Chapter Text
Viktor read the same line of text for the fifth time. His English was good but he found these marathon study sessions taxing. He leaned back in the hard wooden chair and closed his eyes for a moment. Letters swam behind his eyelids. The room was dimly lit for a library, hidden amongst the stacks and stacks of books. The Hogwarts library was larger than the Durmstrang one and some of these books were exceedingly rare.
“Eeek! There he is!” Squealed a distinctly female voice.
“Shut up! He’ll hear you,” hissed another.
He kept his eyes closed and bit back a groan. He was starting to recognize the members of his current fan club, which was never a good sign. It meant they were persistent. It was best not to engage with them—any attention was considered good attention to these types.
Viktor tried to get back to his reading—a rare treatise on partial human transfiguration that Viktor was certain this was the only copy of—but the dialect was old and pushed the boundaries of his understanding. And he certainly couldn’t focus on it with the gaggle of girls staring at him through the bookshelves. His jaw clenched and his head started to throb.
Viktor began to pile up his books, dropping them unceremoniously on top of each other, his irritation all too apparent.
He was going to make a fool of himself during the next task if he didn’t figure this out. Merpeople were dangerous and he was certain that was the next task. He had the idea almost immediately when he’d heard the shrieking egg. Once, when he was a boy, he’d heard the sound of a rusalki above water. It was shrill and grating. It’d taken him a day or so to realize he needed to listen to the egg underwater.
“What do you think he’s studying?”
“Probably something for the next task.”
“I doubt he even has to—“
“Would you please shut up!”
Viktor’s head whipped around behind him. He saw a girl at a table with a stack of books higher than his own, standing up, her hands slammed down on the table. She had curly brown hair and a heart shaped face and wore a red and gold tie with her robes.
“I am trying to revise my charms paper, but it’s impossible with your…your giggling!” She snapped. Her face was flushed with anger and she looked ready to hex the girls in question.
“Mind your own business, Granger!” Spat one of the girls. She wore a green and silver tie and looked down her nose at the bushy haired girl called Granger. “We’re revising too!”
Granger rolled her eyes and put her hand on her hip. “I’m sure, perhaps I’ve been misguided in studying the theory of water magic and should really have been looking at the regal slope of Viktor Krum’s brow!”
Viktor started to laugh before he could stop himself. All three girls turned to look at him, the two in green and silver now just as red faced from embarrassment as Granger was from fury.
The two girls all but ran away, leaving their books on the table, forgotten.
Viktor stared at Granger, who was currently looking at him with a somewhat shocked expression on her face.
He stood up from his chair and walked over to her table.
“Thank you,” he said. “Ignoring attention is often the best course, but they were giving me a headache.”
Granger tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and looked away from him. “Don’t mention it,” she said quietly.
She was pretty, her cheeks still flushed, though perhaps now from embarrassment, her skin was smooth and dewy.
“I’m Viktor,” he said, extending his hand for her to shake.
She laughed. “Everyone knows that.”
“True,” he said, though he took no delight in the fact. “But I would not learn your name without introducing myself.”
She looked up at him. “I’m Hermione. Hermione Granger.” She took his hand and shook it rather firmly, her hand squeezing his perhaps a little too tightly.
She cleared her throat. “Now that that’s settled,” she said hastily. “I really should get back to my revising, I wasn’t lying earlier.” She glanced at her table of papers and books. Viktor peered over her shoulder at her notes. Her handwriting was small and cramped, like she wrote as quickly as her thoughts came.
“Of course,” he said, bowing his head. “I would not want to interfere…disrupt?” He asked.
“Disrupt is a better word, though either works,” Hermione said quietly.
He smiled. “Disrupt,” he repeated. “Thank you.”
He went back to his table again and took to his text with renewed vigor, though he couldn’t help but spare a look here and there at the girl across from his table.
.
.
He was very studious, Hermione thought. She’d been tracking his progress through Geralt the Strange’s transfiguration texts. They were awfully dense, even to her, and yet she watched him take meticulous notes in what she assumed was his native Bulgarian, though it could perhaps be Russian.
The fan clubs had stopped stalking him at the library since she’d embarrassed them weeks ago, but Hermione found herself still distracted.
She hated to think herself biased, but she was surprised at his study skills. She didn’t expect an athlete to be so bookish.
Hermione looked down at her papers. She sighed wearily. Professor Moody had assigned a bear of an essay about the six facets of Dark Magic and the books she’d had to read left her feeling both disturbed and confused. Dark Magic behaved differently, was more wild and dangerous, the risk of some of these spells was far too high for her to tolerate, the components for certain enchantments too gruesome for her to stomach—
“What are you studying?”
Hermione jumped, startled.
It was Krum.
“Sorry, I did not mean to startle you,” he said, the cadence of his voice and shape of his vowels strange to her ear.
“It’s alright,” she said, trying not to sound too flustered. Her heart was racing and she couldn’t place why. “I’m writing an essay on the six facets of Dark Magic, for Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
He looked over at her study materials, a weathered old book that looked as if it were written in blood. It emitted a strange smell, not unpleasant but not the usual old book smell. Whenever Hermione touched it her skin itched as if pulled tight over her bones..
“It is best to forget what you know about magic and start with fresh eyes for the Dark Arts,” he said carefully.
Hermione’s stomach lurched. She’d heard rumors that they taught the Dark Arts at Durmstrang but she’d thought that they were exaggerated.
“This kind of magic is…it takes feeling,” he said. He reached across the table and flipped to a page in the last third of the book. “I would start here.”
“I don’t want to do Dark Magic,” Hermione said perhaps a bit too sharply.
“No one sane does,” he said seriously. “But without understanding, how can you win against an enemy?”
Hermione sat with that thought for a moment. He had a point that Hermione had considered before and that Professor Moody espoused, and yet it still made her feel…wrong, even if she was intrigued.
Hermione glanced at the page he’d flipped to and, admittedly, it was exactly what she’d been looking for.
“You’re familiar with this text?” She asked.
He crossed his arms in front of him. He was not classically handsome, no, his features were rather rugged and she was sure his nose had been broken more times than he could count, but there was something about him that she had to admit was attractive.
“It was on my course list last year. The original language is Russian.”
There was something dangerous about that. It should inspire distrust in her but instead it sparked her insatiable curiosity.
“I will sit?” He looked at her beseechingly.
She frowned. It almost felt like she was admitting defeat, that she couldn’t figure it out on her own. She should be wary—he went to Durmstrang and she was Harry Potter’s best friend.
He frowned, his heavy brow furrowing. “Nevermind, I do not wish to bother you—“
“No!” She interrupted. She laughed nervously. “No, it’s fine. Please, sit.”
He sat down in the chair beside her and started to explain Dark Magic and how it functioned in a very plain, utilitarian way. She scribbled notes with almost embarrassing fervor, but everything he said made new connections in her mind. Suddenly her years of Defense Against the Dark Arts education took on a new context.
And things Harry said made more sense too. For the first time she couldn’t help but wonder if the nightmares he had weren’t normal nightmares at all, but rather something darker.
“An important attribute of Dark Magic is that it is unnatural, more so than other types of magic. It says here that the land will cry out and proclaim its suffering,” Hermione read aloud.
“There are many examples—cursed caves, unnatural land formations, forests that drive people to madness.”
“Have you ever seen such a place?” She asked before she could stop herself.
Viktor’s expression darkened and she regretted the question.
“Once, when I was younger. The summer after my second year at Durmstrang. I got lost on my family’s lands…there were strange creatures and a black cliff side that looked…it was strange,” he said, his limited English clearly frustrating him. He thought for a moment. “I had to cut my hand on the rock to leave,” he showed her his palm where a thin white scar traversed the heel of his hand. “The scar will not disappear for any spell. I believe that something dark happened there centuries ago. I never went looking that way again.”
He shuddered, as if the memory of it alone was enough to frighten him.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, never regret asking question,” he said quickly.
Hermione glanced at his table of books.
“We’ve spent enough time on my project. What have you been working on?” She asked, changing the subject.
He waved his wand. His notes and three books flew over and gently settled themselves in front of him. Then with another flick of his wand his notes and illustrations floated in the air, arranging themselves carefully to show one of the most elaborate transfiguration matrices she’d ever seen. She tried her best not to look impressed—she didn’t want to seem as if she were fawning, but it was difficult. All of the words were written in Cyrillic, but the diagram she understood.
“I am working out the mechanics on human transfiguration,” he said carefully.
“That’s very dangerous magic,” she said almost admonishingly.
He raised an eyebrow at her and the look he gave her made her heart race.
“Yes, it is,” he agreed.
Hermione reached forward to examine the diagram. “This here, may I?” She asked. He looked at her intently, analyzing her in a way she found both uncomfortable and exhilarating before he said “Continue.”
She ran her wand over a rune and pulled it forward so the rune floated in front of them in the air. “This is a misunderstanding of Feline’s Law of Equivalence. This,” she took her quill and carefully drew on the parchment, “Is better, more concise and…”
She trailed off. She’d been caught up in what she was saying and hadn’t realized how he was staring at her. There was an intensity that made her squirm and her heart clench tight in her chest. He’d leaned towards her, their shoulders almost touching. She could feel the warmth of him right next to her. She swallowed.
“And refined,” she said shakily.
He held her gaze for a moment longer before he turned to look at the matrix. She watched him think, working through the principles in his head. He reached forward and ran his hand over the page. Transfiguration was so theoretical and required perfect understanding for proper execution, and with human transfiguration there wasn’t room for error.
“What year of learning are you in?” He asked.
She glanced away from him. For whatever reason she felt embarrassed. “Fourth.”
She felt so young. Too young…
Too young for what?
“You are a special girl.”
She was sure her face had turned so red she was the color of a tomato. She felt hot all over. She nervously tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
Special. She’d been called many things before, bossy, teacher’s pet, bright, brilliant…but special for some reason made her heart skip.
“Not really, I just have an eye for these things.”
He smirked, the slightest turn of his mouth. “And you are modest as well.”
He looked at her for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to his studies.
Hermione did the same. She did her best to remain focused, and she did manage to write what she thought was an excellent thesis for her Defense Against the Dark Arts paper. But she couldn’t keep herself from looking at Viktor every minute or so.
It would be horribly embarrassing if she couldn’t feel him looking back at her.
.
.
Weeks passed, and since that day in the library they shared a table. Hermione was unlike any witch he’d ever met.
She was brilliant. Not just smart. She understood magic on a deep level and was able to apply it in novel and creative ways. She spoke of things that were on the fringes of his comprehension with ease despite being three years younger than him.
But that wasn’t all. She was funny and clever beyond belief. He found himself wanting to just listen to her talk. When she got excited she rambled, her eyes bright and a grin on her face.
“But then if you apply Isolde’s law it all becomes so much clearer, doesn’t it?”
He hadn’t been paying attention closely to what she was saying, he’d been distracted by her hair, how it still had some blonde in it, bleached by the summer sun surely. He wondered if she spent more time outside during the holiday than she did during the school year.
“Sorry, can you speak a little more slowly?” He asked, hiding his inattention behind his learning English.
Hermione’s cheeks turned pink and she toyed with the ends of her hair, a habit she had when she was embarrassed or focused on something. She’d twist her fingers through it and he’d wonder what it would be like for him to do the same.
“Of course,” Hermione said far more slowly and apologetically. “I forget—your English is really very good.”
He laughed. “You’re being kind.”
“I’m not! I don’t engage in flattery.”
That was true. She was very direct.
“So, do you play Quidditch during the term?” She asked suddenly.
“Hmm?”
She’d never asked him about Quidditch, not in all their weeks of studying together.
“Do you play Quidditch?” She repeated. “Are there school teams at Durmstrang or…”
“Under normal circumstances I travel to practices in the evenings with my team—I play for a…how is it,” he searched for the word and bit back a sigh of frustration. “Close to Durmstrang team.”
“Local,” Hermione supplied.
“Yes, local. It is a club team. For the World Cup, I play for Bulgaria, my home country. There are no school teams at Durmstrang. I am young for the club team, but it is not unheard of.”
“Don’t be so modest, I know you’re the youngest seeker to compete in the World Cup.”
“Oh, you do?” He leaned forward on the table.
“My friends are big Quidditch fans,” she explained. “And I’ve read a few books on it. From a historical perspective, that is.”
“Your friend Harry Potter?”
Hermione set her quill down and crossed her arms in front of her. Suddenly she was more closed off to him.
“Yes, Harry. And Ron.”
“The red hair.”
Hermione scoffed and looked away. “Yes, that’s him.”
“They are Quidditch fans?” He asked, trying his best to seem nonchalant instead of overly interested.
“Yes. Harry is quite good—he’s a seeker as well. He started playing for Gryffindor when he was in first year. Ron likes to play at home with his brothers and sister.”
Hermione spoke so fondly of Harry. It was difficult not to be jealous. Did she have feelings for him? It would make sense if she did. And surely at least one of them liked her—they’d be foolish not to.
“The World Cup was my first professional Quidditch match,” Hermione supplied.
“You were there?”
“Yes,” she smiled coyly. “I cheered for the Irish.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Then you should be thanking me, for handing them their win.”
She laughed and smiled at him. Her smile was beautiful.
“I don’t follow the sport, I’ll admit.”
“I know. That is why I like you.”
“Really?”
He shrugged. “Partially. The other reasons I may keep to myself.”
That made her flush. He wanted to touch her, feel the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips…
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you enjoy playing Quidditch?”
“Ha! No, I’m awful. I faint when I get near a broomstick.”
“All you need is practice.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m a lost cause. Really.”
“I could fly with you, a broom can fit two easily.”
She laughed nervously. “I really am afraid of flying,” she said. He must have looked disappointed because she added “but maybe I can be brave sometime.”
Brave. He knew she was brave—that was the quality prized by her school’s house above all things. He did not know how they were chosen for their houses, but he assumed there was some kind of magical test administered.
He should be brave.
“If you are brave, then I should be too.”
She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
His heart started to race—he hadn’t felt so nervous since the first task, and even that had been less nerve wracking in some ways.
“There is the Yule Ball in a week,” he explained. “I will be opening the dancing with the other champions. I was wondering if you would be my companion.”
Her mouth opened in what appeared to be shock. Was she already promised to go with another and she felt guilty? He braced himself for rejection.
“As a…as a date?” She asked.
Viktor tried to consider the distinction she was making but it eluded him.
“Can you explain what you’re asking?” He was sure there was nuance he was missing.
That made her get flustered. “I’m just trying to be certain I understand correctly.”
She was very logical and did not like to find herself in situations that were uncertain, that much he knew.
“Do you mean attending as friends? Or…?” She looked away from him and toyed with the edge of her skirt as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.
Understanding washed over him. He would have to be more clear himself.
He leaned forward and placed his finger under her chin so she was looking at him. He’d never been this close to her before.
“I like you. Very much.” He tried to be as clear as he possibly could short of kissing her right then and there like he wished he could.
“I…I like you too,” she said a bit breathlessly. She leaned towards him, closer so their knees touched beneath the table.
He moved his hand from her chin and let his fingertips trail along her cheekbone before he tucked her hair behind her ear. Her hair was just like he’d imagined it, wild but still soft to the touch.
“Will you attend with me then?”
“Yes,” she finally said. “I would like that. I would like that very much.”
Relief flooded him. There was no one else he had even the slightest interest in taking.
She grabbed his hand and laced her fingers with his and placed them under the table in her lap. Then she grabbed one of her massive text books—Enchantment for the Advanced Practitioner—and began to read. He grabbed a random book out of his own pile—Curses and Countercurses: A Theoretical Approach—and tried to read himself, but he couldn’t focus. He ran his thumb over the top of Hermione’s hand, tracing circles.
They sat like that for the next hour until she looked at her watch.
“It’s late,” she said. She sounded disappointed and that pleased him greatly. “If I don’t want to miss dinner I should be going.”
“May I walk you to dinner?”
She frowned.
“What is it?”
“People will talk and I don’t think…”
“I understand.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you!” She said quickly. “I just…I need to prepare myself for a while. That awful Skeeter woman has already written so many awful things about me, and heaven knows what your groupies will say…”
He squeezed her hand tightly. “You do not need to explain any further.”
She smiled gently. “Thank you. I promise I’ll be ready by Saturday.”
“You can change your mind—“
“No!” She interrupted. “No,” she repeated more calmly. “I do want to go with you. I just never thought you’d ask me.”
How she could be so brilliant and so oblivious was astounding to him.
He looked around—they were alone but for the distant shuffling of the librarian, everyone was at the dinner she was missing. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek, then stood up. He banished his books with a flick of his wand back to their places on the shelves and said “I will see you tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she said shakily. “I have double Charms tomorrow so I’ll be late.”
“I will wait.”
With that he turned and left the library. The whole walk back to the ship he was in disbelief at his luck.
.
.
Hermione all but ran up to Gryffindor Tower.
She’d convinced herself she’d been imagining everything, that he liked her study skills or even that he just wanted someone to practice his English with. But now he’d asked her to the Yule Ball and kissed her! On the cheek, but even that was enough to make her feel as if she were walking on air.
She approached the fat lady and said the password (Drooble’s Best) and sprinted up to the third year girl’s dormitory. For whatever reason she didn’t want to see Ron or Harry right now. Even if they were oblivious she was certain they’d know something about her was off.
Ginny was getting changed for bed, plaiting her long red hair..
“Hi Hermione,” she said, seemingly surprised that she was here.
Hermione just smiled at her and sat down on the edge of her bed.
Hermione resisted the urge to run upstairs and take out her dress robes to examine them. She’d ordered them in the summer and now she wondered if she should’ve gotten something more romantic, more fanciful…
“What’s gotten into you Hermione?” Ginny asked.
Hermione smiled so big her cheeks hurt.
“Have you been asked to the Ball?” Ginny asked, suddenly interested. “Is it Harry?” Her expression darkened. Hermione knew Ginny still carried a torch for him even if she tried to ignore it.
Hermione frowned. “What? No, not Harry.”
“So you did get asked!”
Suddenly Ginny was close to her. Her dorm mates were filing up into the room. Ginny crawled into the bed and shut the curtains.
But she couldn’t keep this inside any more. She’d held it all in for weeks.
“You have to swear you won’t tell anyone,” Hermione said.
“I promise!” She said enthusiastically.
Hermione bit the inside of her lip. She wasn’t going to believe her and she said as much.
“Now I really can’t wait, you have to tell me!” Ginny squealed, already caught up in the excitement of it all.
“Alright, alright,” Hermione laughed. “Viktor Krum just asked me to the Yule Ball.”
Ginny gasped.
“What?!”
“We’ve been studying together, in the library, for the last few weeks. He started sitting by me when I yelled at some members of his fan club for chattering while I was revising—“
“Of course you did,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.
“But please don’t tell anyone,” Hermione said insistently. “I know everyone will find out eventually, but everyone will think I’m lying or made it all up if the rumor spreads.”
Ginny grabbed her hands and squeezed “I promise!” She said earnestly.
“What is he like? This is so romantic!”
“He’s very sweet, completely unlike what you’d expect from Durmstrang. And he’s very smart, which admittedly I didn’t expect—
“Because he’s good at Quidditch?” Ginny said snarkily.
“It’s a bit unfair for someone to be good at so many things!” Hermione said defensively.
“I wonder if you could convince him to give me a flying lesson…”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t like all the attention he gets for Quidditch,” Hermione said. “I can tell it makes him uncomfortable.”
Ginny pouted. “Alright, anything for Vicky!”
“Stop it!” Hermione said while she laughed.
“Oh come on, I have to tease you just a little bit. Your first boyfriend and all.”
Hermione blushed. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Uh huh, sure,” Ginny said sarcastically.
“There’s nothing official, we’ve only just held hands…and he did kiss me on the cheek—“
Ginny was reduced to another squealing fit.
They giggled and talked well past when they should have went to sleep. When Hermione finally went to bed that night she couldn’t help but think how lucky she was.