead as Lily stood stock still, telling Harry that she loved him and breathing in short pants. Her wand was in her bag across the room.

Don’t move, Lily, this will be over in a second. You don’t really want a child by a man who thought so lowly of you, do you?

I love you, Harry. Mumma loves you so much, sweetheart… She closed her eyes as Voldemort raised his wand and shouted.

Avada Kedavra!

Lily dove in front of the crib, snagging Harry out of the crib and barely dodging the green blast. A scream of anguish broke through the air as she whispered warding spells furiously, fiercely as the crib’s parts exploded across the room. She reached to snag her wand out of the bag and screamed, throwing up a barrier against whatever spell Voldemort would cast next. When she’d raised her head, looking down at the teary eyed and shocked baby in her arms who blinked up at her, babbling softly, she turned her head to see the body on the ground through her shield charm.

James was dead.

Voldemort was dead.

Lily! Lily!

She looked up to the doorway to see Severus there looking harried, terrified, paler than usual. He’d crossed the room and walked through her barrier in three quick steps to sink to his knees beside her and pull her close.  They sat in silence for a long time with Harry between them. Harry hadn't been sure 

I’ll take you somewhere safe if you trust me.  He’d said to her. But we must go now, Lily. They’ll come.

How…

Later, but we have to go now.

She stood, shaking in his arms. He drew his own cloak around her shoulders grabbed a blanket for Harry and ushered them out of the house, casting magic canceling and other spells to hide their tracks before getting them into an oddly muggle car and driving away from Godric’s Hollow. No words were shared as she held  Harry in her arms in the passenger seat.

You hate driving,  she'd said, rocking Harry gently until he fell asleep.

It’s the safest way,  he’d said.

How… did you know where to find me? That… he was coming?

I always know where you are, he said.

“Harry,” Hermione started as Harry went silent. “You—“

“He took an Unbreakable Vow for her. His loyalty for her safety, that no one, Death Eater or Voldemort himself would ever harm her, ever raise a wand and attack her… It’s what killed him that night.  When she dove in front of the crib… “

He swallowed, “You know… her wedding ring… he enchanted it with protections? Before she married my father?”

“Harry, are you alright?”

“I… was a coward,” Harry said. “When it was over, I just left with Remus and Sirius… I couldn’t even…”

“Harry,” Hermione pressed, turning to look at his turned back, “You’re not even fifteen yet. That’s a lot to deal with even if you were a grown man. Your Mum will understand.”

“How can I even go back to that house with… everything… I can’t… No wonder he hates me.”

“You can,” Hermione said simply. “Severus doesn’t hate you. I don’t think he would watch out for you the way he does—“

“He loves my Mum, there’s a difference.”

Hermione got up and landed a solid smack over the head.

“Ow!”

“Who was it that taught you to brew your first potion? Tie your shoes? Read?”

“Severus but—“

“You think your Mum was the only one getting up in the middle of the night when you were a baby?”

“I…”

“You think a man that hates his stepchild would dote on you the way he does.”

“ Dote?” He asked, incredulously. “I wouldn’t call it doting. ”

She rolled her eyes, “Harry, just because he can’t smile at you doesn’t mean that he doesn’t care about you. You’re so oblivious!”

Harry huffed.

“He treats you just like he treats Draco.”

“That is a lie—"

“Prove it,” she challenged him and Harry sputtered.

“He’s always picking on me!”

“He calls Draco a little Veelo, a prat, and an insufferably snobbish dimwit.”

Harry huffed, “We don’t always get along.”

“What father and son does?”

“Well—”

Harry’s voice went dead as he thought about it. Remus and Sirius had always been there, taking him out flying, teaching him to ride a broom, telling him stories about his father… stories that his mother wouldn’t, but when he fell it was always Severus who got him inside and healed him when Lily wasn’t around, or busy scolding Sirius for letting him fly too high. When he was sick, it was Severus usually there with a potion and a book if it wasn't Lily. He was terrible at reading them, but he was always there…

Always there.

Always.

“You think… he cares for me.”

“I know he does,” Hermione said. “He understands, surprisingly.”

“She told me that Severus had been… urging her to explain for a while, but she didn’t want to overwrite whatever thoughts about my father were in my head with it. She wanted to protect me… to protect all of us.”

Hermione nodded, “Well, now you know Harry.”

“My father wasn’t… a bad man was he?”

“I don’t think your Mum would have married him if he was.”

“He was just… hurt? Angry maybe? He said… some pretty terrible things to her…I’ve never seen Mum and Severus argue.”

“Soulmates or not, I’m sure they do.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah…”

Hermione shook her head, “That’s… hard, Harry, but you have the answers to your questions now, most of them at least, yeah?”

“I need to talk to Mum again, I think… and to Severus.”

“Look at you… being mature.”

He huffed and stood up, stretching, “Alright, enough gloom, time to teach you about Quidditch.”

“Or not.”

“I thought you loved to learn.”

Hermione sighed and prayed for someone to save her from Quidditch fans. They headed back to the grounds and wandered around picking up paraphernalia at will. Harry was also rooting for Bulgaria, though she was sure that had more to do with Viktor Krum than anything else.

“He’s the youngest Seeker ever, he started playing when he was sixteen or something like that.”

“What’s his favorite color?” Hermione teased and Harry nudged her as they headed back towards the Weasley tent.

“How is your pen pal doing?” Harry asked.

“Well, he said in no uncertain terms that I should root for Bulgaria because they’re good people and he’s… here somewhere.”

Harry’s jaw dropped, “Really?”

She nodded, “Not sure where, though. I’m… honestly a tad nervous about meeting him in person.”

Harry nodded, “Well, there are a lot of people here Hermione, perhaps you won’t have a chance.”

“Of course not as we both know Ron’s going to beg me to get Viktor’s autograph… or Ginny.”

Ron seemed to think that Quidditch players like Viktor had a better disposition towards young, female fans contrary to all the evidence that said Viktor had the same disposition to anyone who treated him like a thing to be worshipped.

Harry winced, “Yeah… probably.”

“Where have you two been?!” Ginny yelled as they came in, dodging plumes of green smoke. “We’re being overrun with Irish supporters!”

Ron ducked as the twins through bits of green fluff at them.

“The Calvary has arrived!” Harry cheered grabbing for a pillow as a shield and Hermione only shook her head at the madness.

Eventually, they calm down enough to actually just paint their faces, two stripes of black and red paint for Bulgaria on their cheeks, two of green and white for the Irish. The twins carry the Irish flag with them while Harry dons his tall red and black hat.

“Don’t support Bulgaria, Hermione!” Fred said.

“You should be on our side!”

“Sorry boys, I’m under oath,” she said. “And from what I hear the Irish play rather nastily.”

“They’re just ruthless!” George said with a growl. “Let me help you with that scarf.”

She moved, but wasn’t quick enough for George to hurl a color turning spell at the scarf around her neck. It wiggled and reflected the spell back, turning George’s face green for a moment and she laughed.

“It seems that it doesn’t take kindly to having its nationality changed.”

A red card appeared in front of her and she grabbed it, reading the ink. It was actually a Bulgarian red paper doily.

Are you here?

She laughed, tugging her pen out.

Yes, and rooting for Bulgaria. This scarf has magical properties, doesn’t it?

“Who are you writing notes to? ” Fred asked, swiping the napkin out the air when it returned to read it aloud.  “ It is Bulgarian and will stay Bulgarian. I am glad. I hope you enjoy the game. ”

Fred frowned, “That’s a strange love note—on a doily?”

“It’s a nice doily too,” George said. “Probably from the Minister’s box. Are you writing to Malfoy?”

Hermione sputtered, “I doubt it highly.”

“You’re right, Malfoy’s smart enough to root for Ireland.”

She laughed, tucking her note in her pocket.

*

“Viktor!” Mihkail called coming into the locker room. “Are you alright?”

Viktor nodded, “Nervous. Just… she’s here…Wearing my scarf.”

He grinned, “Well then, you best not disappoint the woman now? Right, Dragonheart?”

Viktor stood up finishing his glass of water and food before joining the rest of the team in the pre-game meeting. Sergei was sure that the Irish would play dirty, but they had to be firm, pull no punches and no fouls.

“They’re going to go after Viktor first, it’s their favorite tactic.”

Given that Viktor was easily the best flyer in the league, of course they would go after him first. Eventually, the strategy meeting was over and they were marching towards their entrance gate. The sound of the stadium filling and millions of people had his heart pumping.

“Hey,” he looked up at Gavrail. “We’ll look out for you, alright?”

“Raziram,” he replied with a shake of his head. “It’s not that I’m worried about.”

“Your Greek Goddess?”

He snorted, “Something like that.”

“Alright boys,” Sergei said. “Mount up and remember what we talked about.”

“Yeah, formation, Viktor does some crazy stunt, fan service, fan service, fan service,” Mihkail said clapping him on the shoulder. "Win."

“We’ll be alright. Now, let’s bring that trophy home where it belongs!”

A cheer went up and they mounted to fly out.

*

Hermione gripped the railing, even with the twins’ teasing, there was no way that she would have been able to calmly read a book this high up. Dragonheart must be a rather literal nickname.

“Relax, ‘Mione, it’s perfectly safe,” Harry said from beside her as the openings began.  Leprechauns filled the field and the magic fireworks filled the sky as the fleet of green flew by. The twins screamed in joy cheering.

“Here come the Bulgarians!”

The arrow of red flew right through the dancing leprechaun in the sky. Racing around the field, one of them broke off doing an incredible  show of athleticism on his broomstick before corkscrewing to rejoin his team members. Harry had never seen anyone fly like that as if gliding on the wind rather than flying a broomstick. As the players slowed, the stands lit up with his image. A rather handsome face, square-jawed, a slightly hooked nose, and the darkest eyes she'd ever seen. 

For a moment, the world went absolutely silent and behind her eyelids a vision manifested with the smell of hot, Grecian earth and the sound of swords.

“KRUM!” Echoed across the stadium and Harry cheered along with them, shocking her out of the vision.

“That was… quite amazing,” Hermione said.

“I’m going to learn to do that one day.”

“Please, Harry, practice much closer to the ground.”

Harry laughed as the two teams lined up and the Minister announced for the game to begin with a flick of his wand. Hermione had never considered herself much of a Quidditch fan, but it was hard to look away. She guessed because these were professionals, not children flying around. The first score was for Bulgaria, but fairly quickly their fortunes turned.

“Are they supposed to only aim for the Seeker like that?”

“It’s the Irish way,” Fred said. “Sock him right in the face! ”

“Fred! ”

Viktor dodged the bludger and smacked it back with the back of his broom before moving on. Another one came hurtling towards him and he lead it towards an Irish player before moving out of the way. It hit the wall and rebounded into Gavrail’s bat and through the Irish goal post.

“Lyudmil!”

Viktor turned seeing Lyudmil falling towards the ground and Theseus dove after him, grabbing the back of his uniform to stop his descent as his broom hit the ground, he cringed in pain as Theseus lowered him to the ground.

It seemed that Ireland would be taking it to them harder than usual. A flash of gold caught his eye and he went after it, the Irish seeker following him and then ducking out of the way as the Irish beaters swung their bats and sent the bludgers flying towards the goals as a Chaser threw the Quaffle.

Viktor flew after them, blocking a bludger with the back of his broom and Mihkail dove for the Quaffle, swiping it from the air before an Irish beater hurled the deflected bludger at Mihkail hitting him in the head and knocking him clear off his broom. The Quaffle went falling towards the pitch as did Mihkail.

“Mihkail!” Viktor yelled flying after him.

He caught him by the back of his jersey his shoulder popping free of the socket but Viktor didn't release him at the shot of pain through his shoulder, crying out and praying that the bludgers wouldn't find their way back to him before he got them both to the ground. The referee called for a pause in the game, but it was too late. The second bludger flew right into his face, bloodying his nose and just at the right angle to break it, but not make Viktor lose his grip on his broom or on Mihkail. It seemed that Viktor had a much higher tolerance for pain than he ever gave himself credit for.  The world swam and he heard the points going up as he encouraged his broom to tilt so he could stand on the crossbars and lower Mihkail to the ground. The game paused finally as a medi-wizard came to get them both.

He shoved the medi-wizard and witch’s hands away and forced his way over to where Mihkail lay with his brow cut, his face bloody, and wheezing in pain. The woman worked magic over his skull, but there was no telling.

“He won’t be able to return to playing today, this concussion is too bad. We’ll get him to St. Mungo’s.”

Viktor’s jaw clenched as he heard another score for Ireland, and another.

“Viktor, let someone look at you.”

Their team medi-wizard grabbed him and set him down before jerking his arm back into the socket. Viktor cried out as he panted and let the man wrap his shoulder. It was half time thankfully and the Snitch was still at large. Ireland still had their full team and they would be down a Keeper, not to mention the point difference.

“Viktor? Are you alright? Where’s Mihkail?”

“You can’t fly like this.”

“They took him to St. Mungo’s. Those Irish bastards did this on purpose.”

“Will he be alright?”

Sergei said nothing as the medi-wizard tried to fix Viktor’s nose and staunch the bleeding. The man wasn't gentle, nor elegant with his fixes, but it would do enough to stop the bleeding.

“We need a plan.”

“Without a keeper—no seeker,” Marin said. “Fuck.”

“Fuck!” Lyudmil yelled. “Those fuckers blindsided me.”

“Viktor?” Sergei asked.

“They’ll regret this.” He said and they looked at him, not really sure what to make of the tone in his voice.

With the blood running out of his nose still, a slow trickle, to add to the gore the bludger had made of his face, they weren't sure who they were looking at beyond the bruising.

“You can’t fly like this,” Gavrail said.

“And Mihkail can’t fly at all,” He said holding out his hand, “Give me that potion.”

“With your injuries, you’ll only have thirty minutes at most,” Sergei siad.

“That’s enough,” he said glaring at the medi-wizard and getting off the bench. He could still breath and hold onto his broomstick. That was enough to catch the snitch, even if he had to catch it in his mouth damn it.

“Viktor…”

He went to the strategy board and grabbed a piece of chalk.

“We have to get rid of their seeker,” Viktor said. “I can do that, but I need you to cover me and if you can knock them out of the sky while you’re at it that would be great.”

“Viktor…are you sure about this?” Sergei asked. “I would not like to face the wrath of your grandmother, thanks.”

Viktor looked at him, “Mihkail… didn’t deserve that, he’s been… like a brother to all of us. We won’t let them get away with it, even if we lose. They’re going to hurt for months.”

“Fuck yeah!”

*

“Bulgaria’s done for,” Fred said. “Without their star seeker, and no Keeper? It’s over.”

Hermione worried her lip, the image of Viktor hanging on to his teammate and crying out in pain had chilled her. Dragonheart had told her that the Bulgarian team was close, but to see it in such brutal detail had turned her stomach. Bloody and bruised, in pain and hanging on from that perilous height had made her almost sick. When they came back, she’s surprised and relieved to see Viktor on a broom with the remaining six of his team.

“Dumb Krum, there’s no way they fixed him up enough to fly.”

But if Dragonheart was right, and if what Viktor had shown was true, then it wouldn’t matter. Bleeding or not he’d fly because his team needed him.

“Go Bulgaria!” She heard herself calling out cheering his name along with the rest of the crowd as the game picked back up.

It looks like the Bulgarians aren’t giving up without a fight, even with the Captain and Keeper out for the count.

Let’s see what they’ve got up their sleeves.

Viktor flew up above the pitch to scan it and waited, he saw the Irish Seeker watching him, betting on his injury to slow him down. He was going to use Viktor to locate the snitch and then snatch it. 

Viktor planned on decommissioning him permanently. He felt the potion kicking in and set his feet against his broom’s cross bars before taking off and, like he thought, the Irish player followed him.

Looks like Viktor’s got his eye on the snitch! 10 points for Bulgaria—Another 10 points for Bulgaria! Looks like they are out for blood!

Viktor kept his focus straight, feeling the Irish seeker following him, accelerating in his windstream, more freefalling than anything and Viktor turned his broom at the last second leaving the Irish Seeker to crash with the full speed and force of gravity into the ground.

Viktor Krum executes a terrific Wronski Feint! Ireland is without a Seeker. Seems like he didn’t take being hit in the face very kindly.

He watched Lyudmill whack a bludger into the Irish Chaser causing him to turn and fly out of the Quidditch lines and surrender the Quaffle to Marin. It seemed the plan was working with the exception of Ireland’s lead. He waited, watching the field. Andon had taken up an impromptu position as Keeper leaving Theseus and Marin to score and Gavrail and Lyudmil kept eyes on the field’s Bludgers, seeming to be battling primarily with the Irish beaters.

They needed to get rid of the Irish Keeper. He prayed that Lyudmil and Gavrail could do it. They sent the two bludgers hurtling towards the Keeper too fast and too powerful to stop when one of the Chasers took one of them and deflected the other off its path to the Keeper.

It wasn’t what he was hoping for, but watching the Chaser go down was well worth it.

“They are not happy,” Ron said softly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Fred said. “They’ll never win. All Ireland has to do is keep their lead—“

10 points to Ireland! It isn’t looking good for the crowd favorites.

Viktor glanced at the scoreboard, if he caught the Snitch now, the game would be over and they would lose.

“Viktor!”

He looked down at Theseus, “Do it. We’ll get those last points.”

Viktor nodded and swooned a bit, he’d already burned through twenty-five of his thirty minutes. Five minutes to catch the snitch, five minutes before it hurt too much to maybe even fly and he crashed to his death. He took a breath and scanned the field watching his teammates fight hard, using the last of their strength to send bludgers chasing after the Chasers. Marin flew past the goal catching the Quaffle and cut across the field, passing it to Marin just a Viktor saw the flash of gold and took off. It was so far away.

10 points for Bulgaria! Viktor’s got his eye on the Snitch. Sagona is down!

“Even if they catch it now it’s over,” Fred said. “One beater, three chasers? It’s over. ”

Hermione leaned forward, her hands gripping the railing watching and praying for something to happen. Praying for a miracle-- since when had she become so invested in the game? Her heart pounded in her chest and she could almost feel the wind on his face from how intensely she watched Viktor maneuver around the field.

Lyudmil swung sending a bludger hurtling towards the Keeper as Theseus sent the Quaffle flying through the hoop.

10 points to Bulgaria!

Someone took a quaffle to the face, but went speeding off towards the other goal, Andon, she thought. He moved fast, the remaining members of the team acting as a shield for him to score with Viktor still racing around the pitch, following the Snitch’s flight path.

“ That Snitch is the devil, ” Harry whispered watching it change directions so often it was a miracle that he could even keep up. “He’s not going to catch it…”

“He’ll catch it!” Ron said. “Krum! Krum! Krum! Krum!”

10 points for Ireland!

Hermione winced and her eyes widened as Marin yelled and tossed the quaffle across the field, midway through. It seemed that Theseus punched it further and then Andon knocking the Irish Keeper straight through the goal along with the quaffle.

10 points for Bulgaria!

10 points for Bulgaria!

10 points for Bulgaria—Acropolis is down!

Fred and George cheered watching the Irish chaser fly forward heading towards the hoop.

10 points for Bulgaria! If Viktor can catch the snitch-- it looks like O'Conner is going for the goal! Bulgaria just may lose.

Viktor felt the potion’s effects slipping and pushed his broom forward, straight through the field, leaving a wind track strong enough to blow people’s hats away, corkscrewing and leaning off the edge of his broom. It was so close. So close. So—

“VIKTOR!”

He felt it, the tip of his broom, sending him spiraling forward, tumbling until his broom stopped, his legs hooked around the cross bars and hanging upside down. His body filled with pain, but it was there solid in his hands.

VIKTOR KRUM HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! The match is over!

He felt himself laugh as his broom lowered him towards the ground, the crowd went up cheering and he let go as soon as he was close enough, landing in a heap on the ground, panting, a grin on his face and the Snitch in his hand.

What a hair-raising match ladies and gentlemen!

“Viktor!” Someone called, but everything was going black.

“Did we win?” he asked the darkness, passing out on the pitch. 

It felt warm despite the pain that was creeping into his consciousness, he felt... light...

And he wondered if Biblio-logical had truly enjoyed the game.

*

Hermione couldn’t believe it but heard herself screaming with Ron and Harry for Bulgaria’s victory. The Quaffle having passed through the hoop mere seconds after Viktor had caught the snitch and it was verified.

“Krum! Krum! Krum! Krum!”

The sound of the Bulgarian national anthem came with Veelas crowding the field with their victory, but for Viktor it was all indistinguishable noise and pain pulling him under into unconsciousness.

*

Viktor woke up to the sound of the noise and his grinning teammates, everyone looking worse for wear and something in his hand.

“We… lost?”

“We won!” Marin cheered, wincing at the pain in his side. “Hell of a catch, Mr. New Quidditch Record!”

Viktor laughed, “Mihkail?”

“He woke up just a few minutes ago at St. Mungos, complaining of a headache and demanding to know the score. We were going to see him after we received the trophy.”

“Leave it in his room while he heals up.”

Viktor laughed and struggled to sit up, looking at the object in his hand: the World Cup Snitch.

“You got another love letter, we didn’t read it, but perhaps you should hold off on reading it until after the vultures come?”

Viktor nodded taking the letter from Theseus and contemplating the little golden ball in his hand. He tucked the letter into his robes and got onto his feet. He wanted to go to sleep, to lay down and sleep for a week, but he managed to get himself onto a crutch and follow his teammates out.

“Ten sickles says Skeeter misspells Viktor’s name again.”

He grumbled, “Oh no, she changed his name remember? Bulgarian Bon Bon.”

Viktor glared at him as they lined up to receive the trophy and the crowd cheered so loudly he wasn’t sure he would ever hear again. His eyes flickered across the crowd wondering if maybe he could pick her out of the crowd, knowing that he knew nothing about what she looked like. The reporters hounded them about the win, about Viktor diving for Mihkail and the change in gameplay, Mihkail’s injury and how Viktor felt about breaking the standing record with such little time of professional play under his belt.

“Good,” was all he could say and tell them that he was going to sleep for at least the rest of the summer.

“Any special girl in your life?”

“N--”

“What about your Greek Goddess?” Gavrail whispered into his ear and Viktor flushed, scowling at him. The rest of team gave mischievous grins.

“No,” he answered finally.

“Most eligible Quidditch star, Witch's Weekly is dying to know what you look for in a girl. What catches your eye?”

Andon coughed making the rest of the team laugh as Viktor glowered at them.

“I'd rather not say.”

She pouted, but didn't stop, “Last one from Witch’s Weekly: Have you found your soulmate?”

Viktor frowned, he should have expected such questions, really.

“No.”

Somehow, when the article by Rita Skeeter, and several other gossip columnists, comes out days later about his searching for his soulmate and potentially having a secret lover hidden away somewhere, he can't be surprised. What he does instead is bewitch the resultant fan mail of women claiming to be his soulmate to attack his teammates for their snickering. Mikhail laughed from the sidelines as they flew away laughing at the headline about the Bulgarian Bon Bon’s secret mistress and the number of claims coming out about him. The only thing that saves them from Viktor’s wrath is the arrival of a rather long letter.

“She soothes the wild beast, it must be love--Ow!”

Mikhail laughed as Marin was slapped with a thick envelope that smelled rather strongly of perfume and exploded into a full leather and lace lingerie set across his face. Sergei came into the locker room seeing the underwear littering the floor and shook his head at Viktor’s flushed and scowling face.

“Well, so long as you don't win the Triwizard Tournament, or participate at all, you way have only a few months of this to worry about.”

He laughed. How likely was that?

Chapter Text

It was a disaster. She sat fuming in the Infirmary. Severus’s words and the laughter of the whole class in her ears.  To think that she was rooting for Severus and harry to reach a middle ground! She would have to retract her vote forever for this.

“Okay dear, open wide and tell me when,” Poppy said as Hermione sighed and opened her mouth as she began to shrink her teeth back to a normal size.

She may have gotten this, but Draco would rue the day he thought it a good idea to do this, sure he'd been aiming for Harry, but if they would both get over their odd rivalry, love-hate, sexual tension crisis none of it would have happened. She had a rather nasty hex for him come the next dueling class involving scales and--

“My dear?”

Hermione looked into the mirror and told her to stop. They were… normal. Perfectly aligned in her mouth. She was sure it was the first time she'd ever liked her smile. Her parents probably wouldn't be happy about it, but they'd understand once she'd told them about how absolutely horrible Draco's hex had been.

“Thank you, Madame Pomfrey.”

“Go on then, everyone is gathering to welcome the competition.”

Her heart stuttered. Dragonheart had written to her earlier, updating her on how far away they were. She hurried towards the Great Hall as a note appeared.

We are here.

She moved to join the Gryffindor table next to Ginny and across from Ron and Harry. The message was rather terse for him. She pulled out her pen and scribbled on the back.

Are you okay?

Just annoyed. I'll tell you about it later.

*

“Viktor,” Karkaroff said. “With me.”

Viktor gave him a flat look and moved to the back of the procession after patting Pietro on the shoulder with how nervous he was.

“You'll be fine,” Viktor said.

He watched the girls of Beauxbaton flutter into the hall, their headmistress just behind as Viktor stood at the back. More angry than anything, hunching his shoulders and wishing that he would suddenly shrink several more inches and completely disappear. He took a breath feeling the song of Durmstrang as the boots stomped in, Pietra in front stomping his staff in time with the beat of the marching song. They were all in when Karkaroff started to move. Viktor walked forward, forcing himself to walk ahead of Karkaroff and ignore the awed gasps, his anger from the letter from Ilya still hot in his blood. He stepped aside as Igor walked up to Dumbledore, joining the rest of Durmstrang as one of them thankfully.

*

Hermione watched them walk in, wondering if she could pick Dragonheart out of the group even though there was no way to do so. They weren't all of dark features, but she knew next to nothing about what he looked like and none of them seemed to be trying to scan the room to find anyone in particular.

Rather than singing their very silly school song along with most of the school, she almost laughed at the uncomfortable expressions on the faces of the foreign students. She couldn't ever blame them for it. 

*

“You think she's from Beauxbaton?” Vlad asked him once they'd sat down for dinner.

“I don't know,” Viktor said scanning the room. He knew nothing about the way she looked like. She was of a Greek lineage, so that should have given him a few hints, but there was no one he could see that really stuck out. They sat down at the Slytherin table and he looked up at the banner.

“She is from Hogwarts,” Viktor said with a bit of awe.

“How do you know?”

“Snakes,” he said pointing up to the banner. “She talked about snakes giving her trouble.”

Viktor worried his lip. That meant that he wasn't sitting anywhere near where she would be. He sighed. This would be harder than he thought. They ate and Viktor did his best to keep his eyes from meeting anyone's in particular.

“Which one is he?” Ginny asked leaning against Hermione.

“I don't know,” Hermione said. “I don’t know what he looks like.”

Albus started the secondary announcements just after everyone had served themselves regarding the Triwizard Tournament, the Goblet of Fire and the revived tradition of the champion’s assistant. While the old adage was that each Champion was alone in the journey, the wizarding world understood that no journey was ever truly made alone. Great masters had apprentices, great warlocks had understudies and pages-- this would be no different.

“Each school’s Headmaster has submitted a list of names for the assistant position. An old tradition that is to be revived with the newest incarnation of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed as people whispered. The position was simple, you would be considered a student of the school of your assigned champion. You’d wear their colors, their uniform, and immerse yourself in the culture of the school during the day. The three schools would be merged so there would be Durmstrang and Beauxbaton students in all of the upper level classes. You’d sit with them, get to know them and support their champion. It was a chance for international understanding and cooperation. The students on the list were selected for a myriad of reasons, none of which were disclosed. The Triwizard’s assistant would be responsible for helping them with research, execution, and whatever else was necessary to get through the tournament. The pairs would be matched after choosing based on how compatible their magics were. Because the Triwizard champions were under magical contract to compete if they were chosen, the Ministry had decided to extend that same restriction to the assistants. Though the assistants didn’t have to be seventeen to be entered, the fame and glory that would come with supporting the winning champion would be unimaginable. They'd share in the spoils of victory in the form of galleons as well as glowing recommendations and things from the Ministries of Magic of the three concerned countries. Seven assistant candidates would be put forth by the Heads of each school, twenty-one in total.

“Due to the need for the grounds, the Quidditch cup will be canceled. In its place, the Dueling Matches will be worth their usual amount, plus the value of the Quidditch matches. Your House Heads will be making their selections and hosting try-outs within the coming weeks.”

Ginny nudged her, “Looks like the competition will be even fiercer.”

Hermione nodded, she wasn’t the only female duelist as of last year, but she was the only one that was always in a triple match. She was hoping to change that this year with McGonagall’s idea to have her help out with a few dueling classes during her free periods. The champions would have three days to enter their names and then they, and their assistants, would be chosen.

“What if I get chosen?” Ron asked and Harry scoffed.

“To do what? Teach them how to fail Potions?”

“What about Seamus?”

“Blowing up a person-- sounds smart.”

Ron huffed, “Doesn’t matter, they won’t choose anyone from our year.”

Harry shrugged as they continued down the hall. The sound of thunder twisting through the sky and he looked over to where Hermione once was.

“Where’d she go?”

They turned to see Hermione racing towards the corridor, charming her bag to stay sealed, hidden and was shortly joined by Luna to go running into the rain, laughing as the rain hit them and water splashed at their footfalls.

“Why does she do that?” Ron asked.

“She said it reminded her of when she was little,” Harry said. “Like a piece of home at Hogwarts.”

“No one goes playing in the rain in London.”

“Greece,” Harry corrected as the downpour grew louder and the games began.

Luna raised her wand conjuring a horse of water to go speeding towards Hermione. She laughed raising a thick water shield and taking over Luna’s horse to fire great balls of water towards the Ravenclaw girl.

“They’re mad,” Ron said turning away. “I’ll see you in the common room, Harry.”

“Sure,” Harry said watching him go and leaning against the corridor's stone half-walls to watch the duel.

“ Aqua Moldus! ”

“ Aspida Nero! ”

Luna waved her wand trying to outflank Hermione, but Hermione only glided, tossing the bulk of her sopping curls back and digging in her heels.

“ Empros Poreia!”

*

They heard Luna’s scream of surprise as they came out of the hall to see the duel in the downpour. Luna was carried up and around before sliding across the ground, wet and laughing. The sons of Durmstrang were incredibly confused because who in their right minds played in the rain?

“English girls are strange,” Pietra said. “What are they doing?”

“Playing,” Vlad answered. “In the rain.”

Viktor watched as the dark skinned girl, clearly of African descent, with dark curly hair, wet and voluminous even under the weight of the water, hanging to her mid back helped the near platinum blonde girl up. They were of different houses, but laughed together, chatting excitedly before the darker girl in red and gold trimmed robes began to demonstrate a wand movement, a red length of cloth wrapped around her wrist.

For a moment, the world went silent and he swooned. A heady rush of the Mediterranean waters over his head and carrying him out to sea along with the smell of magic and a pulsing warmth that he just couldn't explain.

“Perhaps they are training?” Vlad said bringing Viktor back to reality.

Viktor doubted that but turned away. Karkaroff was calling a meeting to warn everyone who was to submit their names for the Cup and who had been submitted for the assistant position. It didn’t surprise him that those chosen to be an assistant were at the bottom of the class while those who would be allowed to submit their name for the Triwizard tournament were at the top. He wondered if the other schools would be so underhanded.

In the morning, he’s greeted with a letter. He finds himself trembling to open it.

Welcome to Hogwarts! I am not sure of who you were in the line-up, but I somehow don’t think you were responsible for that rather amazing firebird and show. Much better than our silly song. Beware of the Slytherin table however, they are rather crafty when they wish to be.

Good luck on your first day of classes. Since English isn’t a language you use very often, I’ve sent you these earphones that may make it a little easier to pick up the language faster. Mind you they don’t work for more than an hour or so at a time, but they should be enough to get you through classes should you need.

He smiled at the small contraptions and carried them with him to the Great Hall for breakfast. He scanned the room again while writing his reply, but was only able to pick out a few faces from the night before. The hall was filled with laughter and the sound people eating before people started to dissipate.

His first class was with the Severus Snape, the Potions Master and while he enunciated rather well, without inflection or accent, it was still a bit of a challenge to fully understand what Severus was talking about. He slid on the earbuds and wasn’t exactly surprised that things were much easier thereafter. On his free period, he finishes the letter that he’s been meaning to finish for some time while trying to ignore the slowly growing squad of giggling girls that liked to follow him around. Even in the library where he’d done his best to find a place that was too secluded to be found, they gathered and giggled, drawing more attention to him. It was hard to be unnoticed when there was a group of noise around you.

“Is hard to be king, yes?” Pietra said his English almost grating on Viktor’s nerves after a morning of giggling.

“Something like that,” Viktor replied, wondering if she was in class at the moment or perhaps busy in some other fashion, but whatever it was he would like her to reply soon.  He was actually hoping that she would be in one of the classes he was assigned to, but that didn’t seem to be the case. By lunch, he was a tad antsy, the giggling grating on his nerves and making him a little sick.

*

Hermione sighed with relief sitting down at the table for lunch, loading her plate with her usual and taking the time before everyone else she knew made it to the table. Marco, Anthony and the others would want to talk strategy and recruitment even though they would be having try-outs that evening. After lunch, she would be teaching a dueling class along since McGonagall, this would literally be the only chance she had until about dinner to read Dragonheart’s letter and reply.

Thank you for your warm welcome. Hogwarts is a very strange school with a very strange song, but I suppose it is to be expected. Your gift is marvelous. I had Potions first and I had not realized how hard it would be to have classes in English when I am so used to other languages. They helped a great deal, perhaps when we meet I won’t have such a bad accent.

As I promised, I will give you an update on my parents and Karkaroff's latest offense against my person. I have been regulated to a totally separate training schedule on top of my Quidditch training and told that I must enter the Triwizard Tournament. I believe that they want me to win only brag about it, they don’t seem to care that their youngest son could die. I thought for sure Quidditch would be the end of it since all of my brothers played, my father played, but apparently not. I’d rather not think about it either way.

Honestly, I would have submitted my name to the goblet without their pestering as it’s a challenge more for my mind and heart than my skill on a broom. The fight now is to convince myself that despite their meddling, and anything they could gain from it, it isn’t about them. It’s about what I want to do. I love my school, my classmates have been like brothers to me--it would be for them that I would want to bring the trophy back with us. It would be for myself that I want to test myself.

I am hoping to see you duel, but I fear you will not tell me which house you are in as that might give it away. I will not ask around. I'm sure I could figure it out based on the details you've given me, but I will respect your wishes to remain unknown. I want to meet you, but only when you’re ready.  In the meantime, I will try not to hex my High Master, pummel a Slytherin, or otherwise ruin my last year of school. I will also be apparently attending most, if not all, of the duels since we may be expected to showcase our own brand of it. I am not sure since Karkaroff is the kind of paranoid that makes him a slimy cheat.

Now that I am here and so close to you, I’m beginning to understand how you feel about us meeting. I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous thinking that perhaps I have already seen you in the hallways. What you may think of me as you have already seen me for sure. I wonder if I’m what you’re expecting, if I’m good enough, I suppose.

I honestly can’t believe that I’m writing all of this, but I suppose that’s the nice part about you remaining only as words on pages. It makes it easier to be honest, like a voice from the void.

Hermione considered that for a moment and pulled out her quill. She sent it just as Ginny came hurrying in begging for a sneak peek of what she could expect in dueling class. Hermione shook her head.

“No cheating.”

She pouted and took a seat across from her, “No fun.”

They ate as Ron and Harry and the rest of Gryffindor joined them before her dueling teammates arrived and began exactly as she thought they would.

“We’ve got our picks,” Marco said.

“And we’ll see them all during try-outs.”

“Come on,” he said, with her vote they could override the try-out process. She was currently the highest scoring duelist they had for both elegance and speed.

“No favorites,” she said. “You start picking favorites and we start losing.”

“But--”

“No buts,” she said. “Or should we see what Professor McGonagall has to say about it?”

They grumbled, but shut their mouths. She ate and went to the library for a moment, wandering through the shelves to find the book she was looking for, not noticing the tall, slouching figure beyond the giggling that surrounded the area where she usually went to take her privacy.

“Honestly, this is a library,” Hermione hissed. “At least pretend to know what that means.”

The girls glared at her, but before they could get a word out the tall figure moved, grabbing his bag and leaving the area. They ignored Hermione just after and followed him dutifully out the door. She grabbed the book she’d been looking for and headed to check it out.

They would be having the class in an old classroom where they used to have charms. It was a long classroom that had been cleared out and repurposed for dueling, she suspected that it would become the new dueling practice room as well. Viktor found himself in the classroom with student of all houses and grades along with Professor McGonagall.

“Welcome everyone to the first session, I’ve managed to call in a favor to have Ms. Granger of the Gryffindor team come in to help. Along with her is Mr. Viktor Krum of Durmstrang.”

A whisper went around, giggling and Viktor was beginning to regret it immensely, until he saw her up close. It wasn’t her face or her body, but the way she carried herself. Her hair in a thick fizzy cloud tamed back from her face with a headband and longest parts braided together in a thick braid down her back.

“Ms. Granger, if you please.”

She slid off her outer robes, leaving only her school uniform. It was big on her with the exception of her skirt, stockings and shoes, the sweater seemed to cloak her figure rather than accentuate, the extra fabric making it easy to move as she spelled her cloak aside.  He was a tad surprised to see her legs clad in dark stockings leading down into sensible black shoes. For one, most of the girls who had been following him around preferred long socks over their skinny legs.

Her legs were anything but skinny which made him think she had to be an athlete and not just a duelist. Then again, all of “Ms. Granger” seemed to not fall in with most of the school’s population. Her skin is the sort of rich brown he remembers from the heat of Africa, her features hail strongly from there too with something of Europe in her nose. A round, heart shaped face, strong shoulders, and a wicked smile she was a visual conundrum and his less honorable side wondered what exactly her bulky school uniform was hiding. Viktor shut his eyes trying not to flush at the thought. He was apparently more geared up than he thought.

“Can anyone tell me three ways to win a duel?”

She looked around selecting a Hufflepuff first-year who rattled off the answer: injury, incapacitation, or forfeit.

“Correct, basic dueling etiquette…”

Viktor stayed to the back of the class watching her. She didn’t give any side her back for very long. Taking care to turn and talk to everyone, but it’s the way they look at her that tells him that she’s relatively important in the school. An upperclassmen that was well-known, probably. To teach a class, she was certainly well liked by the staff at least.

“Now let’s make this fun shall we?” She said that smirk of hers. “Pair up by year, boy and girl if you can manage it.”

She came towards him looking at him and for a moment she was someone else. The same face but older perhaps, in a white toga fluttering in the sea-crisp wind of the coast.

“Mr. Krum, it looks like we’ll be paired together.”

“Viktor,” he said roughly. “Krum is father.”

She smiled and nodded, “Viktor, then.”

He followed her towards the center of the classroom.

“I’m going to show basic disarming and perhaps if we have time and Viktor is up to it we’ll have a bit of a duel.”

Viktor looked at her seriously as she stood in a the familiar English dueling way. It was very much British: straight lines and propriety. It had a very refined aesthetic that translated into the way they dueled as if it were just a matter of honor and not life and death. Durmstrang taught students to duel as if every duel would be the last.

“The English style of dueling focuses on being still, steady until you need to move to follow through with your spells. That’s what I’ll show you. First, you bow or curtsy if you  like.”

Viktor bowed to her as she curtsied.

“Once the challenge is accepted you take your positions at the ends of the dueling strip if you’re in singles. If you are in a team, you would decide with the other two your configuration.”

Viktor watched her walk backward and took her lead.

“The referee will give the go ahead and from there you duel. The most basic spell for disarming is Expelliarmus. Incapacitating could be as simple as removing them from the dueling bounds, or making them unable to move. Injury is an option and only counts if it involves the person’s wand hand otherwise it’s a foul and you’re penalized.”

She turned and Viktor was oddly intrigued by this fourth year girl who seemed to have such command of dueling knowledge, of the room at large. She split the room in half, mixing the teams between her and Viktor leaving them to coach their own students before selecting three each from the group to participate in a mock duel. Viktor’s team won, made up of primarily third years, but Hermione gave her team all high fives and pointers.

“You need more power in your back leg.”

“I’m scared,” the little girl said.

She smiled, “It’s okay to be scared, but don’t ever let fear stop you.”

“Are you scared when you duel?”

Hermione scoffed, “Shaking in my boots every time, but if I let fear stop me I don’t think I’d be at Hogwarts.”

The girl frowned at her words and looked at her hopefully, “Can I try again?”

Hermione grinned, “That’s the spirit.”

A boy stepped up, sneering at her and she flinched.

“Someone you know?”

“He’s… my cousin,” she said softly. “He’s rather mean.”

She nodded and led the girl to her place on the dueling strip, “Remember, strength in your back leg and focus. Channel your fear into your wand work.”

She nodded and the singles duel commenced.

“On your mark. Go!”

“Expelliarmus!” The girl cried, forcing the spell out before the boy could say anything. His wand went flying towards her and clattered at her feet.  Hermione nodded as he looked dumbfounded and she looked surprised.

“I did it….”

“You did it,” she said. “Good form.”

She beamed at Hermione, shuffling back into the crowd as more people began to step up and it became apparent that there was a bit of a grudge being played out. When the bell chimed, Hermione called everyone's attention.

“See you next time. Don’t forget dueling tryouts for first years is tonight!”

The girl hugged her tight, “Thank you, Hermione.”

She beamed, “You’re welcome, go on. Get to class, 'kay?”

She nodded and headed off with her friend before looking at Viktor.

“Thank you,” she said. “They were really excited to have a real celebrity here. I think it made them a little braver.”

Viktor nodded, “I must go.”

“Of course,” Hermione said waving him goodbye and turning to speak with Minerva. “Well?”

She nodded, “I believe this is one of my better ideas.”

Hermione laughed and grabbed her cloak, her bag and headed off, pondering that strange vision she’d had when she’d looked up at Viktor, it felt a bit like one of her dreams. Since there was nothing that said it was really related to being near your soulmate, she didn’t think much of it beyond she was getting old enough for that part of her magic to become active.

She didn’t think about it as she headed to her private session with Severus, two parts N.E.W.T.s material and one part healing test preparation. It went on that way for the next three days before everyone gathers in the Great Hall for the drawing of names. The Goblet of Fire filled the room with a low blue glow giving Hermione just enough light to read by and ignore the twin’s attempt to trick the aging circle and the goblet. It didn’t work, leaving them to squabbling old men on the floor and then the Durmstrang group arrived with Viktor taking the lead. His shoulders as hunched as usual, with his usual shuffling walk. She knew it at once as the mark of someone who spent more time in the air than not, but also the mark of someone who truly didn’t want to be noticed.

How could an international Quidditch star not want to be noticed? She’d wondered that while seeing him practically trying to cram himself into the shadows in class. Viktor placed his name in the goblet and turned, meeting her eyes for just a moment and against she felt the world shift. The smell of the Mediterranean heat and waves, that same face in a blood red toga, his cheek smudged with blood and then the vision was gone as he walked back to the Durmstrang group.

The time chimed and Dumbledore stepped forward to begin to draw names. Hermione looked across the Durmstrang group almost praying that whoever Dragonheart was he didn’t get picked, praying that maybe he was trying to find her too before shaking herself free and returning to her book. She had an essay to write, things to do and prepare for with Dueling Season coming up. There was training and she still had to brew the next month’s batch of potion as well study for her N.E.W.T.s.

“Fleur Delacour!”

“Cedric Diggory!”

Hermione packed her bag and headed out of the door, her head in her book, walking along to somewhere she could get some quiet. Now that she knew the Hogwarts champion was not someone she knew very well beyond Quidditch and the girls whispering about him, she had no more reason to be there. Even if Dragonheart had been selected, she wouldn’t know until he told her and that would just give it all away, wouldn’t it?

“Viktor Krum!”

Internally, he wanted to shout for joy and groan in agony. He loved a challenge and it was definitely a challenge to feed his intellectual side, but with his parents and Karkaroff in the mix, he’d been wary of it. Now he had to tell his grandmother and Angel that yes he would be the Triwizard champion for Durmstrang and somehow convince himself not to throw it just to spite his High Master. He had ambition, sure, but Igor’s ambition was without reason, without care, and without scruples. There was such a thing as wanting to win and enjoying the competition as well after all.

He stood and walked towards Dumbledore to stand with the other two champions. A Veela looking girl from France, a handsome boy from England and himself. He winced at the picture they must make even with his classmates cheering for him. He must look like a total fool and when Rita Skeeter appeared he just wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole, so very sure that at least one mention of “Bulgarian Bon Bon” was going to be made. With the clapping done, they were sent out of the hall as to not hear who the assistants would be. From what Viktor could understand, they were more likes pages and he was sure that whoever was assigned to him, Igor would do their best to either keep them out of it or run them ragged.

“And now for the Triwizard Assistants…” Dumbledore said as the Goblet flashed and the flames turned golden as the first name was thrown out.

“Esmerelda De Luna.”

Beauxbaton clapped as she came down, curtsying and standing to face her classmates. She could have easily been called a Spanish beauty with her dark hair, dark eyes, and full lips. Her smile was kind rather than Fleur's haughty one.

“Milo Georgevich!”

The men of Durmstrang clapped accordingly even as he grumbled about being chosen and moved to stand beside Esmerelda. She offered him a weak smile and he tried to do the same as the final scrap of paper came flying through the air into Albus’s hands.

He opened the paper, “Hermione Granger!”

Silence and the entire Gryffindor section looked to where Hermione had been sitting and wasn’t any longer. He could almost laugh at the fact that she wasn’t there, that girl was as off the beaten path, as far away from any path at all as anyone could be…. Besides perhaps Luna.   

“Hermione Granger!”

“She left just a little while ago, Professor,” Luna said softly.

He could only laugh incredulously. Only Hermione would be absent at a time like this. He told them all that he would enlist a few Gryffindors to go search for her before ushering Esmerelda and Milo towards the room where the Champions waited, greeting one another.

Viktor let out a bark of laughter and congratulations as Milo came in, grumbling. It was nice to know that someone else was as disgruntled about being chosen as he was.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered in Russian.

Viktor clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll do fine.”

“Yes, until I get my champion killed or worse--made to wear a frilly skirt.”

Viktor snorted, “Shave your legs, you’ll be fine.”

Milo elbowed him hard earning Viktor’s laugh once more. Esmerelda went over to Fleur, chatting and Cedric seemed to be at a loss until Esmerelda explained.

“The Granger girl was not there. Dumbledore sent some Griffins to find her.”

Cedric’s eyes lit up, “Hermione Granger?”

She nodded and he let out a breath of relief. There was no way that he’d lose with her on his team. Viktor eyed Cedric’s reaction with interest.

“Why is he so happy?” Milo asked.

“Perhaps she is his girlfriend?” Viktor asked with a shrug. “I cannot say.”

“But isn’t there some other thing to sort us?” Milo asked. “There’s no guarantee that they’ll be paired.”

Viktor shrugged, all they could really do was wait and contemplate what they would do going forward.

“Such a lovely bunch!”

He almost groaned hearing the shrill voice of one Rita Skeeter coming in to look them over, her Quick Notes Quill going a mile a minute.

Gods, help me.

*

Hermione looked between her notes and the cauldron watching the potion bubble and then grow thinner as it brewed. She flicked her wand over it and added a drop of honey for taste before lifting a ladle to her lips and felt it take effect.

It was perfect. 

No aftertaste, no swirling sensation and it wasn’t like a jolt of caffeine, just an even dose of… steady she guessed. She shrugged, putting a stasis spell over it before grabbing for her bottles and refilling them one by one to store in Poppy’s cabinet. She took one with her for the next morning and grabbed her potions notes before leaving the Infirmary, walking the empty halls towards the library.

“Hermione!”

She looked up to see Harry rushing down the hall.

“What’s the matter, Harry?”

“Where did you go? We’ve been looking all over the castle for you!”

“I was in the Infirmary, what’s the matter?”

“You were called to be an assistant.”

“ What? ”

Harry brought her to the room they were meeting in, waiting for her essentially and she walked in looking between the Headmasters and Minerva giving her an amused smile.

“So nice of you to join us,” Karkaroff sneered.

Hermione looked at him and then to Dumbledore who was possibly the most amused.

“How you managed to go missing for a full hour and a half is a wonder, Ms. Granger.”

“I was in the Infirmary, Professor. Could you tell me what this is about?”

“Well, Ms. Granger,” Bartemius Crouch began. “You were in the group of seven students that your Headmaster put forth to be an assistant and you were chosen. As it is a binding magical contract, we have been waiting to sort the three of you.”

Hermione looked at him, “You… have got to be joking.”

“Why ever would I joke about this?” he asked confused.

“Because you have a strange sense of humor?” She tried before looking at Minerva. “Professor--”

“I put your name forth,” she said with a smile.

“Why?” Hermione asked confused even as Cedric seemed to be grinning.

“The Ministry called for the best,” Minerva said. “Thus, we compiled the list of our best and brightest.”

“She is fourth year! If she is best or brightest, you have larger problems than you know,” Madame Maxime argued.

“This is outrageous,” Karkaroff said.

“Just as outrageous as you putting in the lowest members of your seventh year to be assistants?” Madame Maxime asked Igor. “Am I alone in playing fair?”

“I assure you that Ms. Granger is far greater an asset than you give her credit for,” Minerva said looking up at the tall woman. “She could and would trounce any of your seventh years quite easily.”

She looked down at her feet at Minerva’s tone. She hadn’t realized that Minerva thought so highly of her. Viktor looked at Hermione wondering if that at all could be true. From the way, Cedric seemed to grin, and from what he knew of Cedric, his esteem in “Ms. Granger” meant she was more than likely worthy of that esteem. It wasn't as if Cedric was a slouch by any means.

Hermione sighed and checked her watch raising her hand, “It is a magical contract, regardless of how anyone feels about it. Could we have this done? I have try-outs to run, a team trying to thwart themselves to stop, and several very long chapters to read by tomorrow.”

Viktor’s lips quirked at the way her voice cut through the chaos. Madame Maxime shut her mouth primly, Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled a bit, and Minerva managed to keep her Scottish temper out of it. She considered it a win if only a minor one.

“Very well, if the champions could step forward. The three of you line-up here.”

He gave them each a small token to hold and flipped over a small hourglass.

“If you could all concentrate on the tokens in your hands and repeat after me, Medietates ad Totum .”

They did so and no sooner than the words had come out of their mouths, Viktor and Hermione cried out in pain letting their tokens go. They flew towards one another and sealed to form one sphere of gold and swirling red, hovering in the air, morphing into the crest of Durmstrang embossed on the orb in red.

“Ah, well... That was… unexpected.”

Hermione looked at it opening her hand beneath it so it floated down, now cool to touch and gentle in her hand. Viktor and Hermione looked at one another curiously, taking in each other's features before the time was up and the other four opened their hands. Their tokens were tentatively drawing closer to one another but not fusing together. Cedric and Esmeralda were a pair and Fleur and Milo were the third. Cedric looked a little disappointed, but offered Esmerelda a smile. She looked downright wary and Milo seemed to be wishing he was anywhere but there at the moment.

“I think that about settles it,” he said. “Ms. Granger with Mr. Krum. Ms. de Luna with Mr. Diggory and Mr. Georgevich with Ms. Delacour. If you could all get together with your champion so pictures can be taken, we should be done for the night.”

Viktor looked at Hermione stepping towards him lightly with an apologetic look on her face before turning towards the camera.

“Sit,” he said gently, surprisingly so given his brooding demeanor. He gestured to the chair and she took a seat leaving him to stand beside it, one hand on the back of it, his staff in hand.

She tried to smile for the picture, but honestly how could she?

*

Karkaroff returned to the ship with Milo and Viktor in tow in more of a state than usual. Viktor went straight to his cabin, undressed for bed and slid beneath the sheets without looking at the schedule Hermione had given him so they could figure out a good time to meet outside of their granted study period.

He wasn't sure what to make of Ms. Granger.

He just hoped that she didn’t take too much offense at Karkaroff’s demeanor. After Bartemius had given her the contract she’d been unwillingly entered into, Viktor had given Karkaroff a warning after he’d just dropped her new uniform at her feet and stormed off. Viktor picked it up, cleaned the clothes with his wand and placed the clothes in her hands. He opened the door for her as she moved to leave and escorted her down the corridor.

“Am sorry for High Master, he is not how do you say… nice?”

Hermione shrugged, looking at the uniform in her arms, “It’s fine. I look forward to working with you, Viktor.”

“I as well. We talk later,” he said after escorting her to her try-outs. “Have good night.”

“Good night, Viktor,” she said, a little startled when he kissed her hand, bowed and left.

She arrived with more than enough time to stop Marco from convincing the rest of the team that his personal favorite, a cousin or something, was the best of the first years and put an end to the favoritism among the second and third years. In the end, Gryffindor gets one more girl on the team that isn’t Ginny, having been bested by a boy in her year. The girl is a first year who had been more than enthused by making the team and looking up at Hermione like she was superhero.  

“I’ll get better,” Ginny said looking at Hermione. “I’m going to be on the team next year.”

Hermione grinned at her, “That’s the spirit.”

After try-outs, she met with the rest of the team rather briefly about scheduling practice.

“Won’t you be a bit busy?” Marco asked glaring at her. “Miss Assistant?”

Hermione laughed, “I doubt it highly.”

She left them then and headed up to the Gryffindor common rooms only to be met with a room full of students demanding answers about who she was paired with.

“Viktor Krum,” she said. “Now, can I get to my room? I have work to do.”

A letter appeared in front of her and she took it out the air before anyone could think to grab it, tucking it into her robes.

“I can’t believe you have to help someone from a different school! Let alone get to spend time with Viktor Krum!” Ron said. “You don’t even like Quidditch.”

Hermione shook her head and looked at Harry.

“Are you… not going to be around much?”

Hermione laughed, “Well, I don’t think they’re going to make space for me on the boat, Harry, so I’ll still be here… I’ll just…”She looked towards her bag. “Be wearing something a little different.”

Harry and Ron wasn’t sure what she meant until she came down the stairs the next morning in her Durmstrang uniform. Harry gawked at her.

“What… is that?”

She looked down, “My new uniform apparently.”

It was simple, a thick brown tunic that fit her closer than she was used to, long sleeves, and a belt with the Durmstrang crest, black leggings and boots. There’s been a long black tie for her hair and a pin on her shoulder marking her as one of the Tri-Wizard assistants. She rather liked the tie once she’d figured out how it worked. It corralled her wild curls into a french braid down her back and though it couldn’t capture every wild curl, it did a lot better than she would have on her own. That made two magical hair pieces, at this rate she’d have a third in another few years.

“I even have a fur coat, a staff,” she said a little amused pulling it from her bag. “And a hat.”

Ron glowered at her, “You look ridiculous.”

She glowered at him and leaned to fasten the wand holster to her thigh. It was a very odd set up if she wasn’t going to wear the coat. The uniform was thermal enough that she didn’t need it.

“Well Harry, how do I look?”

“Like a Hermione,” Harry replied and she shoved him.

They walked to the Great Hall and she wasn’t sure what it was but she felt significantly more attention on her. She can’t understand why, but she knows something's up when a very angry looking Esmerelda with her Spanish accent comes walking up behind her.

“How can anyone wear something so… thick? ”

She looked at the girl who was more than just put out and raised her wand, “May I?”

She frowned and nodded warily as Hermione flicked her wand to add a comfort charm, one that she used after a summer of wearing the significantly lighter gowns of Greece every summer... Esmerelda blinked.

“Feels… like silk.”

“And it will actually keep you warm,” she looked down at her kitten heels. “At least you got to keep your shoes.”

She nodded, “Thank you…Granger, right?”

Hermione nodded shaking her hand, “That’s the Hufflepuff table. Don’t worry, they’re really quite nice.”

She nodded, “Good luck.”

Hermione nodded and looked towards the Slytherin table.

“Sestra,” she turned to see Vlad there, grinning at her. “You sit with us, yes?”

“I suppose.”

“Poor Milo,” he said giving a sympathetic look to the now blue-clad, rather gloomy boy sitting at the end of the Ravenclaw table. “Is not suited for silk.”

He looked back at her and gave her an appraising look. Strong legs clad in black leading down into knee high boots, laced tight and neat. Her tunic fits far closer than her Hogwarts uniform, revealing a lot more of her form than her rather frumpy Hogwarts uniform. She looked… powerful, dangerous…

Gorgeous and it made him want to pull the tie free and tangle his fingers in her hair.

“Suit you well, come, we must talk. Make introductions.”

He bowed slightly waving for her to go ahead of him towards the table before following behind. To announce her to the table, drawing the attention of the table. Her eyes flickered over the group, her heart pounding as they looked at her. Over the years, she’d tried to pick up a few words in Slavic languages, mostly greetings, and simple things, but she got pieces of what he was saying.

Girl, sister… Viktor...care…

“Hello,” she greeted, “I’m Hermione.”

A loud greeting of cheer welcomed her though it was mostly a terrible butchering of her name, they were warm and friendly, shoving aside to have her sit in the middle of the group.

“I speak English best,” Vlad explained. “I can translate if wish until Viktor come.”

Hermione “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

They talked, grinning at her and looking between one another and that is how Viktor entered the Great Hall, seeing her among his classmates. As he thought, they’d taken to her warmly.

“ They say she is a fourth year, she must be very advanced. ”

“Of course, because only our devil cheats. ”

A laugh went around before someone was serving her food.

“He says, you must eat. Need strength to deal with Karkaroff and Viktor.”

“Is Viktor particularly difficult?”

He frowned for a moment, “No… is not. Very nice like rabbit.”

Pietra called out to him and said something too fast for her to even try to understand before Vlad laughed.

“He says Viktor will make heads roll if he hears,” he said. “We all know Viktor is more lover than fighter.”

“What words you say?” She looked up to see Viktor towering over them, shoulders hunched and clearly bemused by Vlad’s words. “Is not what you said when we duel last.”

Vlad laughed, “You were lucky.”

Viktor nodded his head and looked at Hermione, “You are alright? They treat well?”

Hermione smiled at him and nodded, “They’ve been lovely.”

He looked at them and said something rather stern to which they gave him rolls of their eyes and clearly sass as they all went up in laughter before launching into a song that made Viktor go red.

“What are they singing?” Hermione asked laughing a bit.

“Is teasing,” Vlad explained. “Viktor have girl at Hogwarts he writes to, but will tell no one much about her. They make song for laugh.”

Hermione laughed, “I have someone at Durmstrang I write to.”

He blinked and then said something to the table causing them all to look at her and grin before asking questions that she didn’t understand as Viktor took a seat across the table from her.

“Should not have say,” he said. “They will… pester you forever now.”

“Well… it’s good that I don’t speak… Norwegian?” She asked.

“You know difference?” Viktor asked.

“I tried to learn a few things in case my pen pal and I ever met.”

“Hope he is not here, these are fools.”

Someone shoved him hard, as Viktor laughed and Hermione tilted her head. He had an incredibly nice smile, the kind that shifted all the gloom from his face, rearranged it and highlighted his features. He looked at her for a moment, eyes so dark it was hard to look away, but she did, smiling at him and then looking down the line.

“Well, well Granger, it must burn your red and gold pride to have to sit at the Slytherin table.”

She turned her head.

“I see you got your teeth fixed, about bloody time.”

“And you’re still a selfish little git,” Hermione said. “Are you prepared to get trounced for the third year in a row?”

He sneered at her, “As if I would be beaten by you. ”

“Again,” Hermione corrected. “I’ve already done it twice.”

He glared at her, “Oh, actually more than that, haven’t I? How is your face by the way?”

“A real wizard wouldn’t ever use their fist, though what can I expect from you?”

Hermione sighed, “A real man wouldn’t have to insult anyone to make themselves feel better.”

Vlad hissed beside her as the rest of the Durmstrang boys laughed. Draco stood up.

“I wonder how your new school would feel about you if they knew you were just a mudblood.”

Vlad frowned and Viktor looked at Malfoy as she seethed.

“What is this word?” Vlad asked looking at Hermione.

“It means dirty blood,” she said.

“You… are sick?”

“My parents are muggles,” she said and looked at Draco. “Mudblood or not, I leave you in the dust in every subject, Draco. Doesn’t it burn your pureblood pride?”

He flushed a bit in his pale face as she went back to eating, officially done speaking with him.

Viktor looked at her and Vlad pat her shoulder, “Do not worry. Karkaroff is… git, but we not care. Muggle blood not change you--you are witch. A good one to help our Viktor.”

Hermione felt her lips twitch into a smile, “Thanks.”

“Now eat, you need strength, yes? Karkaroff is demon.”

She laughed and continued eating, but sure enough, Karkaroff came down the table before twirling his wand to conjure a stack of books beside her.

“I expect you to be prepared since I can not get rid of you.”

Hermione looked at the books, pulled her wand out and tapped the stack so they shrunk small enough to fit in her pocket, “I’m sure I’ll get to them.”

She stood up then, finishing breakfast and slinging her bag over her shoulder filled with books.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have class to attend.”

She turned then leaving Karkaroff fuming and the boys grinning. They liked her already.

Chapter Text

They have their first meeting just after lunch, a special study hall for the champions. They’d been given an old classroom that now had the Durmstrang crest on the door and would only allow Durmstrang students, minus Milo, and Hermione. She arrived before Karkaroff or Viktor, took a seat at the table and pulled out the stack of books Karkaroff had given her. It wasn’t a surprise that she’d read them all already. She set them aside and pulled out the large healing tome Poppy had given her to study from. It was a healer’s third year training book and it was proving to be very difficult to get through. Some of the wand work she had a hard time visualizing, but she was making progress as she’d read several anatomy books to help.

The chapter she was on now was on skull injuries. She pulled out her practice tool, an old human skull and flicked her eyes to the book before tapping it once and letting out a defeated sound. The skull broke, blood ran from the edges and she swallowed, trying to focus. She watched the timer in the skull’s eyes and began to weave the spell just as she was supposed to, gentle strokes to soothe, but sure definite until the skull sealed itself and the blood stopped flowing. The numbers in the skull flashed once and then turned green. She threw up her hands in triumph.

At that rate, she would at least test out of her second-year head injury--

“You practice healing,” she yelped tumbling herself out of her chair at Viktor’s voice behind her.

“Am sorry… not mean to scare…” he said softly, offering a hand to help her up.

“No… I… I wasn’t paying attention.”

She took his hand and let him pull her up, though it felt more like flying, sparks behind her eyelids. He pulled out the chair for her to sit back down and pushed her up to the table gently before taking a seat.

He rounded the table swiftly, “Is good Karkaroff will be late. Want to talk with you alone first.”

Hermione looked at him.

“I may have name please?”

“It’s Hermione.”

“Hermi-niny…” he huffed, “Am sorry. Not good with English.”

“It’s Greek,” she said with a smile. “And it’s fine. I know it’s a mouthful.”

“Greek?” his eyes lit up. “Speak Greek, could spell?”

Hermione pulled out a sheet of parchment and wrote her name out with her right hand in the greek alphabet. His eyes moved over the letters and shook his head.

“ Hermione ,” he said and her stomach flipped.

No one had ever said her name like that. Hermes always called her “Mia” or “Mikro”, her parents had always said it with their English flare. It definitely didn’t feel like a mouthful when he said it. It felt ancient, powerful, beautiful--

“You speak Greek?” Hermione asked.

“Da.”

“Einai efkolotero apo o ti anglika?”

“Nai,” he said without thinking and then grinning, his dark eyes lighting up as he looked at her. “ You speak Greek! ”

She grinned, “I do.”

He laughed incredulously, “It is much easier than English. Is it a bother?”

She shook her head, “Greek is my first language. It’s nice.”

He grinned and offered his hand, “This could be the start of a great relationship.”

Hermione laughed nodding, shaking his hand. He sighed heavily, relieved that he would not have to struggle with his English within the walls that are supposed to make his trials easier. He glanced up at her and wondered if maybe she would--

He chided himself. He was supposed to be being patient, letting her be comfortable with them meeting first. As much as he wanted to ask about other Greek speaking girls at Hogwarts, he'd given his word.

If he was anything, he was a man of his word.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said. “It would be good to know one another since we will be spending so much time together.”

Hermione hummed, “I can quite honestly say I will do my best to support you in your endeavor to win the competition.”

Viktor tilted his head at the very odd reply to his request. their eyes met steadily and he licked his lips feeling another burst of warmth just looking at her. She was bloody beautiful...And he was only a teenage boy with hormones and instincts he didn't even fully understand yet. 

Hera, help him.

“You do not worry how your school will treat you?”

She shrugged, “I'm a bit of a loner, my real friends won't care. It’s not like I’ll be on the boat with you.”

Viktor snorted, “No, I suppose not.”

The door slammed open and Karkaroff walked in glaring at Hermione and the tome she had in front of her.

“This is not book I give you.”

“I’ve read them all,” she said in easy English, “And I have things to study for.”

He looked at Viktor and began speaking in Russian she was sure. Whatever he was saying was making Viktor rather annoyed, but Hermione didn’t care either way, as she dug out the notes she’d taken on the Tri-Wizard Tournament from years past and the two men’s voice got rougher. Karkaroff got louder and Viktor got softer, darker, edged with the kind of danger she knew to be potent.

“Gentlemen,” she cut in, earning their attention. “I do so hate to interrupt, but we have all of twenty minutes before I’m due for practice.”

Viktor grinned as Karkaroff sputtered and she lay out her notes, giving them a brief rundown of what she figured the contest’s first challenge would be about, what the following challenges would be and the entire Triwizard tournament as a whole could look like based on the few clues they'd been given. When she was done, her skull flashed and chattered. She stood up, tapped it three times and picked her tome off the table.

“And that concludes today’s session. I’ll leave these for you, Viktor. Until next time.”

Karkaroff grabbed the pages as she marched out of the room and growled, muttering in rude Russian at the notes she’d written. Viktor decided that he rather liked Hermione… especially the way her name felt on his tongue, like liquid heat, cinnamon, and a hint of the richest wine he’d ever had. They stay in the room a little while longer with Karkaroff trying to poke holes in the conclusions she’d made, but it does no good. She had done her homework well, apparently better than even Viktor had done it and that had pissed Karkaroff off to no end. Eventually, it’s time for the first dueling match of the season and they abandon the room in favor of going to watch the match. They go to the Great Hall where the Dueling platforms were set up to see the colors of Slytherin and Hufflepuff overhead.

A letter appeared in front of him and he grinned opening it excitedly.

I hope you enjoy the match. The first match is always brutal… but the last of the season is always the worst. Slytherin and Gryffindor have a long standing grudge between them. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw usually stay out of it, but since the dueling matches are worth as much as a dueling and Quidditch match combined, it’s going to be ruthless.

He worried his lip, casting his eyes around before pulling a quill and an ink container from his bag to write a quick note.

Hermione turned at Ginny’s voice and joined her on the normal rafters when the note appeared.

Are you dueling?

She licked her lips.

This season, yes.

He winced at her reply, You fear telling me.

I fear myself.

The words ring through him, a simple and terribly painful statement that makes his heart ache, but he tucked the letter away and joined the student body as the match began. True to her words, the match was brutal. The Slytherins seemed to be making more a show of dominance than sport. Their hexes were rather nasty, powerful, but horrifying. In the final match, the forward of the Slytherin triple cast a hex that left the Hufflepuff forward screaming in terror, sinking to her knees and horrified. When she dropped her wand, the wards snapped and the enchantment ended. She looked up at the Slytherin standing on the other side with a smirk.

*

“What kind of hex was that?” Ginny asked.

“I don’t know Ginny,” she said, but she had to find a way to fight it before they faced Slytherin in the next semester.

Weeks passed leading to the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match. The Durmstrang students remain on their boat during the match since Igor had no reason to believe that either of those houses had any interesting skill to showcase. Hermione serves as the forward for her triple and they end up winning both of their triples and two singles. Hermione remained undefeated, but they lost the match. Thanks to some clever spellwork, their score was much higher than the Ravenclaw’s score making it more of a tie than a loss.

“I’m sorry,” Odin said after the match, the second year who’d proven himself to be a good duelist. “If I’d won…”

“You did your best,” Hermione said with a smile. “And you’ll get better, just you see.”

Violet Davis, a first year with exceptionally short, straight hair, looked just about ready to explode with excitement as she’d been in Hermione’s heat and had managed to knock a second year Ravenclaw student out of bounds.

“Girl power!” She cheered, giving Hermione a high five.

“Girl power,” she grinned.

“I don’t want to lose next time,” Odin said.

Hermione grinned, “It’s not about winning or losing, it’s about growing.”

He pouted, “You can say that. You’ve won all of your matches.”

Violet slung an arm around her shoulder, “You were much faster than you were at practice.”

He looked at her, beaming at him, “I bet you’ll be even faster next time. We’ll get help with it cause we’re a team. Right?”

Hermione nodded, “That’s right. We’re keeping that cup in Gryffindor.”

Odin nodded and walked with them back to the tower with the rest of the student, gushing about the match against Ravenclaw. When they get back, Hermione takes a long bath, chatted with Violet about practice and then sent the younger girl off to bed. She ended up in the common room with her healing tome in her lap before Harry showed up.

“Nice match,” Harry said. “Shame about losing, though.”

Hermione shrugged, “Our points were higher, it was more like a draw.”

Harry nodded, “‘Mione… you think maybe… we could talk?”

Hermione looked at him and set her book aside giving him her undivided attention, “What’s on your mind, Harry? Is everything okay?”

“What do you know about soulmates?”

Hermione tilted her head, “Only what I’ve read...why?”

“Well… I..." He winced looking around before pulling out his wand and putting up a basic anti-eavesdropping ward around them, sliding onto the couch across from her.

“I’ve been having these… dreams.”

They were more like waking visions he thought about classes he didn’t take, handwriting that wasn’t his in the middle of the day. The sight of three banners of Hogwarts across the Great Hall and Durmstrang students, Hermione, to his right. Though he stepped around the issue, Hermione didn't need him to stop circling his fear before she came to the conclusion.

“Harry,” Hermione said. “Are you saying you’ve been having visions through someone’s eyes in Slytherin?”

“I-I think so. Maybe? I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s fantastic, it means you’ve probably already met your soulmate.”

“Yeah, but they’re in Slytherin. ”

“Your stepfather is Head of the Slytherin House.”

Harry groaned, trust Hermione to be so logical. She reached out and pat his hand.

“Soulmates aren’t people who care about which house you were sorted into.”

“Mrs. Weasley will be disappointed.”

“Oh Harry, you can’t worry about other people’s disappointment when it comes to your happiness.”

Harry looked at her, “You know… I used to think we would be…”

Hermione smirked, “Perhaps platonically.”

He laughed, “Platonic soulmates, good one. I like it.”

Hermione shrugged. She tried and sometimes she succeeded.

“What about you? Do you have visions?”

Hermione nodded, “Sometimes.”

“Well, don’t hold out on me…” Harry said nudging her.

“They’re not of the Great Hall,” she said. “I’m not even sure if their visions or dreams or hallucinations...They’re a little too… visceral for any of that from what I’ve read.”

She could feel the heat on her face of the high noon sun, the coolness of water around her, the softness of the gown she wore and his touch… The touch of the man she’d never seen before like a gentle fire on her skin, rushing through her.

“That sounds… rather intense,” Harry said. “Are you sure you haven’t been reading Mrs. Weasley’s romance novels?”

Hermione laughed, “Not that I haven’t read them, but no. These started way before Mrs. Weasley and I came to terms…”

"Wait, what?"

It had been such an odd thing after the argument. Hermione had been in the Burrow’s living room reading a book that Hermes’ favorite neighbor, and best friend, had given her saying that all teenage girls needed a bit of fun to read. The author was captivating with good characters and fantastic descriptive details. Though it was fiction, it was more than enough to keep Hermione's mind entertained with imagining the world the woman had built. Molly had come in to see her reading the little paperback and had shrieked with surprise.  Apparently, the notion that Hermione read everything was news to her. It was the newest edition of a series that Molly loved, one that she hadn’t had the money to buy between getting everyone’s school things together. Hermione had finished the novel in all of few hours and gave it to her as an olive branch. After that, it had been as if there was never an argument at all.

“How did that happen?”

“A book,” she said and Harry gawked. “She may not agree with my outlook on boys, but she respects my not-so-literary  choices.”

He groaned, “You two read the same romance series?”

“I’m under vow to let her know the second a few series are made available, or I find another author since she is so very out of touch with the publications of the muggle world. It was rather enlightening, perhaps even enough to regain my pseudo-adopted status.”

Harry laughed and they turned as Ron came down the stairs looking between them.

“Hey Ron,” Harry said. “Come join us?”

“Hate to interrupt,” Ron said stiffly. “You still have your notes from herbology? I’m trying to finish my essay and I can’t find mine.”

“Sure,” Harry said getting up, “Be back ‘Mione.”

Hermione hummed in acknowledgment and went back to reading from her tome, practicing her wand movements for some more complicated healing spells regarding the nervous system. When a letter appeared and fell into her lap, it was attached to a small book which gave her pause.

I found this in my trunk and thought of you. I was in a bookstore in Greece before the end of the summer and it came flying off the shelf at me. The bookstore owner said that the book had once had more magic than it does now, but that it faded with time, especially after people began to add translations into modern languages into it and no one really knew what the spell was. He’d been trying to get rid of it but no one seemed to want to buy it or even know it was there. He’d gotten it on a dig in Pompeii quite some time ago and it had been passed around by his colleagues trying to decipher it. The translations are good, but I think you would get more from the originals than I could, you said you’d learned quite a bit about ancient languages.

Have a good night.

She looked at the book. It was unmarked with a title and she opened it, careful to move the translations and annotations aside. It was rather strange for a wizarding book to be so small, small enough to be held in hand, but so thick. The annotations seemed to span centuries as the words seemed to span even longer. She glanced over the added pages, stuck into the book with various charms and pulled the first set out to set aside and read the Ancient Greek there and flipped towards the front of the book. The text on the first pages was older, much older than Greek and seemed to be a page of Egyptian hieroglyphs, or something older, making it far older than the later pages purported. The pages seemed to be made of papyrus and distinctly different than the later pages though clearly a part of the bound book.

I sing my song of Pallas Athena,  the translation said but that didn’t match up with what she was reading. She frowned, reaching for a piece of parchment and a quill to begin her own set of notations.

I sing to you Neith, defender of the city, goddess,  how you care with Ra in deeds of war, you who watch over me in protection, how I pray my return to your blessed arms, to hear your song once more. I sing to you, my love, grant me your radiance and come home in good fortune and happiness.

She swallowed, her heart beating fast in her chest as she compared her notes to the annotations of others, through the years. If she was reading it right, they’d called Neith Athena, which made sense with the cults' relationship… but the translations made no note of the tone of the prayer.

No, she thought. Not a prayer, a declaration of love and beseeching some higher power that she returned to the speaker. She ran her fingers across the glyphs and to the name specifically.

Neith... she’d read about the goddess and how her cult had been imported into Greece. Neith had become Athena over time. Which would have explained the translations, but not the lack of longing. There was praise in the translations, but not the...love that was so clear in the original text.

I know you hurry forth so others may live in peace, yet how may I care when they scorn you so? I follow you into battle and though we fight, the days ahead are lost. Your shadow no longer drifts across the ground, your vital spark and personality reunited among the gods. Do you wait for me, my love? Will we see each other again? Or do you watch over me and convince them of our next life? Or is it even that in the afterlife that we are to remain apart?

“‘Mione?”

She looked up her eyes burning and Harry looked at her as she closed the small book and rubbed at her eyes.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No,” she said. “I just… It’s just the writing is so… sad, angry and… I’m not sure.”

Harry looked at her, “You shouldn’t read things like that before bed, ‘Mione, it will only make your dreams bad…”

Sadly, Harry was right. Rather than the warmth of Greece, she felt the heated rain all around her, but not over her skin as she looked over the shoulder of a man sliding a block into place on a pyramid. His face was obscured in shadow, but she felt his pain as he slipped and fell to his knees and the block slid into place, aligning with the rest and lighting up the sigils over the tomb.

Neith of Sais , she read and looked down at the man with his olive skin, dark with the sun’s heat, his simple tunic, and dark rain-slick hair, sobbing in the rain before screaming to the heavens. A twist of lightning struck him in the chest, silencing him and leaving him limp on the ground.

When she woke up, she was crying, tears streaming, her hand pressed to her chest and rocking trying to make the pain ease, but it did not come. She wanted to go to him, to hold him, to see him, this man she’d never met before.

*

Viktor woke up, his heart clenching against the vision. His hands felt rough, bruised by the roughness of the block, his muscles felt tired from straining to press it into place, yet it had only been a dream.

Lady of Athens, the block had said, light from within with the light of dawn.  He got out of bed to change for an early flight. He was earlier than he usually was, but with the way, he felt he knew he wasn’t getting back to bed. The skies were clear and the light of the new day was slowly creeping through the sky. He snuck out of the boat, cast a disillusionment charm and sat on his broom, leaning back on it, one leg relaxed, the other propped on the crossbar and let his mind wander, guiding the broom with his thoughts into the sky above the Black Lake and breathing slowly. If anyone saw him, they’d think him mad for laying on his broom, but contrary to popular belief, he didn’t only fly really fast and do stunts. He actually just enjoyed flying. He felt the letter against his chest and opened it, not entirely sure that she was awake.

I couldn’t get past the first few paragraphs. It’s so sad, Dragonheart. I don’t think my heart can take it. The magic is not so lost as I dreamt it last night. A man pushing a block to finish a tomb in the rain. He was struck by lightning, yet I can still hear him screaming to the sky. He was in so much pain. I don’t think this is a book of poems. I think this is a journal, Dragonheart. A journal of someone who lost their soulmate, I think, but I’m not sure. I’m headed to the library to do a bit of research on the woman the poem is about if I find anything more I’ll let you know if you’d like.

He frowned and sat up, straddling his broom backward. It wasn’t entirely surprising that she could read the ancient words, but in all the translations that he could read, and the bit of ancient Greek he could read, he’d never read anything about a soulmate or love. He knew the writing spanned several centuries, but he thought it was like the bible, a collection of books written by different authors at different times bound together for some form of cohesion.

And what the bloody hell was she doing going to the library this late at night? Was it even open?

He sighed, tilting his broom down and turning himself around to push his body up, holding his body parallel to the broom with just his arms in mid-air until he could place the top of his boots on the bottom of the crossbars and hang, keeping his body aloft with only the strength of his ankles and calves. He let his arms fall below him and closed his eyes, the letter in his hand and breathed.

Since he was a child, hanging upside down, completely upside down, had calmed him. His grandmother said it was something that his grandfather would do, something passed down through the ages potentially. His brothers teased that Viktor was actually the spawn of a bat. They'd shut up sometime around the time Viktor started casting hexes. Sometimes, hanging by just his legs, was enough but with the Triwizard first task looming ahead and still no idea of what it could be beyond speculation, he needed the calm of complete suspension.

The dream and being so near to Biblio-logical hadn’t helped either. He had been excited the first year they exchanged letters, but as their letters got to be more personal, more intimate, something had changed culminating in the deep set fear he had now.

What if he wasn’t what she was expecting?

He shook his head again, clearing the thoughts and just listening to the wind until he felt the familiar feeling of weightlessness, like everything that had been bearing down on his shoulders slid off of him and fell to the earth below him. 

Behind his eyes, he saw the bright sun and sky above Greece as he flew through the air effortlessly and without a broom, winged sandals on his feet. He opened them shaking his head and peering through the darkness of the night.

He heard something like a screech cut off mid-way in the distance and turned his head, opening his eyes as a flash of light appeared in the night. He frowned, taking hold of his broomstick and guiding it towards where he’d seen it. He dove down a bit to get a better look, maneuvering so he was upside down as his broom lowered him down to just above the treeline.

A burst of fire came flying out of a cage and a low growl could be heard. Hagrid began to coo and approach the cage as several others maneuvered around it to set up fireproof wards. Madame Maxime remained a bit farther back. A low hiss and the slithering sound of scales and wings filled his ears.

Dragons? He gawked. 

The first challenge involved dragons? Hermione had been right, he grinned at the thought of Karkaroff’s reaction.

*

“You are sure of this Viktor?” Karkaroff asked after the door closed behind him.

“Yes,” he said. “I saw them while flying.”

“When were you flying?” Karkaroff asked, his eyes narrowed.

“None of your business.”

Karkaroff opened his mouth, but the door opened with Hermione in her Durmstrang uniform, carrying a different book today, one on the nervous system. As usual, she had her face in it, her attention on the pages and read to the end of the page before sitting down.

“Hermione,” Viktor began and Karkaroff hissed.

“She does not need to know!”

Hermione looked up with a hum and a smile at the tingling she felt the way he said her name.

“Yes?” Hermione asked. “You’ve figured something out, I’m guessing.”

“Dragons,” Viktor said in Greek, a warm balm over her half-fried nerves. “The first challenge involves dragons like you thought.”

She hummed, “Well, at least that’s out of the way. Any particular type of dragon?”

“I’m not sure.”

Hermione hummed and Karkaroff shut his mouth before looking at Viktor, “ You’ll have to kill it. ”

Whenever Karkaroff began speaking in Russian, Hermione knew was in a certain kind of mood and trying to convince Viktor to do something that was probably a bad idea. Since the man only spoke in Russian around her, she just assumed that he was always trying to get Viktor to do something he didn’t want to do and wasn’t a very good idea. She could see why Dragonheart and the rest of Durmstrang called him a demon. The man had a very limited view of how to obtain victory and by the look on Viktor’s face, he wasn’t exactly interested in following through with what he planned. He looked at her.

“Hermione,” he started with a lick of his lips that, for a moment, was entirely too distracting to be real.

He seemed to be standing taller, his full height perhaps, as he regarded her.

“What do you think?”

Hermione hummed, trying to cover the tremble in her voice at the sound of his Greek over her senses. For the love of the Pantheon and Merlin, his voice was getting more distracting by the day. Deeper than any boy in her year and he spoke Greek like he’d lived there all his life. She could listen to him speak Greek for hours. It didn’t help that he had the sort of strong features she always favored. He was still in his teens, not quite filled out all the way but his form now hinted to what he would become: tall, dark, broad, handsome with a bit of exotic appeal because of his accent--his rather talented tongue.

She felt her heart flip.

Perhaps she should lay off the romance novels for a little bit, she didn’t have time to deal with passions or intrigue or men in general with how packed her schedule was, and Viktor had proved himself to be a man more than anything.

“Well, you’re obviously aren’t meant to kill the dragon. Killing dragons for sport has never been legal in Britain and even if it was an accident would be highly frowned upon. They wouldn’t bring dragons all the way here to go back without them. You probably have to get past them somehow, steal something from them, that sort of thing.”

Viktor considered it before looking at Karkaroff and replying to him in Russian. Karkaroff glared at her before coming back with a response for Viktor. While they argued, she grabbed her book on magical creatures and flipped to the rather extensive dragon section. She pulled out a piece of parchment. Large with wings, endangered perhaps… They weren’t going to risk the dragon getting loose and hurting people, or revealing anything to the wizarding world so it would have to be in a controlled environment-- leaving the Forest out and the Quidditch pitch as not fortified enough to contain a dragon, but definitely large enough.

The first task is designed to test your daring; courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard, Bartemius Crouch said.

“Which means you can’t fly.”

They looked up from their argument to see that she’d moved to the blackboard, a diagram on the board. Karkaroff’s eyes narrowed and Viktor rounded the table. She wasn’t paying them any attention, drawing and writing on the board with her right hand, her left hand holding her book aloft.

“What is meaning?” Viktor asked in English as Karkaroff remained on the other side of the room.

She directed him around her notes in Greek, starting with Bartemius’s hint.

“Daring means risk, courage means bravery, the face of the unknown means you have to think on your feet-- all of that together means you have to be elegant, methodical, and do something that no one is expecting. More importantly, the dragon will be restrained to the area in some way and thus flying for you would be practically useless.”

Viktor winced looking at the diagram of what she was thinking was probably the case. A large enough stadium, more than likely somewhere on the grounds far enough away from the castle in case of an accident, the Quidditch pitch was the obvious guess. Champions would enter through one side, the dragon would be somewhere else and whatever they were supposed to guard or get would be behind them well within their range of motion.

“Dragons are odd in their instincts. Dragon males protect treasure even without training, there’s a reason dragon-horde is such a thing. Dragon females however only protect eggs, their young, and themselves.”

“Is very unbalanced,” he said with a grimace. Hermione shrugged.

“For what I can surmise from the history, whatever you’re supposed to get is going to be the clue to the next task.”

Viktor shook his head, he’d surmised as much from the reading he’d done on the tournament years ago.

“Dragon males are generally known to sleep on the job however and rather lounge in the wealth,” she said wryly.

Some species of male dragons were completely unable to breathe fire and didn’t have the temperament to really test much courage. They needed a guaranteed show of ferocity. If there were dragon tamers around to keep them tame enough as Viktor said, it was likely that these were female dragons and probably nesting females at that, meaning the clue would be eggs.

“What are you thinking?” Viktor asked. “Eggs?”

She smiled, “You read my mind.”

*

Karkaroff stood back watching the two of them as they conversed in calm Greek. Viktor took the chalk and drew a box around the word “Eggs” on the board, “Female” and then flipped the board over to render the arena she drew again with the new elements with an aerial display. He caught the word “Quidditch” and Viktor laughed, shaking his head.

He wanted to strangle the little mudblood girl.

*

“It helps me think to see it from above,” Viktor said. “What do you know about dragon nests?”

Hermione hummed and rattled off some information. They were usually in mountains, depending on the dragon, but there was no way they could simulate the height of a mountain.

“Land, close to the ground?” Viktor wrote, drawing an eye-level view of the arena next to the aerial.

“Elevated slightly,” she said, “On rock so the fire can be blown and kept hot. Dragon eggs aren’t exactly fragile, they’ll usually keep them warm with their bodies or fire.”

Karkaroff came up behind them peering around Viktor’s shoulder as the seemed to argue about the approach, an arc drawn from the ground to the nest. Conjunctivitis written on the board under “possibilities”. She shook her head.

“And hearing? What if you get an already blind dragon? Or one that has no need to move from its nest? Or an impervious dragon?”

He sighed, “There are such things?”

Hermione flipped and handed him the book. He sighed, taking a seat, “Dragons in Bulgaria are not so complicated.”

Hermione laughed, “Is that so?”

Viktor shook his head, reading before worrying his lip, “What will I do if I cannot fly? I’m not graceful on the ground.”

Hermione regarded him, “I think I have an idea for that.”

*

Karkaroff grit his teeth, sitting at the table with the other Head Masters and staff members. He occupied the time in between vicious bites with glaring down the Slytherin table where Hermione sat with the boys of Durmstrang laughing at something before bidding them goodbye and heading out with Viktor. They shared a high five before parting. They were set to begin what Hermione called training the next morning and after being sure that the original training regiment, Quidditch, and strength would not be interrupted, Karkaroff allowed it.

“How goes things with Ms. Granger?” Albus asked from beside him.

“She is adequate.”

Minerva gave a smile over the rim of her goblet. It would be in just a few days that they would see just how adequate of a team they were.

In the morning, Viktor meets her by the Black Lake, dressed for a workout. She’s dressed warmly in muggle athletic wear and covered in warming charms.

“A run and then we’ll start?”

“You are sure you can keep up?” Viktor asked. “I’m not graceful, but I am fast.”

Hermione grinned, “I think it’s you who have to worry about keeping up.”

Viktor took it as a challenge and rather than the usual run he took around the grounds, he found himself racing her on his normal route, pushing himself to run faster, but she had an agility on land that he couldn’t match, running over all terrain evenly, leaping over rocks and obstacles where they would have tripped him until they reached a secluded spot, panting.

“Okay… you win.”

Hermione laughed, “Don’t feel bad, I can’t fly at all.”

“How?” he asked. “How is the possible?”

She shrugged, “Guess I can’t be good at everything.”

He glowered at her, “I will teach you to fly. I cannot have a partner who cannot fly. Would be dishonorable not to share my knowledge with you.”

“I already have an offer and turned it down, thank you.”

Viktor snorted, “Others are bad teachers, trust me.”

Hermione laughed and drew her wand, “This is a modification to the silencing and disillusionment spell.”

Viktor watched her, looking at her wand with interest. Vine for sure, not at all like his slightly curved wand.

“Heartstring?” Viktor asked.

“Yes,” she said, “How did you know?”

“I wondered why we were so compatible.”

Hermione shrugged and showed him the wand movement, similar to the disillusionment charm, around in a circle with a gossamer thin rope of white light. For a moment she was there and then his attention was directed elsewhere. She walked around him and observed him. He frowned looking around, looked right past her several times.

“Where did you go?”

She tapped her own head and watched him look at her directly.

“You… were not standing there a moment ago.”

“Oh, but I was. I got the idea after a show. I’m calling it 'Perception'."*

He blinked, “How does it work?”

“Rather than making you invisible, it makes you unnoticeable to sight and mutes everything around you. I could kick a rock, walk on gravel and generally stomp around, but you wouldn’t hear it. I made it so it was a step down from disillusionment and perfect for certain sorts of attention avoidance. It’s non-verbal, though.”

“Right,” he said. “Alright, let’s try.”

“ Sigisoun aorato, ” she said, “Hold the words in your mind and focus on your heartbeat.”

He swallowed feeling the words in his mouth and letting them fill his mind alongside the sound of his heartbeat.

The first time he felt it settle over him in pieces, fractured he thought and watched her. He stepped and heard his foot on the grass, but Hermione seemed to focus on the direction of the sound, rather than looking at him.

“Good first try, you just need to tweak your movement.”

He winced and tapped his head and felt it break under the undoing spell. They practiced for another hour before calling it a day and heading inside for bathing and breakfast.

“Rather delicate spell,” he said. He wasn’t good with delicate. “Why not disillusionment?”

“Some dragons only see heat. Disillusionment makes you invisible not unnoticeable.”

“Very delicate.”

“Of course, it’s supposed to be a gentle deflection of attention. Just enough to give you an edge of an advantage. With attention deflected from you, you can distract it with something else, get it away from the nest, get the egg and get out.”

Viktor shook his head, he liked the part about getting out the best.

Chapter Text

By the time, the day of the competition arrived, he still couldn’t manage to get it together. Hermione finds him pacing the tent when she comes after lunch, wearing his uniform and so very worried, practicing the motion and Hermione waltzed in and took a seat watching him under the perception filter. She tapped her head sometime after the third frustrated curse.

“Viktor.”

He yelped and turned, “Ot bog!”

She smiled, “Sorry. Take a seat, yeah?”

He sighed and took a seat beside her.

“I am… nervous.”

“I noticed.”

“I haven’t been able to get it to work.”

“You will, and if not you have a backup plan.”

Viktor shook his head and she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Here,” she said offering him a token on a leather chain. It was the orb their tokens had created. “For luck.”

“Did you dip it in a potion?”

“No!” Hermione said nudging him, “I would never cheat. I just hear that it’s tradition to give the champion a token of luck. You’ll be fine.”

“Now, what’s the plan?”

Plan one was to use the perception spell, and illusions to draw the dragon away from the nest and let him get close enough to not get singed. He’d have to cast the perception filter on the egg once he lifted it out as well.

The backup involved strengthening charms and an acceleration charm to make him fast enough to swipe the egg while the dragon was blinded and get out.

“And?” Hermione pressed.

“The shield charm over the eggs,” he added with a sigh leaning back. “You think dragon will be angry enough?”

“It is a great possibility, and in either case, you should shield yourself and use that scent-blinding hex instead of conjunctivitis.”

Viktor nodded and soon the rest of the champions arrived and she was ushered out along with the rest of the assistants to sit in the reserved box for them and the staff advisors.

“Hello Ms. Granger,” she said. “I hope things have been going well.”

She looked back at Minerva and nodded, “Going well.”

Milo nudged her, “Viktor is okay?”

She grinned, “He’ll be fine. How about Fleur?”

Milo winced, “Am not sure… hard to understand her, arrogant, but have plan should work.”

Hermione nodded. Esmerelda had much of the same to say and a plea for Hermione to give her the charm that made her clothes so comfortable.

“I fear I may scratch myself, but it is so irritating.”

Hermione smiled, flicking her wand in Esmerelda’s direction before producing a scrap of parchment with directions.

“It should last through a few washes, but if not...You can owl me if you need more information.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I did not know the English could be so nice.”

Hermione laughed as the competition began. Cedric was first. While it was a marvelous strategy, and the transfiguration was amazing, he hadn’t accounted for the possibility of the Swedish Short-Snout’s level of intelligence. They were known to suss out threats to their nests faster than any other breed and disregard that which was not a threat. She only hoped that Madame Pomfrey could repair the damage done to his face.

Esmerelda winced, “We did not think of that.”

“He got the egg,” Milo said.

And with a score of fifty out of sixty points, he didn’t do too badly. Fleur stepped out against the Common Welsh Green. A gentle sequence of wand movements and the dragon fell sleeping away from its nest, having advanced to look at Fleur.

She went to get the egg, strolling almost which made Hermione laugh as the dragon breathed a burst of fire and caught the end of her skirt causing her to scream in pain and try to put it out before shuffling back to the tent.

“Arrogant girl,” Milo said with a nod of his head. “Told her to hurry.”

Hermione laughed, feeling rather relieved that all the dragons so far had been rather tame. They announced the Chinese Fireball and before Hermione could breathe easy they made another announcement.

“Attention, due to an unexpected change of events, the last champion’s dragon must be substituted.”

Hermione paled sitting forward as Karkaroff grit his teeth.

When the dragon appeared, she felt her stomach drop and her brown hands clenched the guard rail with terror.

“ The Hungarian Horntail… ” she gasped. “ How is that a fair replacement!? ”

Milo winced, “Viktor… will not be okay?”

Hermione licked her lips. She’d prepared him for this, she thought, going over their conversations quickly. Horntails were particularly impervious to certain kind of curses because of the anatomy and the thickness of their skin. She pulled a slip of paper out and scribbled furiously, before folding it and charming it to fly to Viktor. Viktor felt his breath quicken before the note came flying in and someone pat his shoulder in sympathy. Viktor opened the note.

Scent Charm no good. Use Shield, Strength, Deflect, Perception, Calm.

Except he wasn’t even sure if his perception would work and what did calm mean? He tucked the note in his robes and prepared himself before stepping out and waiting until the dragon was unblindfolded and could look at him.

He held his wand aloft and swallowed, scanning the field and the glint of gold among the cement colored eggs caught his eye, the arena was flat, a few boulders, but otherwise bare.

He cast the first sequence of spells to shield himself, then the illusion spell to create shadow copies of himself, auditory hallucinations and waited until the dragon shuffled forward, mouth open in rage and glowing hot before conjuring the fire shield in front of his illusion, just long enough to try his hand at the perception filter.

Hermione held her breath and watched him prepare for it. The shield was perfect, just like they practiced. She watched his wrist, his form and suddenly he became perfectly unnoticeable and she lifted her hands in triumph.

Viktor felt it, waiting for the moment, before testing it. The flame stopped and he waited as it prowled forward. He sent the illusions running to the left and stood still. The dragon followed them as he took off running in the opposite direction. It blew fire at the illusions as he tapped his legs for a bit of speed. He ran forward, rounding the nest to climb in and grab the egg and he felt the dragon’s eyes on him as it came back seeing the floating egg and effectively breaking the charm. It roared and screeched charging towards him as he got out of the nest and shot a protection charm just as it crawled over the nest, forcing a shield wall between its back leg and the eggs it was going to smash. He could almost hear Hermione laughing at him and winced. He owed her chocolate per their bet. Now he had to make it to the other side of the stadium.

Fire rushed towards him and his wand whipped out, deflecting the wall of heat away from him, a bit of a distraction as he rolled behind the boulder. The dragon prowled forward towards where he was standing, though it could not technically see him from around the boulder, he didn’t have much time before the silencing part of the spell wore off. It was ready to breathe fire again, knowing he’d gone in this direction, probably hearing his heart pounding against his ribcage.

Calm... he frowned a let out an incredulous breath as it prowled forward and he lifted his wand making slow, gentle movements like ocean waves. If it failed, at least he had a backup. He trusted Hermione oddly enough.

Pacem,  he thought, moving his wand back and forth soft large pulses of golden light drifted over the dragon, like waves crashing on the shore.

Hermione held her breath watching the waves flow through the air, growing steadily larger and settling over the Horntail that seemed to be dazed for a moment, closing its mouth. She grinned slowly watching him. While the spell was meant for people and creatures no bigger than a centaur, enough concentration and the strength of a dragon heartstring core wand was more than enough to make it effective but not intrusive.

It seemed to relax as Viktor kept the motion up and walked towards the other side of the stadium, golden egg in his hand and slowly easing the dragon back to its nest even as the silencing began to wear off, he walked as fast as possible towards where he’d entered. The dragon crawled back into its nest, blowing fire on its eggs as Viktor began to hear his footsteps and walked backward out of the arena. When he was safely beyond the entry point, the stadium went up in cheers, the voices of Durmstrang roaring through the arena and Viktor walked backward, still shell-shocked from the entire experience before he suddenly had an arm full of Hermione, speaking quick, happy Greek. He dropped the egg, laughing and spinning her around as she squeezed him tightly.

Viktor laughed, spinning her around, “You amazing girl! How did you know that would work?”

Hermione chuckled pulling back, “Wand Theory.”

“What?” Viktor asked looking at her incredulous.

She’d read a book on wand theory because she wanted to understand how her wand would react with certain spells. She’d even talked to Ollivander at length about it. As a rule, dragon heartstrings produced wands with the most power and they tended to learn more quickly than other types. They were a bit temperamental because of the power and the residual dragon magic, but being chosen by a dragon core wand was basically like marking you as a having a spiritual kinship with them.

“A dragon heart, if you will,” she said. “Or soul, at the least the dragon core respects you.”

The Pacem spell actually dated back to the Giant Wars. It didn’t work for most the way it was intended to work, but considering Viktor’s strength, the strength of his wand, and the Horntail’s nervous system, it shouldn’t have been a problem if he could keep it up. Hungarian Horntails felt the smallest vibrations because of their exoskeleton. That’s what made them such great flyers, being able to feel the wind currents and being so aerodynamic. Pacem was a powerful but gentle spell like wind’s breeze that would soothe not only the mind but the body of the dragon as well.

“So of course it worked,” she said.

Viktor chuckled at her, not understanding half of the theory she just laid at his feet but pulling her into a tighter hug and lifting her from the ground causing her to hug him back and shriek in surprise.

“I owe you so much chocolate,” he said spinning her around and making her laugh before they heard the sound of a photograph being taken. He set her down and they looked to see Rita Skeeter there with her quick notes quill looking as smug as ever as Viktor’s expression went from happy to annoyed.

“Ah, young love.”

*

Viktor sat on his bed, scratching through lines in his parchment.

I dream of touching you, your hand in mine

I dream

I speak

I--

He huffed setting it aside before looking at the two-sided letter he’d finished reading from her. Wishing him well, telling him what she’d figured out, a theory about the journal. So far, she’d surmised that the journal did have magical properties and was under some sort of enchantment. Beyond that, it wasn’t written by one hand, but by two very distinct voices that persisted through the ages on the pages. She guessed it may have once been a means to communicate maybe between two soulmates who were always apart. It was horribly sad and as he sat trying to get the words out that seemed to be slipping through his fingers his vision misted over.

In his hands wasn’t free parchment but a journal opened to a blank page, an ink-dipped quill in his hand and he wrote:

I sing of you, my Athena, defender of the city who with me attended to matters of state and war. Who I cannot hold in daylight, but by night wrap in arms of love.

My Athena…

My love…

My soul and heart…

Forgive me for I can not return to you in this life. Perhaps in the next, I will find a way to repay this life’s cruelties in sweetness. Yet, I know you will march ahead, cut through our enemies and we will be together in the next life as we could not be in this one.

Until our next meeting, my love.

Hephaestus of Athens

*

Tonight, she’s hoping for an easy practice, but. of course, it can never be that simple as the dueling room had apparently been double booked between them and the Hufflepuffs.

“Aren’t you enough of a traitor?” one of the girls asked. “Shouldn’t you be helping the enemy?”

Hermione groaned since when were Hufflepuff girls so mean ? The door opened, a few members of the Slytherin team-leading Igor and a few Durmstrang boys inside.

“Oh look, the Gryffins and the ‘Puffs.”

“Let’s just find somewhere else--”

“We booked the room first,” Marco started and she could have killed him for it. Why did Henry have to be sick today of all days? If he was here, then she wouldn't have to be the sole voice of reason.

“Liar!”

Hermione held up her hands, “We are going to duel in February do we really need to fight now?”

“I say we duel for it,” Penelope Wright said glaring at her.

Hermione groaned as she made mention of everyone’s favorite phrase as of the end of November: Traitor Granger.

“This should be interesting,” A Slytherin said leading the group towards a space to spectate. Viktor winced looking at Hermione who looked more annoyed than ready to fight.

“Are you going to let her talk to you like that, Granger?” Marco asked. “A Hufflepuff?”

“What about it at least we’re loyal! She wouldn’t know what loyal meant if it pulled her stupid frizzy hair.”

Hermione sighed, rubbing at her eyes, she was due for another potion perhaps or maybe she was just metabolizing it faster now. Either way, she felt the edges of a rather mean mania coming on. One that would potentially put Penelope out of the running for the next match, if she kept talking.

It was rather funny the way the other Hermione was sometimes. Impulsive, over-active, and almost unforgiving, when she was angry, she’d rain down fire and scorch the world if this Hermione let her. At the moment, she was considering not stopping her.

“There are other places to practice.”

“Scared I’ll wipe the floor with you?” She challenged. “Let’s face it, Granger, you’re not that special. You have a weird stance and you’re quick on the draw, but that’s about it.”

Hermione looked at Penelope and then to the team captain, “I liked Ivory better.”

Penelope took off her cloak, “Come on then unless your little muggle-born sensibilities can’t handle a real challenge.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Ten sickles on Wright,” someone from Hufflepuff said.

“Come on Granger you can’t back out now,” Marco said.

“I didn’t start this,” Hermione said. “And we’ll be dueling them in less than a few months! Can we not put our egos aside until then?”

“Well, I guess you can just forfeit,” Penelope said. “Wonder what Viktor will think of you when you do?”

This... she quieted the voice that was pushing at her teeth and settled for changing her stance. Viktor tilted his head officially interested. Hermione always had a rather neutral stance, shoulders back, good posture, but this… This was something like attitude and sensuality, a hand on her hip, a slight to her posture and the beginnings of a rather wicked smirk on her lips.

She looked downright dangerous and Viktor quite liked this version of Hermione.

“I’m pretty sure he’ll think the same thing he thought before ,” she said wryly. “And you haven’t issued a challenge, you’re just talking.”

She took off her dueling glove and threw it at Hermione, hitting her square in the chest. Hermione’s eyes narrowed a bit, she licked her lips and raised an eyebrow with the tilt of her head.

Something in him told him he should save the stupid Hufflepuff girl from herself, but he couldn’t seem to look away from this new side to Hermione, who was always so very polite and neutral, even when she was putting Igor in his place.

“Let’s go Granger so everyone can see exactly how incredibly unremarkable you are,” she said. “ Traitor. ”

Hermione let out a sigh regarding the glove on the ground. It seemed like that was the general consensus around the school that she was a traitor for helping Viktor win, for not betraying the magical contract she’d been forced into and helping Cedric, even though they didn’t know one another really.

She’d placed her right hand on her hip to keep her from grabbing her wand and blasting Penelope until she cried. The other Hermione had a rather vindictive side. When given the choice, she wasn’t exactly all books, energy, and smiles.

“Hermione’s right,” Violet said. “There are other places to practice.”

“Stay out of this you little runt.”

Hermione stepped in front of her as Penelope glared at Violet. There went all hope of not getting involved with this. If manic Hermione was energy and violent tendencies, then this Hermione was the cold, calculating rage, the kind of vengeance that no one truly wanted.

“You don’t talk to her like that.”

“Afraid that your little fan will find out exactly how pathetic you are and start looking up to a real witch?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, gripping her hand.

“A real witch worthy of being here. You’re nothing but a pathetic muggle born who thinks she has talent. I come from a long line of accomplished duelists. Your parents probably don't even know what dueling is. I bet you’re sleeping with your whole team.”

Violet’s eyes widened and the entirety of Durmstrang took in a breath. Hermione’s shoulders squared.

“Assuming that anyone would give you the time of day,” Penelope said looking at Violet with a disgusted shake of her head. “You shouldn’t look up to girls like her. Traitor, whore-- I wouldn’t be surprised if she was even--”

“Enough,” Hermione said, waving her left hand so the glove floated up into her hand, shocking some of the Durmstrang students. It was rare to perform even small acts of wandless, wordless magic at her age. She tossed it back to Penelope and walked up the few steps onto the dueling strip.

“Officiator,” she ordered as she pulled her wand out with her left hand. “Rules.”

Violet winced coming up to the edge of the strip, “Hermione? Are you sure?”

“You don’t talk to Violet like that,” Hermione said. “At her, in front of her or any of my team members. You want a lesson in respect? I’ll give you one.”

Violet glared at Marco, “This is is all your fault!”

Marco rolled his eyes, “It’s just a duel.”

“Not when she uses her left hand!”

Marco paled looking up at Hermione who was, in fact, holding her wand in her left hand. They called it her Ace hand, her secret weapon that she had never really used in a dueling match. 

“Erm, Hermione? Ace?” Anthony asked. “Perhaps we should just calm down?”

Hermione turned her head slowly to him and he jumped back at her expression, “Right… well...I’m gonna go… find Henry maybe?”

He left, running out the room.

“Officiator,” Hermione repeated. “Rules.”

Marco stepped up and began the normal spiel about the dueling rules. The Durmstrang boys chatted between them and Viktor took her in standing straight, it would be interesting to see her duel.

“Do you comply?” Marco asked.

“Yes,” the two girls answered walking towards the center of the dueling strip. Hermione in her Durmstrang uniform, Penelope in her Hogwarts uniform. Hermione curtsied though Penelope didn’t give her the same courtesy. She raised her wand arm and Hermione raised her wand in her left hand before lowering it and walking to her end of the dueling strip.

When she took her stance, Viktor’s heart stopped and the world shifted to the heat of a desert, humid by the sea. That stance…

“She does not duel like English,” someone whispered. “I’ve never seen that style before.”

Viktor had, like a memory from a lifetime past but he couldn’t put his finger on the why it seemed familiar.

“On your mark--”

“Flipendo!” Penelope cried out earning Hermione’s swift movement around the blast and follow-through with a blast of her own sending the girl flying back and cracking the window before she fell into a heap on the ground.

Hermione slid her wand into her holster, curtsied and walked off the dueling strip.

“There are other places to practice,” Hermione said looking at Marco meaningfully before walking to where Penelope lay in a heap.

She waved her hand over the girl in a thick blue blanket of light.

“Levitate her to the Infirmary, she should be fine by morning.”

“She is fast,” Viktor said watching her give one of her team members a meaningful look before leading the short procession out of the door.

“And angry,” someone said. “I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of her wand.”

Viktor shook his head. Neither would he. He also hoped, beyond hope that Penelope was not the girl he’d been writing to.

After her practice was over, she walked to the library to find Viktor sitting at one of the tables alone and a gaggle of giggling girls peering from behind a bookcase at him.

“You’re angry,” he said in Greek, looking up at her. “The room got several degrees hotter when you got near.”

“Hah, hah,” she snarked and took a seat. “Very funny.”

“I am a genius,” he said easily as she grabbed a book and opened it.

“How far along are you?” She asked. “Anything?”

He shrugged, “Theories maybe. I do not want to hear the screeching again.”

“That’s fair.”

“Thank you,” Viktor said looking across the table at her.

“For what?”

“Being loyal.”

She blinked and laughed, “Here I was hoping that you were only pretending to pay attention.”

“All of Durmstrang is grateful.”

“Even Karkaroff?”

“He is the High Master, not Durmstrang.”

Hermione nodded, “Thanks… You have those lists?”

Viktor nodded sliding the pages across the table, “I’m on it, champ.”

Viktor snorted and watched her wander off to find the books on the list. He watched her for a moment, curious as she wandered through the shelves. At least she was making them levitate in a stack after her rather than lugging them around. It had taken a great deal of arguing to get her to do that much. She was such a wonder sometimes.

“ Mila, ” he called out seeing her begin to stack books in her arms. “Ne.”

She huffed at him and set them on the growing stack, sticking her tongue out at him and continuing down the sections. He laughed before looking back to his notes on the egg and licking his lips. His eyes flickered up to see her reaching high over her head for a book and he stood up and went to her and grabbed the book off the shelf.

“One day, you will hurt yourself.” He said eyeing the stack. “And I am pretty sure there were only six books on the list.”

“I… got distracted,” she said. “And they’re all relevant!”

Viktor lifted an eyebrow at her and set the book on top of the tall stack, stepping forward to crowd her back against a row of books. Her eyes are so open, staring up at him and confused, probably shaking at their proximity and nervous. It makes him want to--

“These are enough, for now, mila, ” he said affectionately. “We will have to sleep tonight after all.”

He turned then, backing away from her before he gave himself away and trying to push these rather confused feelings away. Hermione was at the very least inexperienced, but the way she’d reacted to him crowding into her space had been enough to tell him that it wasn’t because there was no interest. Never mind that he was having these dreams that clearly meant something and the crushing ache at the thought that Biblio-logical, this voice from the void whom he may never meet and knew more about him than many, was probably not his soulmate.

“Viktor,” she said drawing him out his thoughts as the books separated themselves between the two of them.

“Da?” He asked and her lips twitched.

“You… know pretty much everyone on your school’s Quidditch team don’t you?”She asked tentatively.

“Da,” he said. “You have a question?”

“Well… it isn’t one I can really ask but… Well I’ve been writing to one of them,” she said worrying her lip, trying not to give too much away, because how much more embarrassing would that be? “Are they all… rather nice in person?”

“Da,” he said with a shake of his head. “They are foolish sometimes, but they are good men, like brothers.”

She let out a breath and nodded, “That’s good to know.”

“You have not met the one you write to?”

She shook her head, “I’m… rather nervous.”

“Why?”

She shook her head, “It’s… silly sort of. I’m just… I wonder if perhaps I’m not what he’s expecting maybe? We’ve been writing to one another for years and I feel like I know him, but the person I am on the page doesn’t exactly match up with who I am.”

Viktor hummed, “I don’t think that’s true. Unless you have told him several rather large lies.”

She glowered at him, “I would never.”

“You are worried that he envisions someone who does not look like you?’

She nodded quietly and sighed.

“I have no words of comfort,” Viktor said. “I… have a girl I write to, a woman here at Hogwarts who is frightened to meet me in person and I am honestly frightened as well.”

“Why?”

“Words on a page are far more honest in some ways, but they are not the complete truth. I don’t think I could… handle if she were to reject me in person.”

Hermione’s lips twitched, “Sounds like we’ve got more in common than our wand cores.”

He chuckled, “Da.”

“Could you teach me Bulgarian?” She asked. “I’ve… read a bit, I know words but I don’t know how to pronounce them.”

Viktor smirked, “He’s from Bulgaria?”

Her eyes narrowed, “Keep it to yourself.”

“On my honor,” he said. “I would not betray you, though now I am curious.”

A lot of the Quidditch team was Bulgarian and they all kept writing to their assigned people though they didn’t share much about them. He wished it was a little easier to narrow down, but he’d figure something out

“I will teach you, mila,” Viktor said with a smile. “Though I must warn you, Bulgarian men have a weakness for their home language… so pardon me if I stare at you.”

Hermione laughed, “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”

“I would not say so,” he said. “You have a beautiful voice in Greek.”

Hermione cleared her throat and he thought it strange had no one ever told her that? Complimented her?

“What about your girl?”

“She is a duelist,” he said. “But she is not in Slytherin.”

She huffed, “Well that narrows it down considerably.”

“Da,” he said with ease. “He would be a fool not to love you.”

Hermione blinked, confused and taken aback by the ease of his tone. It just didn’t fit with the intensity of his eyes looking at her. He was so... intense that she had to look away or she would say something stupid like…

“Why do you not want to be seen?”

It was Viktor’s turn to be surprised but he waited for her to explain after she tried her best to hide in her book.

“N-Never mind--”

Viktor caught her chin on the edge of his hand and tilted it up so their eyes met, “Do not hide from me.”

Her eyes flutter and heat pooled in his stomach, making his blood race. When was the last time someone had looked at him like that? Utterly…

Laid bare. He drew back slowly, letting his finger drag along the underside of her chin. She was dangerous. She would be dangerous if he let her.

“You asked a question, what do you mean?”

“You… hunch, but it isn’t bad posture, it’s… purposeful. I’ve seen you on a broom and you like to try and disappear into the corner of rooms… You’re… like six feet tall aren’t you?”

He swallowed, “I’m six-four.”

Her eyes widened and dragged over him, “Right...So why?”

“How would you feel if the entire world felt the need to watch every move you ever made?”

Hermione worried her lip and looked down, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have--”

Viktor reached out, placed a hand on hers, quieting her with the touch and warmth of his hand radiating up his arm.

“Shh, mila, ” he said. “There’s no need to be flustered. There’s no question you would ask that would make me angry.”

She blinked at him, a little confused at his wording but then his hand was gone and she had to swallow a desperate sound that surprised her in its existence. He gave her a smile and waited until she went back to reading to drop the smile and return to his book less he have a rather embarrassing problem that he couldn’t really get rid of easily. For a moment, he wondered if Hermione was as inexperienced in all the ways he thought… then if Biblio-logical was too… What she would think of the other things about him that he could not tell her in letters.

“I’m going to head to bed,” she said standing. “Think I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“Will you sleep?”

She shrugged, “Probably not. You?”

Viktor nodded, “It will be difficult.”

“Maybe you can talk to your girl,” she said with a smile, picking up her stack of books.

“Mila!” He said reprimanding her as she shoved her books in her bag and went to go check them out.

If I could, I would turn her over my knee, the through shocked him with how much he realized that he wanted to turn her over his knee. Spank her until she cried… until she came… until she was just a writhing, pleading mess in his lap. He closed his eyes and put his books in his bag, rolled up his parchments and headed out of the library as quickly as possible so no one would notice exactly how much he was trying to hide the raging hard outline in his trousers, thankful that the length of his tunic added a bit of decency until he arrived back at the ship and sat on his bed, trying to ease the reaction down and breathe through it.

When her letter appeared, he prayed that within it would be something that wouldn’t make it worse. It was mostly honest and innocent, telling him about one of the dreams she'd had and in so much detail. It didn't align with anything he'd dreamed, but it also was too sensual. Innocent, intimate but it was enough to fry his brain. He knew that the greatest turn on for him had always been intimacy. It was why he'd never managed to pick up a Quidditch groupie, why Olivia and he, then Anastasia and he, worked so well. This was different, this dream she'd relayed to him. Skin to skin speaking soft praises, whispers against the soul, gentle. Hands so very strong so gentle on pulse points, hot breath grazing just behind and soft sighs of contentment that she was real, tangible in someone’s arms.

By the Gods, was he grateful that he had his own cabin. By the time he finished reading her letter he was so hot, bothered, and otherwise turned on he couldn’t do much else but cast a silencing ward on the entire cabin, get his pants down and close his eyes.

It feels like a race with his sanity, with his moans filling the eerie quiet of the room and it’s her face. Hermione’s face looking at him from the edge of his hand that does it. The rush clears the heat from his mind, but it’s bittersweet. Something like a ruined orgasm but not quite that meaningful.

Hermione wasn’t the girl he’d come to know.

What if they were nothing alike?

What if Biblio-logical didn’t even want him that way?

What if she didn’t want him at all?

And Hermione already had a love interest--

He groaned. Fuck his life.

Chapter Text

Hermione climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor tower and wished more than anything that there was a letter from Dragonheart to lift her spirits. She was a duelist, but she’d never encountered so many hexes in the corridors. She would get that evil Rita Skeeter if it was the last thing she did. Hexed mail rained down on her head, hexes during lunch, during breakfast and dinner, on the way to classes. Meanwhile, Viktor’s fan base seemed to have grown, following him around during his workouts on the grounds, annoying him to no end.

Karkaroff was even more of a state than usual. Sure, Viktor had cleared the first task with a perfect score, but the idea of having her name and Viktor’s connected in the papers had driven the man back into his hateful demeanor and quite honestly she didn’t care.

“At least you’re getting practice?” Faye said as she came into the room.

“I can’t even take a bath in peace,” she said, crawling into bed and laying down.

“Pennyworth?”

She snorted, “Johnson actually.”

Faye nodded in sympathy, “At least Lavender and Padma aren’t talking to you anymore.”

“Saving grace,” it seemed that the entire female population had wigged out after the article about her and Viktor's apparent love affair, calling her all sorts of nasty things in the bathrooms, trying to hex her as much as possible. Viktor had been apologetic, offering her chocolate, per their bet, but even more in apology.

"I'm sorry my fans are crazy," he'd said offering a box of Swedish chocolate covered pecans. 

It was a sweet gesture, literally and figuratively, but there was nothing he could really do besides try to avoid the silly girls who followed him around and threw knickers at him in the library. She still laughed about that and cried out to the heavens when the letter appeared.

“Your boyfriend?” Helena teased and Hermione glowered at her.

“Hush up you, both.”

“Come on Hermione,” Faye said bouncing onto her bed, “Humor us? Just this once?”

Hermione looked at her and rolled her eyes opening the letter which prompted Helena to go get Ginny. It was rather odd to be surrounded by three teenage girls wanting to hear about the very friendly correspondence she and Dragonheart traded.

“You’re going to be disappointed,” Hermione said.

“Doubt it,” Ginny said scrambling in with Helena to climb onto the bed as Hermione sat up and began to read.

“ Your Hermione Granger has become quite the hit with us-- ”

Ginny grinned and nudged her, “Go on now. Don’t leave us in suspense!”

“ Viktor thinks very highly of her and it helps that she puts the demon in his place. I don’t believe I’ve seen everyone is such a good mood with Karkaroff in such a state. You would think he’d be happy that Viktor has finished first! Apparently thanks to your Ms. Granger. There was a bet involving chocolate about the shield charm over the eggs which he gracefully lost. If you know her, I hope she’s enjoying them.

I’m not sure what to think. I thought the book was one of poems from all the translations, but I do not have the knowledge of ancient languages that you do. I wrote home to ask my grandmother about it and she directed me to a book in the library, I’ve put the title below, but from what I gathered, there may be some truth to your theory. As for your dreams, I would wager that you are a reincarnation of the woman who’s life you step into and out of. Perhaps the man in your dream is your soulmate.

Honestly, I'm rather jealous of this man in your visions. Forgive me if this seems out of turn, but I don't think, being this close to you after years of being so far away and wondering what you sound like, how you laugh, that there's any reason to as you say, beat around the bush. Is it wrong to say that I wish it was me? ”

Her jaw dropped as they squealed and nudged her, “Go on! Go on!”

“I assure you this isn’t the usual nature of these letters!”

“Don’t care, keep reading!”

“ From what you’ve told me, I know it is not. My latest dream was of a tomb, pressing a block into place, but it was not a pyramid, but an old Greek burial tomb, marked with the epithet “Lady of Athens” and a name I could not read. I’ve never had such a surreal dream before, I woke up sore. I have others, but this is the first time that there were any words. There is one that recurs, growing longer every time. The last time I had it, I was standing the Parthenon in Athens, there is a woman standing at the window, dark curly hair, a white toga over dark skin. There’s armor and other weaponry to her left as she looks out among the billowing curtains. I walk up behind her and press a kiss to her neck, then her bare shoulder, arms sliding down her shoulders and around her waist and take in the scent of her. She’s so beautiful and I haven’t even seen her yet.  The wind smells like the Mediterranean, the spices and warm of the coast drifting on the wind. The sun rising slowly in the distance.  In the distance, I could almost make out Egypt and its glorious pyramids. I tell her that she should have still been in bed. That I love her. That I want to come home to her more than anything. We had only just found one another, only just began what was rightfully supposed to be our lives together. In secret, sure, but it would have been ours.

But I know there is no chance to delay the inevitable. So I rock her, pulling her against me, feeling her warmth and trying to commit it to memory until she stops shaking. I know I will go soon and there’s a good chance that I won’t ever return. If I do, it will not be with victory. It is unfair, it’s the only thing I can think. Whoever this woman is, whatever we are, we had waited for centuries to be together, it isn’t fair that we have to wait longer.  I don’t want to, but I have no choice. So I press a kiss to her cheek, slow to separate and turn before I betray whatever oath I have sworn that makes me leave her.

She says something that I can’t understand as I get dressed for battle, the shield, sword, and leather armor near the door. The other set, hers I think, remained untouched.

I tell her always, so I assume she asked me if I would come back to her. I force myself to leave and not look back because I want...so much not to go and it hurts too much to think that I would not see her in this lifetime again.

I woke up in a bitter pain that I can’t explain.”

Her hand went to her heart as she read over the words again, being sure she wasn't crazy. It was her dream, nearly image for image but she breathed. It could have been a coincidence, it could not be the same place, men leaving their loved ones for war wasn't strange and the only thing she knew of the room had been the color of the stone framing the window. It had been a distinct green and blue like the Dead Sea at noon.

She licked her lips and continued reading.

"I don't believe I've ever seen rock the color of the Dead Sea before, I went looking for it and found it one of the books in the Hogwarts library. It's apparently a special kind of crystal that can hold large amounts of protective and illusory magic. I have to assume that the woman was Athena. I have not seen her face, but I get the feeling that we are happy in those moments together. Having said all of this, I'm rather jealous of the man in your dreams, after all, he probably hasn't even met you yet.

No matter, I'm a gentleman I can take defeat with grace. I still wish to meet you and have a proposition. I know how you worry for what will become of our relationship if we meet. I wish to make it a when even if we never speak again after. I don't think we wrote for four years of things that perhaps not even our families know to voices in the void to be stopped by fear. 

Will you go with me to the Yule Ball? 

We could meet at the entrance before the beginning or in the crowd. It will not matter to me either way, even if it is only briefly. I wish to meet you in person to have a face to go with the years between us.

Think on it. Get some sleep, mila.”

She looked up a little dumbfounded.

"What exactly do you talk about that prompts him to basically confess undying love for you?" Helena asked.

"Everything..."

"What's wrong?" Ginny asked. "Other than your letter boyfriend apparently has a soulmate that isn't you."

"I've had that dream...several times over the last few years."

Faye squealed first surprising them all.

"He's your soulmate!"

"You don't know that, " Hermione hedged. "Magic is strange that way. I'm not even--"

"Hermione Jean Granger do not start backing out because you're afraid!" Ginny said. "You have major chemistry with this guy and even if he isn't that isn't a reason not to give it a try. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Horrible embarrassment, humiliation, rejection, and any other variation of a frighteningly devastating blow to my already fragile self-esteem,” Hermione said looking at the letter.

They’re taken aback for a moment. Hermione’s voice had lost all sense of inflection, no sarcasm, her expression went blank, like a younger, darker version of Snape. She could have been announcing the weather with that voice, but the words speak of a terror that is unfathomable.

“Hermione,” Ginny started. “Are you… okay?”

She folded the letter and pulled her knees to her chest.

“I’m fine.”

Faye and Helena traded glances and without a moment’s more of preamble crawled up to the top of the bed to sit on either side of her, slinging arms around her shoulders and leaning their heads together. Hermione isn’t sure what’s happening, but a part of her relaxes at the touch, shaking a bit. She'd have to research the effects of touch between witches and wizards.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Faye said. “This isn’t the same as dueling, so we’re not going to say what you tell the first years.”

She chuckled a bit, “No… I suppose not.”

“But think on it,” Helena said softly. “And if you want to talk we’re here.”

Hermione nodded slowly, “Thanks.”

She heard the curfew bell chime and sighed, “I should get some sleep. Early morning training with the champion.”

Ginny smiled, “Yeah? We’ll be sure to put that on your talk about later list too.”

She laughed and nodded before getting up to walk Giny back to her room and accept an almost too tight hug from her.

“It’s okay,” Ginny told her. “Everything will be just fine.”

Hermione nodded and sighed before heading back to her room and crawling into bed. She hoped for sleep and it came, but it was anything but restful. No dreams, no nightmares, just an unnerving darkness around her and her own voice speaking to her, screaming, trembling, crying all around her. Wanting peace, wanting answers, wanting sleep, wanting, wanting, wanting…

When she woke up, she isn’t even sure how she managed to do so give her odd state of sleep, but she got up, cleaned herself up and got dressed for a workout before heading towards the dock to find Viktor and another Durmstrang student engaging in some sort of martial arts. Something in between wrestling and boxing. It’s a primal dance between the two making her vision blur, the heat of the air on her face as two bodies fight before her. She can’t see the winner’s face as he’s turned away from her, but she’s clapping in this vision as he raises his fist in victory, naked. As the vision melts away and the victor cheers in triumph, she realizes that it had to have been a Greek contest, the man who’d won was the man in all of her other visions.

“Hermione,” he greeted coming over to her, shaking her out of her thoughts.

“Good morning,” she greeted in chipper Greek, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That looked like fun…”

“It was...are you okay? You look troubled, mila.”

She nodded, “Just… a sort of restless night. I’m fine. Martial arts today?”

Viktor hummed, “It’s usual for Durmstrang students.”

“Well, I guess you should teach me then,” she said. “Honorary and all.”

Viktor regarded her, something told him that he should press, but he let it go considering that they didn’t truly know each other very well. The other boys of Durmstrang came out laughing, teasing Milo who glowered, yet seemed thankful that he was among people who spoke his language. They waved to her calling out to her in greeting before pairing up leaving Viktor with her.

“First, hit me.”

“What?”

“Hard as you can,” Viktor said. “I need to know how well you fight now.”

Hermione winced but stepped back and pulled her punch, “This is crazy!”

“I will be fine, mila,” Viktor said. “I have been hit by bigger people. As hard as you can.”

Hermione sighed, “Alright…”

She took a deep breath, stepped back and raised her fists, recalling Hermes’s coaching. Just below the ribcage and angle up. She felt the odd feeling of magic over her knuckles and turned into the punch effectively knocking the air out of Viktor’s diaphragm and causing him to cough, stepping back and holding up his hand. The rest of the boys looked over as she winced and collapsed to the ground trying to breathe around the nausea that had come just with the pain.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean-- oh my god, sit down, just breathe if you can. I’ll fix it! I promise!”

Viktor panted, curling into himself to try and make sense of the pain before looking at her worried face, talking to him her wand out to tease the ache away as he managed to take a full breath. For a moment, she looks world different, a diadem on her brown, a sphendone tying back her hair and her glowing hand reaching out to him. 

He thinks Hestia and as the pain fades he manages to breathe and then laugh.

“You are rather strong, mila.”

“I’m sorry! My grandfather taught me to defend myself then I got this book on ancient wizarding boxing and Heraklesian theory and I wanted to try it and--”

He placed a hand over her mouth, giving her an amused look, “You are beautiful when you babble. It is rather distracting.”

Her mouth snapped shut and she drew back as he stood and stretched, offering a hand to help her up she took it timidly as Vlad came over.

“You are okay?” Vlad asked Viktor looking between the two of them.

He grinned and shook his head, patting Hermione on the shoulder, “She is stronger than she looks and a cheater.”

Vlad looked at her suspiciously then to Viktor’s face. Hermione frowned working out the word…

“I am not a cheater!” Hermione cried in indignant Greek earning Viktor’s laugh. “You said as hard as I could!”

“Did not mean Herakles,” Viktor said nodding at her and looking at Vlad. “She read technique in book and decide to try on me-- cheater.”

Hermione glared at him and his English as Vlad smirked at her, “You said you’d be fine! I didn’t know and I fixed you! I’m sorry!”

Vlad smiled and looked at Viktor, leaning close to whisper in Bulgarian, “You like her upset don’t you?”

Viktor shook his head, his eyes looking at Hermione, “There is a fire in her eyes. It’s rather addicting.”

Vlad laughed and went back to tell the rest of them that he was perfectly fine and that he was goading her before Viktor looked back at Hermione who looked thoroughly repentant, shuffling her shoes.

“I’m sorry.”

He smiled, “It’s okay, mila. It hurt, but that was the point.”

Hermione looked up at him warily, “You… don’t think it’s weird?”

He scoffed, “No. It’s good your grandfather taught you to defend yourself. Good that you can defend yourself magically and not, but you’ll have to teach me that.”

“Only if you teach me that kick from earlier,” she challenged.

“Deal.”

Viktor walked her through the preparation for the kick, telling her that he back leg was where most of the leaping power would come from, moving her into position, hand on her shoulder, the other on her wrist before mirroring her position and walking her through it physically.

The first time she fell backward. The second time she fell into a split. The third time she managed the full kick, but lost control at the end and ran into him.

“Sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Viktor said steadying her and looking down at her.

They were so dangerous, her eyes, that luscious mouth that was parted looking up at him. He closed his eyes and released her, stopping himself before he did something to offend her or betray himself. Hermione cleared her throat and went about explaining the theory behind the technique, like a shield charm cast right on top of your skin and a jolt of pure power.

“Like metabolizing magic, or an accelerant charm, it gives you explosive power and shields your body from the opposing force. The witch who wrote about it had a theory that this was how Herakles built his name.”

He smiled listening to her go on about what she’d read, her own thoughts behind it and walking him through the focusing process she used to conjure the shield.

“I’ve only been able to use it on my fists when I’m punching, but I think it has potential to do more.”

It was non-verbal and wandless so it required a bit more concentration, but it was enormously effective. They practice a little bit, getting Viktor to try and conjure the shield over a fist, but to no avail. He can’t explain how much it bothers him to fail at it, but when he’s staring at his fist and glaring at it through most of breakfast she nudged him.

“Take it easy or you’ll blow a gasket,” she said in English earning a roar of laughter down the table. He glowered at her, slinging an arm around her neck and tugging her close to speak in low, dark Greek.

“It’s not nice to tease,” he said.

She jolted away from him as he grinned at her. She shoved him earning a laugh and comments from down the table.

“They say you should be careful--International Viktor is dangerous.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “One Hit Knock Out Viktor, maybe.”

They laughed as did Viktor, cheering her comeback and her superior smirk as Viktor ran his tongue along his teeth, grinning at her and staring at her in a way that was a little too intense.

“I am more of a lover, not a fighter,” he said in almost purring Greek.

“Does that line work on anyone?” Hermione asked, trying to keep her stomach from jumping everywhere. “And as you said, it isn’t nice to tease.”

“I’m not,” he said and Hermione officially threw in the towel. It was one thing to toss insults back and forth with Ron or any of the boys of Gryffindor, but she was pretty sure that the game Viktor was playing was well beyond her skill level. She ate, stood up and grabbed her bag, careful to tug her tunic down as she got up.

“I am gracefully bowing out of this match,” Hermione announced, patting him on the shoulder. “Later boys.”

“Wait,” someone called out. “You come with us to Hogsmeade yes? We have no idea where to go.”

Hermione shrugged, “Sure. I’ll meet you by the courtyard around noon?”

“Da! Thank you!”

She waved them goodbye, tugging a book from her bag to read on the way to class and settled in easily enough. She sees Viktor again in the dueling class but she’s distracted by the younger students about how to cast spells and accurately hit their targets. She demonstrated for them.

“It’s mostly in the wrist and enunciation,” she said showing them the movement then casting the spell at the dueling dummy so its wand went flying away. She summoned it back and watched them try.

“You are a good teacher,” Viktor said coming up behind her at the end of class.

“So are you,” she said. “I think they adore you.”

“Yes, when girls are not giggling.”

Hermione pouted, “Poor baby.”

*

That night, Viktor stands on the docks to read his letter in the cool wind.

I’m glad to hear that Hermione has become so popular with you all, her having to wear the uniform and whatnot. From what I hear, she enjoyed the chocolate far more than being right. She is having a rather difficult time since helping Viktor win the first task. Her loyalty to Hogwarts is under question and a few people have said some rather nasty things to her, but she’s Hermione so you’ll never really know if it’s bothering her, just that she’ll tough it out.

The dream you speak of sounds a lot like the one that I’ve had at least once a week or so since coming to Hogwarts.

His hands tightened, his heart racing.

That being said, I am not yet seventeen so anything is possible. I debated on whether to tell you this because I thought perhaps it would make you more persistent to meet me. I don’t want to lose our friendship over something that’s a potential. I don’t want to lose our friendship at all and I fear that if we do meet, I won’t be up to whatever image you’ve conjured in your mind reading these letters. As usual, it has everything to do with me and my abysmal lack of self-esteem. Don’t take it personally, Dragonheart.  You’ve been absolutely wonderful to me when I so desperately needed it,  There isn’t a thing in the world that I would give this up for.  I just need time to think.

I will think on your proposition. If it is not too much of a burden to ask for time.

Best,

Biblio-logical.

Viktor let out a breath into the night wind. At least it wasn’t a no.

Chapter Text

Viktor walked in to see nothing, but heard a rhythmic thumping. He frowned, closing the door and looking around. Igor was still in the Great Hall meaning…

“Hermione?” he called, looking around. “Where are you?”

The thumping continued and he frown casting disenchantment spells as he followed the sound until the spell broke over her. It’s the sound of hyperventilating and struggling breaths, sobs, and Hermione’s voice that greets him. Still in her Durmstrang uniform, her bag beside her as she rocked.

“ It’s okay, Mia… It’s okay… Just breathe, Mia. Breathe… It won’t happen again...”

“Hermione?”

“Don’t look!” Hermione screamed, cowering. “Please, I--”

Viktor caught her frantic hands and held her wrists tightly, looking at her and watching the fresh batch of tears roll down her cheeks. Her eyes darted around his face frantically, unfocused, fearful. Usually a warm brown, she was pale with shock or terror--what the hell had happened to her?

“Mila,” he said softly. “Come here.”

She flinched and moved again, but he held her firmly, tugging her forward and rolling back to sit against the wall and pull her into his arms, between his legs. It’s slow and familiar for him, like stepping into a different world to have her curled up against him, an arm around her waist, a hand in her hair.

He summoned his cloak to wrap her in and rocked her, whispering soft, soothing Greek in her ear, coaxing her to breathe with him until she managed to calm down and sink into the warmth of his arms, too exhausted to do much else.

“Good girl,” he said as she relaxed against him and closed her eyes.

He let out a slow breath, trying to keep his voice even and giving her a bit of time to come back to reality from wherever she'd gone.

“Tell me what happened,” he said into the bulk of her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp and reveling in exactly how soft her curls were, how much there is of it, thick and curly… it looked amazing in his hands. He wondered what she would look like if he pulled it until her head tipped back, how her eyes would shine or go even darker. He wondered if her breath would catch or would she pant and squirm...

Focus Viktor, he chided, not that he hadn’t already slipped up. This was about her. It was always about the other person's comfort, he should know that by now.

“I can’t ever meet him,” she said softly, shaking her head. “I’m not… I can’t...I’d rather never know than face this.”

“Face what, mila?”

“He asked me to the Yule Ball…” she said softly. “But I… my own housemates don’t even want to--and I can’t… I flinch. I’m awkward. I can’t even stand them touching me I feel so exposed how am I supposed to meet him? This person who I’ve been spilling my soul to for years? I can’t… I can’t even--”

“Mila,” he chided, stroking her hair so she breathed through another hiccup. “You have to breathe. Tell me what happened.”

She let out a breath and told him about McGonagall’s House gathering to teach them the waltz. She’d never danced before and no one wanted to dance with her, it was an utterly humiliating nightmare. Minerva did her best, forcing them to pair up, pairing her with Harry, but she’d flinched away from him and after awhile, she was just too rigid for it to work no matter how he tried to make her relax. Harry had given a valiant effort, but with jeering and other words, she’d respectfully admitted defeat. Of course, being completely deplorable at it wasn’t helped at all by the fact that they wanted to make fun of her.

Graceful swan--more like a choking Erumphent.

I told you she’s mental.

Viktor listened stroking her hair and gathering that her anxiety attack wasn’t about dancing, it wasn’t about Harry or her housemates either. There was something else…

Mental , he thought, from the way she‘d said it, the way it had sounded like a sob all on its own. It was about the word mental .

If he remembered, it was an English term for “crazy” someone who was actually mentally unstable, but more often used as a derogatory term to mark behavior that wasn’t ordinary and mostly annoying.

“Hermione,” he started, tentatively, sure to keep his Greek steady and soothing. “It's...this word mental that bothered you most, isn’t it?”

Hermione flinched and went silent, her breath speeding up.

“I’m not mental,” she said in English, letting the world tumble out of her mouth faster than she could breathe. “I’m not mental .”

Viktor frowned listening to her repeat the sentence over and over again like a mantra that seemed to carry no power. The tears returned, the shaking and the lack of breath-- if anything it seemed to be making it worse, her eyes staring into her own hell.

He licked his lips and perhaps, in a total abuse of this power and the desire he had for her, he cast his voice low, and filled it with authority, commanding her to look at him. Her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his. He swallowed the grunt of desire at exactly how responsive she was. For the love of the gods, had it been so long that he had no sense of control?

“Good girl,” he said gently, stroking her face. “You are not mental.”

Her jaw trembled and he felt her relax a bit.

“You are not mental, beautiful curly haired girl,” he said. “They should feel lucky to have the chance to dance with you.”

She sniffled, easing into his touch, staring at him with eyes so open and honest, he wants… wants--

“You have anxieties; it’s normal,” he said, gruffly, swallowing what he really wanted to say. “This will be your first dance, won’t it?”

Hermione nodded slowly.

“Boys are cruel with no regard for people’s feelings but their own. Stupid, selfish and not worth your time. Perhaps you should hit them the way you hit me, it would at least shut them up.”

She laughed, nudging him, “Not funny.”

“But it made you smile,” Viktor said. “Mission accomplished. As for dancing, I can teach you.”

She looked up at him, “But...uh…”

“No buts, I must steal a dance now before you meet your correspondent and I never have the chance to whirl you around.”

He smirked, rubbing her back slowly, “Tomorrow if you’d like.”

“Thank you, Viktor,” she said looking up at him. “I’m not sure how to thank you.”

He grinned, “Let me teach you how to fly.”

She flinched, “Somehow… I knew you were going to say that.”

He laughed as she stood up and let out a breath, “You promise I won’t fall?”

“No,” Viktor said, tucking a curl behind her ear. “But I promise to catch you.”

She smiled at him and nodded, “I’ll take that.”

Viktor nodded and sighed walking her to the table and sitting down across from her. She moved to give him back his cloak, but he tightened it around her and told her to keep it until she was warm.

“Will you tell me… why “mental” is a trigger for you?”

She looked at him and let her eyes drift away, “Let’s… just say that it hits a little too close to home.”

He regarded her and nodded, “Okay.”

She looked at him, “You’re not going to pry?”

“You would tell me if you wanted me to know,” he said easily, grabbing for a book. “I am only grateful you let me comfort you when you obviously are not used to such luxuries.”

She looked down and fiddled with her hands, “You should know… I am, you know, supposed to help you and if something happens... “

“Don’t use this as a reason,” Viktor said. “If you don’t want to tell me, then don’t.”

She swallowed and let out a breath.

She shook her head, “I’ve never told anyone else as no one here really gets it…In the wizarding world, “madness”... being “mental” is a thing of whimsy, something related to all the greatest wizards… almost said affectionately to reference eccentricities.”

Viktor shook his head. He could see that.

“They don’t understand what… what it’s like… They think being odd is all there is to it…”

Viktor waited, watched her as she let out a breath.

“When I was little,” she started. “Like two or so… there was a boy on the playground.”

She let out a shuddering breath, watching the memory behind her vision as she looked at her hands. He’d been so very ugly with his sneering, pushing her around, shoving her down and sitting on her, spitting on her face yelling horrible things at her while kids jeered around her. She remembered that she’d cut herself on the way down. She remembered thinking that she shouldn’t cry because then he’d win, that’s what he wanted, for her to cry like the other girls did and she would never give him that satisfaction. He grabbed fistfuls of dirt trying to make her eat it, saying she was dirty so she should eat dirt.

“I punched him in the face,” she said. “And I didn’t stop.”

Viktor waited.

Hermes had come first, furious that there wasn’t a teacher around to watch them, to stop this with her in his arms trembling, silent and devoid of any reaction. She didn’t talk for days after, in or out of class, but the bullying kept up, made worse by her lack of reaction.

“My parents took me to every doctor they could and they gave me medicine. Anti-anxiety, anti-psychotics…”

Viktor frowned, he didn’t know much about muggle medicine, but he was pretty sure that what she was talking about shouldn’t have been happening.

“You… were two…”

She nodded, “When I was five, there was another incident. Much worse than the first, a different school, a group of boys. They were bigger…”

She remembered that the ring leader had been so very much bigger than her, at least four grades above her. She was on her medication then, screaming while he and his friends smeared dirt on her face trying to see if it looked the same as her skin. Pulling at her hair, jabbing her with sticks, hitting her, calling her a freak because she didn’t have any magic ink on her skin. Viktor gripped his hand tightly, probably putting too much stress on the book he held, his face probably flushed with rage.

“It felt like… something had snapped,” she said.

A great surge of power and she’d screamed as it burst out of her and everything went black.

“I woke up to my grandfather sitting at my bedside, holding my hand… in a hospital. The boys were in the hospital too. More nearly dead than traumatized. He told me that it wasn’t my fault, told me that he was taking me with him. I went to a private school that had rather stringent conduct rules until I was about eleven.”

In that time, she’d been through several doctors and several combinations of pills. She remembered the doctors, remembered the prescriptions and how they made her feel. She remembered Greece as a place of wonder and love while London had always been...

She shook her head, not wanting to think about it.

“When you’re actually… mentally ill, to have it hurled in your face like that, tossed around as an insult so casually when they have no idea what a struggle it is…” she said, her voice cracking. “It’s…”

Viktor reached out, placing a hand on hers, then taking her other hand in his own.

“Hermione,” he started. “I… am so very sorry. You, sweet, wonderful woman, you did not deserve that; you don’t deserve their cruelty.”

She let out a shuddering breath, “You’re not… freaked out?”

“No,” he said. “You are not mental-- you’re ill.”

“It’s not something that can be cured--”

“We all have illnesses that can’t be cured,” Viktor said meeting her eyes. “Insecurities, fears, weaknesses...Yours just may have a fancy muggle name.”

She let out a bit of a laugh, her lips lifting a bit.

“And your correspondent would be a fool to let you slip through your fingers because of it… If he does, I’ll pummel him for you and whisk you away myself.”

Hermione laughed shaking her head, “I thought you were waiting to meet your correspondent? I didn’t take you as easily deterred.”

He gave her a wry grin, “Usually, I’m not, but… I am only human with illnesses of my own. Perseverance is sometimes more painful than nobility.”

“Illnesses?” She asked. “Of what nature?”

He snorted, “Well, for one I have broken my nose a few too many times.”

She shrugged, “It adds character.”

“My face has enough character,” he said looking at her. “And I am not exactly a David.”

She hummed, looking at him, really looking at him. His slightly crooked, slightly hooked nose, full lips, olive skin, obsidian dark eyes. He was young, but in a few years she bet his cheekbones would be even sharper, his jawline more square. He had facial hair, the kind that boys in Gryffindor dreamed of growing one day. It seemed to sharpen the edges of his face and the wild always windswept hair on his head…

“No,” she said. “Not a David or an Adonis...they’re too pretty.”

He snorted, “I have never heard that before.”

“All the giggling girls weren’t a clue?”

“They follow me for number seven, the Bulgarian Seeker, for my records… not Viktor and certainly not my face.”

Hermione shrugged, “If I was inclined to follow people around based on aesthetics, you would be at the top of the list.”

An eyebrow lifted, “You like the way I look?”

“You’re beautiful,” she said blinking in that completely logical way, her eyes taking in the measurements of his face. “In the masculine way that it takes several years for girls to figure out is preferable to someone who could be prettier than you. Girls like me decided that boys were much better as men.”

He snorted.

“I’m just saying,” she said. “I have enough self-esteem issues without a love interest being prettier than me.”

“No man could be prettier than you,” he said reassuringly. “Not even Diggory.”

She wrinkled her nose, “He is rather pretty.”

“Not your type?” he asked.

“I prefer Herakles to Adonis,” she said. “Lucky for me that the whole of Durmstrang is made of square jaws, isn’t it?”

He nodded, “Very lucky.”

“And you?” She asked, opening her book.

“I am from Bulgaria,” he started. “I prefer… women.”

She looked at him then, “Not giggling and following you around?”

“With curves and a mind in their heads,” Viktor said with a smile. “I grew up with Bulgarian and Grecian figures, it is hard to shirk what you have been accustomed to think of as a woman.”

“Togas, stephanes, sphendones, sandals...” she mused.

“Strong legs, long curly hair, soft curves,” he said looking at her meaningfully. “Round face, full lips, dark eyes...”

She swallowed, tearing her gaze away from his and focusing on the book in her hands as her heart hammered agaisnt her ribcage. There was no mistaking the way he was looking at her. 

Her?

Viktor thought she was attractive? 

He smiled as she tried to hide her face in the book.

“Has no one told you that you are attractive?” Viktor asked.

“Well,” she started. “Probably because I’m not… in the English sense--”

“Hermione,” he started. “There is not a man alive, English or otherwise, who could look at you and not be attracted.”

She shut her mouth and flipped a page, “I thought perhaps the symbols on the egg might mean something…”

He laughed, throwing his head back before stilling her hand.

“Forgive me, mila. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, only wanted to...medicate. You do not need me to tell you this, but in case you were wondering.”

“Right… well, thank you.”

Viktor smiled turning to pull out his notes, “English men are strange.”

They seemed to have no heat in their blood, or perhaps, as his grandmother’s newest friend suggested, they were incredibly intimidated by a body with such obvious sensuality. Frightened of their own desires, he nodded, he didn’t understand in the slightest.

All Hermione could hear was her mother and grandfather over the summer telling her that she would have to start beating boys off with a stick… and her father insisting that she wear anything and everything a few sizes too big. He won out if only because she preferred her clothes looser, but she hadn’t encountered an instance of having to beat anyone with a stick yet.

It will take some time, Mia, her grandfather said. But don’t you give them the time of day. March on. If they could not see how beautiful you are inside, they aren’t worth the time.

They studied a bit in silence, making their own separate notes and conversing intermittently until Igor showed up and it was time for her to get to practice. Henry, the other voice of reason, was back meaning that practice would go far more smoothly than times before.

“Goodbye,” she said, pulling her bag on and heading out.

“Tomorrow?”

She nodded, “Tomorrow.”

“What is tomorrow?” Igor asked Viktor.

“Training,” he said easily.

Igor hummed and sat down, “You must have date to the ball, your parents have…”

Viktor heard him distantly, something about suitable candidates, pureblood girls and Igor’s favorite, no doubt a girl that would giggle at him all night.

“ Incendio ,” he said absently setting the list on fire and then standing.

“Viktor--”

Viktor looked at him, “The three of you can go to the ball with them if you like them so much.”

Igor stammered, but then he was out the door feeling incredibly accomplished.

*

Eleonora walked the familiar path towards Olympus, hoping to visit with Hippolyta before having dinner with Hermes that evening. It was so very rare to meet a good man who wasn’t attempting to do more than share in some companionship in their old age. She still hadn’t figured out a way to get Viktor to meet Hermes’ darling granddaughter, but if her luck held out and he came to visit over the summer, she could manage it.

“Damn it all!”

She looked forward seeing, “Hermes?”

He whirled to look at her, giving her a bright and nervous smile, “El’, hello, fancy seeing you here.”

“Yes, quite the surprise,” she said looking between him and the wall that separated muggles from Olympus, carved with old reliefs who would not speak to muggles. “What are you doing on this side of town?”

“I…” he started swallowing before sighing. “My granddaughter… she’s… her school is hosting a dance and the boy she’s been writing has asked her to meet him there.”

“That’s wonderful!” She said smiling, “Yet you look so distraught.”

“She’s nervous,” he said. “I thought to procure her… formal wear for the event and send it with a letter, hoping that with that removed, she would have the courage to go meet him, but… I can’t get to a suitable shop.”

“A suitable shop… here in this alley? Are you lost?”

Hermes winced and, in a flash, she lifted the pages from his hands with curiosity.

“No--wait--”

The map was magical, leading him directly to where he was meant to go, but he being a muggle couldn’t get past the wall.

“Where did you get this?”

“Uhm,” he stammered. “My granddaughter--one of her professors gave it to me to help, but--”

“You’re a muggle.”

“Yes,” he said with a sigh. “Wait… how do you know that word?”

Eleonora laughed, “Well Hermes, that’s because I happen to be a witch and I’m not sure who told you to go to that cow, Arachne, but thank goodness we’ve run into one another.”

She pulled out her wand and waved it. The statues moved, standing from their places and moved to pull the columns aside. He looked at her.

“Well... that’s… fantastic.”

“I should have known that Hermione was a witch,” she said, thoughtfully remembering the sort of familiar feeling she had around her.  “She goes to Hogwarts doesn’t she?”

Hermes nodded and, ever the gentleman, took her by the arm and escorted her down the center of the alley. It’s just as he remembered even as he looked at his map.

“She does,” he said. “El’, where are you taking me?”

She laughed, “Don’t worry, there’s no black market for muggles in Greece. Arachne is a cow and would only throw something together and call it a masterpiece. Besides, Hermione can’t meet this boy in just anything! It has to be the best, and by heavens, if I couldn’t actually dress my own grandson, I’m dressing someone for their first ball.”

Hermes gave her a hopeless look, “I don’t know the difference.”

“You have anything of hers with you?”

“Her letter,” he said. “I got it, read it and rushed out of the house this morning…”

She smiled, “You love her to bits and pieces.”

He laughed, “She’s like a third daughter… who actually likes being Greek.”

She shrugged, “My grandson is in the tournament, says he’s eternally indebted to his assistant for chocolate.”

He laughed, “That’s good. Mia says she’s helping someone in the tournament as well… against her will, but she likes him.”

“Which champion?” She asked leading them to turn a corner.

“The one from Durmstrang,” he said.

Eleonora looked at her, “Viktor goes to Durmstrang.”

He blinked with a grin, “You don’t say?”

“Who knew the universe was on the side of scheming grandparents?”

He laughed and opened the door to the shop called Hippolyta’s Girdle.

“Hippolyta, dear? Are you in?”

“Coming!” A spritely voice called from the back along with the tumble of things onto the ground. “That girl! I’ll wring her neck!”

She shook her head listening and bading Hermes to take a seat as Hippolyta appeared, very Greek, very busty and spritely in a long casual green chiton.

“Eleonora!” She cheered coming over to hug her tight in her fleshy arms. “It has been too long! How are you?! I have Viktor’s robes done of course, would you like me to send them?”

“That would be wonderful and perhaps one more,” she said turning. “Hippolyta, this is Hermes. Hippolyta here is the best dress robes maker in all of Greece, if not the world. I would wear anything that was made by her hands.”

She beamed and Hermes stood, pressing a kiss to Hippolyta’s hand, “A pleasure.”

“Oh my, another old world gentleman for you, Eleonora? I thought they were so very rare in the muggle world.”

She nodded, “They are, hence why we’re friends now… and he’s my neighbor… of sorts.”

Hermes laughed at that. The woman’s house was a full mile away, but that hadn’t stopped him from stopping by when she’d moved in to welcome her to the “neighborhood” and offer his help with her yard.

“Sit! Tell me what’s going on.”

Hippolyta gestured to Hermes who began to explain Hermione’s current predicament. She gave him a soft smile.

“You love her to bits and pieces don’t you?”

He laughed, “Yes.”

“Well go on, tell me about her and this boy. Would you happen to have something of hers?”

“Her letter… would that do?”

“Oh even better, feel free to fold it up, I don’t need to read it.”

Hermes handed over the envelope with the letter inside and watched her giggle.

She shook a little bit with the tingling sensation in her fingertips and the warmth radiating out from the letter, like a constellation of energy around it.

“A rather powerful one, isn’t she?” She said looking at the letter. “Very powerful old soul indeed, how old is she?”

“Fifteen.”

She nodded and looked to Eleonora, “Makes me think of Viktor. Sparks leaping up off the page!”

She chuckled at that and explained to Hermes that Hippolyta had a touch of divination in her blood, she couldn’t tell you when your grandchild would be born, but she could suss out pretty effectively someone’s heart. It had made her a great Inquisitor for the Greek Ministry of Magic during the war.

“And now I use my talents for good!” She said setting the letter down. “Bit of a warning.”

She waved her wand over it and watched blue sparks shoot out into wisping smoke and starlight.

“Wow,” she said. “Have they met?”

“Yes, without our meddling too!” Eleonora said. “She’s his assistant for the Tri-Wizard Tournament.”

She let out a low breath, “Well that just seems unfair, having two people so compatible together. Why not just give Durmstrang the trophy?”

Hermes shrugged, “What… did the sparks mean?”

“Power,” she said simply. “Lots of power, old, raw power. Her magic is exceedingly pure, like Viktor’s. We should shove this in his mother’s face and see how she feels about it.”

Eleonora smirked, thinking of the woman's face turning red in rage at the thought of Viktor being even remotely compatible with the muggle born witch.

“Don’t tempt me,” Eleonora said.

“The color is about her temperament, you said she was incredibly level-headed, but the smoke means anxious… she must really like this boy.”

Hermes let out a sigh, “She’s been trading letters with him for four years, I would hope so.”

Hippolyta nodded, standing with the letter in her hand, “Just another test, dearie, she needs dress robes, right?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Well, I will say they will be the best dressed in the assembly,” she said grabbing a vial of powder to burn in a small bowl beneath the letter. Hermes wasn’t sure what was going on as the letter floated, a periwinkle colored card fell from the side of the bowl and she nodded impressed.

From the texture and quality of the card conjured from her storeroom, she knew that this would be one of the best gowns she'd ever created, if not the best. The last person to conjure such high-quality cardstock from her stores and color it had been Viktor after all.

“Yes, I do believe this will be one of the finest gowns I have ever created.”

“Do you happen to know where there’s a wizarding bank?” Hermes asked. “I’m afraid, getting to one as a muggle is rather difficult.”

Eleonora laughed, “Put it on my tab.”

Hippolyta rolled her eyes, “As if I would charge you… you know I only charge people I don’t like.”

Hermes frowned, “I couldn’t—“

“Not an option dear,” she said loftily, sending the letter floating back into his hands. “This will be so fun!”

Eleonora shook her head as Hermes began to protest again, her eyes drifting over to the Daily Prophet. It was at least a month or so old, she didn’t like to read it simply because it was usually full of rubbish, but seeing Viktor and Hermione along with the other two pairs made her smile. Viktor had already told her that he and his partner had dominated the first challenge.

“Look at him, he’s so pale!” she cried. “That damn Norwegian winter. He looks terrible!”

Hermes sighed as Hippolyta fluttered away to summon her mannequin.

“I should clarify, “ Eleonora said at Hermes’ distraught face. “Hippolyta makes gowns as a hobby. She has no real need to do so but charges people who are incredibly annoying. She can tell by the spell’s reaction.”

Hippolyta’s gown making talents were something that required a lot of empathy. Each gown was made to fit the person it was made for, their personality and temperaments, she’d go as so far as to say their heart and soul too. She was waiting for the day she could make Viktor’s dress robes rather than simply maintaining the ones ordained by his school, but she felt it in her blood, the tug of Hermione’s personality and temperament, images and designs flowing through her mind as her quill went to take them down and she maneuvered things around.

Hermes and Eleonora talked as Hippolyta busied herself with getting things together, taking not of Hermione's measurements. The young woman would be dangerous in just a few years. Fabric flew around and somewhere in between her first wand stroke, someone else came in.

"Hippolyta!"

"Take a seat, I'll be with you in a moment."

The woman huffed, "I don't have time to wait! My daughter could be going to the ball with Viktor Krum!"

"Doubt it," Eleonora said.

She whirled looking at her, "And what would you know about it?"

"Since he's my grandson? An awful lot."

The woman paled and turned back to Hippolyta who was still going through her fabrics.

“Hippolyta,” she started. “This is important.”

Hippolyta looked up, “You have something of hers?”

She produced a bracelet and at first touch, Hippolyta winced.

“I see...Well, if you could come back in an hour or so, we can speak then.”

She handed it back and the woman thanked her, bustling out, robes and all.

“You know her?” Hermes asked.

Eleonora rolled her eyes, “The mother of one of those pureblood star-struck twits my daughter-in-law is trying to foist onto Viktor. It won’t work. I’m pretty sure Viktor lost all ability to yield to her when he turned seventeen... if not earlier.”

“With good reason,” Hippolyta said shivering. “Bleck, charging her extra for the rush job and the rudeness.”

“She’ll pay it too,” Eleonora said. “That woman has been drooling to get into the Krum family for ages.”

“What’s a pureblood?” Hermes asked eating a piece of baklava.

Eleonora smiled, “I see Hermione hasn’t exactly told you all the details…”

Hippolyta smiled at the two of them, watching them converse. It was good to see the light returned to her eyes. She had Viktor and many other grandchildren, but they were all grown up now and the woman was particularly lonely, ostracized from her children who believed she was too liberal in her views as a pureblood.

She let them talk and went about looking through her collection of fabrics again, letting her instincts guide her. Sometimes, she had flashes of a person’s memories if they had enough magic. Hermione, like Viktor, had had more than enough magic to send her down a little trip down their memory lanes.

She stopped, her quill stopped and turned to her revealing a beautiful chiton. Etched neatly, cleanly as if there had been no hesitation… and incredibly new age Greek. She loved it and made the image turn to see the back of it with approval. The cape would hang, looping low so her back would be exposed, looped on her wrists, but the cape would be so light she wouldn’t notice. A delicate rope to hold the dress to her form… She would look beautiful, a vision straight out of antiquity...

A goddess of the night turning into dawn...

“It’s gorgeous,” she said with a smile. “What can you tell me about this boy?”

*

The woman returned an hour later to find Hermes and Eleonora gone. The discussion was short and the woman paid the price Hippolyta asked for the job.

“Was that truly his grandmother?”

Hippolyta laughed, “Eleonora Krum, the one and only.”

She swallowed, “Is she terribly upset?”

“I don’t think you have to worry about her,” Hippolyta said. “Viktor is his own man.”

“Quite, well I will be back at the appointed time.”

Hippolyta nodded seeing her off and laughing. It would be best to whip this gown together before returning to the very careful work she was putting into Hermione’s gown. It took all of half an hour to do it consider how very particular the woman was about styling it in the French fashion that suited her daughter more, blessed with the French figure after all.

She set the box aside, marked and labeled before returning to Hermione’s gown, still more a picture on the page and some selected fabrics, the thinnest, finest Acromantula silk as gossamer as the wings of a snidget and as sturdy a dragon hide. The belt would be made of woven Goblin gold. She hadn’t heard Eleonora and Hermes return she was so focused on putting the gown together, piece by piece, coating the train with the faintest shimmer of the stars and a touch of moonlight. Athena was a goddess of owls, night hunters after all as well as warfare.  The cape and undergown would be the color of a warm dawn once the enchantments were activated. She would be the dawn and the night, the beginning and end and a vision if Hippolyta had anything to say about it. She turned for a moment to begin the shoes, sandals of course, of braided gold, Her hairpieces would match, the main being a golden owl in flight, a wizarding accessory. She selected a box long enough to pack it all up carefully, anti-wrinkling and protection spells over every stitch because people were vindictive and when she was satisfied she set the box on the counter, open to pack accessories. The woman returned as she was finished with Hermione’s gown and reached for the box she was packing.

“That one,” Hippolyta said pointing to the box wrapped at the side of her counter as Hippolyta continued to look through her collection of things and added things to the box, earrings, perfume meant to heighten the natural smell of the wearer. She turned the hanging straps of the gown to golden bands and settled them all together. She had to say that she was beyond proud of herself and could almost see her arriving at the ball like the light of daybreak and the dark of the night.

Her date would be awestruck... The entire ball would be awestruck.

“It’s ready,” Hippolyta said to Hermes as the woman carried her box out. “Care to take a look?”

Eleonora, never one to need a second asking, got up and felt her heart stutter, “Well, if she didn’t have a tough time keeping the boys away from her, she certainly will now.”

Hermes laughed incredulously, “She would murder me if I took this for free, please--”

“No arguments,” Hippolyta said. “Call it a gift and don’t tell her. I can ship it with Viktor’s if you’d like it should arrive with plenty of time.”

Hermes nodded and asked for something to write with. She handed him a pen surprisingly.

“Ink everywhere in a fabric shop is never a good idea.”

He nodded and took a breath before writing his letter and tying his own box of purchases to the box Hippolyta had, the note on top.

“Will it hold?”

She laughed looking at the knots, “If not, this will do the trick.”

She waved her wand over it and he watched the straps multiply. He let out a breath.

“Do you think it will be enough?”

Hippolyta hummed, “I think she will make the decision that’s best for her.”

He sighed and nodded, that was really all he could hope for and after trying to sneak her a satchel of galleons, she shooed him out of her shop and levitated the parcels towards the fireplace.

“Pictures will be payment enough.”

Chapter Text

Her hands were still warm, a happy flood of chemicals in her brain when she came back from her session with Viktor. She felt honestly a little high off the feeling even though her stomach was churning uncontrollably. Her letters to Dragonheart still came and went with their normal ease, but as the clock kept ticking, the Yule Ball only a few days away, it was hard to avoid it any longer.

At least she’d learned to dance.

Viktor had been a gentle teacher, showing her all the niceties and gallantry of the ritual, warning her when he was going to lift her and soothing her fears.

“Bulgarian boys are strong,” he said as she worried her lip at the thought of him lifting her. He did with an ease that astonished her and carried her in an arc before setting her down and taking her hand again.

She didn’t know how long they spent dancing in between her trying to look at their feet, him telling her to stop it, and stepping on his feet.

“You have tiny feet,” he said. “Mine will be fine. Relax and follow my lead, mila. I promise, I won’t lead you anywhere you don’t want to go.”

The oddity of the statement sparks something in her chest and she can see that he hadn’t meant to say it, though he’d meant it completely.

“Will you accept his offer?” Viktor asked.

“I don’t know,” she’d told him looking down as she stepped on his foot again. “I’ll never get the hang of this.”

He stopped her and looked down at her, “If you are worried about your dancing, it seems that you’ve already made up your mind.”

She stared up at him a moment, his kind smile and couldn't find anything to say to dispute that.

*

When they meet in their appointed room, Hermione throws herself into cracking the case of the egg and Viktor doesn’t push. They stand at the chalkboard writing out everything they know about the egg, everything they’ve read in the past weeks. Viktor pulls out his broom and lays across it, letting it make a slow loop around the classroom as Igor glared at the egg and the book in his lap.

Hermione sat quietly, staring at the egg and her notes, then back to the egg. The glyphs were clearly of a town but why? The latch was the face of an owl and feathers pointed out, or leaves perhaps. Inside the egg was screeching and what…

Gel? Liquid.. Some sort of liquid.

She frowned, getting up and tugging a large tome from her bag, flipping quickly as Viktor drifted up towards the rafter. 

His broom made slow circles through the room as he contemplated the details of the egg. Clearly, it was meant to be opened. He’d heard of mediums making a difference to certain kind of objects. Like the Erasian metal that could not touch water lest it fell to pieces…Perhaps it was the air? Then the medium of choice couldn’t be earth as it was full of air--

He sat up and they cried out together, “Merpeople!”

Viktor looked down at her and Hermione looked up so he came floating down to hover above the table upside down, hanging from his broom easily.

“You must stay out of my mind.”

“As if I could get in,” she said. “It’s filled with wind currents.”

He laughed and looked at the page she was on. Ironically, it wasn’t Hogwarts: A History, but a book on the history of Beast classifications. Merpeople had missed their chance to designate their classification because they could not come above water to speak. The glyphs were at the bottom, the screeching...

Hermione transfigured a glass tank and together they filled it with water enough to set the egg inside and Viktor turned the latch. The light gleamed but there was no screeching. Viktor stepped up, dunking his head under water and listening.

Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching ponder this;
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,
An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour, the prospect's black,
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.

He came back up to Hermione’s careful drying spell over his head and shoulders and Igor’s eager face.

“Well?”

“Chalk,” he said moving towards the board and erasing it with a wave of his wand to write out the sounds as much as he could as Hermione closed the egg and retrieved it from the water.

Hermione pondered the words.

“Underwater for an hour?” Viktor asked.

Hermione nodded, the Black Lake was huge and merpeople were known to live deep underwater. It could take a full hour to even reach the bottom, meaning he’d have to know exactly where he was going and if not be an exceptional swimmer.

“Again, you get points for preparation, skill, as well as completing the test and somehow I doubt they’ll take your broom.”

VIktor laughed if only that were the case. He had a million of them from multiple companies asking him to test them. She made a list of subjects and books, he’d need maps, topography, someone had to have tried to map the Black Lake at some point. They work for longer than she’d intended, but she didn’t have practice so they walked to the library instead to get some actual homework done.

She hadn’t realized how nice it was to have someone sit at the table with her and not ask for help but to share in conversation. She ends up finishing her homework and her other assignments about the same time he did. Being ever the gentleman, he walked her to the portrait before kissing her hand and turning to leave.

“Hey,” she called out. He turned and looked at her.

“Thanks,” she said barely a whisper of Greek in the air. “For… everything… I don’t think I could explain how nice it is.”

Viktor smiled, slow and handsome, “You’re welcome, Hermione.”

He bowed again and left down the corridor, leaving her to ponder the exchange before giving the curious Fat Lady the password and heading into the tower. Ron and Harry were settled at the table in the Common Room pouring over parchment.

“Hermione!” Ron said. “Thank goodness! We thought you’d never get here! Could you--”

“Ron!” Harry said with a hiss. “Can’t you lay off?”

Ron glowered at her, “What are you talking about? She likes to read, why wouldn’t I ask her?”

Harry sighed shaking his head and then looking at Hermione who gave them both rueful looks.

“It’s okay, Harry,” she said. “What is it, Ron?”

*

“Same pairs as before everyone, no fooling around!” Minerva said and already Hermione could hear the gripping, the snickering as she took a deep breath and walked up to Harry.

“Don’t listen to them, ‘Mione; it’ll be fine.”

She nodded, taking his hand and setting a hand on his shoulder. He wasn’t as tall as Viktor, nor as broad,... nor as graceful, but she found herself a little more settled than times before as the music began. Harry beamed at her.

“See, much better.”

“I had a great teacher,” she said with a smile.

“Are you going with Dragonheart?” Harry asked.

Hermione swallowed as they stepped into a turn. “I… haven’t answered.”

“‘Mione!” She flinched at his tone. “The Yule Ball is in two days, you’ll give him a heart attack.”

“I don’t have robes.”

“I will take you to Hogsmeade,” he said.

“My hair--”

“Ginny, Faye, and Helena have already said they would help…They even got Padma and Lavender out of your room to prep… however long it takes you to do so.”

Hermione glowered at him, “If I didn’t know better Harry Potter, I would say that you’re scheming.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “You’ve been writing this guy for four years, it’s obvious you want to go, so what’s holding you back?”

Hermione swallowed, “Harry…”

Harry regarded her, as they waltzed around the other pairs. He didn’t even both to try and lift her as they knew it would end badly-- they’d be better off letting Hermione lift him.

“You know a good friend told me once that being brave was being okay with being always on the outside,” he said.

She glowered at him, “What else did this good friend tell you?”

“That anyone who can’t accept you as you are is an idiot.”

Hermione looked at him petulantly.

“Go with him, ‘Mione. You’ll regret not meeting him.”

She groaned, “You know how much I hate regret.”

“And not knowing and…”

“I got it,” she said. “What about you? Found a date yet?”

He nodded, “I’m going with Luna.”

She grinned, “Good choice, you definitely won’t be bored.”

Harry nodded, “Neville’s taking Ginny.”

“Yeah and Ron?”

Harry winced with a shrug, “I’m not sure. We can ask in Study Hall.”

Hermione nodded and somehow they got through the class without incident.

*

“Hermione!” Faye called coming down the stairs. “You have mail~!”

She tilted her head, “Mail?”

She looked at the boys, setting her bag down beside Harry and told them that she’d be back. Harry eyed her and as soon as she was gone Ron groaned.

“What am I going to do Harry?”

Harry shrugged, “Ask someone?”

Ron glowered at him. Of course, Harry would say that, he’d probably had no problems asking someone to the ball.

*

Hermione walked up the stairs where Faye, Helena, and Ginny had converged to see what was in the box that had appeared on her bed earlier that day.

“Could I ask what you’re waiting for?”

“You to open the box!” Helena said. “They’re dress robes aren’t they?”

“A gift from your Dragonheart?” Faye teased.

Hermione scoffed and pulled the note free from the top.

Dear Mia,

Let it never be said that this old man doesn’t know when he’s out of his depths and praise be to Gaia for fixing Eleonora on the path because it would be quite impossible to get you wizarding dress robes without being a wizard. Eleonora, who would have known?

She says that since she couldn’t dress her own grandson, she’d dress you and I tell you she and her friend, Hippolyta (lovely woman), had a great time for it. Along with the robes are a few other things that should make it easier.

Be brave, Mia.

She swallowed, folding the letter and taking a seat and then looking at the box.

Be brave, Mia, he’d said, probably giving her full armor to wear.

She let out a breath and summoned a quill and the last letter Dragonheart had sent her.

Faye, Helena, and Ginny looked at one another, then to Hermione’s bent head as she wrote. She stopped for a moment to undo some of the straps and sliding the boxes apart to take a peek into the larger box before closing it and returning to writing.

“Not even a peek?” Faye asked with a pout, pleading.

Hermione closed her eyes and waved her hand over the letter sending it to wherever Dragonheart was.

“Tonight,” she promised helplessly. “I just… need a moment.”

Helena nudged her, “No worries and no need to rush.”

“It’s just rather exciting,” Faye said flopping onto her bed. “Romantic and all that.”

Hermione nodded and got up to settle her parcels in her trunk then head back down stairs, Crookshanks followed after her. She took a seat beside Harry and picked up where she left off.

Chapter Text

As I write this, my hands are shaking. I feel like my heart is going to jump out of my chest. I’m so very nervous, terrified really, but one of my best friends reminded me that quite honestly I hate regret and not knowing more.

So, yes, I will meet you. Yes, I will go to the Yule Ball with you if you have not already found a date during my stalling.

Viktor heard himself let out a yell of triumph, nearly falling off his broom and into the Black Lake. He steadied himself and sat up reading on.

I will meet you before the ball at a quarter till by the grand staircase.

Dragonheart, if this is some cruel joke or if at any moment you have a doubt about whether or not you can deal with meeting me for exactly who I am, please tell me. I would rather never know then have to pick up those pieces.

Viktor’s eyes softened, his hands shook and he licked his lips. He could almost hear the tremor in her voice, feel her anxiety on the page. Lifting his wand, he wrote his reply with the edge of it, enchanted it, and sent it.

Hermione got it as she was climbing into bed, from the dampness of the paper she could tell that he was flying when he got it. She opened it carefully and was granted with his writing.

I will meet you as you are so long as you give me the same courtesy. I will wait for you.

She smiled and watched the paper fold in on itself until it blossomed into a rose. She smiled and lifted it, setting in between the pages of her latest book, a book of potions for Healers. It bloomed prettily in its parchment way from the top of the book, giving her something lovely to look at as she--

“Oh no, you don’t, madam!”

She sat up at Faye’s cry of indignation to see her, Ginny and Helena at the foot of her bed.

“Parchment flower or not, let’s see it then.”

She laughed and got up, moving to her trunk under their watchful eye. She opened it and pulled out the boxes and proceeded to open them as promised. The smaller box was filled with a few bottles of Sleekeazy’s potion, magic curlers, bathing oils and things like that. She smiled at the bottle of oil that smelled like home. Some of it was from her mother, some of it purchased in Greece by her grandfather.

The large box held the gown. She’d looked at it long enough to know that it was in a very Greek style. She had not looked closer to see exactly how Greek it all was accented with rich woven gold and so gossamer thin she could hardly feel the fabric. Colors of dawn in the fabric they seemed to move… enchanted it seemed with shooting stars crossing the darkness.

“Acromantula silk,” Faye said. “Where’d you get a gown like that?”

She shrugged, “My pappous sent it to me-- my grandfather.”

“I thought he was a muggle.”

“He is,” she said. “But apparently his best friend is a witch.”

They nodded looking at it. It was Helena who pointed at the emblem on the box.

“Hippolyta’s Girdle?” She asked. “I know her. Mum said she makes wonderful gowns but they’re terribly expensive for the most part.”

“Acromantula silk isn’t exactly easy to get,” Faye said. “You’ll look like you stepped right out of antiquity.”

“I think that’s the point,” she said, looking at the shoes and accessories that came with it. The sandals were gorgeous like the dust of the universe crafted to fit her feet.

At the very least, he wouldn’t be able to miss her….

A Greek goddess indeed.

*

Viktor pulled his robes out the box as soon as they arrived. Though Hippolyta was known to have the strongest anti-wrinkle spells in the fashion world, it was a habit not so easily broken. He hung them up and grabbed his books. Tomorrow evening he would meet her.

Tomorrow…

Tomorrow, at once so close and so far away.

He shook his head and headed out, trying to get through his classes, sending her notes in between classes.

“Are you nervous?” Vlad teased as they headed to study hall, soothing in the familiarity of Russian over his senses and blotting out the sound of giggling behind him. “Your Grecian Goddess will be in your arms in only a day.”

“My heart is going to beat out of my chest.”

“Her-my-own-knee!”Someone called out from behind him and he turned to see Hermione looking up from her book and greeting Wolfgang and asking her for help on something, opening his book to show her where his questions came from. He watched them interested and realizing that she spoke German too.

“Smart girl,” Vlad said. “Wolfgang, I’m sure appreciates it.”

Viktor nodded watching them trade high fives and Wolfgang hugging her tightly before running off. She laughed, shaking her head and headed into her study hall as they headed towards their own.

She walked up to Harry and Ron and took a seat.

“Hello you two,” she greeted pulling out her notebook and setting her open book down. Harry’s eyes narrowed on the parchment rose, keeping her page and looked around Ron’s back to give Hermione a meaningful look.

She nodded and he grinned.

“‘Mione, could you help me?” Ron asked. “What’s Muddlefoot?”

“Myrtle root,” she corrected and flipped the page in the potions textbook to the entry.

“Yeah, but what is it?”

“Read, Ron,” she said. “I’m not here to give you all the answers.”

Harry shook his head as Ron grumbled and went about reading before giving up.

“I can’t concentrate,” he huffed. “I still don’t have a date and the dance is tomorrow…”

Fred snorted, “Better hurry up and hope there’s a good one left.”

Hermione raised a threatening eyebrow at Fred who promptly shut up and went back to work. Hermione looked down as a note appeared, barely a scrap of parchment. She smiled and lifted it.

My grandmother sent my robes to her favorite robemaker, I’ve never seen them so red. I’m sure no matter what it won’t clash, I’ll be too awed by having you on my arm.

“Wait… Hermione… you’re a girl.”

Harry would have rather hurtle to the ground and break his leg again than be next to Ron when he’d said it.

“Well spotted,” she said with just enough edge to make Fred and George dutifully look at their books as Severus smacked Ron over the head, prompting him to look back at his book. Hermione slid her note into her pocket and turned back to reviewing her work.

“I mean, it’s one thing for a bloke to go alone, but for a girl, it’s just pathetic.”

Harry let out an audible groan and put his head down. As Hermione looked at Ron, her eyebrow lifted and generally looking about a second away from telling him to sod off. But she didn’t, she closed her book, took a final look at her finished assignment for Snape and closed the notebook before standing.

“For future reference, Ron, I only attend this study hall and stay as long as I do because I like to spend time with you and Harry. In an effort not to strangle you, I’ll find some other way to see Harry for at least the next month. Do not ask my help for anything.”

She walked up and turned in her assignment before returning to grab her things.

“And, I won’t be going alone because believe it or not someone asked me without feeling the need to slyly insult me. As you can imagine, I said yes. Good luck with your exams.”

She turned then and sauntered out of the study hall. Ron blinked stunned as Harry raised his head and Fred and George snickered.

“Harry,” he started. “She’s lying right?’

“If you say so,” Harry said shaking his head and continuing to write as Ron huffed and sighed, he still had to ask someone and when Severus smacked him over the head it was clear that he should hurry up and get this assignment on Myrtlewood done and move on.

Hermione headed out to the courtyard and down towards the docks where some of the Durmstrang boys were. They greeted her friendly enough and cajoled her into sparring with them. She was still new to the fighting aspect, but she was far lighter on her feet than they were, leapfrogging over them with a laugh and generally tumbling out of their way.

“Fancy moves,” one of them panted. “Like tumbling bird.”

She laughed, “Well, I can’t let you hit me.”

“Would never hit woman,” they said. “Is tag spar.”

She shook her head at their sweetness before it was about time for lunch and they headed inside. Viktor and Vlad were already there along with other familiar faces.

“Sestra flies on land,” Pietro said as they sat down. “Together, two could take over world.”

Viktor laughed, “Cheaters never win.”

She huffed, “I am not a cheater!”

*

Saturday, she finds herself at Hogsmeade running around with a few of the Durmstrang boys, Helena and Faye as well. Ginny had opted to stay at the castle to try and finish some work. The boys excuse themselves to do some last minute shopping, and escort Faye and Helene on their trips, for the most part, leaving Hermione alone at the Three Broomsticks.

“Well, well Granger, without the usual entourage?”

She looked at Draco as he took the seat beside her.

“Hello Draco,” she said politely, drinking from her mug. “What brings you to come sit beside me? What is it that you want?”

“Why would I want anything from you?”

She tilted her head, “Why else would you be talking to me?”

He swallowed looking away from her gaze, “So what is it?”

Draco grit his teeth and let out a frustrated breath, “Since you’re more book than girl, what do you know about soulmates?”

“Only what I’ve read,” she said easily, amused. “Worried?”

“If you could keep your sass to yourself,” he said.

“Oh but Draco, between you pining after Harry and needing my help, how could I?”

Draco flushed, eyes wide as she regarded him, “W-What are you—”

“Come on then, Draco,” Hermione said looking at him. “You pull his pigtails more than you ever pulled mine… and you just generally don’t like Ron on principle.”

Draco glared at her but remained flushing and quiet. Hermione finished her mug and stood.

“Care to take a walk?”

Draco swallowed but followed her out and down a path away from prying ears.

“Alright Granger, what do you know?”

Hermione shrugged, “Depends. What is that you wanted to know?... And what’s in it for me?”

He scoffed, “The Princess of Gryffindor has such a Slytherin streak.”

“Queen,” she corrected. “Or so I’m told. Out with it, Draco.”

He growled, gritting his teeth, “I… I have these… visions.”

She somehow didn’t manage to smile as he went on about seeing himself through someone’s eyes, snippets of his childhood through Harry’s eyes.

“My parents aren’t soul mates,” he said. “But… Severus… told me…”

“The signs?” She asked. Draco nodded looking at her, expecting her to laugh perhaps but she only smiled at him.

“Well… funny you should mention visions…Harry’s working on the theory that his soulmate is someone in Slytherin.”

Draco swallowed and then narrowed, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you two have been one closed door, or secluded hallway away from snogging each other for at least two years, if not longer.”

He swallowed looking away, “I thought he and Weasley.”

Hermione snorted, “Ron is firmly attached to his heterosexuality… and his ego for that matter.”

“Or you.”

“Harry’s my brother,” Hermione said honestly. “But just know if you hurt him I will hex you beyond recognition.”

“Save it for the strip, Granger.”

She laughed and turned, “I should get back, Yule Ball and all.”

He groaned, “Don’t remind me…”

“Pansy?”

“She wants us to match ,” she snorted as they walked back towards the carriages. He opened the door for her as if it was a completely natural thing.

“Why Draco, I didn’t know you could be a gentlemen,” she teased, climbing in.

“Don’t get used to it,” he grumbled.

She took a seat and regarded him as he closed the door, sighing and relaxing. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him like this, neither had Harry she was sure.

“Perhaps…I misjudged you Draco… not that you made it easy to do anything but.”

Draco looked at her across the carriage as she smirked at him, “The great Draco Malfoy without his Slytherin air could actually be a nice person.”

Draco blinked, but as the carriage stopped, he couldn’t say anything. She climbed out and waved him goodbye, leaving him to contemplate her words, the turn of events and the like before getting out of the carriage just as Harry caught up with her, slinging an arm around her shoulders and walking into the castle with her. For a moment, he sees her shoes and Harry’s, sees the castle much closer than it actually is and it makes his stomach twist. What would his father think?

*

Harry parted from her at Gryffindor tower having to go do one more thing. She walked in to see Ron on the couch looking smug as he fiddled with his box.

“Hello, Ron.”

“Hello,” he said. “I’ll have you know I have a date already.”

“Well that’s great,” she said nodding at him and heading away. Ron’s expression dropped.

“Well, aren’t you going to ask who?”

Hermione shrugged, “If you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.”

“Padma,” he said. “I’m taking Padma.”

Hermione nodded, “That’s great.”

“Well… who are you going with?” He asked looking at her. “Do you even have dress robes?”

“My pappous sent them to me,” she said easily. “And I’m meeting Dragonheart.”

He scoffed, “Right… your imaginary boyfriend.”

A note appeared as he turned back to fiddling with his package. She opened it as Ginny came downstairs yelling with triumph.

“I’m done!”

“That’s good,” Hermione said.

Ginny looked at her, “We can get started at the appointed time.”

“Ginny, I think these are for you.”

They turned and Ginny winced, “I don’t think so, Mum already sent me my gown.”

“Ron,” Hermione said. “I think… those are your dress robes…”

Ron paled, shoving them back in the box and marching off to the boy’s side. Ginny winced, “Meet you upstairs later?”

Hermione nodded, “May I suggest a severing charm? Perhaps a few for color?”

She nodded and went after her brother. Ron looked at his robes, horrified.

“How can she do this to me, Ginny?” He asked. “What are these? I bet Fred and George’s robes aren’t as horrid.”

“Ron! Did you get a package from Mum?”

He looked at his brothers coming in with their dress clothes over their arms.

“What is that?” Fred asked looking at the robes on Ron’s bed.

“From Mum, what are those?”

Fred and George looked at the black dress robes, “Our dress robes.”

“But-But…”

“We bought them,” Fred said. “Well rented them at least.”

“Glad for it too,” George said wincing. “Good luck mate.”

Ron huffed.

“Hermione suggested a severing charm and something for the color.”

He huffed, throwing them down, “Who cares what she suggested!?”

Ginny looked at him, rolled her eyes and left, heading back to the girl’s side of the dorm without any preamble. She met Hermione, Helena, and Faye in their room after collecting her own things and bringing them along.

It was probably the girliest bit of time that Ginny or Hermione had ever had. Ginny, growing up in a house full of boys, had never had many girlfriends. Hermione had never really had many friends. So when they chat about their dates, about the night ahead in between helping one another into their clothes, it’s beyond fun. They take the time to offer help to one another. Hermione declined, saying that they should probably help Ginny figure out the snaps on her gown. While Helene helped de-wrinkle Ginny’s gown, Hermione worked Sleekeazy’s through her thick curly hair in sections, using much more than was recommended, until the curls relaxed hanging much lower than she thought, closer to her hips than mid back.

"That is a lot of hair..." Helena said eyeing it.

"The power of curls," Hermione said ruefully before opening the manicure and pedicure box and yelping as the pieces came flying out and set to work on her feet.

"That's awesome," Faye remarked. "I didn't know they made those."

Hermione shrugged, continuing to fiddle with her hair and looking through the rest of the box and freezing as the rollers rose from the box above her head. Faye and Helena laughed as they came flying around her head, a brush and comb parting her hair and rolling them in long spirals.

"Looks like your grandfather thought of everything."

Hermione glowered as they laughed. Helena took charge of Ginny's makeup and Hermione was beginning to be incredibly wary of any of the other boxes that had come.

"That one is makeup,  perfect lines every time," Helena said as Hermione pondered the box. "But seriously, where did your grandfather get all of this?"

She had no idea but opened the box slowly. It wasn’t a full on attack, but she did feel oddly still while holding the box in her hand.

"Petrifying spell," Helena said. "Makes it easier."

They watched as the pencils and palette set to work. It was tasteful and truly the straightest lines they'd ever seen casting a light shimmer over her eyes. She remained a little startled in her bathrobe, her skin soft and shiny from the oil, glowing from the bath. It isn't much makeup, but she can hardly recognize herself.

Helena slid into her robes, a classically English style. Faye and Ginny were rather classically English too and it dawned on her that she would definitely stick out like a sore thumb.

Then again, she always stuck out like a sore thumb, so nothing new there and it would make it easier for her to be found. Ginny went to go meet Neville as the rollers began to unravel. Leaving glossy curls in their wake, she took a deep breath regarding herself in the mirror. The underwear that had come with the gown were so dainty she’d been terrified of ripping them while putting them on. Somehow, she’d managed and was now letting a bottle of perfume spritz her as Helena called out that she had to get going.

“See you there!”

Faye slid on the rest of her things, checked for her wand and then turned to Hermione who sat on the edge of her bed, lacing her sandals up her calves, gold and stardust complimenting her complexion. She pulled out the owl curiously and watch it spring to life, open its wings and fly, carrying a string of gold and glowing jewels to corral her hair in something like a sphendone style that left enough of her hair free in curls down her back. Faye sat patiently as her official steward before the ball and watched Hermione lift the stylish chiton out and slip it on. The woven gold wrapped around her waist, the pins on each shoulder settled. The main part of the gown was close fitting, accentuating the curve of her in its length, the cloak was so thin that it looked like nothing more than a cloak of dawn attached to her upper arm and hands by delicate gold bands. Hermione turned to face herself not sure what she was seeing. The hairpiece had been made of owls, the colors of dawn, yet she thought Aphrodite.

“This… must be a well-cut gown… I’m pretty sure that isn’t me.”

Faye snorted, “Sweetheart, the gown wraps around you, that’s all you.”

She nudged her and Faye turned, “Shall we go and greet your subjects?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and grabbed her wand. Most of Gryffindor was already gone so they walked pretty much alone.

“Deep breath,” Faye said. “Shoulders back and try to smile?”

Hermione let out a breath, “I am trying.”

*

“Viktor.”

He whirled to see Vlad and Pietro coming towards him, Ivan and Boris just behind him.

“Your Greek Goddess has not arrived yet?”

Viktor nodded, “Not yet.”

Pietro pat his shoulder, “Relax Viktor, she will be here.”

“Viktor!” He almost groaned turning to regard Igor, hauling three girls with him.

“Yes?” He asked patiently.

Igor introduced the girls and then told him in no uncertain terms to “pick.”

Viktor gave him a hard look, “I already have a date.”

Igor’s eyes narrowed, “Then where is she?”

“Coming,” he gritted out and turning, the last letter they’d exchanged in his hand, his heart beating too fast to breathe.

He saw Harry and Ron coming down the stairs.

“Probably crying her eyes out.”

“Who?” Harry asked distractedly, scanning the crowd for Luna.

“Hermione of course,” Ron said.

“What for?” Harry asked looking at him strangely.

“Because her bloody paper boyfriend probably didn’t ask her… I would have taken her myself if she weren’t so bloody proud.”

Harry scoffed and shook his head. He saw Luna as they reached the bottom steps. Viktor farther away as Padma arrived and winced at Ron’s robes. He’d taken Hermione’s advice and used a severing charm to get the lace off, but he was no good with color charm or transfiguration so it did little to help.

“I’ll see you inside, Harry.”

He nodded greeting Luna who smiled at him.

“He is a rather odd person, isn’t he?”

“Who?”

“Ron,” she said. “I haven’t ever seen anyone so blind.”

Harry laughed, waiting as Minerva arrived to corral all of the champions and their dates. Igor and Viktor arguing in low angry Russian as Faye came down the steps… without Hermione. She was beaming, though.

“Where’s Hermione?” Harry asked.

“Just you watch,” she said proudly, waving at Pietro who came to bow and take her hand.

“ Choose ,” Igor hissed. “ Or I will choose for you. ”

Viktor bared his teeth, careful of the parchment in his hands, “ I have no need for your help, High Master, nor that of my parents. I have a date. ”

Hermione stood with her back to the wall, steeling herself to step out before taking a quick peek. In a flash, she saw a collection of Durmstrang red robes, Minerva, Luna, Harry…

Be brave, she said. Deep breath, shoulders back…

Greet the subjects.

Meanwhile, Igor turned to the blond and told her that she would be accompanying Viktor just as Viktor was prepared to hex the man where he stood. Ivan tapped him on the shoulder.

“Yes?” Viktor gritted.

“Greek Goddess,” he said a little breathless.

Chapter Text

Hermione stood at the top of the stairs, looking down and letting her eyes flicker across the group of Durmstrang students, smiling even as her stomach flipped and her heart hammered. She set her hand out to the banister, descending slowly and praying that one of them would stop staring and come to her.

Please, she pleaded to the universe. Someone, anyone just tell her that four years of trust wouldn’t be shattered right now. She didn’t know if she could pick up the pieces. No, she knew she wouldn’t be able to carry on as if nothing happened. As if it was all okay, it could very well destroy her.

Someone, she thought looking at the group. Anyone.

It was Viktor, a piece of parchment in his hands, his eyes dazed and so focused that he didn’t even turn back when Igor hissed at him. Igor’s hand slipped from his shoulder as he moved, not hearing or seeing anything beyond her, this… Hermione flashing through his memories wrapped in sheets, in thin Grecian silk, Egyptian cotton, dead, alive…

She was so beautiful. So...

Hermione’s hands shook as he approached staring at her, struggling for breath. Somehow, she managed one bracing for the pain, the betrayal, the crash...

“Hello Viktor,” she said. “I’m… going to take it that my date isn’t here?”

Viktor stared at her, taking in the sight of her before offering the parchment, “Actually… I am your date, Biblio-logical.”

She swallowed and her eyes widened, “What?”

“I’m Dragonheart,” he said breathless, his Greek almost slurred, drunk on the sight of her as he offered her the parchment in his hands.

It had been her letter and all of the subsequent notes they’d passed. Hermione swallowed, her eyes flickering behind him to Igor’s angry face, the shocked expressions of the Durmstrang students. This had to be--

Viktor Krum? She thought. Charming, handsome, famous, talented Viktor Krum was her Dragonheart. She stepped back to retreat but froze at the pained, desperate sound he made, his dark eyes meeting hers as he bowed to her, offering his hand to her.

“I would be a fool not to love you,” he said extending his hand.

Hermione swallowed looking at his hand, his eyes steady on her.

“Trust me, mila,” he said softly. “ Please trust me. ”

Trust me, his voice echoed in her mind, a flash of a vision, his voice in her ear. She found herself extending her hand from the banister to place in his. They breathed out, something like relief before laughing a bit at the rush of warmth coming fromt heir touching hands. Their eyes met again, smiles on their lips.

“Hello Dragonheart,” she said. “I’m Hermione Granger.”

He smiled, “Hello, I’m Viktor Krum. It is an honor to meet you in person.”

She nodded letting him help her down the last step before turning, refusing to look away from her as he escorted her towards the line up with the other champions. There was a collection of sound, Durmstrang cheering that went up near the door before they headed inside with the rest of the attendants. She smiled and waved at Harry and Luna who looked shocked before heading inside. As was traditional, the champions would dance first. Viktor leaned into her, to whisper in her ear.

“They were right to call you a goddess,” he said gently.

She looked down, but continued to look forward as they opened the door and the clapping greeted them. Despite the heels, she kept up with him, falling into step with him. He stood straight for a change, perhaps wanting to be seen for a change… wanting to be seen with her. His feet didn’t shuffle across the floor, but were sure determined steps beside her, leading her into the hall.

*

“Is that Hermione Granger? With Viktor Krum?”

“No, probably not,” Ron said.

Draco let out a scoff of laughter, clapping as they passed. Let it never be said that he couldn’t appreciate fair turn-about. His eyes drifted to Harry who stood beside Luna on the others side of the aisle, looking exceedingly happy and…

Gorgeous.

Faye and Helena’s jaw dropped as she floated by, but it was a short lived shock before they were cheering and most of the other girls shut their mouths, glaring at Hermione as she passed. Durmstrang made the most noise per usual watching Viktor walk beside Hermione.

Viktor had finally met his Grecian Goddess… and bonus points that she was as brilliant as they hoped she would be.

When they reached the dance floor, it feels like they’ve gone somewhere else. He placed a hand on her waist, cupping her hand in his gently and led her around the floor. She was smiling because he was smiling at her, a brilliant smile that burned away the dark expression he usually wore. His body relaxed and they shared a laugh as he lifted her and whirled her around, their cloaks flying out around them as they danced.

“I thought you didn’t like dancing…”

“With you?” Viktor said. “It’s like flying.”

She let herself smile, following him around in the dance. It isn’t long before the feast begins and the Durmstrang boys fill the table, hugging her tightly, asking her questions.

“You are Viktor’s Greek Goddess?” Pietro asked, as he settled Faye into her seat. “How could you not know?”

Hermione shrugged. It wasn’t as there was a shortage of people in the world, and potentially at Hogwarts, who spoke Greek. More importantly, they’d never seen each other’s dominant hand handwriting as Hermione completed her homework and things with her right hand and Viktor completed his with his left. They only wrote their letters with their dominant hands. She looked at Viktor who was only watching her, a warm sparkle in his eye.

He’d found her.

Met her, she was here, this woman in his dreams he was sure, even though he couldn’t see her face. The warmth humming in his blood, his magic sparking beneath his skin told him all he needed to know. Hermione was his soulmate, she had to be.

“What?” Hermione asked with a laugh.

“Nothing,” he whispered smiling at her. “Just… hard to comprehend it.”

They shared a look that left the rest of the table feeling as though they were intruding on a rather private moment, almost too intimate to witness. It breaks with Hermione being a tad embarrassed that they’re staring at one another as the food appeared. After dinner, they stood for pictures for the Daily Prophet and returned to the dance floor.

“Hermione,” Harry greeted looking at her slyly.

Hermione rolled her eyes and hugged him tightly, “Mark this in history, Harry Potter. You win.”

“I will,” he said with a grin before thrusting his hand forward to shake with Viktor. “Hello Viktor.”

Viktor shook his hand, “You are… Seeker friend yes?”

Harry blinked and looked at Hermione who beamed, “Uhm, yes. I suppose that’s me.”

“Hermione say much about you,” he said.

“Good things I hope, I couldn’t take you in a  fight.”

Hermione laughed as Viktor grinned, “ All good things, promise. Like brother.”

Harry nodded, “Well, we are rather close….Where’s Ron now that I think about?”

“Probably eating his table,” Hermione said with a smile. Harry conceded that point as they chatted a little longer. Viktor offered Hermione to take a walk before returning for more dancing.

She nodded and wasn’t surprised when he removed his cloak for her, sliding it around her shoulders to walk with her out the main door and into the December cold. The fur lined cloak was incredibly warm against the chill as they walked in silence. He slid his fingers into hers, earning her shy smile as they walked down the corridor, watching the snow fall over the courtyard.

“I was nervous that you would not come,” Viktor said, squeezing her hand. “But still rather go alone than with anyone picked out for me.”

Hermione smiled, “I wouldn’t do that to you… We said to meet each other as we are.”

“Da,” he said. “I am glad to have had the courage to ask.”

“You?”

He laughed, drawing her to the side, “Surprisingly, I am still a teenaged boy shaking in my boots at the thought of asking a girl to a dance.”

Hermione smiled, “Me too… I don’t think I would have ever asked to meet you in person.”

“And now?” He asked.

She shook her head, “I feel a bit like a fool for being afraid.”

“Not a fool,” he said. “Human.”

He smiled, pulling her towards him, spinning her lightly to rock with her, comfortable to look at her as they waltzed to no music, chatting in the corridor. The wind whipped through the corridor, but his cloak and robes were warm enough that neither of them felt it.

“Your dreams,” Viktor started. “How long have you had them?”

“Since I was little,” she said. “Before I came to Hogwarts...I had my first one when I visited Athena’s temple on a school field trip about four years old.”

Viktor nodded, he’d had his first one around then too. He’d dreamt of the colosseum and the gaze of a woman from the stands.

“You know that… nothing is certain until you turn seventeen?” Viktor asked and Hermione gave him a smile.

“I do have several books on soulmates rattling around in my head now.”

“ Mila, ” he said softly, stopping them. “I… have already turned seventeen, but… I know that is some time for you. I--”

“You can’t make that decision for me,” Hermione said looking at him. “As noble as it is to try to do so.”

Viktor nodded his head, “That’s not what I meant. It’s your choice, of course. Always… I just want to be sure that you understand… what should happen if… if we are not… I know how much it has bothered you before.”

Hermione looked at him, seeing almost too much that it made his stomach flop before she smiled and slipped her arms around his waist, holding him tenderly and taking comfort in his solid form.

“For once, I don’t want a plan,” Hermione said. “Can’t we enjoy this for what it is?”

Viktor blinked.

“This year,” she started. “Our relationship… shouldn’t it be allow to… grow without planning simply because we have two years without constraint? There’s no reason to fret when we have no way of knowing.”

Viktor licked his lips, “That is… logical.”

She laughed then and he smiled at the sound before pulling back, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. We don’t even know if we’re even compatible… beyond letters.”

Viktor smirked, cupping her face and looking down at her, the shimmer on her otherwise colorless lips, her eyes shimmering with glittering dust on her eyelashes. She was a dream there, but there was no mistaking the way she looked at him, needy, carnal anticipation even if she didn’t fully understand it.

“I believe that is a lie,” Viktor said softly, licking his lips  and leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to her lips.

She whimpered, fisting her hands in his robes. He slid his hand forward until his fingers wrapped around the back of her neck and she opened her mouth for him, to taste her. A sweetness to her mouth from dessert, the spark of magic in her blood and warmth. He pulled back slowly, hushing her whimpering and still her from chasing after for more.

“I’m not sure how long I’ve dreamed about doing that,” he said.

“You didn’t even know what I looked like.”

“Does not matter, I know you,” he said and turned leading her back towards the party. “Will you allow me to court you?”

Hermione smiled at him and pressed closer to his side, “Should I give you a favor in acceptance?”

Viktor kissed her temple as she giggled, “A simple yes would suffice.”

“Da,” she said and watched as his eyes fluttered and his cheeks flushed.

She hadn’t expected that as he looked at her with that too intense gaze again and licked his lips.

“Come,” he said thickly, his Greek almost slurred at the end. “It’s a party, isn’t it?”

She nodded and followed him trying to figure it out, “You… like it when I speak Bulgarian.”

“I warned you, men have weaknesses for their native language.”

She licked her lips, storing that away for future reference as they walked in and headed toward the table they were assigned. Pietro called out to them as Professor Flitwick made the announcement of the band that would be taking over now that the formalities were out of the way.

“ The band that needs no introductions!”

Viktor grinned, pulling his cloak from her shoulders, throwing it over the back of a chair and taking her hands in his, coaxing her towards the crowd.

“Viktor, I’m not really--”

“Party, mila, means dancing.” he chided, “Trust me.”

Hermione, against her more logical judgement let him pull her towards the floor.

Shake your body like a hairy troll, learning to rock and roll...

Ron slumped in his chair, Padma sat a few chairs away as he watched the group dancing to the Wyrd Sisters’ new song. He turned to talk to Harry, but remembered that Harry was on the dance floor with Luna, letting her teach him whatever strange dance she could. Ginny was out there too with Neville. His brothers… everyone.

Ruddy pumpkin head, he thought glaring at Viktor dancing with Hermione, spinning her around, rocking with her as if they’d known each other for years.

Viktor Krum dancing with Hermione Granger--what a thought. He thought she was supposed to be going with her ruddy paper boyfriend, or not at all… but there  she was being whirled around in that gown that made her look…

His fist tightened watching them laugh, jealousy burning in his chest, turning into seething as he watched. She looked so damn happy and he looked just the same, grinning down at her and mirroring each other’s dance moves, twining their fingers together at times and moving to the rhythm of the song, sometimes following the lyrical instructions, sometimes not.

He wanted to wring his thick, ruddy Bulgarian neck and hex him and his broom to high heaven. He pulled her close, directing her in a dance that she seemed to be far more familiar with than the sporadic jumping around everyone else seemed to be doing. He hoped her make-up melted off. Hoped, Viktor did what he wanted with her and then tossed her away, it would serve her right.

“Hey Ron!” Harry greeted, a little breathless as he collapsed into the chair beside him and Padma stood to escape her terrible date.

“Why aren’t you out there?”

“Not much of a dancer,” he said between his teeth still glaring at Hermione and Viktor. They looked so damned happy, he hated it. She’d only just met Viktor, she didn’t even like Quidditch yet they seemed to be having the time of their lives! He’d known Hermione for four years. He couldn’t believe that she’d…

It was a ploy, he thought looking at Harry.

“Ron?” Harry asked. “You okay?”

“How long Harry?”

“How long what?”

“How long before Viktor ditches her?” Ron asked. “She’s not fooling anyone.”

Harry looked at him strangely and then back to the couple who seemed far more interested in making fools of themselves together and working up a sweat on the dancefloor than stopping.

“Erm… I’m not sure what you meant.”

“She said she was going with her paper boyfriend, but she shows up with Viktor?”

“Did it ever cross your mind that perhaps Dragonheart is Viktor?”

“What’s an international Quidditch star doing writing a girl five years younger than him?”

“It’s three,” Harry corrected. “He’s only a seventh year.”

“Like that makes a difference. He’s too old for her!”

“And you’re…”

“Nevermind about me.”

Harry nodded understanding what this was about even if Ron hadn’t quite caught up to what he’d admitted. He highly doubted that Ron’s objections to their relationship had anything to do with their age difference. Luna shrugged and excused herself to talk to someone as Harry shook his head.

“Here it comes.”

Harry looked up seeing Hermione and Viktor breaking away from the crowd. Viktor laughed, spinning her around one last time before twining their fingers together. Harry can’t understand what their saying, but he knows when she threw her head back and laughed that it’s a joke.

Viktor turned, pressed a kiss to her hand and headed towards the refreshment table leaving her standing there. She spun around towards them, her gossamer cape floating along as she turned and headed to sit beside Harry, panting.

“Hot, isn’t it?”

Harry laughed, he’d already shrugged out of his outer robe, wearing the shirt, tie, and vest now.

“A bit.”

“Viktor’s gone to get drinks, would you like to join us?” She asked, her eyes sparkling with a light Harry hadn’t ever seen before.

“I--”

“No,” Ron cut in. “We would not like to join you and Viktor .”

Hermione blinked, an eyebrow lifted and tilting her head, “What’s got your wand in a knot?”

He sneered at her, “He’s a Durmstrang . Assistant or not--you’re fraternizing with the enemy.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, “You just can’t stand to see anyone happy when you’re miserable.”

Harry winced, “Erm--”

“ Happy? All that giggling and smiling? Dressed up for him did you? I thought you weren’t a fame-chaser.”

“Viktor and I were friends first. We’ve been trading letters for years without knowing--”

“Friends,” Ron sneered. “He’s got a bit more than friendship on his mind.”

“Ron!” Harry burst out, “What is--”

“It’s okay, Harry,” Hermione said placing a hand on his arm before looking at Ron who wouldn’t even look at her, glaring ahead.

“I’m going to enjoy the rest of my evening,” she said standing. “When you decide to stop being an arse, you’re still welcome to join us.”

Harry watched her walk off before looking at Ron, “What was that?”

“Oh shut up, Harry.”

Harry sighed and shook his head, standing and leaving Ron to stew in his rage. He waved at Hermione and Viktor on his way out, then told Luna that he was stepping out for some air. He shook his head not understanding what the hell was Ron’s problem. He had no one to blame for Hermione going to the ball with anyone else but himself. He should have just asked her.

“Potter.”

He turned seeing Draco leaning against the wall, in just his shirt, vest and tie, blonde hair styled loosely. There was something he couldn’t place in his eyes, but Harry didn’t let that stop him.

“Malfoy,” he said and continued on, trying not to let his nervousness betray him. That feeling had been getting stronger as of late, the pull and need...

“Lost?” Draco asked.

He rolled his eyes, “Skulking?”

Draco glared at him, “Escaping the racket actually.”

“Right, well continue that.”

Draco waited, trying to hold himself still, but he just--

It happens so fast that Harry isn’t sure what it is, shooting through him, like lightning. The feeling of Draco’s hand around his wrist, pulling him around and slamming him into the stone wall. He panicked, reaching for his wand, but Draco is faster, probably from being on the dueling team and training with Severus. He opened the classroom door, a silencing ward over it and a warning ward, and closed it behind them, shoving him to the ground and climbing on top of him.

“Dra--”

Draco swallowed the rest of his name, hands in Harry’s messy brown hair, he pulled Harry’s glasses off, forcing their lips together, his tongue into his mouth and holding him still. Draco expects to be hexed, to be pushed off, but he can’t control himself, the way the meeting of their skin feels like lightning and pleasure rushing through him all at once. He’s drunk with it, desperate for more no matter what Harry plans to do to him when he manages to get him off.

Harry tastes so good , he isn’t sure what to do but draw his mouth away and mouth along his jawline, to his neck until Harry’s body jerked and he cried out, his hips tilting against Draco’s thigh with a needy moan. Consequences be damned, he was going to do this, he’d denied himself enough, this wasn’t going to be one of those things. Even if it never happened beyond this, even if nothing more happened, he’d hold this when the pain of a love-less marriage was too much, think about this while he fucked some faceless woman for the sake of the Malfoy line.

He’d do it if he could just have this one night.

Harry fell apart, rocking up against the hard ridge of Draco’s thigh, squirming as Draco fisted his hair and grinded down against him, taking his mouth with each thrust of his hips and drinking in Harry’s pleasure.

“Draco--”

“Shut up,” Draco barked, fiddling with Harry’s belt. “Just shut up and--”

Harry cried out as Draco’s hand slipped into his underwear, grasping him firmly. Draco tugged his head back to kiss him, smothering his cries with strokes of his tongue.

“Draco--”

“Shut up, Harry.”

“Draco--”

“Shut it!” Draco said, pressing a hand over his mouth, grinding against Harry’s thigh harder, a band of Quidditch trained steel providing him with just enough friction to make his mind go hazy with pleasure as he jerked Harry off in his underwear. Bright green eyes looked at him helplessly, asking questions he had no answer for until he had to close his eyes against the onslaught and Harry screamed, body arching hard against him and pleasure rushed over them, crashing down hard and heavy. Draco slumped against him, panting, pinning Harry down as they both came back from it.

Harry lay still, panting, trembling as Draco moved, getting off him so he could breathe. He hears Draco trying to clean him up, sees him lick at the sticky mess on his hand and repair Harry’s glasses before placing them back on his face and sitting him up, cleaning off his vest, buckling his belt, generally putting him back together before looking at him meaningfully.

Harry’s jaw trembled looking at Draco confused and shaky while Draco tries to say something, tries to think beyond the taste of Harry on his tongue and how much more he wants.

“Harry--”

He flinched, something pulled him to his feet, shooting up, grabbing his wand and rushing from the room leaving Draco kneeling in the classroom alone. His fist closed tightly and he swallowed, getting up slowly, not even bothering to right his clothing before heading towards Severus’s chambers. He opened the door and sat on the floor in front of the fire, head on his knees.

He gasped at the first hot wet tear on his cheek and wiped at it furiously. And the next and the next, until he just couldn’t anymore, holding his head in his hands and trying to figure out what the hell he was crying about, gross pitiful sobbing as the last four years crashed down on him, the horror and terror. He didn’t want to live the life his parents lived. Didn’t want to be in a loveless marriage. Didn’t want to be the Slytherin prince for another second. It had never made him happy, but it had made Lucius happy and eventually… nothing made Lucius happy. Nothing kept the words and pain away… nothing kept him from running to Severus for something like sympathy.

Draco lay down, pressing his head to the cold stone floor and letting the tears come. No one but Severus would find him here like this. No one would ever see this Draco. Harry ran himself right back into the ball only to find Hermione and Ron outside the Great Hall.

“That’s what you think?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“Yeah, that’s what I think.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting anyone so arrogant . The world does not revolved around you, Ron.”

“I never said it did!”

“If you were going to be so torn up about my actually having a date, perhaps you should have done a bit of better job asking me,” Hermione said he opened his mouth and she raised her hand. “Insulting me does not count. Tormenting me when it was obvious how much I agonized over it is not how you ask anyone to a ball. Friend or not.”

“As if I would ever want to go with you! You’re completely mental! And when he figures that out don’t come crying because all I have to say is I told you so. ”

Hermione’s jaw snapped shut as Harry moved closer to them.

“I am not mental,” she said evenly.

Ron huffed, “Yes, you are! Absolutely off your rocker if you think for one moment that I would ever want to go to anything with you! I don’t care if you snog Krum senseless. I don’t care if your imaginary boyfriend dumps you as soon as he figures out what a headcase you are.”

Viktor walked away from Igor, ignoring his hissing Russian and headed to the chair where he’d left his cloak. He grabbed it and looked around. Hermione had been there just a moment ago, she wouldn’t have left without telling him. He had a sinking feeling in his chest a sadness and despair that was all but crushing, but wasn’t his.

“... You’re completely mental!”

Viktor turned at the voice, locking on to where the red head, Ron, stood glaring down at Hermione. He turned hurrying across the Hall towards them, ignoring someone, dodging around a couple and trying to remind himself not to break Ron’s face.

“You just can’t stand the idea that I’m happy ,” Hermione said. “You’re a jealous, selfish git who never has any sight beyond his own repressed emotions! Viktor has been nothing but kind to me on paper, in person which is something far more than I can say for you, Ronald! This isn’t about Viktor so stop using him as an excuse. Just admit that you’re angry because you didn’t think I could get a date, because you think so low of me when it isn’t related to class that you couldn’t even think that someone else could see me as a girl when it took you four years to figure it out! You hate the fact that your last resort doesn’t need you!”

Ron huffed, “ Girl? You’re just dressed up, I wouldn’t call you a girl! Girls are pretty. Girls comb their hair and do something more than talk your ear off about the most random things. Girls are nice. Girls don’t do their best to hex people on a dueling strip. Girls aren't mental!”

Girls let boys win the argument and just cry until boys deigned to come talk to them. Girls waited. Girls--

“You’re right,” she said with a shocking clarity. The haze of despair and panic that usually came with that word fizzling out, replaced by the pure joy of the years of letters, of her and Viktor’s quiet moments working together. A confidence and assurance she hadn’t ever had before.

“I’m not a girl.”

Viktor stopped looking to Harry whose eyes widened as Ron gave her a smug smirk.

“I’m a woman,” she said, regarding him regally and Viktor smiled at her, watching as Ron paled.

“ Women are beautiful. Women have more important things to do that worry what others think of their appearance. Women have more in their heads than the cover of Witch’s Weekly. Women are honest . Women do what they think is right regardless of what anyone else says. Women do what’s best for them, chose to be with who is best to them, for them, with them. Women choose men because men know women when they meet them and behave accordingly. Women don't let boys walk over them like doormats.”

Harry swallowed thickly as Ron opened his mouth. She took a step forward, forcing him to cede ground and step back.

“But you wouldn’t know anything about women would you Ron? Hm? Because you’re a boy. A sniveling, scared little boy throwing a tantrum because even the people he thought lower than him, his last resort, won’t wait for him to be ready to grow up.”

She tossed a curl out of her face, “Women don’t have time to deal with boys.”

Ron stammered as she turned a whirl of dawn colored silk. She looked at Harry.

“Luna has your cloak, she’s at the table with Ginny. We’ll talk later, Harry, about that look on your face.”

He nodded dumbly and she looked to Viktor, walking towards him, “A walk?”

Viktor looked at her kindly and shook his head, “Da.”

Ron stood shell-shocked as Viktor offered her his arm.

“Have a good evening,” she said in passing walking with Viktor down the corridor and turned the corner.

Harry went inside to grab his cloak from Luna who smiled at him.

“You should talk to him you know?”

“Wh-Who Luna?”

“Draco,” she said easily. “He was watching you all night.”

Harry flushed and prayed that Luna wouldn’t say anything more.

“It’s okay that you don’t want to talk about it,” she said. “But you should know that it’s true.”

Harry nodded, thanking her and grabbing his cloak only to find Ron flushed with rage seething and heading up the stairs. He followed after knowing he wasn’t going to get any sleep if he didn’t get Ron to calm down, or… even if he did.

Ron seemed stuck when the arrived and then set about trying to destroy everything that had Viktor’s name on it.

“Levicorpus,” Harry sighed and watched Ron fly into the air kicking and screaming.

“Put me down!”

“Not on your life,” Harry said, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “Are you going to talk about this or throw a tantrum?”

“Take her side why don’t you?!”

“This isn’t about sides,” Harry said with a groan. He really didn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with this and Draco and--

“What would you know about--”

“RON!” Harry yelled. “I don’t have time to deal with your tantrum! So talk about it or I will let you destroy all of your things and get chewed out by your parents about it.”

Ron shut his mouth. That figurine of Viktor had cost more than enough that Molly would have a fit if Ron destroyed it in a petty tantrum… not that she probably wasn’t going to have a tantrum anyway once she found out.

Severus, Harry thought. He needed to talk to Severus about Draco...soulmates… about.. stuff. There was no way he could tell Remus, or Sirius, about this, no matter how much they loved him. Not yet… wounds were still too open and his Mum? He shuddered to think.

“I…” Ron started and shut his mouth. “I hate it.”

Harry waited, “Hate what?”

“ Them, ” he said with a growl. “It’s … bad enough how much she… fawned over the letters. I’d built up the guy to be some nobody who didn’t speak English, but then it’s Viktor Krum... How am I supposed to compete with that Harry?”

Harry swallowed, “Well admitting that you’re trying to compete, rather than calling her mental, may be a good start.”

He huffed, “How embarrassing… jealous over Hermione. ”

“And what is wrong with liking Hermione?” Harry asked. “She’s brilliant.”

“She’s bossy,” Ron said. “She isn’t pretty at all! She’s just--”

“If that’s what you think, perhaps you should let this go,” Harry said. “Or is it that she’s right?”

“What?”

“You think of yourself as better than her?’ Harry asked.

Ron snorted, “Certainly in the social department. Who wouldn’t?”

“Having a lot of people that you talk to doesn’t mean you have a lot of friends, Ron,” Harry said. “And you may have just pissed one off beyond reconciliation.”

Ron glared at him, “This only happened because of you.”

“Me?” Harry asked, watching the rage he just couldn’t turn on himself turn in Harry’s direction. “What did I do?”

“Taking pity on her. Trying to hang around her. This is all your fault. I was quite happy not knowing her at all as she prattled on like a textbook in class.”

“It wasn’t pity,” Harry said. “She was alone, I reached out. We’ve been friends ever since.And no one twisted your arm into talking to her.”

“Why turn down free homework help?”

“You... “ Harry started. “Are unbelieveable. Finite Incantartem .”

Ron dropped to the ground as Harry got up to tug his tie free, trying not to remember why he had to keep his collar closed, no telling what sort of marks Draco’s teeth had left. He walked over to the cupboard and grabbed his things to head towards the bathroom for a quick clean-up. When he came back, Ron was in bed, fuming, turned away from him and that suited him just fine. He tapped his bedposts with his wand to draw up a silencing spell before crawling into bed. Curfew had been extended for the ball, but he found he was too tired to take advantage of it, especially since he was supposed to be going the Malfoy’s for Christmas…

*

“Are you okay?” Viktor asked as they walked through the corridors, arm in arm.

Hermione nodded, “It was bound to happen.”

“I could break his legs,” Viktor offered. “It really wouldn’t be a chore.”

Hermione smiled, leaning her head onto his shoulder, “That’s sweet, really, but no need.”

Viktor pouted, “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that. Can you not be so mature?”

Hermione laughed, “Sorry, I’m a woman, remember?”

Viktor groaned, if only that were the case legally as well.

“You’re going to get yelled at, aren’t you?”

Viktor shrugged, “Well worth it. It won’t be as bad as my grandmother would have been. The lady Eleonora would never forgive me if I let Igor or my parents set me up with someone.”

“Eleonora...Krum?” She asked looking up at him. “Dark hair, beautiful? Rather tall? Looks like she could be your aunt.”

“Da,” he said nodding. “That’s her… you have met her?”

“She’s my grandfather’s neighbor. They talk all the time.”

Viktor stopped looking at her, “You… are Hermes’ granddaughter, Mia?”

She nodded, “She helped him get my dress robes…”

Viktor groaned, “We will never hear the end of this.”

“Why not?”

“My grandmother has been trying to get us to meet for years .”

Hermione laughed, “I imagine she knew that when she sent the robes.”

He groaned, “You have no idea, scheming grandparents. If they wanted to be relatives so badly, why not just get married?”

Hermione laughed even as Viktor flushed, “I didn’t mean… well…”

“It’s okay, I know. El’ said time and time again, while pinching my cheeks, that she would love to have me in the family… then she and my grandfather could be siblings like they destined to be.”

Viktor laughed and shook his head, “Yes, that sounds like her.”

Hermione chuckled a bit as he let out a breath, “Hermione.”

“Da?”

He shuddered and let out a painful sound, “I don’t think I can teach you any more Bulgarian, but come out with me tomorrow? To Hogsmeade?”

Hermione nodded, “Okay.”

He took a turn and headed back towards Gryffindor tower.

“You’ve learned the castle.”

“It’s a habit.”

He walked her up to the portrait of the Fat Lady and kissed her hands.

“I will see you tomorrow.”

Hermione nodded, “It’s good to--”

The Fat Lady had seen a lot of kisses in her time as the gatekeeper to Gryffindor Tower. Most of them were inexperienced and terrible to watch between fumbling teenagers, but Viktor kissed like a man. His large hand cupping Hermione’s jaw, fingers around the back of her neck, his arm around her waist pressing Hermione against him as he plundered her mouth, slow gentle strokes that made the Fat Lady blush. She thinks perhaps she’ll have to interrupt the moment, but Viktor pulled away in an appropriate time. The kiss wasn’t chaste, but it wasn’t obscene either. His thumb graced the curve of her cheek as he bumped their noses together gently.

“ Kalinychta kai oneira glyka, ” he whispered against her lips before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“ Kalinychta, ” she replied almost breathless before turning and giving her the password. He waited at the top of the steps until she waved shyly and slipped into the portrait hole.

“Young man,” she started earning Viktor’s attention before leavin.

“Thank you,” she found herself saying. “Gods know that Hermione needed someone to be kind to her.”

“Is not kind,” Viktor replied. “Is love.”

She blinked wanting ask how he could say that, but his smile is disarming. He bowed to her politely and left down the stairs. He walked back to the ship, licking his lips and trying to savor the taste of hers, it’s sweet and hesitant, not entirely innocent so much as inexperienced. He’s met with Karkaroff on the deck and a whole host of spitting angry words to which Viktor can only smile.

“There is nothing you can do about it,” he walked to his cabin, not surprised to find it empty except for a pile of fanmail. He pulled off his robes and slid into bed, promising to write to his grandmother about Hermione, about his night and everything but he couldn’t think to do it now, enjoying the warm buzz in his blood and happy.

So very happy.

Chapter Text

Severus sat in the compartment with Draco and Harry on the way back to London with an odd sense of knowing. It wasn’t often that he employed his legilimency these days, but with the two of them in the same compartment he didn’t need to. They were overflowing with emotions, feeding them back and forth between one another in the secret way that only soulmates could. Though the spells that the Ministries of Magic employed to verify that people were soulmates could only be used when you were seventeen, most people began experience the signs in their early teens, sometimes earlier especially when they’d already met their soulmate or spent a great deal of time around them.  The gathering at the Malfoy house would be a disaster with them like this. He wasn’t entirely sure what had transpired, but given the state of the two when they’d come to him… he could guess.

Draco had been beside himself, sobbing bitterly and lying on the stone floor in front of the fireplace, shivering with cold and shock. He hadn’t seen him like that since he was child and Lucius had been a little too rough with him and his feelings. He’d had to coax Draco to take an extra-strength calming potion so he would sleep rather easily. Draco didn’t bring it up in the morning, just took the potion Severus gave him and went to his room. Harry had shown up nervous, shifty, clearly anxious not even five minutes after Draco had left his presence. Severus waited, regarding Harry as he paced and babbled. From what Severus could gather, Harry had been having visions through the eyes of someone at Slytherin house… a very specific person whom Harry knew but wouldn’t tell him.

“You could ask Draco--”

“No!” Harry said making Severus even more suspicious as he flushed and looked away. “I-I can’t… I mean… I’d never hear the end of it.”

Severus surmised that it was Draco for sure, or at the very least Harry thought it was Draco. Draco had been pining after Harry for years as far as he could tell, doing just about anything he possibly could to get Harry’s attention negative or positive. When they arrived at King’s Cross station Lily met them at the platform and Severus told her, while they were getting their trunks the situation.

Lily nodded and thought for a moment, “Oh no!”

“What is it Mum?” Harry asked.

“I forgot,” she said. “Severus and I made reservations out of town. I thought it was closer to when you all had to head back. You’ll be on your own for a little while.”

“I can just… go home,” Draco said softly.

“Oh no dear,” Lily said with a shake of her head. “I can’t trust Harry in the house by himself.”

“Mum!”

“It’s true dear, you’re such a trouble maker. Besides, your mother told me that Christmas would just have to be cancelled at the manor this year anyway.”

Draco frowned, “Is… something wrong?”

“She went to Grimmauld with Sirius.”

Draco swallowed and nodded, meaning that Lucius wasn’t exactly the nicest company at the moment and it would be better for his health to stay away. Narcissa was probably nursing some wound in one of Grimmauld’s many rooms while Sirius raved about murdering Lucius in his sleep.

“It’s fine dear, we know our house isn’t the manor, but I’m sure you two will be fine staying in Harry’s room.”

If he could have, Severus would have laughed. His wife wasn’t just crafty, but downright inventive. They headed towards the fireplace and floo’d to Godric’s Hollow. Lily made a show of finishing packing and set Severus to the market to stock the house fit for two teenage boys.

There are enough snacks, muggle and wizarding, for everyone to be happy, food to eat and make as while Harry was a troublemaker he was decent in the kitchen. They grabbed their bags and headed out.

“You two be safe. Watch some movies or something, yeah?” Lily asked, kissing both of them on the heads.

“We’ll be okay,” Harry managed, swallowing.

She hugged him tightly, “Just tell him the truth, dear. It’ll sort itself out.”

Harry blinked, shocked but then she was hugging Draco, being sure to squeeze him as tight as he liked, mess with his hair as much as he liked. It was telling that he didn’t even have the wherewithal to put up his usual fuss about it. They walked out the door, beyond the property line and took each other’s hand.

“So where are we going?” Severus asked.

“Somewhere you can let your guard down too.”

Harry watched them vanish from the sidewalk and turned, facing Draco who didn’t look at him, just turned towards the stairs and walked up them.

“A-Are you hungry?”

“No.”

Harry licked his lips, “We could—“

“You don’t have to pretend, Potter,” Draco said. “I don’t need you to. I’d rather deal with my father than play at niceties with you.”

Harry swallowed, “Do you… want to talk about… what happened?”

“Do you?” Draco asked and Harry opened his mouth trying to get the words out, but they didn’t come.

Draco sighed and looked at Harry, pinning him with his ice grey eyes, “I’ve been having visions of you, dreams from your perspective for the last few years. When we touch… it feels like sparks…”

Harry blinked swallowing and Draco turned.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch, no need to make me anything.”

He turned and walked up the stairs wishing that Harry would say something, but it never came. So he grabbed his trunk and levitated it down stairs towards the den, changed for bed and crawled onto the couch, beneath the millions of blankets that Lily had in the room and watched the Christmas tree lights until everything went dark.

*

Somehow, Severus isn’t surprised where she apparated them to, remembering well the time spent while at Hogwarts in the small cottage in the forest. She opened the door and turned on the light with a smile.

“It’s warded up, well protected, and not too far away from groceries.”

“You could have been in Slytherin,” he said regarding her as she took a seat.

She smiled, “I’m married to one, doesn’t that make me honorary?”

“Perhaps.”

Lily chuckled as he looked around, “I meant it, Severus…”

He said nothing, not turning to her as she stood up and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his back.

“I know what teaching at Hogwarts does to you… it’s been too long since you’ve… unshielded sweetheart. I’m here for you.”

He said nothing, registering her words and placing a hand on her warmly.

“When you’re ready,” she said with a squeeze. “I’m here, okay? Whatever you need.”

“I know,” he said gently.

*

Hermione is thankfully, graciously, alone when she wakes up. Alone enough that she can take a hot bath in peace without worrying about someone hexing the spouts. She relished the fact that the curls from the night before still held relatively well and coralled her hair into a plain sphedone, tugging on something comfortable and warm she wrapped the brilliant red scarf he’d sent her around her neck and grabbed her winter coat to head down the steps. Viktor had promised to take her on a proper date today and Viktor was always a man of his word if nothing else.

Viktor waited by the great hall, there with a smile in his light cloak, pants and shirt.

“How are you not freezing?” She asked looking at him.

“Norwegia is in winter most of the year,” he said. “This is spring for me until I go home.”

She nodded and took his arm. Once far enough outside the grounds, they he apparated them to Hogsmeade and when they landed she had to shake herself free of the sensation, wobbling on her feet though not throwing up her soul, so he counted it as a good thing.

“First time?”

She nodded.

“You did well,” he said. “I was sick for three days my first time apparating… I was also a good deal younger I suppose.”

They stopped for breakfast at the small cafe and wandered through the rest of the shops that were open. It has to be the most carefree day they’ve ever experienced, even when people rush him for an autograph outside of the Quidditch shop. Hermione only smiled at him and urged him to him smile even if his female fans had a complete disregard for them clearly being on a date.

The Daily Prophet would have a field day, she was sure. Their last stop was the old bookstore, crammed to the back of the small village. It was completely out of the way, but in Hermione’s experience carried a great deal of things that she couldn’t find in the Hogwarts library. Viktor managed to talk her down to one book on this trip with nearly underhanded tactics, before walking back towards Hogwarts. They took the carriages this time.

“Thestrals?” Viktor asked seeing the skeletal creature that looked back at him and whinnied.

“Yes,” Hermione said turning her head. “Thestrals.”

Viktor looked at her, “You can see them, too?”

Hermione nodded and smiled at them before climbing into the carriage.

“My cousin,” Viktor said. “When we were small… We almost drowned together.”

Hermione swallowed, “I’m… sorry.”

Viktor shook his head, “The merpeople of the Black Sea brought us back to shore, but it was too late for her.”

Hermione squeezed his hand and looked at him, “I’m sure you did everything you could to save her.”

Viktor stiffened looking at ther, her kind eyes seeing more than he though he’d allowed. How…

He cleared his throat, squeezing her hand back, “Thank you.”

She smiled, “It was my grandmother.”

Viktor looked at her.

“I was little, too little, but we were all in the hospital together. They’d left me alone in the room with her and she just… stopped breathing.”

Viktor nodded and slipped an arm around her waist to tug her closer to him.

“I am sorry, did you… know here well?”

“No,” Hermione said. “From what I remember, she was horrid actually. She was my Dad’s mother and never really liked me, or my mother… or my grandfather for that matter.”

Viktor nodded as Hermione shrugged. In her tiny world, it meant that she wouldn’t have her cheeks pinched for not saying much or have to eat that awful pudding she made. Viktor could only laugh and tell her about his own grandfather who made the best pudding and was incredibly generous with it.

“Too generous if you asked my grandmother,” Viktor told her.

They walked into the castle and ended up in the Room of Requirements, apparently it was the only room that ghosts didn’t wander into and out of and they could sit quietly, close, reading with her in his lap or kiss, to be together in peace while the castle was all but empty for the rest of the holiday. Igor had left with his wife and with most students. Viktor, being the champion, was all but ordered to stay behind and work on preparing for the 2nd task. Igor had left him with piles of books, sure that they would keep him busy since he assumed Hermione would be leaving, but they would wait and Hermione was under obligation to remain behind with her champion after all.

Now, he almost wished she’d left him and whatever other students were still there for the holiday because she was looking up at him with those eyes, clinging to him. He hadn’t meant to work her up the way he had, but as it stood he had. She leaned forward, chasing after his lips, whimpering, pleading for more until he smacks her ass hard enough to sting, a little harder and a little more meaningful than a love tap.  She yelped in shock but didn’t flinch away.

“ Mila, ne. ”

He froze at the sound of his own voice, his action as she looked up at him with that look that had been haunting his dreams since he’d first seen it. Wonder and frustration washed over him in equal force. Her eyes were open, her breath caught and she swallowed looking at him, stilling even though she shook.

“Good girl,” he breathed and she whimpered, low and needy, her legs trembled around one his one from the way she’d all but crawled into his lap.

“You…” he let out a breath, hands on her shoulders and pushing her gently back so the scent of her wouldn’t cloud his already broken judgement. “We need to talk.”

Her jaw shook as he pressed a kiss to her temple, adjusting himself on the couch to pull her close, stretched out, letting her body rest half on his and half between him and the back of the couch.

“Lay down, mila,” he said with a sigh. “Please?”

She relented laying her head on his chest as he sighed, forcing air into his lungs and sense into his head. For the love of the gods, Merlin and beyond, what the bloody hell was he doing?

“I… there are things, mila, I need to tell you. Things that wouldn't make sense if I wrote them on paper.”

She waited.

“I have… needs… no, that’s not the right word… urges? Desires?”

“Like craving chocolate?”

He smiled at her question and kissed her forehead, “Sure. Cravings. I’m not a nice person…”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“You think so?”

Hermione let out a breath, “Of course. I doubt you could tell me something that could change my mind on that and it actually be true.”

“I think about turning you over my knee and spanking you until you cry.”

She blinked, her eyes fluttering and he wanted to kiss her for being so cute even as his stomach cramped with terror. He couldn’t just go for something small like pinning her up against a wall, could he? That had to be what came out of his mouth, in Greek at that. At least if it was English he could try and play it off, though even that was doubtful.

He wanted to groan. She needed to know if they were going to pursue anything when she was older, and even now to explain some of his mannerisms as they pertained to her. And he wanted to curse himself for wanting to be so honest with her. Honesty was good, but she was fifteen , untouched, inexperienced--he’d probably freaked her out.

“Would these needs, urges, etc. be why you sometimes… call me a good girl?”

He smiled, “Partially.”

Hermione nodded slowly, “How… extensive are these urges?”

Viktor snorted wanting to laugh at exactly how practical she sounded looking away from him, “What are you imagining?”

“Well… I’ve read some pretty extensive things…”

Viktor laughed then, tossing his head back, his whole body shaking with it before squeezing her tightly.

“Oh mila, e tam nishto ne ste procheli  tova? ”*

Hermione tilted her head, looking up at him and squinting as he laughed. She got the word “read” out of the half-laughed Bulgarian. From her best guess, he was astonished that she’d read about it.

“I read everything,” she decided on as a reply as he wiped his eyes from laughing. He nodded.

Unbelieveable, he thought shifting a bit and fixing his mouth to speak Greek to her. “What have you read?”

Hermione looked at her hands, “Are you making fun of me?”

“Never, sweet,” he assured, threading his fingers in her wild curls, still loose from the extensive Sleekeazy’s treatment. “Never. I’m serious.”

“Well…” she started tentatively, skirting around the fact that she’d read nearly every muggle fiction series on BDSM that she’d been able to get her hands on without suspicion. Most of the public library’s books about them as it had been something she’d been interested in, a psychological exchange that was inherently wrought with emotion and things that she, quite usually, couldn’t feel while on medication. She’d thought it could be something to look to curb her anxieties.

Viktor listened to her and licked his lips, leaning down to look her in the eye, “You’ve researched this haven’t you, my little bookworm?”

She didn’t look at him, “I read everything.”

He moved her hair aside, “While that is true, you don’t research everything. Tell me, really.”

Hermione licked her lips, “I thought… maybe it would… help with my anxiety.”

He watched her, as she carried on, “But of course that was just a theory and I would need someone I actually trusted extensively to even consider  trying it and I--”

He pressed a finger to her lips, “Da, I think you are right about your anxiety… Are you more afraid of what you have to think about when you aren’t talking or what could be said?”

She opened her mouth and shut it, afraid to answer. It honestly depended. She talked more when she was nervous outside of class because she was afraid of messing things up, of saying something that would only strengthen the label of “mental” hanging over her head. She was terrified of talking over people’s heads and essentially isolating herself even more than she already was so she explained everything she’d said, carried the full weight of the conversation. In her experience, if someone was silent after she’d said anything it usually came with a confused look and that was quickly followed with being ignored completely.

In class, she talked more because she didn’t want to think about how much she couldn’t manage to care, she’d developed a habit of pretending to care that much in the hopes that she could trick herself out of her own apathy. It hadn’t worked, but her grades were fantastic.

“I see,” Viktor said as she couldn’t answer him. “Do you trust me?”

Hermione nodded slowly.

Viktor licked his lips, “We’ll try something small, mila. Beginner level if you will. Sound okay?”

“... Like what?” She asked against his chest, smelling the crisp clean scent of him.

Viktor though for a moment and reached into his pocket, grabbing a red handkerchief.

“You recite relevant facts about a subject when you think you’ve said too much,” Viktor said. “‘Or when you think it’s expected of you.”

“My doctors thought it could be Tourette’s, but it was too specific for that. They just chocked it up to social anxiety because of what happened. I’m not sure if I agree with…”

Viktor smiled listening to her. Part of him knew that it was the way her mind worked, but he waited until she finished her thought, stammered and opened her mouth to speak before pressing a finger to her lips.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You didn’t lose me and I understood everything you said. We’ll try it for the whole break.”

The task was simple. They would talk like they always did and whenever she started to try and talk from her anxiety, he would gag her for five minutes. Hermione swallowed and nodded.

“Okay.”

Viktor grinned.

“Do you know why I’m going to gag you as opposed to anything else?”

Hermione swallowed, “To… get me used to silence.”

“Yes,” he said. “You don’t have to carry the full weight of being understood in any conversation, mila. Say what you mean to say and that’s all you need. If someone wants to understand you, they’ll ask for clarity.”

Her stomach twisted and Viktor licked his lips. More than likely, what she actually feared was no one wanting to understand her, but he’d let her reach that conclusion on her own.

Hermione nodded looking at him and letting out a breath. It happens when eventually crack open one of Igor’s book. It’s kind of useless in terms of mapping which prompted Hermione to shake her head and make notes of her own, sitting in his lap so he could read over her shoulder as she made notes.

“Per Rucilius Nottingham, the Black Lake became home to the first mer-colony in the seventeenth century, the salinity of the lake shifted in the sixteenth after the battle of Frozen River, making it nearly uninhabitable. Then, a century later the tides shifted after…”

Viktor smiled into her shoulder as she talked and drew up her noted, pulling them for the sources she’d read.

“But we’ll still have to cross-reference….”

“You’re brilliant,” he said.

She swallowed, “Actually, I’m just highly logical which allows me to look past extraneous detail and perceive clearly that which others overlook.”

Viktor smiled at her, a soft tender thing, indulgent even, and she froze, her mouth opening a flurry of words came, logical, highly logical and so fast triggered by it, that she can’t make herself stop. He drew out the handkerchief as she stammered to a stop and pulled back.

“Close your mouth, mila.”

Her jaw trembled but she did as she was told allowing him to tie the length of cloth over her lips and grab a five minute hourglass.

“Lay back,” he said. “Relax. It’s okay.”

He felt her tense up even more and tugged her against him, rubbing her back as she shook, a low whimpering sound coming from her that tugged at his heart.

“Five minutes,” he said. “Be good for me and relax. This isn’t because I want you to stop talking. This is because I don’t want you to be nervous with me, sweet. I listen to you and anyone else who wants to hear what you have to say will listen too.”

She grit her teeth beneath the gag. It’s gentle, more a reminder to be quiet and contain her thoughts than anything. His voice is soothing, but there’s something beating at her teeth, at her ribcage--a horrible terror that she can’t quite name.

When the five minutes are up he untied the knot and gave her a kiss, “Good girl. You did well.”

Hermione begged to think differently because it isn’t the last time. They’re in the room of requirements for all of a few hours and it seems that every  thirty minutes or so, she was gagged, lying still against him with him rubbing her back. Her eyes burned hot with frustration. Why couldn’t she do this? Why was she such a failure at this? Why was he so calm and patient about this? She wanted to say a million and three terrible things to herself, yet he was just so… kind and patient, coaxing her to relax.

She’d memorized most of the library, was set to graduate three years early from Hogwarts and catapult herself into advanced healing training before she even became of age, but she couldn’t--

“Sweet,” he said softly, cupping her face. “Look at me.”

She turned her head way shamed and moved to stand, stammering out something about heading back to her dorm. He stopped her at the door, pressing the flat of his hand against it with a low sigh. She didn’t turn around, a large tome pressed against her chest like a shield, her head tilted down and hiding her tears in the curtain of her dark curls, forcing her jaw shut lest more things come tumbling out.

“I have pushed you too far,” Viktor said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, sweet, we won’t--”

She shook her head letting out a desperate sob. Viktor grunted, a physical pain stabbing him in the chest as he reached for her and turned her around to look at him. She didn’t relinquish the book, crying silently, her jaw trembling.

“Hermione,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

“I--... I can’t do this,” Hermione said shaking and letting out another sob. “I can’t… how am I… supposed to do anything when I can’t even manage to k-keep my mouth shut? Sabertooth, Know-It-all… Granger... mental… ”

Viktor’s eyes widened seeing her shake as she fell to her knees, clutching the book in her arms tightly and sobbing. Viktor kneeled, and grabbed the book. She whimpered, holding it tighter in her brown hands, against her chest as if it was the only thing keeping her afloat.

“Let go, sweet,” he said and tugged it free of her grasp before pulling her into his lap, pressing her face in the crook of his neck and let her cry, hot frustrated tears. It was… worse than he expected. Perhaps Hermione’s need to please, to be perfect, had deeper roots than he first thought, perhaps if she wasn’t talking out her anxiety, she’d be trapped with them.

He wondered, for a moment, if she had a therapist that she saw back home.

“I need you to listen to me, mila,” he said gently. “You don’t have to say anything, just listen okay?”

She sniffled and nodded against him, clinging to him.

“Habits are not broken in a day,” he said calmly. “It takes time and you did wonderfully. It’s only been a few hours. This isn’t at all like memorizing a book. It’s something you have to learn, slowly, a habit you have to change, a mind state…. Those don’t change in a manner of an hour.”

She sniffled.

“Anxiety isn’t something you manage to control in one day.”

She sniffled again as he pulled back and lifted her face to wipe the tears away.

“You are so brave for trying to change, to do something new in the hopes that it will help you settle into your skin. So very brave and you should be proud of that.”

She looked at him hopelessly, “Viktor…”

“It will take time,” Viktor assured. “I can’t say how much, but so long as you are willing to try, whatever you are willing to try, it will happen.”

Hermione nodded slowly.

“Now,” he said. “I don’t want to ever hear you call yourself any of that ever again, understand?”

She looked at him.

“Or I will actually turn you over my knee,” Viktor warned. “You don’t call yourself any of that, you don’t talk about yourself that way. Not because I’m telling you not to, but because none of it is true. Understand?”

She nodded slowly and Viktor took a deep breath, “I’m going to have you repeat after me, okay?”

Hermione nodded.

“I’m beautiful,” he said.

Hermione looked away.

“Say it, sweetheart.”

Despite herself and the way the words seemed to scratch on the way out, she said it, “I...I’m beautiful.”

“I’m brilliant.”

“I’m brilliant.”

Viktor smiled at how easily that came.

“I’m not mental.”

“I…” she took a calming breath and squeezed his hands. “I’m not mental.”

“I’m strong.”

“I’m… strong.”

“Again, from the beginning.”

She looked at him, “I’m… beautiful. I’m brilliant. I’m not...mental. I’m… strong.”

Viktor looked into her eyes and decided that it was a good start, “Good girl. I’m going to have you repeat them every time we’re together, after every punishment, and whenever you need to.”

Hermione looked at him strangely and he smiled, “You’ll understand.”

She trusts him so she doesn’t think anything odd of it. The first time she finds herself repeating the mantra is before her entrance exam into the Asclepius Healer’s Academy of Greece. Minerva had escorted her to the testing center and helped her get all the paperwork she’d need. The exams would be taking place all day the day before classes started back up and no matter how sure she was of herself, she just… needed a little extra reassurance. She isn’t sure why, but they feel calming, like Viktor’s hand in her hair and peace a she sits and fills out her paperwork before sitting for the test.

When it’s over and they’re back at Hogwarts, he’s waiting for her in the foyer with a smile and a promise to take her to Hogsmeade for dinner. He takes her hand and guides her down the familiar path, opens doors, and pulls out her chair. He’s doting, attentive, caring and affectionate. It feels like a dream and serves as the perfect distraction to fretting about how well she’d done, if some of the experimental spells she’d done were good enough… Madame Pomfrey had put a lot of faith in her, a lot of esteem as had the rest of her Professors…

It would have broken her heart to let them down.

On the walk back, she feels a little mischievous and throws a snowball at him before running away. He’s faster than her in the snow, having spent most of the year in it, but she’s the Gryffindor champion for a reason. She conjured a walk of snow and slipped behind a tree.

“ Mila, ” he said dusting off his cloak. “ You are in so much trouble. ”

She worried her lip at his tone, warm and playful, the meaning behind it unsure. She shrieked at the face full of snow she turned into as he laughed.

“Do not start a game you can’t finish,” he advised as she wiped her face raising her wand.

“I’m just getting started!”

At some point, that is how Dumbledore finds them: dueling in the forest, hurling snow and ice at one another. Minerva is almost as shocked as he is to see them. It’s a rather fierce snowball fight, complete with small snow man aries that throw vollies of snow that exploded along the ground. Hermione is quick on her feet, tumbling, flipping and spinning out of the way as Viktor had her on the run.  Acrobatic, flipping in a straight line just out of the way of  Viktor’s snowball aerial assault.

She landed solidly and hurled an Expelliarmus at him that sent his wand flying into the snow and threw up her hands in triumph.

“I win!”

Viktor laughed, moving to find his wand before walking to her and lifting her off her feet to spin her around and take her to the ground to tickle her until she shrieked.

“Mischievous girl, must learn her lesson!”

“I’m sorry! Viktor! Viktor please!”

Dumbledore and Minerva watched them flail around in the snow. He was sure that he’d never seen her so carefree. It was good and exactly what they needed considering that Viktor seemed to have friends, but none that would so readily count for this particular trial.

“I think they are rather friendly,” Dumbledore said with a humored smile.

“Mr. Krum does seem to be… quite taken with her,” Minerva said. “As I understand it, they were paired as correspondents in Miss Granger’s first year.”

Dumbledore nodded and headed into Hogsmeade leaving the two to their squabbling.

Viktor kissed her soundly among the falling snow and helped her up.

“Come, we should get you inside before you freeze.”

She nodded, letting him twine their arms together and walk back to the castle. He dried her off gently and led her to their study room knowing she would ask about it. They spend the rest of the afternoon pouring over maps and ideas about how to breathe underwater for an hour. Eventually, they decided on human transfiguration as it was something that Viktor has quite a bit of experience with and would definitely score him more points than a Bubble Head Charm, it was also considerably less delicate of a spell.

Chapter Text

Viktor left the Great Hall feeling something twisting in his gut. It was all of a few weeks into the new semester, a few weeks before the second task and he was itching for a break. His neck was still itching oddly from his practice that morning by the lake.

When he arrived at the Room of Requirements, where he was supposed to meet Hermione for a bit of time together, there’s something off about it, he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say.

She isn’t crying, but there’s a tension in her shoulders that tells him she’s barely restraining herself. She doesn’t look up when he comes in, her jaw is too tense for nothing to be wrong and his chest tightens into a restricted feeling that makes him nervous, even more .

“Sweetheart?”

She flinched stilling as he came towards her on the couch and took a seat. She seemed a little beside herself, shaking and her fists tight on her knees. Her jaws locked tight and staring into nothing,

“Mila, what’s wrong?” He asked gently, placing a hand on her shoulder, she flinched and let out a struggling sound when he realized that there was definitely a lot more to what was wrong than he could have imagined.

“Mila,” he said again, a bit more edge in his voice. “Talk to me.”

“Hi,” she said, soft and fragile, barely a whisper.

“Better,” he said looking at her. “What happened?”

“I passed my exams.” He waited, “All Os.”

Viktor shook his head and breathed as she managed to gather the words in her head to speak.

“I… went to dinner.”

Viktor watched her, the slow process of her forcing only the relevant things out. She struggled with the idea of being gagged, at least she had and now she was gagging herself. It was a… a step in the right direction of sorts and he only lifted a hand to stroke her hair gently, watching the way she sighed a bit and relaxed a little.

“I… I...went to… the common room…”

Viktor licked his lips and pressed a kiss to her temple, waiting. He’d learned rather early in his Quidditch career that patience was the greatest virtue in life. If he waited long enough, most things would fall into place given that he was quick on his broom as well. This was no different, he could feel everything converging, an opening in the world through which he could reach his goal, through which he could see the issue.

Hermione was very clearly someone he would have to exercise such patience with.

“There were… girls… older girls...talking… ab-about me...about us.”

He almost groaned, knowing how mean older girls could be.

“They were… completely daft bimbos.”

He chuckled.

“They… told someone… about… something that happened in first year,” she said thickly. “When I… before the potions were… were better. When I didn’t take them…”

“They cornered me…”

Viktor frowned as he voice shook and she hung her head, shaking.

“I… I’m a great d-duelist but… they just… they came at me… They were so… mean . It wasn’t even hexes. I didn’t know what to do… I...zoned out.”

He looked at her.

“I didn’t feel anything,” she said shaking her head. “I didn’t say anything and they were so… mean… yelling at me… shoving me around… called me m-mental...said they would tell you… said so many horrible things to me.”

She zoned out, hadn’t heard them beyond her memories. Hadn’t heard anything beyond the panic that maybe once he knew then things would change and she couldn’t. She couldn’t--She’d stepped back into that incident on the playground and while it wasn’t her first run-in with hallucinations, it more terrifying than any others. Most of her hallucinations were things that couldn’t possibly be real, never things that had happened before. She was stuck between the realm of mania and PTSD and she just couldn’t take it.

She’d screamed.

“I couldn’t stop it…”

There was so much magic, flowing around her, encasing her, glowing as she fell to her knees, trapped. She had no understanding of what had happened to the other girls, what was going on, but she remembered the out of control feeling, remembered screaming, begging for it to stop.

She didn’t want to hurt anyone.

She’d been hurt enough.

She didn’t want to lose Viktor for something that she couldn’t control.

“A freak ,” she choked. “Completely mental, I couldn’t stop it. Just-- there was so much and I couldn’t control it! What if it’s true Viktor? People like me aren’t supposed to have magic at all?”

Viktor licked his lips, but before he could say anything she was on her feet and it was clear that whatever the girl’s had said to her had been one too many attacks on her psyche. Hermione had a lot of power that she hadn’t quite learned how to control or tap into yet. She could be dangerous in her brilliance. More than likely, her emotions, which were so very usually muted by her potions, her illness, and her distinct brand of affect, had rushed the gates taking that untapped power with it.

He knew what that was like, how scary it could be… he also knew how terrifying it had to have been for her since the last time it happened a group of children had almost died because of it.

She mussed her hair nervously as he watched her shaking hands running through her curly hair, wild and untamed, the Durmstrang tie barely hanging on despite its charms. She was usually of a rich brown complexion, but she’d gone pale with shock and horror.

“Mental people aren’t supposed to have magic. Mudbloods--I could have killed them and I don’t eve--even know what it was. What I did--I--”

“Mila,” he said calmly and she froze looking at him, something around the edges of that word making her stop.

“What did I tell you I would do to you if you ever spoke about yourself that way again?”

She blinked confused for a moment before swallowing thickly, “Turn me… over your knee.”

“Good, come here,” he said taking her hands as she drew closer.

“When we’re done, we’ll go speak to your headmaster, okay?” Viktor asked looking at her. “You are not a freak. Your blood doesn’t have anything to do with your magic worthiness, neither does your illness. You understand?”

Hermione looked at him.

“That would be like saying I’m too tall so i don’t deserve to be a seeker, don’t deserve to fly,” he said. “Magic chose you, Hermione, whether anyone else likes it or not.”

She looked at him seriously.

“ I chose you, whether anyone likes it or not,” he said softly, and kissed her hands. “Okay?”

She nodded stiffly, “Come here, sweetheart.”

She sat in his lap, letting him hold her close and gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“They’re just jealous,” he said. “Jealous that with all their pure blood, it won’t cover up that they’re nothing inside.”

She said nothing, not even a hiccup and while Viktor knew it was a part of the shock, it wasn’t good. She wouldn’t get past this without letting it out. It would fester and grow tighter in her chest, he could feel it in his own. She’d been right to think that a power-exchange might help quell some of her anxieties, or at least manage them a little better than her potions alone, but it had to be consistent and it had to be on her terms.

“I’ll give you a moment,” Viktor said gently, hushing her. “When you’re ready.”

“Are you… really going to turn me over your knee?” She asked timidly.

There’s tone coloring her voice telling him that he’d pulled her out of his panic. The rush of relief was so heady that he almost missed answering her.

“And spank you,” he said, stroking her hair, marvelling at how soft it was. He’d get his hands in it and pull it to make her bare her throat one day. “Yes, I am if you agree to it.”

She fidgeted and he lifted an eyebrow, “You’ve thought about this?”

“W-Well, it was in a book I read and I-- I mean…”

“You’ve… fantasized about this,” he said with a grin. “Tell me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“You can,” he said. “This doesn’t work unless you’re honest with me.”

She fiddled with her skirt for a moment and then looked up at him before opening her mouth to tell him about a scene from one of the novels she’d read. He isn’t sure how he’s managing to still listen when his brain is definitely fried. He’d have to invest in muggle romance novels if their writers could devise a scene like the one she was describing. He closed his eyes and he could practically see Hermione, bent over in nothing more than Bulgarian red lacy lingerie, a high cut thong perhaps, squirming in her bonds, a bright red ball in her mouth, pleading with him as the vibrator hummed low and constant. Pleading to stop, for more as he took his time and spanked her ruthlessly.

He was going straight to hell for having such thoughts about a fifteen-year-old, he was sure.

You’re only three years older than her, he chided himself, just a year past the wizarding adult age. In the muggle world, he was only just barely an adult. Hell, he couldn’t even drink yet in some countries….