A Visit To Bulgaria

Chapter 4 - In Which Certain Horsing Around Occurs

The weight of Hermione's bags made her feel slightly guilty. It was unlike her to recklessly spend quite a lot of money, not to mention someone else's money. However, after buying her dress robes, she had found the other shops in the charming wizarding village of Zagorlo absolutely irresistible. Her sack of Galleons was noticeably lighter, and she chided herself for it. She hadn't meant to buy anything more than a set of relatively inexpensive dress robes, yet after buying probably the most expensive robes in all of Bulgaria, she had found it necessary to find just the right accessories to complement her outfit...and new shoes wouldn't hurt, and a new handbag, and maybe some new chopsticks for her hair...

Hermione now remembered why she detested flying on broomsticks. Her bottom was already sore, yet she had barely been flying for ten minutes. She never understood how Harry - or anybody on a Quidditch team - could stand that inescapable soreness. She wondered briefly if Viktor ever experienced that uncomfortable feeling, and then she realized that she was doing something entirely out of character: thinking of a boy's bottom. She felt like slamming her ears in the oven like Dobby the house-elf might feel nice right about now. However, she soon spotted the forbidding spires of Durmstrang in the distance. Her thoughts left her sore bottom, drifting back to her purchases, and she giggled as she mused, My robes are more expensive even than Malfoy's...

With a start, she was whipped out of her daydreaming about transfiguring Malfoy into a shabbily-dressed slug when she abruptly collided into something in the air and struggled to stay on her broomstick. Looking up, she saw one of Viktor's Quidditch teammates, looking very annoyed at having bumped into a teenage girl. The man muttered something in Bulgarian and sped off, leaving Hermione even sorer.

It was then that she remembered she had promised Viktor at breakfast to come and watch his Quidditch practice. Soaring above the trees and craning her neck, it wasn't too hard to find the field with some of the players already in the air as their distinctive crimson robes set them apart from the dull green forest around them. Hermione glided down to the ground, grateful to hop off her broom. She gave her bottom a sympathetic rub, shouldered her bags, and glanced around for Viktor. Suddenly, she felt two hands cover her eyes, and a familiar voice laugh. "Guess who, Herm-own-ninny?"

Well, nobody else pronounced her name quite so...uniquely. Hermione grinned broadly. "Oh, I don't know, maybe Poliakoff," she joked, referring to Viktor's rather sloppy classmate.

"Herm-own-ninny, guess again!"

"Could it be...no...it couldn't...but maybe it is...Viktor Viktor!" She turned around and giggled. "I've never seen you play a joke on anyone before. You should do it more often."

"Really?" She noticed that when he smiled, his face changed entirely. It was...well, to her, rather like the sun coming out from the clouds. "Actually, it vos Poliakoff who told me about that joke. I vos just about to start playing. The team insisted on bringing the veela to votch." He gestured towards a group of shimmery-haired blondes; obviously he disapproved of their presence, but after all, they were the team mascots. Hermione shrugged. She had no love for veela but she didn't hate them. However, there was another crowd of girls on the field - one that definitely hated her. She had forgotten how huge Viktor's following was here at Durmstrang. A few girls actually burst into tears when they saw Hermione and Viktor together. Viktor had noticed them too - how could he not, when they were flashing those magically-enhanced smiles at him? He sighed, glared at them, and whispered to Hermione, "I think I vill call off practice today. There is not any point ven those girls are around."

"I agree completely...Viktor, really, that grimace makes you look very childish..." The adjective, she reflected, was actually quite unfit, as there was nothing childish about Viktor.

Again he smiled, and Hermione was glad she could make him do that, as it seemed little else could. "Vell, Herm-own-ninny, I haff been very...grumpy lately, I vill try to be grown-up, as you like. Ve should go back to the Castle, and if ve are lucky ve vill not be mobbed on our vay there." He yelled something in Bulgarian to the team, and they nodded, obviously understanding and used to these cancellations.

"Do you have to do this a lot, Viktor? Can't you talk to Madam Vulchanov, you know? Get them to leave you alone?"

"I vish I could but the Headmistress von't do anything about it. She said something about fame coming vit a price." He hopped on his broomstick. "Vant to ride vit me?"

"Sure, just let me pack up mine..." She affixed a Weightless Charm to her broom, slung it over her back, and got on Viktor's broomstick, holding tightly onto him as they flew up towards Durmstrang, leaving the other team members to explain the situation to the furious veela. Hermione felt the wind whipping her unruly hair around her face. She laid her head on Viktor's shoulder, somewhat tired after her shopping spree, and looked down over the grounds of Durmstrang. A disturbing thought hit her - I could call this place home. I could go to school here, always have it be like it is now, no worries, no Voldemort, no cares in the world except shopping and making friends and wandering in the gardens ... she brushed the rebellious thought from her mind as they glided down to the fifth tower.

Since she had spent most of the day in Zagorlo, dusk was quickly shadowing the spires of the fortress. It would be a clear night, ablaze with stars unmarred by city lights. They both dismounted and headed down the spiral staircase into the tower. Finding the wide, twisting banister irresistible, Hermione straddled it and slid down, turning and slanting as she rushed with breakneck speed down, and jumped off at the end, laughing as she looked back up, for Viktor had decided to try his luck with the banister too. He made it down, but managed to land on his bottom on the hardwood floor. This only made Hermione laugh harder, though he threw her a rather childish glare as he got to his feet and brushed off his robes.

"Herm-own-ninny, you should haff told me that sliding down the stairs vos dangerous..."

"Oh, that would take all the fun out of it, and your bottom can be fixed rather easily..."

"Vell," he joked, "backing away from her a little, "I do not think I trust you very much anymore. You are not going anyvere near my bottom." 

"You'll have an aching butt all night..."

"Nice try, Herm-own-ninny."

She giggled and started tiptoeing towards him. "Maybe I'll just hex your bottom..." She raised her wand and he ducked out of its range, taking out his own wand and pointing it at her. "Or maybe not..."

"I still haff not forgiven you for making my bottom sore..." Hermione ran out of the way of his wand and pointed hers at him, and they continued chasing each other around with their wands, until, tiring, she hid in a corner and as he passed, jumped up on top of him, laughing.

"Ah hah! I've got you now!"

"Vell, two can play this game..." He attempted to get her off him but it seemed she wouldn't be moved, so they fell to wrestling in the floor, laughing all the time, until Hermione's chopsticks fell out and her hair came tumbling over her shoulders, and she giggled and gave him a final kick before lying back on the floor, exhaustedly happy.

Suddenly a door opened, and a stern-looking middle-aged woman wearing scarlet robes bustled into the hall. She gasped at the sight of Hermione and Viktor, and Viktor jumped up, looking flustered, and straightened his robes. "Ah...Madam Vulchanov...I do not think you haff met our guest Herm-own-ninny Granger..." He offered a hand to Hermione, who scrambled to her feet, her face a bright shade of tomato red. Madam Vulchanov still looked shocked.

"Uh...well...yes...I mean, quite pleasant to meet you, Madam Vulchanov, you...uh...have an amazing school here..."

The Headmistress gave a curt nod to Hermione and turned to Viktor. "May I inquire vot manner of activity you and Miss Granger vere engaging in, Mr. Viktor?"

"Vell...uh...you see, Headmistress, ve vere...ah...just coming back from Quidditch practice."

She waved her hand impatiently. "I already heard it vos canceled. You seem to haff become very good friends with our guest."

"It...it vos nothing...not vot you think...Herm-own-ninny..." He appealed to her, and Hermione knew quite well she was a better liar than he was.

"Madam Vulchanov, I apologize for our disheveled appearance. You see, I am...unaccustomed to these...steep staircases at Durmstang, and unfortunately I fell, and Viktor here was so kind as to assist me. However, I think that your ... uh, housekeepers neglected to clean properly, as we both tripped over quills left on the floor."

The Headmistress still seemed skeptical but nodded again. "I see. Mr. Viktor, Miss Granger, I suggest you...clean yourselves up and come to dinner. There vos a riot at lunch because of your absence, Mr. Viktor, and I vood not appreciate another one." She went off down the hall, and Hermione sensed that she hadn't lied quite well enough. She turned to Viktor, once Vulchanov was out of earshot. He said nothing at all, yet she could sense he had a thousand things to tell her. A bit of a song popped into her mind - a Muggle song in fact. You say it best...when you say nothing at all. Yet what was he trying to say, and what was best left unsaid?

* * * * *

Dinner was unremarkable, and Hermione recalled only that they had eaten some sort of meatballs. She decided not to stay for dessert and instead went back to her room to brood on the events of the afternoon. Rummaging through the drawers on her bedstand, she found her journal that she had begun keeping the very day she had learned she was a witch, and lovingly fingered the worn cover. It was overstuffed with pages - she'd have to buy a new one soon, but before she did, she wanted to confess something to its much-loved pages. Dipping a fresh quill in robin's-egg blue ink, she began to write in her flourishy, though neat hand.

It's very strange. Before I left for Bulgaria, I resolved that no matter what, I wouldn't let Viktor affect me. I know that I should have my head rule my emotions, and never the other way around. Yet it seems all is reversing, and I feel bewildered - this isn't the Hermione I know, the Hermione people respect and that I can control. I'm entirely a different person, and I have no idea why. I feel just like I did the winter of my fourth year - when I discovered that perhaps, life isn't composed just of studying and good marks and loyal friends and logic. Maybe life can be a little chaotic too... maybe there can be some spontaneity, and maybe... just maybe, I can enjoy it, and not begrudge myself the little pleasures of existence.

Feeling rather sleepy, she found some clean nightclothes and climbed under the crimson sheets, feeling their warmth throughout her. Outside, the angry winds howled, yet the sky was clear, and Hermione knew in some strange way that the next few days would be bright and beautiful, with the heady scent of the Gardens pervading the forbidding fortress of Durmstrang.

* * * * *

To her immense relief, the nightmares she had been suffering earlier had ceased, and she woke up the next morning feeling delightfully refreshed, as if she had just stepped out of a lengthy scented bath in one of the luxurious Hogwarts prefects' bathrooms. In fact, she hardly remembered her dreaming at all, only that they had been peppered here and there with two deeply intense brown eyes looking into hers.

Breakfast was forgettable - it wasn't that the food was bad, but more that food was quite the last thing on Hermione's mind. After she had finished with her eggs and toast, she turned to Viktor, who was also finishing eating.

"That was close with Madam Vulchanov last night. Do you suppose she thinks..." Hermione paused, either unwilling or unable to continue with the thought.

"I do not know vot Madam Vulchanov is thinking, but from my experience vith her it is safe to say that she completely understands our situation."

"Our situation?"

He said nothing, again. Viktor had a somewhat annoying habit sometimes of being rather too blunt and then reverting (swiftly) to being overwhelmingly taciturn, as if somehow she could read his mind. Only the most gifted witches and wizards could claim to be telepathic, and for all her study Hermione was certainly not so. She halfheartedly picked up a piece of toast and began to nibble on it, not expecting him to speak. Yet after a very lengthy and uncomfortable silence, he did. "Vood you care to come haff lunch in the Gardens today?" Then, as if an afterthought, "Vith me?"

"I would love to come have lunch in the Gardens today." And, with a little smile, she added, "With you."

* * * * *

The sky was a bright shade of azure, dotted here and there with tiny perfectly white wisps of cloud that floated quickly across the broad blue expanse, moved by a benevolent warm breeze. Hermione was sitting impatiently in her room, glancing at the clock. The time was ten to one, and Viktor had promised to come at one. She crossed her arms and tapped the floor impatiently with one booted foot. Abruptly, there was a series of raps on the door. Hermione fairly flew to open it, but to her great disappointment it was only a smugly smirking Pansy Parkinson, thrusting a folded piece of parchment at her. "This came for me from some moldy old owl. Dumb bird can't tell the difference between me and you!" The last word was enunciated as if Hermione was some sort of vile slime-spreading toad. Pansy flounced off down the hall, her stiffly oiled curls bouncing up and down, up and down after her.

Hermione slammed the door behind her and slit the wax seal of the letter with one fingernail. The first page was in Harry's blockish print:

Dear Hermione,

I do hope you are having fun over at Durmstrang, because I'm certainly having an awful time back on Privet Drive. The Dursleys have locked Hedwig up again, but not before I could have her take a note to Ron telling him to have Pigwidgeon fly over once a week to get my posts to him. As if that's not bad enough, I've been grounded until my birthday for "accidentally" cursing off "ickle Dudders's" toes. Poor Ickle Dudders. He's in physical therapy now, relearning how to walk with the toe prostheses the doctors over at St. Muddington's Hospital had to put him in. I do suppose the Ministry will be over soon to restore his lost appendages and throw some Memory Charms around. Oh well. They don't think it was my fault, though, so at least I won't be expelled. For now I get to silently go into conniptions of laughter every time I see Dudders hobbling around the house in his ickle special new toe prostheses.

Harry

P.S. When you get back, you had better be careful around Ron. Ginny's latest letter to me says that he's come into the habit of shredding his Bulgarian National Quidditch Team posters and using them as garden mulch. She says he hasn't got Viktor's face on a dartboard yet, as far as she knows, but you can never be sure.

Hermione sighed and refolded the first sheet, tossing it onto her dresser and glancing at the second sheet. As she had thought, it was penned in Ron's small writing.

Dear Hermione,

Well, I bet you're just having tons of fun at that cheery old moldy fortress. Have you frozen to death yet? I wouldn't put it past those people not to have heating. After all, they only light the fires for magical purposes, according to Vicky. That sounds rather fishy to me. Oh well. As long as you're enjoying yourself, which I'm sure you are, that's all that matters. And I'm having a fine time back at home. Just super. Say hello to Vicky for me.

Ron

Hermione quietly folded that sheet too and put it down on the bed, rubbing her eyes and trying not to be sick to her stomach. Yet another knock soon disturbed her thoughts, and this time she knew who it was.

*~*~*