A Visit To Bulgaria

A Visit to Bulgaria

Chapter One - In Which Hermione Encounters the Spurned Girlfriends of Draco Support Group

 

It was a windy summer day in London, and at the Grangers' flat there was positively nothing amusing to do. However, this didn't bother Hermione. Her schoolbooks and several rolls of parchment were spread all over the kitchen table, and she herself was slaving over an Arithmancy chart. She idly popped a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean in her mouth. "Not snot again..." she muttered, tired after a week of hard studying. However, as she was leaning over the bathroom sink, spitting it out, the doorbell rang. At the door, a portly postman heaved a large package on her. She stumbled under its weight and read the address, hoping it was from Harry or Ron. But no...the return address read,

Viktor Krum

Durmstrang Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Bulgaria

Hermione raised an eyebrow. After their conversation at the end of fourth year, she really hadn't expected Viktor Krum to mail her anything. She sighed; she had been a little harsh with him. She'd really been too enamoured with her simple, safe life at Hogwarts to embroil herself in the complications that a relationship would bring. Besides that, she thought as she heaved the package onto the dining room table, I was far too flighty. I just didn't think he was attractive enough. She was rather ashamed of herself for the words she'd said to him...

"Viktor, I hope we can keep in touch..."

"I vood like that very much, Herm-own-ninny..."

"Is...is there something you're not telling me?"

He fixed her with that unnerving stare of his that made him look like some grossly overgrown bird of prey. "I haff a promise to make to you."

"Well, go ahead..."

"But first a question...Certainly you know how I feel about you?"

"We are very good friends. We've been through so much together." And yet she hadn't thought...

He shook his head, bit his lip, and stared up at the bright blue sky, as if asking God how she could be so empty-witted as not to see what was right in front of her. "Is it not obvious? The Yule Ball, the Second Task..."

Realization dawned on her face. "I...uh..."

"Herm-own-ninny, I promise you this, that I vill alvays be vaiting for you, if you vill haff me. Remember that."

"No, don't speak of it. I can't...you know I can't. And I won't. You're...you're..." Her mind struggled to find an excuse, and failed. What frightened her was that there was no reason at all why she could not let herself have a deeper friendship with him. "Find someone who is better attracted to you than I am." She had walked off then, not wanting to continue the conversation further. Later she had been appalled at the cruelty of her words, but it was too late to take them back, and Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to anyhow.

Hermione hadn't heard from him since. Oh, she'd heard of him, of his Quidditch Cup victories, of his prestigious record at Durmstrang...but not for a year had she received a single letter from the man himself. She was overcome with curiosity as to what the package would hold. Yet as she reached for the scissors to cut off the clear tape, she stopped, and sat down in her chair. Did she really want to know? Did she really want to get herself involved in some sort of intrigue? Was this truly Hermione Granger? Maybe I'm wasting too much time thinking about what I should be. Above all things, Hermione was a consummate actress, a true adept at the art of hiding her true feelings. After all, she reasoned, I have to be. Ron and Harry have enough to worry about without worrying about me. Besides, I caused such a stir at the Yule Ball, who knows what will happen at Hogwarts if their resident workaholic decides to get a life of her own?

No. She shoved the package and the scissors away from her. She couldn't compromise herself, or her safe little shell of friends and hard work. Yet these very thoughts made her feel infinitely childish. All this matter with Viktor was entirely illogical, and it wasn't something she could solve by consulting an encyclopedia and writing a five-page essay for extra credit. Hermione missed the days when all her problems were that easily solvable.

Hermione reached for the package again, and the scissors. She reminded herself that she was never one to run away from a challenge, and so with grim determination cut open the packaging tape and peeled open the box, trying to control her curiosity. It probably was nothing. Maybe a belated birthday present. That was it. It had to be a belated birthday present. Hermione sighed with relief and stuck her hand into the box. Something was wrong. Instead of the smooth glossy feel of wrapping paper, she felt packaging material. Unable to overcome her curiosity, she peered into the box.

So that had been why it was so heavy! It was stuffed with some sort of foreign packing material. Great Wizards, why can't he just use owls like normal sensible people? Cushioned in the packaging were three rolls of parchment, tied with the crimson and black ribbons of Durmstrang. Hermione was suddenly glad that her parents were both at the office performing a tricky orthodontic surgery. She reached for the largest roll, comprised of several sheets of smooth ecru vellum. When she untied the ribbons, the parchment unfurled and Hermione recognized Krum's neat cursive. It was dated a week before, from Durmstrang Academy.

Dear Hermione,

As you said we could continue to correspond, I have taken the liberty of doing so. My written English has improved greatly, or so our new Headmistress, Madame Tatiana Nikolavna Vulchanov, tells me. After Professor Karkaroff was imprisoned in Azkaban for his crimes, Madame Maxime of Beauxbatons offered her own Potions teacher as a replacement, and we did not refuse.

I am still studying at Durmstrang. Karkaroff, before his imprisonment, instituted a postgraduate program and encouraged me to enroll. I believe then that he had certain ulterior motives, such as involving me in the Dark Arts; however, Madame Vulchanov has made the program more acceptable since.

I wanted to inquire if you would still be interested in visiting my homeland and staying at Durmstrang. While I realize our parting last year was not entirely friendly, I believe that you would enjoy Bulgaria. I have enclosed such papers as will be necessary for your journey, if you decide to come. I would also like to invite you to the World Quidditch Cup Semifinals between Bulgaria and France, which shall be taking place at Durmstrang on August the fourteenth.

Viktor Krum

Hermione read the letter once more, and smiled in spite of herself. Krum's grasp of English really was improving, but Hermione sensed that his grandiose language in the letter was simply a bit of showing off, and she couldn't blame him. She didn't think he was a bad person, necessarily, though she still was cautious, and did have her doubts sometimes. She retied the letter with the crimson and black ribbons and reached for the other rolls of parchment.

The first read, in beautiful crimson script:

Your presence is requested at the Semifinals for the International Quidditch Cup, due to take place August the fourteenth. Your seats have been reserved and consist of Premium Box 18. The match starts promptly at ten o'clock in the morning and involves the national teams from France and Bulgaria.

Following was a list of players; Hermione grinned despite herself when she saw Krum's name under the listing for the Bulgarian Seeker. She put this with his letter and peered inside the third and last rolled-up parchment. An airline ticket fluttered out and wafted to the ground. Hermione picked it up, puzzled. Surely there was some form of international wizard transport? She didn't suppose Durmstrang Academy was connected to the Floo Network, or to the Knight Bus rounds. Yet airplanes? Airplanes weren't even particularly safe, and Hermione didn't know how to Apparate, thus removing chances of her survival in the case of a crash. But perhaps there was some reasoning behind it...Hermione knew very well how famous a witch she was, and not only because of her connection to Harry Potter. The Ministry of Magic's covert intelligence operations over the summer had obtained a list of those people that were in the most precarious danger of Dark Arts assaults. Her name, along with those of most of her friends, had been on that list. Yet if she were to travel by Muggle transport...yes, it was true, Voldemort would probably not look for Hermione Granger on an airplane.

 

It made sense to her now, and she was much more open to the idea of visiting him now that it made perfect sense. She rerolled the three pieces of vellum and went back to her Arithmancy charts.

The screechy voice of the flight attendant came over the intercom. "Please keep all safety restraints fastened until we reach an altitude of 30,000 feet. Thank you, and we hope you enjoy your flight with Virgin Atlantic." Hermione rolled her eyes and dug around in her carry-on for her knitting needles. It was an oftentimes-dull hobby but it kept her mind off her destination - Bulgaria. She'd barely gotten permission from her parents as it was...

"Hermione, dear, I know that you and this...what's his name again?"

"Viktor, Dad."

"Well, I'm sure you and this Viktor fellow are very close, and you've told me that he's a respectable young man and I don't doubt it, but - "

"Dad, I'm responsible too, you know. I'm not ten years old anymore."

"Hermione, you have to consider that he is twenty years old and you are still in school."

"So's he."

"Postgraduate studies don't count. Now look, I know you want to go, but isn't it possible you could just say hi to him at the International Cup in London in a year or so?"

Hermione's mother broke in at this point. "Dear, she's old enough to take care of herself, and she promised to bring her wand, too. Remember? You and I both know that Hermione is too clever to get herself into an...undesirable situation."

It had eventually been her fun-loving and benevolent Uncle Michael that had persuaded her father to see that she wasn't quite his little girl anymore. As her hands methodically completed stitch after stitch of a scarf for Ron, her mind wandered to her new Firebolt X-15, safely packed away in her suitcase. It had been another present from her generous uncle, and even Krum would be jealous of it. Hermione, who normally detested riding on broomsticks - not that she was afraid of heights, but because they were so uncomfortable - found the X-15 to be a dream. She'd taken it to the Weasleys' Burrow for a test ride before the trip, and was amazed and how smooth and comfortable the wood felt beneath her hands as she flew. It was then that she first understood how Harry could wax rhapsodic at the thought of a new broomstick. She thought happily of the first day of school, when she could bring her Firebolt, shiny and new, and watch Draco Malfoy's jaw drop when he saw it, and measure the minutes it took for him to dash off a note to his father demanding one posthaste.

However, her happy contemplation were spoiled when she heard a whiny voice from the row in front of her. Pansy Parkinson's smirk made her look even more like a cat. The odious Slytherin girl, the same age as Hermione, just happened to be visiting a girlfriend who also went to Durmstrang Academy. Over the summer, Pansy obviously had done nothing to improve her looks. Her hair hung in stiff ringlets around her plump face, and her eyelids were encrusted with some awful blue eyeshadow the color of nuclear waste. Her high, taunting voice grated at Hermione's ears. "Oh, look, it's dear Hermione Granger...why are you going to Bulgaria, Hermione? Is it to see your hunny-buns? What's his name again? Vicky?"

Hermione sighed and put down her knitting needles. How long would she have to deal with this piece of Slytherdork slime? Ever since her crush, Draco Malfoy, had stopped taking her to the Yule Balls in favor of Padma Patil, Pansy had been a veritable crusader against all things Ravenclaw, and for that matter she detested Gryffindor and Hufflepuff as well. "I believe his name is Viktor, Pansy, dear, and the only reason I'm going is because he sent me tickets to the Bulgarian National Quidditch Cup. Now why might you, of all people, be using such antiquated things as airplanes, Pansy? On a top-secret mission for the Spurned Girlfriends of Draco Malfoy Support Group?"

At that, Pansy's smirk dropped off her face and she turned around to pay better attention to the in-flight movie, American Pie. Her donkeyish laugh exploded at every raucous joke, and Hermione tried, without success, to enjoy the rest of the flight.