Past Present

"So that explains it. Why he's older than most of his classmates, why he still has schooling left, even though he was classified as a seventh year during the tournament..." Hermione stared out her bedroom window, Ron and Harry sitting on the edge of her bed. "I just assumed it was all the traveling for Quidditch, all the training. He's certainly not thick in the least. You don't speak three languages that fluently and know two alphabets without a little something upstairs. Some of the books he read at the library were pretty advanced, too. He could do advanced transfigurations and picked the most likely curse against that dragon, he knew to go for the eyes, he certainly did better than Fleur..."

"Okay, Herm, we get it, he's not a dunce. He had good reason to slouch around like the creeping death last year, too, beyond the giggling packs of girls and the reporters and that creep Karkaroff always breathing down his neck. And we go around the entire time we're here poking at his wounds with a big sharp stick. We're all horrid beasts, now aren't we? Especially me..." Ron kicked at the floor with his toe.

"No more than the rest of us, Ron. And some of it we didn't do deliberately. It's not as though Hermione brought up Violeta on purpose," Harry said.

Ron continued, "Wonder what else we can do for him while we're here. Remind him he came second in the Triwizard Tournament? Or was it third? That Karkaroff went scurrying like some scared rabbit and just left all his students at Hogwarts to fend for themselves when he thought his old Death Eater buddies and Dark Lord were coming back? Maybe we could ask him if he's been to any nice Junior Death Eater parties at Durmstrang? Or ask him if he wants to have a nice remembrance party for Cedric Diggory? Set his dogs on fire maybe? Smash his fingers with a sledgehammer so he can't practice tomorrow? Shove his parents off a cliff? Drown ourselves in the lake so he can't even go out there and enjoy it anymore?"

"Ron! Would you stop it? I don't think he's angry at you... he didn't seem to be when he got back, just mad at himself..." Hermione scolded.

"I wish he were mad at me. That would make it better, if he would just try to strangle me or pound me into a pulp and get it over with. I could have quite happily gone on hating him last year, if he hadn't turned out to be so bleedin' decent to Harry. To you. To me even, and I wasn't even nice to him! I think it was less complicated when I wanted to break his nose again just for being from Durmstrang and competing against Harry and daring to ask you to the Yule Ball like some sneaky spy. Why couldn't he just act like a pompous athlete with a big ego who loves having hangers-on and getting what he wants and going to a big, bad, evil school like Durmstrang? Then I could go on thinking he's an overgrown Bulgarian git and just think about breaking his ugly nose..." Ron said glumly.

"This is getting to be a habit," came the voice from the hall. Viktor leaned in the open doorway, slouching, arms crossed, shoulder against the door frame, expression neutral. "By the vay, the doors do not alvays close. Sometimes, they sving open. The wood has shrunk over the years." He nudged the door back further with his knee. "I should make more noise," he added absently, grunting to himself. He stared at his knee, then let out a self-deprecating snort, "Am I to take it Ron Veasley, you don't like my nose half as much as those silly packs of girls?" His voice was surprisingly light. It was so unexpected, the three of them looked at one another, then burst out laughing.

Ron finally caught his breath. "I have to be honest, it's not a look most of us could pull off. I'm not sure you pull it off, but all those girls sure seem to think so. Nutty question. Why haven't you let someone fix it? Herm here let Madame Pomfrey carve a little off her teeth you know." Hermione shot him a glare that could have cut stone.

Viktor looked up and gave them a rueful smile, uncrossing his right arm and fingering the bridge of his nose thoughtfully, rubbing up and down its length. "The hook, I vos born vith. It came courtesy of my father. I vould not haff the heart to get rid of it. I broke it the first time in practice at school, somevone's elbow. Badge of honor, then, I suppose. Second, vhile learning Wronski Feint at Vratsa. I vos too young to vorry about vot girls might think. Running to medivizards all the time, then they vould think they haff to play nursemaid to me. Third time, in Vratsa Vultures game, a bludger. By then I vonted to keep those silly girls avay. Fourth time, European Cup, bludger, took me clean off the broom and knocked me all the vay into the stands. I bled on our owner. Fifth time, Vorld Cup. I vos so angry that ve couldn't catch up, ve vere just playing for honor, the bludger could haff taken my head off, and I vould not haff cared. Only reason I care now is because you saw me a bloody mess." Harry got the feeling he wasn't addressing the entire room at the last, just Hermione.

Viktor laid his finger alongside the bridge of his nose, still now, lightly touching the small crook in it with the tip of his finger. "I decided long ago, if I could not live vith something so..." he cleared his throat significantly, his brows arching expressively, "small... as my nose, how could I live vith the faults you cannot fix vith the vave of a vand?" he shrugged and dropped his finger, crossing his arms once more. "Anymore, I figure, broken, not broken, it vill return to its usual prominent size in a few days, no harm done. The black eyes from the Vorld Cup, they lasted longer than the nose. Noses, they are nothing to break. Breaking other things, things you cannot see, they hurt." He paused a moment. "Maybe I should have let them mop me up, but I vos too busy being a moody Slavic man." His mouth curled in the slightest little smirk. "I figured if they did not call time to mop me up, I did not need it to go see the Minister box. I vould just go vith my crooked, hooked, oversized, broken, bloody nose and bloody robes. If only you had let me know you vere so concerned about my nose, Ron, I vould have prettied up for you..." he finished in a mock-syrupy tone, his eyes twinkling, holding back a laugh.

Ron held his ribs, gasping and wheezing, "You don't play fair Viktor. Stop being so damned likable! Besides, moody Slavic men aren't my thing. Now Harry, on the other hand..."

"Ron!" Harry pushed him over onto the bed, still laughing.

Viktor sobered and continued, "You could get rid of your freckles, your red hair, Harry could cover up his scar, Hermione could put potion on her hair every day... you do not, because it is not you. A nice, straight, small, pretty boy nose just vould not be me either."

Hermione looked a bit put out. "You didn't like my hair at the Yule Ball?"

"Oh, I loved it. But I loved it every other day, too. I hardly think a little thing like hair vith a vill of its own vould scare me off, do you?" Viktor touched the crook in his nose again as he said this. "I vos more interested in the girl that came vith the hair," he added.

"What about the teeth? Did you even notice those, or not for a month, like these two lunkheads?" she asked.

"They vere fine before. Most people grow into things like teeth. Or noses. I did not ask your teeth to the ball."

Ron snickered, "Headstrong hair... Hermione's got headstrong hair!"

"Oh, shut up, Ron!" Hermione walloped him with a pillow. "Sorry, " she said to Viktor, patting the pillow gently, Ron's muffled laughter still filtering through it.

"Ve haff more if you vont to hit him again," Viktor grinned outright.

"I might take you up on that. So what was it then? I mean, I realize I'm not all that pretty, not like Lavender or Padma or Parvati. Or Fleur. I mean, I'm not that hideous, but you seem to be the first one who bothered to spot that I was a real live girl, not just a last resort fallback plan for a date when no other vaguely female creature will go with you." She shot a look at the pillow. Viktor came and sat on the side of the bed and cocked his head at her.

"No. Not like them. Maybe that is vot I liked about you. They think they are pretty. They vont everyvone else to think they are pretty, they think they get vot they vont because they are pretty. Like veela. You do not bother to think if you are pretty or not. You vere just... you. I think it vos mostly because you ignored me. Yes, you ignored me very vell. And you did not giggle vonce."

She tilted her own head and asked, "What's that got to do with anything?"

He spread his hands. "Simple. You vere a very pretty girl behind that book, and unless I vos very much mistaken, I thought, not so bad on the inside. My father alvays told me a girl vith her nose in a book she does not haff to read could not be half bad. Hogvarts reading list could not be that long. Instinct. If I talked to you and you liked me, it vos not for Quidditch. Not because I vos famous. You vere the first to spot that I vos a real live boy. If you did not like me, I vos stuck vith a giggler," he replied, making a face as though a giggler were a fate worse than death.

"Thank you, Viktor. So, are you going to finish up your schooling at Durmstrang, exams? And what are they going to do with Karkaroff gone?" The question had slipped out of her mouth before she could think.

He looked at the floor for a moment. "I haff not decided. I haff some...options. Choices to make. If Karkaroff is still gone, they vill haff a new headmaster, I am sure. No idea who it vill be. I haff been talking to somevone, about how I can, vell...vork.. something out...maybe..." he responded haltingly.

"I'm getting the feeling it's none of our business," she said.

Viktor grinned and continued, "More like just not vorked out. I do not vont to say before it is certain. I vill just say, you may see me again sooner than you think. Much sooner." He playfully shoved Ron back over, having seen him just struggle up from the bed, pillow still half over his face.

"Ow. That was NOT likable, Vicky!" Ron shrieked hysterically, still out of breath.

"Ve should go eat, Ronnie. Practice again tomorrow, if you vont. Maybe you can break my nose. But be prepared, Ivanova vould scratch your eyes out if you do anything to hurt our chances against Wales. She almost killed the first player who cobbed me and got avay vith it in the European Cup, and ve von that. And Vulchanov and Volkov, they haff got big clubs! Play 'kill the seeker' at your own risk. You mess up my nose the girls vill not like me any more."

Viktor snatched the pillow off of Ron, plopping it back on the bed. Harry thought to himself that it was the first time he had seen Viktor be anything approaching playful. And one of the rare times he had seen him so pleased. No, wait, hopeful. That was it. If Harry wasn't very much mistaken that had been the unfamiliar look in his eyes. Hopeful.