A Visit To Bulgaria

Chapter 2: In Which Hermione Has Evil, Evil Thoughts

"Um...I don't speak Bulgarian."

Hermione felt possibly as though she'd just been crowned Miss Stupid. How utterly mindless of her not to pick up a few Bulgarian phrases on the plane. Yet how was she supposed to know that the corpulent airport security guards wouldn't know English? Or rather, why'd she have to get stuck with this one, for that matter?

"I am from England. I am here to visit a friend." She spoke slowly and carefully, enunciating her words with great care.

He babbled something unintelligible, and rolled his eyes.

"I....speak....English. No....Bulgarian."

That hadn't worked either. Hermione was about to yell for an interpreter when she felt a small tap on her shoulder. She turned rather angrily and glared in the general direction of the tapper. "What is it?"

"Herm-own-ninny, I assume you do not know any Bulgarian?"

"Oh! Viktor, I didn't see you! I'm sorry, and you're right, I don't know a word of Bulgarian...I've been having an awful time with this security guard, he just doesn't seem to know any English at all..." Oh, Great Wizards, now I have to look dumb in front of Viktor too...wait...why do I care what I look like to him? She brushed away the renegade, dangerous thought as if it were a fly on her robes.

He seemed happy to see her, or at least a Viktor-like version of "happy". The corners of his mouth curved slightly upwards, and he seemed far more relaxed than he had at Hogwarts. The severe lines of his face were less tense and strung than usual. Hermione looked him up and down, noticing that he was not as abnormally skinny as he had been at the Triwizard Tournament. His body now had a pleasing smoothness to it, which helped relieve the angular lines of his facial features. Unlike most wizards and witches, he knew how to dress well in Muggle clothes - it's probably just that his mother knows how to dress him well in Muggle clothes. He was wearing khaki-colored cargo pants and a dark blue long-sleeved shirt. He looked rather American, in fact, if one ignored the obviously Slavic accent. His dark, voluminous hair spilled over his brow, a few strands brushing the edges of his eyelashes.

Hermione realized that she was thinking about his clothes, and almost panicked. He was, quite simply, shocking. At Hogwarts he had been all rough, unhewn lines, gruff and untouchable, yet here he seemed almost relaxed, almost at ease. I will not think about his clothes, I will not think about how much nicer he looks - I can't believe I'm letting myself think this! No, this isn't right. He's just my friend, and it doesn't matter that he showed up at the airport to save me from an irascible security guard looking like some Abercrombie and Fitch model...

To Hermione's immense relief, the security guard babbled something. Viktor gave her a little smile before answering the guard in the same sort of babble. The guard seemed to recognize him, as he began to squeal something about "Krum! Krum! Krum!"

"I didn't know that Muggles knew you..."

"Vell, you see, it is something of a secret and a bit of a shame in the Bulgarian vizarding vorld, but my father vos..." he coughed a little, clearing his throat uncomfortably, and continued, "...a Muggle-born vizard. His family is very active in the Muggle government of Bulgaria, and so the name of Krum is very vell known." He went back to chatting with the guard, who waved them through the security check cheerfully without even scanning Hermione's bags. They continued up to the exit.

"So even with the Muggles you can't escape from your adoring fans..."

"I haff become very skilled at brewing the...vot do they call them in England...the Polyjuice Potions. Most of the time I go out anyvere I go as Alexei."

"Alexei?"

"Oh. Poliakoff. He vos at the Triwizard Tournament. Ve are very close friends."

"How are we going to get to the the Academy?"

"Oh, I arranged for a Portkey to be put in a private room that my father reserved."

"Well, you just thought of everything, didn't you?"

He gave her a slight grin. "Maybe."

He's really cute when he smiles. Wait, no, bad thought, Hermione. You promised yourself before you left that you wouldn't do anything stupid. Stupid thoughts lead to stupid mistakes. "Well, uh, yes, that was very kind of you." She realized how stilted and artificial her voice sounded. This is what happens when you think bad thoughts like that.

"In here, Herm-own-ninny." He gestured to a lobby with curtains over the doors and windows. Probably for security, so that Muggles don't see. Inside, on a small, spare table, sat an edible sugar quill.

"A sugar quill?"

"You vood never guess, but they are actually very popular here in Bulgaria." He shrugged and held out his hand to her. "Hold my hand, and ve vill both hold the Portkey. There is less chance of our being separated that vay."

Hold his hand? I can't do that. "Um..."

He was still holding his hand out to her. It looked warm, inviting. She could see the pulse of the twisting blue veins in his wrist. His fingers were remarkably long and tapered, and his hand seemed so much larger than hers. "You are not ready, Herm-own-ninny?"

Foolishness. Pure foolishness. Just control yourself, Hermione. Self-control is key. Repeating those three words like a mantra over and over in her mind, she rather tentatively placed her hand, its fingers covered with bumpy calluses from her Arithmancy charts, into his. He grasped her hand tightly, and they both touched the sugar quill. The room faded in a drunken whirl of colors and light, yet Hermione still felt his fingers gripping hers. It was utterly unnerving, and it gave her a fluttery feeling in her stomach that she absolutely hated.


They landed with a soft thump in a patch of supple grass sprinkled with daisies. Hermione rubbed her forehead and cast a look around. She was surrounded by forest on all sides. She groped for her carry-on bag and found it beside her. "Where are we?"

"In the Levina Forest. Durmstrang is not far from here."

It was then that she realized that she was still holding his hand. She quickly let go of it and stood up, a red blush illuminating her slightly freckled cheeks. "Good. Let's get going, then." It was almost dark, and Hermione had no desire to be alone in any sort of magical forest at night, thanks to her experiences in the Forbidden Forest.

In her haste to get going, she had left behind her bag. Krum picked it up, with a little sigh that she did not hear, and led the way out of the Forest. As she followed him, she began to see through the thickly crowded trees a few flashes of sunlight on black stone. The forest thinned considerably, and Hermione found herself on a large moor, surroundedall by craggy mountains, with a lake gleaming in the far northeastern corner of the plain. And there, looming before her, was Durmstrang Academy.

Hermione very nearly gasped. She had definitely expected it to be forbidding, but nothing like this. It was constructed entirely of some black stone, probably granite, with thin, medieval-castle slit windows. An enormous tower sat at each of the four corners, topped with flowing banners, each with a different word in fancy Cyrillic script. In the center, the largest tower of all crowned the fortress, the black granite glimmering in the sunlight.

Yet what was most amazing was the moat. Yes, Durmstrang had a wide moat encircling the entire castle. "A moat?"

"Ven Durmstrang vos built, the Muggles vere very afraid of the vizards, so the vizards tried to make it look as much like a Muggle castle as possible."

"When was all of this built?"

"Nobody is exactly certain, but I haff been told that it vos built about two hundred years before Hogvorts."

They were still walking over the plain, and Hermione remembered something she had read in A Wizard's Guide to Durmstrang Academy that she had wanted to ask Viktor about. "Viktor, I have read that even now, Durmstrang is open only to pureblood wizards and witches, and that for the first few hundred years it was open to only pureblood wizards with no Squib relatives."

Viktor furrowed his brows, and, though he kept walking, his pace definitely had a more defensive look to it. "I cannot deny it, Herm-own-ninny."

"Do you support it?"

"I am ashamed to say that I did."

"You did?"

"I had met very few Muggle-born wizards and witches before you. Karkaroff and all the other teachers told us that they vere vorthless, and like an idiot I agreed vith them."

"What happened to make you change your mind?"

A brief smile flitted across his face. "I met you."


They had arrived at the massive moat. Viktor set down her bags, took out his wand - hornbeam and dragon heartstring, Hermione remembered - and muttered something in Bulgarian at the coursing water. There was a great sound of rushing, and the waters swirled up and twisted towards them, spreading out until a path of liquid to the fortress gleamed in front of them.

"Is it safe?"

"I used it every day for eight years and it has never failed yet."

Feeling slightly reassured, Hermione took a step onto the bridge of clear water. Her foot sunk about in inch, and she glanced at Viktor, who nodded. She took another step. Amazingly, the water held her up. It was quite like walking through a fresh inch's fall of fluffy snow. He followed close behind her, and soon they alighted on the other side and were faced with the enormous double doors of the entrance to Durmstrang.

Carved of exquisitely polished ebony wood and glimmering with inlaid red jewels, the door itself was a work of art. At the top it read, in heavy Gothic script, "Durmstrang Academy of Magic. Established in the year of 804." So it is older than Hogwarts...It was embellished beautifully with all sorts of exotic magical creatures that Hermione had never seen before, and seemed to be native to the cold and snow-capped mountains that surrounded Durmstrang.

Darkness was slowly spreading her midnight cloak over the sky. Viktor, obviously unaffected by the door or the moat, pulled out his wand again and uttered "Alohomora", which quickly flung open the doors of the Academy.

A humongous entrance hall greeted Hermione, the walls covered with moving portraits and tapestries. Two tightly wound staircases to the far left and right led up into two of the corner towers that she had seen before. Yet Viktor headed for the center of the hall, to two entwined spiral staircases that twisted and turned upwards like a strand of DNA (a/n: hee hee hee, couldn't think of a better simile!). It was all carved of ebony wood and amazing to behold. Hermione stood there dumbstruck for a minute or two, simply soaking it all up, before she noticed Viktor on the first landing of the central twined starcases and ran to join him.

"This is amazing...I had heard that Durmstrang was a..." She paused, not wanting to insult his school.

"A backwards academy for all of the Communist vizards and vitches that did not stay in the Soviet Union vere they properly belonged? Yes, that does seem to be the popular opinion," he joked with a smile. "The rooms for postgraduates and visitors are on the central tower. Ve can Portkey to the top of you do not vant to go up all these stairs."

"Oh, the stairs are fine. I can't have myself getting fat from all of my summer goofing off."

He looked like he was about to say something, but decided not to, and they continued up the stairs. She was panting when they reached the top, but he had not even broken a sweat, and she was slightly jealous of him for it. Her room was right by the staircases, and had an intricately decorated keyhole in the door, but Viktor disregarded it and muttered "Alohomora" again.

Hermione's first thought was that not even the rooms at Hogwarts had this sort of opulence. A huge four-poster bed dominated the spacious, high-ceilinged room, hung with deep crimson curtains. A silver-framed mirror and an ebony dresser occupied the wall, and a crimson fire, if such a thing were possible, crackled merrily in the fireplace. He out down her bags and leaned against the wall, an eyebrow raised.

"Do you like it?"

"Of...of course! It's absolutely beautiful..." She fingered the sheets on the bed. Silk. With coverlets of velvet, all in that amazing sanguine hue. "Blimey, Viktor, you didn't have to arrange all of this for me."

"Our new headmistress is very concerned that ve make a good impression on you. She is reforming the school."

"I am pleased to hear it..."

Viktor coughed and glanced at the clock on the wall. "It is getting very late, Herm-own-ninny, and vith the time changes I expect you must be very tired..."

"How did you know?" She grinned and flounced over, giving him a quick hug. "It's all amazing wonderful. I just know I'm going to have a lovely time."

"Vell then, I shall leave you to your sleep, and until the morning."

"Do have pleasant dreams..." she murmured as he passed out into the hall. She closed the door behind him, and without even thinking, changed a nightgown she found laid out on the dresser and fell into sleep's clutches as soon as her skin touched the silk sheets.

Postscript: An Excerpt from Viktor's Journal, Translated from Bulgarian
(a/n: I've always wanted to write Viktor's POV...)

Hermione came today. When I saw her at the airport, I was literally stunned. I had expected her to be just as beautiful as the year before, yet I had been totally unprepared not only for her maturity but also for the aura of health and knowledge that clings to her. I cannot truly believe she is here with me for three whole weeks, and I am determined not to waste them.

I would write again that I don't deserve this, that I don't deserve her, but I've written that so many times I have to write of something else once in a while. Alexei still can't believe that I've gone and done something drastic like fall in love. I don't think Alexei will ever understand until he has loved someone like I love her. He says she is just a phase, and that soon I will tire of the "chase" as he terms it, but he has never felt this way