Past Present

Hermione looked at Viktor doubtfully, then around the rest of the nearly deserted practice field. He beckoned to her again, broom in his right hand, fairly vibrating as though it wanted to get off the ground worse than he did. Harry hollered, "Oh, go on Hermione! You're a witch, you should be good at something you can't learn from a book!"

"Stuff it, Harry!" she yelled back, sticking her tongue out at him. She walked over to Viktor, her arms crossed, and asked quietly, "What now?"

"First, ve get you comfortable on a broom. It is like being on a bicycle, is it not?"

"It is not! My bicycle never threatened to dump me onto the ground from that high in the air!"

Viktor sighed, "I vould not let that happen. Harry and Ron vould not let that happen. Harry and Ron vould haff my hide. Besides, you are going to be on the broom vith me."

"But how?" Viktor didn't answer, but swung his long right leg over the broom, which immediately began bobbing up and down lightly, supporting him with just the balls of his feet on the ground.

He grabbed the handle, and pressed down, settling into a seated position, a sort of flat-footed squat. He took his hands off and spread his arms in her direction. "Come here. Sit." She hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly swung her leg over the broom, sitting directly in front of Viktor. Since his thighs were parallel to the handle, she was really sitting in his lap more than on the broom.

"Now then, more on the broom," he said, steadying her with his hands on her hips, lifting back to straight legs, leaving her feet dangling, his completely flat on the ground. She lurched forward and grabbed for the handle, clutching it desperately. "Loosen up a little. Not so tight." He shook her gently with his big hands, and she laughed nervously, sliding her hands back toward her and taking a more relaxed grip. He took his hands off her hips, reached around her and grabbed the handle, elbows tucked in against her sides, settling his chin over her left shoulder. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," she told him. He pushed off hard, and they began to rise straight up, Ron and Harry growing very small beside the equipment racks. "I think I left my stomach back there..." she squeaked.

Viktor squeezed his elbows into her ribs a little more firmly, steadying her. They flew a couple of lazy laps around the practice field, and her heart stopped thumping so hard. Before, it had felt like something trying to claw out of her chest. "Ready to really fly?" Viktor whispered against the shell of her ear. She nodded, and he squeezed his knees against her legs, bracing her against the broom. They sped off toward the far end of the field, sucking her hair back from her face in the breeze.

When he rounded the goal, he banked and dived sharply, heading toward the pitch. It wasn't a Wronski Feint since he couldn't press close enough to the broom with her in front, but he was headed toward the ground steeply. She shrieked a little from the thrill when they leveled off near the ground, but it was obvious she was enjoying it. "Not afraid anymore?" he shouted into her ear.

"No! I'm beginning to see why you love this!" she screamed back. For the first ten minutes, he banked, he spiraled, he raced, but he was careful to keep the broom fairly upright.

"Now, how about upside down?"

"Ohhh! I don't know..." she began, but he was already leaning, rolling to the right, then they were hanging upside down, and before she knew it, upright again. He took her through a series of banks and turns, dives and rolls, then hovered above the pitch.

"Wow..."

"Now you try."

"What? Viktor, I can't..."

"Can't never did anything. Just... nudge it vare you vont it to go. Don't think so hard. Just lead it vare you vont it to go, and it vill follow," he urged. He took his hands off the handle, latching them together in front of her waist. She timidly leaned forward a bit, the broom moving slowly. After some minutes, she was brave enough to try a few wide turns and some shallow dives. After they landed, she thanked Viktor.

"See, no vone died... you practice, you could be a good chaser, maybe as good as Ivanova some day." She thought his high praise was a little unwarranted, considering she had only managed to fly somewhat acceptably with his tutoring, but she appreciated it anyway.

They spent the rest of the day in Sofia, wandering the streets and shops, then visiting the museum, which Ron and Harry patiently endured for Hermione's sake. Well, it wasn't so bad, they allowed, but still, who wants something educational on your holiday? "You didn't want to say goodbye to your mother first?" Hermione asked as they headed toward the door.

Viktor paused, almost as though he had been reminded of an acquaintance long forgotten and was having trouble placing a face to the name. "Of course," he said curtly, turning on his heel and heading toward the side hall.

He led them back into a small office with a glass front, piles of papers on the small desk among the quills and parchment covered in varying colors, styles, and amounts of calligraphy. Anya's fingers were smudged with the ink, and the original documents were covered in thick sealed Lucite, to keep them clean. He translated their polite wonderment over the museum to Anya, who looked pleased. Rather more polite wonderment from Hermione, but even Ron and Harry had enjoyed the weapons display. He relayed that they were planning to eat at Korrina Sofia again that evening, and they turned to go.

He held the door for the rest, and before he could step out, Anya spoke, reaching out, grasping his shoulder before he could go. He let the door swing shut, and stood facing her, expression completely inscrutable. She spoke for some time, Viktor's face unchanging, but now he was staring somewhere in the vicinity of her shoes. The three Hogwarts students stood in the hall, watching Anya speak to Viktor, as though she were explaining something. He seemed to argue back half-heartedly, gesturing, then finally resting his right hand on his chest, face going sullen, then resigned. She silently handed him a small black book, which he stared at for a moment, then pocketed. Finally he stepped forward, bent low, and gave her an awkwardly stiff hug, then seemed to resume his flagging defense of his side of things.

"Poor Viktor... they're practically strangers..." Hermione said softly.

"What? What would you know about it?" Ron inquired.

"Add it up Ron! Add up how many weeks he's been home over the past six years. Maybe two weeks a summer. He's been home about two weeks in winter, every year but last year, when he was at Hogwarts. He was finally able to Apparate, but he was in one of the few places he couldn't, license or no license. Karkaroff didn't even allow them to go to Hogsmeade. He's been home maybe five or six bloody months over the last six years!"

"Shh!" Harry hissed at them, as Viktor grabbed the door again.

He was unusually quiet at the cafe, even more taciturn than usual. He mostly pushed the food around his plate, barely finishing half. Harry was more than glad to have the leftovers. Hermione finally ventured a conversation when he refused dessert, looking as surly as they had ever seen him. "Viktor..."

"They're coming to the championship game. Not the semifinal. They have to vork," he said grimly.

"But..." Hermione started, a little stunned that Viktor had volunteered any information.

"They von't take it anymore, the money. They didn't year before last, or the year before that. They've been putting it in Gringott's in my name." He fingered the pocket he had placed the book in. "Not much money at all last year anyvay. I vos at Hogvarts."

"Viktor...you can't always take care of your parents..." Hermione said.

He looked at her, his scowl softening to a thoughtful frown, more like his father's neutral expression. "That's vot she said."