A Visit To Bulgaria

Another knock came on her door, and this time the rap was softer, less insistent. She knew who it was. She swept a loose strand of hair behind her ear and opened the door, albeit a trifle hesitantly. He stood there, dressed casually in black cargo pants and a long-sleeved shirt. A slight breeze wafted in from the hall. In one hand he held a large picnic basket and over his other shoulder was his Firebolt. He was also wearing, she noticed, a rather interesting smile. She still hadn't accustomed herself to his smiles. Still, he did look much better smiling then grimacing.

"Vood you like to ride there on the Firebolt?" He held it out to her.

"Is it that long of a walk?"

"No. It is just that I am so used to flying everyvere."

"I'm fine with walking," she said, taking his broom and putting it on her bed. "Let's go."

He seemed to be happy that she had chosen to walk. Indeed, as they walked down the hall to the huge central spiral staircase, she almost thought she heard him humming.

When they reached the landing and the beginning of the stair, which twisted down into the distance almost as far as she could see, he took out his wand and murmured something to it. The picnic basket disappeared with a soft pop.

"Where...where did the basket go?"

"To the bottom of the stairs." He straddled one of the wide banisters like a broomstick and gave her a little grin. "I vill race you down..."

She said nothing, only smiled and hopped on the other banister, and then they were off. It was exhilarating, even more so than that first banister slide a few days ago. This one seemed to go on forever, twisting and turning like the vault tunnels at Gringotts. Once or twice she stole a look to the other side of the stair to see if he was ahead of her, but they seemed always to be neck and neck, neither having the advantage. She could definitely realize now the thrill that Wronski Feints would hold for adventurous Quidditch players. She could feel the wind whistling in her ears, and she leaned forward to streamline her body and make herself go even faster.

And then, sooner than she had expected, the hardwood floor came rushing up at her, and she jerked to an upright position and somehow managed to land on her feet. Viktor wasn't so lucky, and ended up doing a sort of handspring-landing that looked rather painful to Hermione. Though, she noted with a discrete glance, that this time he had managed to avoid landing on his bottom this time.

"Are you all right, Viktor?"

He gave her a small pained smile and rubbed his hands. "Yes, just fine. It vos definitely vorth it."

"Want me to carry the picnic basket?" It was right beside her, only a few paces away.

"Oh, no, no, really, I am just fine..." He really did seem to be all right. "Trust me, that is nothing compared to falling off your broom when you are fifty feet in the air." He picked up the basket and started off towards the other end of the Fortress, opposite from where they had entered when she had arrived.

She hurried after him; his pace was quick and determined, and it fitted his personality. "But surely that doesn't happen to you much at all?"

"Oh, actually, it happens more than you vood think. It is usually the fault of the broom and not of the rider. Has not your friend Harry fallen off his broom before?"

"Well, yes, of course, but one time it was because Quirrell was cursing it and the other time someone deliberately knocked into him..."

"Your Quidditch players in Britain are some of the nicest ones I haff ever played against. Here in Bulgaria ve haff a tendency to be much more...brutal ven ve play. That is vy our Beaters got fouled so much for cobbing at the Cup. People haff died in Quidditch matches here."

<> Yet Hermione said nothing, as they had already arrived at the other end of the Fortress and the magical double doors had swung open to reveal a paradisiacal landscape of blooming flowers whose scent flooded her senses immediately. A narrow path, wide enough for two or perhaps three people to walk abreast, snaked its way to what appeared to be a great maze of shrubbery in the distance. Along the edges of the pale stone of the path sprouted full-bloomed snapdragons in fanciful colors, interspersed with white and lavender bunches of alyssum. Hermione was quite literally amazed.

"Do you know the spells they used for the snapdragons? They're gorgeous."

To this he laughed. "Actually, ve did not use spells, except for the shrubs. The Headmistress wanted us to 'get in touch vit the land' or something like that."

"The students planted this?"

"Yes, ve vere all very happy to make the grounds a little bit more...beautiful. They vere alvays rather glum vit Karkaroff."

Hermione had a sudden desire to enquire what life had really been like under Karkaroff, but she held her tongue. Viktor seemed so much more carefree now that Karkaroff was gone. Instead, she put on a lighthearted smile and joked, "Where is that fan club of yours? I would think that they would be quite chasing us by now, and perhaps pelting rotten tomatoes at me as well."

He glanced back over his shoulder. "I vos careful to tell no one, not even Stasi or Poliakoff, that ve vere going anyvare. You must not think that they hate you personally, Herm-own-ninny. I am sure if they met you that they vood think you are a vonderful person."

"Oh, I'm sure it's not personal..."

He said rather nonchalantly, "It is that you haff something they are very desperate for, and you haff got it even though you did not search for it."

What is he talking about? She wondered what he could mean by that. What did she have that every other girl in Durmstrang didn't? She was about to ask him, but then she thought better of it. Often, between them, things were better left unsaid.

They had been strolling down the flower-laden path for a while now, and Hermione realized that they were standing in front of a small semi-circle of rosebushes, in which lay an inviting patch of grass dotted here and there with small daisies. "This is the place?"

"Yes." He set down the basket, took out the blanket, and spread it over the grass. Hermione sat down and began to unpack the contents. Apples, icy frosted grapes, a loaf of bread, some French cheese, and two bottles of butterbeer soon were laid out on the blanket. He sat down next to her, and looked at her inquisitively.

"What?"

"Do you like all of the food? I can get us something else if you vont..."

"Oh, no, all of this is perfectly fine...thank you so much, your kitchen charms are very...talented." She began to eat, and so did he.

They were very engrossed in eating, for the food was delicious, and when Hermione was done she lay back in the grass and gazed up contentedly at the sky, which was such a shade of blue as she had never known before, not even broken by the tiniest wisp of cloud. The rose bushes gently bent over her head, weighed by their burden of buds in glorious shades of white, red, pink, and cranberry. The sound of rushing water came from a fountain nearby, and in the distance loomed the mountains that protected the green valley of Durmstrang.

She was covered in beauty, she realized. By her side and in her hair lay fallen rose petals, and the sky arched over her like a protective cloak. Everything was gloriously verdant in this, the height of summer, and all around her were flowers. The sun catching on the trees' leaves made them into beautiful emeralds, and the fruit that they bore into crystals of the rarest variety.

He had evidently finished eating as well, for he had sat beside her and was staring up at the sky. "What are you looking at?"

"The sky."

She laughed. "Come lie down here with me. The grass is wonderfully soft." <>

He did as she said lying down, with his face close to the ground, inhaling the rich scent of the soil, and wrinkled his nose as he got a blade of grass up one nostril. She laughed and he glared at her. "It is not funny, Herm-own-ninny."

"Oh, it's very funny. Just learn to laugh at yourself, Viktor. Laugh or go crazy..."

He rolled his eyes, turned over, and stared up at the sky again. There was little sound at this time of day except for the mindless twittering of the birds in the emerald-leafed trees. For some reason that she really didn't understand, she looked over at him. In profile, lying down on the ground, he didn't look quite as harsh or gruff or distant. He looked like a dreamer.

"Viktor?"

He turned his head to look at her. "Yes?"

"Nothing." What would she have said? She wasn't quite sure.

He kept looking at her, and she at him. Was it her imagination, or had they moved closer? It wasn't her imagination. How had that happened? She wasn't sure. Her mind was whirring like crazy. <> She closed her eyes. <>

Suddenly, steps came running quickly down the path, the steps of two people, and a girl's high laughter. Viktor and Hermione quickly made sure they couldn't be seen from the path. Yet they could see who was there - it was Anastasia and Poliakoff. Anastasia was wearing lowriders and a peasant blouse; Hermione supposed this must be the latest fashion in summer wear. Her hair was crowned with a wreath of bluebells, and she was laughing happily. "Ah, eet is so beautiful 'ere in ze sunlight. I never think I 'ave seen a summer like this." Impulsively she grabbed his arm and exclaimed, "Sing me something, Alexei, I think zat I would like a song. Ze French sing all ze time, ze beautiful chansons..."

"What shall I sing, then?" Poliakoff's accent had diminished noticeably.

"Whatever you care to, dear. Something light, and pretty."

He began to sing a French song softly. He actually had a beautiful voice, a solid rich baritone. "Mon amie est le lis de la vallee, la fleur de la montagne / et pour tous de mes jours, je l'aimerai..."

"C'est belle, mon cher. Merci." Anastasia's French was light, airy, and perfect, not nasal or vulgar-sounding at all.

Poliakoff was now holding her hand and whispering something in her ear. "Alexei, zat is a marvelous idea, but right out 'ere in ze open?"

"Oh, nobody is here, Stasi. We looked, remember?" Hermione wondered how they could not have seen them. However, she and Viktor were shielded completely from the outside by the rosebushes. "Besides, in France..."

"Ah, yes, een France zey do ze most shocking things..."

"I think that we could teach even the French a few things..."

Hermione noticed that Viktor was wide-eyed and looked disbelieving. She whispered, "Did...did you know?"

He shook his head weakly. "I had no idea."

Poliakoff was whispering in Anastasia's ear again. She looked pleasantly scandalized, and gave him a little smile. "Oh, all right, Alexei, you know zat you are too persuasive to deny anything..."

He drew her close to him and kissed her. Viktor looked nauseated. Anastasia wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him just as deeply as he did her, and she looked as though she were thoroughly enjoying it. Hermione wasn't sure she should be watching something like this, but somehow her eyes were glued to the two. She broke off eventually to glance at Viktor, who was turning red in the face.

Anastasia and Poliakoff were somehow unbelievably still kissing. They were obviously very experienced at this. This must be awful for Viktor, to see his sister and his best friend snogging in plain view of anyone...

Poliakoff finally broke it off; a dark look had crossed his face. "I think I heard something, over there in the rosebushes..."

Hermione and Viktor gasped in unison, and quickly rearranged themselves so that it appeared that they were still dining and had heard nothing. Anastasia and Poliakoff soon came upon them, looking red-faced. Anastasia greeted them in her cheeriest, most nonchalant voice.

"Ah, salut, I did not know zat you and 'ermione were dining together, Veektor."

Viktor looked as if he was about ready to explode, but his voice was somehow controlled, though it held a touch of sarcasm. "Ah, Stasi, I did not know that you and Poliakoff were snogging together..."

Hermione stifled a giggle. She knew it would be entirely inappropriate to laugh at something like this, but they way that Anastasia's face had turned into an unflattering shade of beet crimson was rather amusing. Yet it was Poliakoff who spoke first.

"Viktor, I am sorry that we did not tell you, but - "

"Oh, vell, it is pointless to tell me now. I think that I understand perfectly..."

Anastasia's face had melted into an equally unappealing green. "Veektor," she said, sitting down next to him in the grass, "Veektor, I am so sorry zat we did not tell you. We were going to...and Alexei...do you think zat Alexei would ever do anything to me zat would be bad? I trust him, Veektor, and look, he is your very closest friend..."

Poliakoff looked rather sullen. "Besides, you are always with her." He gestured to Hermione. "Stasi was just talking to me about how she never gets to see you anymore, and personally I agree with her. You are always either with your Quidditch practices or with her."

Hermione could feel the brimming tension that had somehow rather darkened the bright day, and so she quickly murmured, "Viktor, I promised Ron and Harry that I would write them letters this afternoon." She rose and brushed grass bits off her clothes.

"I vill come vit you." Good, that was what she had been hoping he would say. He threw a final glare at Poliakoff and stalked off. She had to practically run to catch up with him. When they were out of earshot she spoke.

"Why are you so angry with them?"

"I am not angry vit Stasi. It is Poliakoff."

"He seems decent."

"Poliakoff may not seem like it, Herm-own-ninny, but he has a reputation for being very...vot is the vord...he is not a very faithful person ven it comes to matters of relationships. I vood say that about thirty of the girls here at Durmstrang have been...ill-used by him."

"Then why are you and he such great friends?"

"Because besides that he is a trustvorthy and amazing friend. I remember that at one of the semifinals for the Vorld Cup he took it upon himself to be my bodyguard, and must have cast a thousand Repelling Charms. His humor never fails, and it is very rare that he is anything but the most supportive of friends. But I vood rather have my sister love anyone but him."

"Oh."

"Do you really haff to write letters, Herm-own-ninny?"

"No," she confessed. They continued to walk back to the Fortress, it was some way, and the day was not really quite as beautiful. Now that the shock of what had happened with Anastasia and Poliakoff had settled, Hermione's thoughts turned to what would have happened if she and Viktor had not been interrupted. What would have happened? Would she have kissed him? Now, when the intensity of the moment had passed, she thought that surely she would not have, but there was a nagging suspicion in the back of her mind that she would have, and she could sense from the tension radiating from him that he was thinking of it too. "What would have happened, Viktor?" She was hardly aware that she had spoken aloud until he looked at her sharply. "I mean, that when we were - "

"I know vot you mean, Herm-own-ninny."

"What would have happened?"

"I...I do not know."

"What did you want to happen?"

He hesitated. Yet, he reasoned, there was never any harm in telling the truth, was there? "I wanted to kiss you."

Hermione stared at him. Of course, in her subconscious she knew that was what he wanted, and what she wanted to, but to hear him actually say it, out in the open, actually bring it out and admit it, now that was shocking. She was only half-aware that he was speaking.

"I think that the moment is quite ruined, though."

She nodded slowly. He turned to go. "Wait," she said, "The Midsummer Ball is the day after tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Yes. I shall see you tonight, Herm-own-ninny." And he was gone.

I wanted to kiss you, he had said. Those words stayed in her mind for a very long time.