Past Present

A light rap on the door told her that her hour was up. "Coming," she called, and swung the heavy door back. Viktor stood there with Ron and Harry.

"Come on then. We are waiting on you," Viktor said.

"You made them wait on me, more likely," Hermione replied.

"I won't deny it's true, will you Harry?" Ron looked at Harry.

"True enough. I mean, I'm pretty hungry myself," Harry answered.

"Alexei cannot hold the chairs forever. Well, he could, but I give him five minutes before he forgets all about the chairs and goes wandering off after some girl," Viktor added.

Hermione stepped out into the hallway and realized there was a steady stream of students of all years milling around in the passages downstairs, and many in the upper years streaming down the staircase in small groups, talking in a cacophony of foreign languages. Wonder if Hogwarts sounded like this to him? she thought to herself. Probably not. He at least knew some English. Her Bulgarian was poor to non-existant, though Viktor had taught her a handful of words, her Russian worse. She recognized the German, but could pick out little that had any meaning. There were other languages, as well, she figured. Surely most of the Slavs went here? She saw what Potenko meant about redheads being thin on the ground at Durmstrang. The school seemed to be a study in extremes. Most of the students had dark, dusky, even swarthy skin like Potenko's, and hair and eyes that ranged from the completely jet black to the dark, dark brown, more like Viktor's coloring. It was rare to spot anyone with just plain brown hair. The rest seemed to be like Malfoy, fair and pale and Nordic looking, with whitish blond hair and milky skin. Occasionally, she spotted someone more like Anya, with milky skin and dark features, but they were rare. Seeing her scrutiny of the rest, Viktor nudged her lightly with an elbow. "We used to joke that it was the Cossacks and the Valkyries," he whispered.

They waited for the staircase to mostly clear before starting down. They were halfway down when a musical, lilting voice with a German accent rang out behind them, loudly enough to echo on the stone walls. "Viktor!" It was backed up by a chorus of giggles. Viktor paused and his shoulders twitched up toward his ears, as though someone had just unexpectedly dumped ice water on his neck.

He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "Head Valkyrie," before forcing himself out of his cringe and slowing his descent of the stairs. A flurry of light footsteps overtook them and four girls, all of the Valkyrie variety huddled around in front of Viktor. He bore nearly the same expression he had on his face (or was it lack of expression?) for the conversation with the Guardian earlier. Well, maybe not, he didn't look nearly as pleased. "Liesl," he forced out politely through his teeth. He could hardly have looked less thrilled.

"The ball is tomorrow night and you have been avoiding me, naughty b.." she began in a teasing voice.

"Spoken for," he interrupted.

As they all stood there, various packs of girls trailed by, whispering and giggling and pointing and tossing their hair in Viktor's direction. Viktor gave some of them pointed looks, as though he were willing them to the bottom of the stairs. Most of them slowed considerably when they noticed Viktor on the stairs, and one even squealed "He looked at me!" excitedly once she and her group reached the bottom of the staircase.

"You didn't even let me finish. Okay, so you have a date for the ball, very well, then. We hear this every year from Alexei, 'Oh, I think he has a date already,' and then she never seems to show and you hide in the corner away from everyone or talk to your teammates about Quidditch all night and won't even give a girl a dance. I suspect you danced with Brecht that time two years ago because she was a silly little first year on your Quidditch squad and so awed by you she couldn't talk so you didn't have to carry on a conversation. Last year, she dared to speak to you. She may even have gotten an entire sentence out if you gave her the whole night. At least now she manages to stutter a whole word at you occasionally during practice, I notice, V-v-v-v-v-v-v-viktor K-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-krum," Liesl mocked cruelly, dropping into a high pitched and babyishly sweet voice on his name.

"You just danced with her so none of the rest of us could get at you. Poor thing probably still talks about it, even if she did turn a hundred shades of red the entire time she danced with you. If she has any friends with hours to spare. Or maybe she couldn't tell it was you through those thick glasses of hers, the little four-eyes. But maybe it wasn't just pity, maybe you think you have to dance with Brecht. Maybe Alexei never passes on all these invitations you have been getting all these years from such pretty girls," she pouted prettily. "Perhaps if I speak to you directly instead of going through Alexei you will promise a girl at least a single dance, just in case your date does not show, hmm?" she added, fluttering her eyelashes and reaching to stroke a palm up his chest. Hermione was reminded of the predatory way the Guardian had thrust his nose into Viktor's chest and sniffed, only this time, Viktor stepped back at the touch.

"Spoken for," he said again, more firmly, and opened his mouth to add more, but she interrupted him this time.

"Now, you haven't taken to doing your own lying, have you? Normally you get Alexei to do it for you, you're so pitifully bad at it. You may be shy, but you are an honest and honorable man, Viktor," she scolded, stepping forward again. Viktor actually stepped back hard into the broad railing, which barely reached his waist, and flattened his palms against the top. If she hadn't known better, Hermione would have thought he was contemplating bailing over it, and she felt the sudden urge to step between them and shield him. She realized it was rather absurd to think about her protecting Viktor from this little slip of a girl who didn't even reach his chin, but Viktor looked more wary of her than he would have if she had been something set to devour him alive.

"Actually, he's promised to dance with me already," she found herself saying.

Liesl turned a cold glance on Hermione with her icy blue eyes. "Has he really? And who might you be? I don't remember seeing you before," Liesl tilted her nose upward, in a manner that reminded Hermione unpleasantly of Fleur in her haughtier moments.

"Hermione Granger. I'm a guest, I don't attend Durmstrang. I'm his date for the ball," she replied in an even voice. She felt like punching this ice goddess in the nose. She must have been hanging around Ron far too long, for she would soon be throwing the words 'Eat slugs!' at her if she wasn't careful.

"Viktor? Is this true?" she demanded, folding her arms. From the way she narrowed her eyes, then cocked her blonde eyebrows in surprise, Hermione could tell she recognized the name. There were enough articles about me last year, she thought to herself.

"It is," he answered, "I plan on dancing with someone I do not scrimmage with this year. And even as a supposedly silly first year, Brecht had ten times the sense you haff now. If you mock her in front of me again, so help me..." Viktor's eyes narrowed and seemed to darken, his voice began low and dropped lower, a warning note in it, as there had been when he confronted Rita Skeeter, then trailed off as his dark eyes darted to the head of the stairs.

"V-v-v-v-viktor... a m-m-moment p-please," came a quiet female voice from the top of the staircase. Hermione turned to see a small blonde girl with large wire rimmed glasses, thin and much shorter than herself, trailing down the other banister, then crossing to their side. She barely cleared Viktor's waist when she stood on the same step. Liesl and her gang tossed their hair and glided off down the stairs, haughty as ever. "P-p-p-p-p-p-p-pushkin w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-wants m-m-m-e t-to t-t-t-t-t-t-t-try o-o-out f-f-f-for f-f-f-f-ff-f-f-first t-t-team n-n-n-n-n-n-n-now! Th-th-thank y-y-y-y-y-you," she pushed the words out of her mouth, struggling with her speech under Viktor's gaze, then she shyly stared at the toes of his boots and flushed, her face going very pink. This must be Brecht. Liesl's impression of her had been all too painfully accurate.

Viktor grasped her upper arm and shook her gently to get her to look up at him. His hand was so large compared to her thin arm that he could easily have wrapped his long fingers back and touched his palm with her arm settled in his hand. He made her look like a tiny, delicate doll in comparison. He had to lean over to address her easily. "I did not talk him into anything you did not deserve. I saw you on the practice field last week. You are much faster than you were last year. Pushkin only thinks he wants a bigger seeker. I got him too used to my being able to block. It is just because I put a beater off his broom once when I had to, now he thinks every seeker has to be able to do that. He will see. You will not need to block with the kind of speed you haff. If you learn to feint, I would hate to play against you. Masha is too slow, and does not even want the position. Pushkin barely kept Masha on the team last year while I was gone. Masha is more interested in Care of Magical Creatures and says so. Masha will be warden somewhere, not a Quidditch player. You could be a professional some day," Viktor said softly and the small girl's pink face went even redder. She suddenly found his boots intensely interesting again.

"Y-y-y-y-y-y-your tr-tr-tr-tr-tr-tr-tr-training. W-w-w-w-wa-wa-wa-watching y-y-y-y-y-you," she responded finally.

"Your practice, you mean. Eat with us, if Alexei has not lost our seats or given them away. This is Ron, Harry and Hermione," he said, presenting her to them. "This is Marianne Brecht. She was second team seeker for Gryndel house in her first year. We do two tiers of teams, even haff inter-tier matches, and second team players usually move up the ranks in later years, pretty rare for a first year to be on either one," Viktor explained.

"You three go ahead, Viktor and I will catch up in a minute," Hermione told Marianne, Ron, and Harry.

"Good enough. I'm starving. Dining hall that way, then? Follow the crowd?" Ron asked Marianne, who just nodded and turned a new shade of pink. A few more latecomers were filing around them on the stairs, and before Hermione could speak, one of them stopped on the same step. To her surprise, Hermone recognized her. It was Elena, taller and more elegant looking than she had been even the year before at Hogwarts. She was nearly as tall as Viktor, the top of her head coming just about even with his nose, her hair and eyes just as dark and piercing, but she had light, creamy skin like Anya's. Karkaroff had been right about one thing. They would make a striking couple, for she could easily picture them as royalty. If jaws had dropped when she and Viktor entered the Great Hall for the Yule Ball, they would have come unhinged if he had come in with Elena on his arm. They both had the upright stature, the height, the lifted chin, the firm set to their mouths, the overall bearing, without the haughtiness or vanity of someone like Draco Malfoy, or Liesl. Maybe there was something to this pureblood business, after all, she found herself thinking. She thought back to the Guardian's words. Krum. The Bulgarian Khan. He looked so angry right then, she could just about picture him turning Liesl's skull into a drinking cup like his namesake.

"How is my favorite fellow countryman?" Elena asked lightly, in a husky voice, her Bulgarian accent bleeding through. Hermione had assumed she was Russian, until she heard her speak.

"Tell me who he is, and I will go ask him," Viktor replied acidly.

"Temper, temper. No need to take it out on me. Liesl getting up that considerable nose of yours about Poppet's stutter?" she said in a concerned voice, looking after the tiny blonde head now disappearing around the corner. "Not much else makes you that angry, and the smoke is coming out your ears now. I saw Liesl trying to eat you up earlier, big boy. And in front of your date, too. I bet she felt a fool. Teach her to brag about her date vhen her supposed date is not knowing," Elena said with an arch of her thin, dark, perfectly shaped eyebrow, then looked around at Viktor's guest. "Go eat your dinner and enjoy your company, Viktor. Poppet has to learn to stick up for herself. You vill not be here forever. Alexei and I vill be gone soon enough, too. No dancing vith her this year. You added at least six, maybe seven inches since two years ago, she hasn't grown one, it would look ridiculous, and anyway, your dance card is all filled up vith Herrr-, Herrrr-, Miss Granger, I von't massacre it, he vill be ready to thrash me, next," she said with a cordial nod of her head to Hermione.

"If no one else will, I will dance at least one with her. No one else would these last two years, I had to do something, I could not just let her sit there," he pleaded, his hands spread.

"You just sat there," Elena countered.

"That was by choice, it is different. I do not believe I cried, either," Viktor argued.

"She has to find her own partner soon enough, Viktor, you danced vith her vhen no one else vould, you trained her when Pushkin did not really vant her on second team because she vos so small, you showed her how to get faster, you persuaded him to let her try out tomorrow. You cannot keep this up. Poppet can hold her own in a fair fight," Elena said bluntly, crossing her arms.

"No one who fights with her fights fair," Viktor nearly whispered.

"Then she has to learn to fight dirty. Now get yourselves downstairs and eat before the house elves close the kitchen. I vill try to let it be known in the girl's dorm that Alexei did not dream up Viktor's date this year, maybe you can get some peace tomorrow. His equally famous Yule Ball date is here. And tell Alexei I think about it if he behave himself," she added as she trotted down the rest of the stairs.

"Next time I send out press releases! Viktor Krum has real live date! Alexei Poliakoff tells truth!" Viktor growled after her.

"No goot! No one ever believe Alexei Poliakoff telling the truth! No next time here and those madvomen do not listen, Viktor. Rita Skeeter just haff you married vith ten kids, alone and pining over lost love, or in schoolvide orgy depending on day of veek vith press release! Besides, that Hogvarts girl stuck vith you unless she tosses you off cliff, no matter vhat Rita Skeeter say. You are no Alexei," she called back.

"Elena and Brecht only two sensible girls in Durmstrang. But she cannot say your name yet, either. Now what were you going to say?" Viktor asked Hermione.

"I was just going to ask... no, it's silly," she replied.

"Nothing you ask could ever be silly," he countered.

"I just wanted to know if you wanted me to bother with the hair potion?"

"I prefer you did not. I like it just fine without you slicking it down. Like you care for hair any more than I do. You did not notice I cut mine," he pouted playfully.

"I did too! I just didn't mention it. You only trimmed it. Only difference is you don't have enough in back for that little ponytail now, you didn't touch the front or the sides," she ribbed back.

"I mean, I am sooo concerned with how I look and you do not even mention my drastic haircut..." he said in an exaggerated voice, as they continued down the stairs.

"Oh, good grief, two inches gone and I'm supposed to make over you. Vanity, thy name is Viktor. Oh, alright, I'll go with my hair all bushy and kinky already and have all these sleek and shiny Valkyries and Cossacks staring at me."

"Not all the Cossacks are so sleek," he replied, tossing his slightly wavy hair away from his eyes. "Stare all they like, they still do not get a dance with you, I'm going to keep you plenty busy."