A Visit To Bulgaria

A Visit to Bulgaria, Chapter 12

Author: Luna

At six o'clock on the morning after the Revels, Viktor decided that enough had been enough. He had not gotten a single minute of sleep, agonizing endlessly over the events of the previous night, of the effect that they had had on Hermione, of the possibility that their fledgling relationship, barely started, might be ruined beyond recall. By turns he felt like an idiot for refusing her propositions and a superb friend for protecting her in her weakness. He hated having to play that role, however, the role of the wiser older friend. He was well aware of the age difference between them and the incident last night had only exacerbated it. For the first time in his life, he wanted to leave his maturity and wisdom behind and feel free to fall in love without regard to the consequences. However, he reasoned with himself as he pulled on his clothes and came to the conclusion that there was little he could do but be truthful and respectful with her, and to ensure, despite his own desires, that everything done was done with her permission and will.

Viktor's mood was certainly not assuaged by the weather. The winds were angrily howling around the fortress, and rain pounded at the enormous windows of his room. He often wondered if the spells that protected Durmstrang from Muggles also made the weather utterly ridiculous. He wished that summer could be counted on to be pleasant, but, after all, the day was a perfect match to his mood.

He was not yet hungry, so after performing a few spells on himself to compensate for his lack of sleep, he sat down to the large overstuffed book that he used as a journal and began to write.

I really don't have any reason for writing except to calm myself before I go talk to Hermione. I want to have all my thoughts out on the page so that I can analyze them and not say anything to inadvertently offend her.

The really frightening thing is that I honestly love her, more than I loved Rachel, more than I love my own sister. I don't know what's wrong with me. I think that I might have loved her before this, before this summer, but I can't put into words how much my love for her has multiplied. She has matured over two years into something extraordinary. She was intriguing before but now she is complete, I think, a woman instead of a girl, comfortable in her own body and with her intellect.

Right. I love her. This can't be so hard. She probably doesn't even remember half of what happened last night.

But what if she doesn't remember what happened at the lake?

Realizing this made him more morose than ever, and certainly in no mood for writing. But he felt a desperate need to entrust his thoughts to something more permanent than his mind, to give them some witness.

I had no sleep last night, but I dreamed even as I was awake - and only of Hermione. The images came one after another, blurred, in no recognizable order. I saw her as a child, her first year at Hogwarts, awkward and still a girl but with little traces of woman beginning to show. I saw her during the Triwizard Tournament, her face gleaming in the chilly air as I pulled her out of the lake. I saw her as she is now, or as she was last night, dancing unconsciously, dancing like Stasi, hips and arms and legs moving together, face upturned to the light. And there were more fragmented images - her in a long dress, her holding a laughing child, her pointing her wand at some unknown foe and crying out a spell, and most bizarre of all, her face shocked and surrounded by some sort of green light.

I don't even want to start thinking about what all of these things mean. It would occupy my mind far too much.

Viktor closed the book and whispered a spell to it that would render the writing incomprehensible to any but him. He cut a sheet from his roll of parchment and wrote a letter to the hotel in the capital, canceling that night's reservation. He was certain that Hermione would be in no mood to go anywhere.

*~*

Hermione awoke with a painful cramp in her foot, a nasty bump on her forehead, and an incredibly confused mind. She noticed the foul weather outside and was about to doze off again when it hit her like a Bludger in the nose.

Shit. I think that I kissed Viktor Krum last night.

And I drank that stuff.

And I think that I passed out.

How did I get back here?

Before she could contemplate the answer to any of these questions, she rolled over and accidentally tumbled off the bed onto the hard wood floor. She grunted and felt shoots of pain coming from her tailbone. Cursing, she heaved herself into a sitting position and felt around her backside to assess the damage. Luckily, she was only bruised, so after a few more minutes of generally being angry at the world, she managed to get to her feet and look out the window. It was an angry-looking day, in stark contrast to the night before. She scratched her head and remembered that she had forgotten to take off her makeup from the night before. Her wand was sitting on the bedside table and she quickly performed a few Cleansing Charms, then Transfigured a nearby glass of water into a steaming cup of tea, which she began sipping immediately.

It was then that she heard a knock on the door. She almost choked on her tea and started coughing. "Who...who is it?"

"It's Viktor."

Bugger! "Uh. Just a minute. I'm, ah, getting dressed!" Hermione set down the cup of tea with a hard clink on the bedside table, and rushed to the dresser, grabbing the first dressing-gown she could find and tossing it around her shoulders. She took a moment to compose herself with a few deep breaths, and then, with some semblance of calm, opened the door.

Viktor was dressed in his Quidditch uniform, with his broom under his arm. His wand was sheathed in a pocket of his breeches, and she was astonished at how put-together he looked, considering the events of the previous evening.

After goggling at him for just a little too long, she recovered herself and said courteously, "Please, come in. Would you like some tea?"

He sat on an armchair by the fire. "No, Hermione, I would not like some tea. I have something that I must tell you."

Hermione settled into an armchair facing his, tucked her legs up, and sipped some more tea. "Yes?" Oh, shit, he's going to tell me that he didn't mean what he said last night. Of course he didn't mean it. How could I have been so dumb to have thought that this bloke, this famous brilliant great bloke, could actually like me? I never should have come here. He probably likes one of those fangirls or some girl his own age, not me with my bushy hair and clumsiness and -

"Hermione," he blurted out, "I'm in love with you."

For the second time that morning, she choked on her tea and managed to spew a bit of it out. "What?!"

"You don't remember?"

"But...you couldn't have meant that! I'm just some girl from England and I'm not rich or beautiful or pureblood or anything at all!"

"Hermione!" He was aghast. Suddenly he was on his knees in front of her and had taken her two hands in his own. "Please, do not ever say things like that! You were never only "some girl" to me. You are just as good a witch and just as beautiful a person as the most pureblooded girl here at Durmstrang."

"Really?"

"Hermione, have I ever lied to you?"

"Well, um, no, actually."

"Then listen to me. You are the smartest witch at Hogwarts. You have a wonderful future ahead of you. You are more beautiful than any woman that I have met."

"What about Fleur Delacour?" she asked, feeling somewhat contrary.

He laughed. "Her? Hardly. She's as conceited as Gilderoy Lockhart. And," he smiled conspiratorially, "to tell you the truth, I already tried with Fleur. She was visiting Durmstrang during the summer along with the other top students of Beauxbatons, and I asked her to the Midsummer Ball. She practically laughed at me and said that I was not nearly good-looking enough to be seen next to her. And it turned out to be a good thing that she turned me down, because Alexei ended up being her escort and he told me that when she becomes very excited, her teeth start growing into fangs and she gets a little...nibbly, if you know what I mean. She's got more veela blood than she lets on."

Hermione giggled. "I'm glad that Ron didn't succeed in getting her to go to the Yule Ball with him. I think that biting is a little too kinky for him." She squeezed his hand and said, more sober, "It's just that sometimes I feel like no matter how high my marks are at Hogwarts, I'm never going to be accepted because of my birth."

"It is true that some people will never accept you. But they are hypocrites, Hermione, and they do not deserve your friendship. They loudly make fun of the Muggle-born and half-blood witches and wizards, but if one of these supposedly 'lesser' people has enough money or influence or fame, they will scrape the floor with their silly tributes. Look at your friend Harry; he is a half-blood. And look at me. I am a half-blood wizard, Hermione. My father was born to Muggles. Yet the greatest pureblood families of Europe know my name and invite me to their boring dinners and want me to marry their conceited daughters. Hermione, you were not raised with mansions and legions of house-elves and tacit connections to the Dark Lord. You are real, you are honest, you are brilliant, and you are self-sufficient. That is why I love you. Never even for a moment think that a pureblood is better than you. They are often handed their magic on a silver platter, accustomed to it from the moment they were born. But you were thrown into this world when you were eleven, and you have excelled."

She thought to herself, her hands absentmindedly in his hair, thrown into this world. Heaved. Hurled. Suddenly it occurred to her that five years ago, a mere speck in the whole scheme of the world, she had known nothing of this. Five years ago she was living in a London suburb with dentist parents that she found sometimes annoying but always lovable. Five years ago she would never have dreamed that as a young woman she would sit in this castle in Bulgaria, with one of the most famous wizards in the world professing his love for her. How odd life could be!

"Viktor," Hermione murmured, then pulled him up to his full height so that he stood over her. She got to her feet and stood at most an inch from him, and she could feel the heat that jumped between their two bodies. Putting her two hands on either side of his face, she drew his lips down to hers and kissed him deeply, slowly, languorously. She could feel the rough prickliness of his facial skin on hers, and the lovely softness of his lips. His hands were gripping her tightly to him, and she laughed under his lips from pure happiness. It was beginning to rain outside of the Fortress walls and she reveled in this feeling, that she could not possibly be closer to him if she tried, that she was in his head and heart and body and he was in hers.

He kissed her down the length of her neck, the skin a little sore from her earlier Cleansing Charms. When he reached her collarbone, he stopped.

"Don't stop," she whispered, and then was amazed at herself that she had just said a thing like that."

"Hermione," he hesitated, "I have to ask. Is this something that you want to do?"

"Yes," she murmured. "Yes, yes."

"If I ever do something that you do not like, you will tell me to stop?"

"Viktor," she said, a little more insistently, "I don't remember you ever doing anything to me against my will."

"But you will tell me?"

"Yes."

"Good." He kissed her again, and pressed his lips to the indentation right below her neck where the two parts of her collarbone met. Encouraged by her sharp indrawn breath, he continued to kiss her down the center of her chest, feeling her warm skin rise and fall underneath his lips. Her hands were in his hair, clutching it, and her head leaned back against the chair and the slightest of sounds escaped her lips. He slowly untied the front of her dressing-gown and slid it off of her arms. She hastily commenced to unbuttoning the front of her nightdress, but Viktor stopped her.

"Let me," he whispered, his eyes locked with hers.

Hermione smiled gently at him and lay back in the chair. Viktor slowly undid the first button, kissing the flesh that was exposed. He continued until he came to the soft curve where her breasts began.

It was then that someone began knocking loudly on the door. "Viktor Krum! Open the door!"

Hermione squeaked and jumped up from the chair, nearly knocking Viktor over in the process. She hastily threw her dressing-gown on and tied the cord tightly around her waist, as Viktor got to his feet and rushed to the door. Hermione stood by one of the posts of her bed, shuddering from the surprise, her hair forming a messy halo around her head.

It was Madame Vulchanov. Viktor drew himself up to his full height and attempted to look as dignified as possible in front of the Headmistress, considering that his shirt was half undone and Hermione was barely dressed.

"Madame. How may I be of service?"

Madame Vulchanov's usually ruddy face looked pale and stricken. "Mr. Krum, your sister Anastasia has been kidnapped."

"What?!" Viktor immediately let out a very creative-sounding string of Bulgarian curses. "When?"

"After both she and Alexei Poliakoff vere reported missing this morning, ve sent a search party to the Forest." She waved her hand dismissively when Hermione gasped. "Yes, ve know about the Revels. Ve haff alvays known about the Revels. Ve managed to find Mr. Poliakoff near the main clearing in the Forest. He vos unconscious and had many injuries. There vere clear signs of a struggle. Miss Krum vos gone."

Hermione stepped forward. "Where is Alexei now?"

"In the infirmary. Ve have five of our professors and a team of mediwizards vorking on him. He is loosing a great amount of blood."

Viktor had heard enough. He unsheathed his wand from his pants, gently but firmly pushed Madame Vulchanov to the side, and ran off down the hall. Hermione hesitated for only a second before following him, her bare feet silent in the carpeted hallways.

"Viktor!"

He slowed only slightly to allow her to catch up. Grabbing hold of her free hand, they raced down the corridors and bolted down the immense twined spiral staircases. Hermione had her wand out as well, though she couldn't think why she would need it.

Hermione was beginning to feel a cramp forming in her side when Viktor skidded to a sudden stop outside a set of impressively carved double doors that were inscribed in Roman capitals with the words THE DVRMSTRANG INFIRMARY. Below, in slightly smaller lettering, Hermione read HELGA STANISLAVKA, CHIEF MEDIWITCH.

"But why is it in English?" Hermione wondered.

"Enchanted to match the native language of the reader," remarked Viktor brusquely. "Alohomora."

The doors swung open to reveal a scene of chaos. All of the beds, which seemed to have previously been arranged into two neat rows, had been shoved in the back of the room. In the very center was an enormous crowd of mediwizards and witches, in white robes embroidered with the Durmstrang emblem and scarlet Cyrillic script. They were shouting at each other frantically in a jumble of Bulgarian and Russian. Multicolored sparks flared up from the center of the crowd, and Hermione could hear numerous spells being cast in a variety of languages. The sharp odor of blood mixed with sweat hung heavily in the air. The tall windows showed the storm gathering momentum outside.

Viktor strode over to the crowd and pushed the mediwizards and witches aside. Hermione hurried after him. "Viktor! What are you - "

She was silenced by what she saw at the center of the mob of people. One of the hospital beds had been magically enlarged and the metal side rails had been taken off. On the bed lay Alexei. His face was covered in blood, and his clothes had been sliced off by the mediwizards and lay in tatters around him. A sheet covered his hips, but other than that he was naked. A large gash cut across his chest and stomach, and one of his legs was bent at a very unnatural angle. Numerous other cuts and wounds seemed to cover his entire body. A faint aura shone around him, an aura that reminded Hermione disturbingly of death.

A short, flamingly red-haired mediwitch shoved her way through the crowd of wand-wielding physicians and seemed ultimately relieved to see Viktor. Noting Hermione's presence, she began in English, which to Hermione's surprise was perfectly inflected and showed no trace of an accent. "Mr. Krum, Miss Granger, I am very happy to see you. I am Helga Stanislavka. There isn't much time. I'm afraid that unless you can perform the spell, Mr. Krum, we will not be able to save Mr. Poliakoff."

"What spell?" asked Hermione frantically. "Viktor, what's going on?"

Viktor disregarded her. "Get all of them away from the bed," he said, gesturing to the crowd of white-robed people. "And I need a vial of phoenix tears, and one of dragon blood. And unicorn blood. All that you have."

"Phoenix tears? We do not condone the collection of phoenix tears. And we haven't had stocks of unicorn blood since Karkaroff. You know that."

He swore again in Bulgarian. "Get me the Potions Master." When Helga hesitated, he shouted forcefully, "Now!" She hurried out the door. He turned to the remaining physicians. "It is the demon spell, is it not?"

"Yes," stammered a tall mediwizard whose robes were liberally stained with blood. "But its only counter is a Dark spell."

"I know that," said Viktor impatiently.

"What on earth is going on?" said Hermione, who was fairly annoyed at not being informed.

Pushing up his sleeves, Viktor turned to Hermione. "Hermione, this is hard to say. Whoever did this to Alexei and kidnapped my sister was a powerful Dark wizard or witch. They put a demon into Alexei's soul that will kill him unless I can draw the demon into another host."

Hermione paled. "Another host?"

"The Potions Master that I spoke of is a condemned Death Eater. She has been incarcerated in the dungeons of Durmstrang for months, awaiting extradition for crimes committed in London. She is an expendable host for the time being."

"Viktor! That's barbarous!"

"No worse than your Azkaban and dementors," he said grimly. "I am a peaceful man, Hermione, until someone I love is hurt."

"But dealing with demons and possession is the Dark Arts!"

"And I am one of the last students who were trained in the Dark Arts by Karkaroff. I am the only person in this fortress, actually, who is willing and able to perform this spell. Alexei will die unless I do this. If he dies, we may never find out what happened to Stasi." He paused. "I am sorry, Hermione. I have never wanted to perform one of these spells, and I do not want you to have to see me do it."

"No," she said stubbornly. "I will stay."

The double doors burst open and Helga Stanislavka entered, holding a tall, thin woman by the arm and pulling her into the room before making sure that the doors were shut and locked, and wards were set up around the room.

"Katrina Nikolayevna." Viktor looked at the woman with undisguised hatred. "I trust that you divulged the location of the ingredients that I needed?"

"You will be punished for this, you filthy half-blood," hissed the woman. "You and the Mudblood girl. The Dark Lord will not stand for this."

Helga held up three vials, one each of phoenix tears, dragon's blood, and unicorn blood. "Got them."

"Good. Now," he said, speaking to the furious Potions Master, "I can knock you out or leave you conscious for the procedure. Which would you prefer?"

She spat in his face. "You will die for this."

"Conscious it is. Lay her on a bed by Alexei."

Helga scurried to do so, then handed Viktor the three vials. "You do know what you're doing?" she asked nervously.

"All too well," murmured Viktor as he stood over the two beds. Alexei was barely breathing, and Hermione found herself hyperventilating. Helga pulled her over to the wall, and they all watched as Viktor cast the first spell.

"Patefacio vestri animus volo." His wand was pointed at Alexei's chest. A slow hiss came from Alexei's body, and then a red, foul-smelling vapor arose from his mouth. "Yes," whispered Viktor. "Good." He then took a small, sharp knife from his pants pocket and pressed it into Alexei's forearm until he drew blood. He did the same to Katrina. He then unstoppered the vial of dragon blood and sprinkled it over the wounds.

"Per incendi , ego voco vo , everto."

The red vapor that had come from Alexei's mouth now formed a mist around his entire body, clinging to his skin. Viktor then sprinkled the phoenix tears over the cuts he had made.

"Ego voco vos per lacrima phoenix, captus violenter."

The vapor rose a little and began to move towards Katrina's body, and she screamed. Viktor paid her no mind and finally opened the vial of unicorn blood. He doused Alexei's cut with the blood, and finally said the last spell in a firm voice, which Hermione realized with a shudder was not his own.

"Spiritus ut spiritus, ego voco vos, everto. Per cruor illae insons insontis creatura ego requiro ut vos vacate is somes quod usus ceterus.

He was almost shouting as he intoned the last words. "Ego dico in atrum vox expleo is alica!"

Hermione saw every single one of the physicians gasp and shudder. "What did the last part mean?" she whispered to Helga.

"I call upon the dark powers to fulfill this spell," stammered Helga. "I never thought him capable of performing it."

The red mist that was obviously the demon sank into the body of Katrina, who instantly fell unconscious. At the exact same moment, Alexei's eyes opened and he began to cough up blood. Viktor staggered back from the two beds and almost fell, but was caught by a nearby mediwitch. He pulled himself to his feet and said quietly, "Keep her here. She will need constant monitoring. The rest of you, get to work on Alexei."

Hermione rushed to him, and managed to catch him before he fainted.