Past Present

"Ewww. If anything, the Shrieking Shack has gone downhill the last two years," Ron said distastefully, looking at the thick layers of dust coating the floors and the smashed furniture.

"It wasn't exactly a palace the last time we were in here," Harry replied.

Viktor perched on the edge of the bed where Ron had been when he had broken his leg, after Sirius as Padfoot had pulled him into the Whomping Willow entrance. "Get it over with," he said, sounding a touch weary. "You do not haff to stay if you do not want to," he added quietly, to no one in particular.

"Nonsense. It can't be all that bad," Hermione said, trying to sound more confident of that than she felt.

She removed a small chest from her bag and set it on the floor. It gave the occasional thump or rattle, proof of the boggart within. "Last chance," Viktor said, leaning over and putting a finger on the latch, then turning his head to look at them expectantly. Harry, Ron and Hermione all stood there, saying nothing.

"Wait! I'll get it," Hermione said finally, walking over, scooting the case several feet away from the bed, then opening the latch, flinging the lid open, and jumping back. For several seconds, nothing happened. Nothing came out of the box, there was no noise, there was no movement.

"Hermione, you sure you had a boggart in there?" Ron asked.

"I'm sure of it. It was in there before. McGonagall told me it was, you saw it rattling..." she fussed as she walked over to the case that contained the boggart. She snatched it up and peered inside, gave a piercing shriek and tossed the case up into the air, leaping back. The case hit the ground and out bounced an arm. Bloody, severed at the elbow, twisted, and dusty. A woman's arm. Oddly, Harry noticed that there was what appeared to be the pattern of a small sneaker tread on the forearm. The fingers flexed weakly for a moment, and then, with a loud crack, it was replaced with a body, tucked beneath a pile of rubble, eyes staring and blank, accompanied by an unearthly, keening wail that seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once, then crack!, a hooded, cloaked figure wearing a Death Eater mask, which peeled up the sleeve of its robe, displaying a Dark Mark proudly, like a badge of honor.

Crack!, Anya, thin and pale and haggard, in a hospital bed, face buried in her hands, crying, Nikolas sobbing on the edge of the same bed, head resting on his folded arms - crack!, a billowing green smoke, forming the Dark Mark, the images whirled by, lingering just a moment before- crack! , another corpse buried in the rubble - crack!, another, crack!, another, crack!, another, each one in worse shape than the last, bloody, charred, crushed, nearly unrecognizable as what had once been a person. By now Hermione had both of her hands pressed flat over her mouth, as though suppressing another shriek. Harry thought he might be sick. Crack! Karkaroff, raging away in what sounded like Russian, crack! crack! crack! Elena, Alexei, Poppet, only each one of then had the pale, waxy complexion that each of the corpses had. Crack! , a dementor, the gray, fleshless hand reaching out from beneath the robes, reaching up to pull back the hood, crack! crack! crack! Hermione, Ron, Harry, with the same pale, dead, glassy eyed looks, obviously dead, crack! crack! Dumbledore, Hagrid. Crack! Now a young, brown haired man with messy, matted hair and stubble lying on a cot, wrenching, convulsing, crying out, Russian, Bulgarian, it didn't matter, it made them all cover their ears until he quieted, panting and sweating on the cot. Then he turned to face Viktor. "You let go," he said in a low, accusing voice, and with a crack! the cot was replaced with a fabric covered dais, on top a sizable, rectangular wooden box, painted white.

The silence was deafening after the previous ranting. Harry could hear his heart pounding, the blood rushing through his ears. He waited, waited for a noise of some kind. The boggart had not changed that fast from form to form when Lupin had set a whole DADA class against it. Now Viktor stood in front of the dais, silent. Harry wondered what could possibly be so frightening about a big white box... but then it dawned on him. It wasn't a box. It was a casket. A child's casket. Hermione dropped her hands from her mouth at last and slid up beside him. "Viktor?" she asked uncertainly, slipping an arm around his waist.

"You do not want to see ..." he began, putting a hand on her shoulder, before he was interrupted by the lid flying open. Hermione gasped and buried her face against Viktor. He swallowed hard, squeezed his eyes shut, reached up with his left hand and slammed the lid closed. "Riddikulus!" he said in a hoarse voice, then again, stronger, "Riddikulus!"and the white casket shrank to a small square box, which popped open to reveal a jack in the box. "Riddikulus!" he said more firmly, and the boggart disappeared in a puff of smoke. Harry was suddenly very glad that he and Ron could not see into the casket from across the room. Viktor was completely devoid of any color, as pale as Harry had ever seen him in the infirmary, maybe more so. Hermione was making great whooping sobs, slightly muffled now against Viktor's chest, and Viktor was rubbing her shoulder absently, still looking at the spot where the dais had been.

"Bloody ... bloody hell!" Ron finally breathed. Harry turned to look at him, and realized he was pale as well, the freckles standing out starker than ever on his face. "I... I... I just see spiders," he stammered at Viktor.

"Wish I had a phobia," Viktor replied in a hollow voice, limping toward the entrance to the Shrieking Shack, arm still around Hermione, who was, by now, noisier than ever. Harry and Ron looked at one another for a few moments, then followed. By then, Viktor and Hermione were sitting on the small rise near the shack, and she had begun to quiet a bit, mostly sniffling.

"Violeta," Harry said flatly. It was as more a statement than a question. He felt sure he knew who Viktor had seen in that small coffin.

"We could not haff the casket open. She was completely crushed. I remember sitting there, staring at that damn box the entire funeral, thinking they must be mad if they thought I would believe that she was in there without looking. I looked when they were out in the hall. Before they carted her off. I wish I had not. That is one of the few times my imagination was not worse than the reality," Viktor said softly. "Better start back if we want to make it before the carriages leave."

Hermione raised her head, "Oh... Viktor...I'm so sorry... I never should have...If I had known..."

"Shh. Stop it. Usually I just stand there like a simpleton and watch it until someone else does something about it. I managed to get rid of it myself this time. That is something. Now get up and do not worry about it. Come on. The cripple needs a headstart," Viktor said, pushing up and standing in front of Hermione, offering a hand. Harry noticed the new ring on her finger when she reached up to take it. Best to ask about that later, he thought to himself, and they started back silently. By the time they returned to the carriages, Hermione was dry eyed, if a little red around the eyes and nose. There was little talk inside the carriage on the way back, and outside the carriages, Viktor excused himself to go see Hagrid, about getting the dogs and walking the grounds. Hermione murmured something about charms homework, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before they parted.

"Was it really that awful?" Ron finally asked curiously, as they reached the portrait hole. "Bloody, gory?"

"Oh Ron! You great insensitive wart!" Hermione slapped his shoulder, then pounded her way up the stairs to the girls dorm.

"Well, I only asked..." Ron gawped after her, shrugged, then stomped up the stairs to the boys dorm.

Harry waited in the common room until it was quite deserted, and was nearly drowsing in front of the fire when Hermione came back downstairs and curled up in one of the chairs nearby, Crookshanks purring on her lap. "You okay?" he ventured.

"I came down here to get away from that question upstairs," she said quietly. "Everybody up there seems to think Viktor broke up with me or something. Well, I suppose it is 'or something'. I found out how he remembers seeing his sister last," she added.

"Viktor give you that ring? It's beautiful. Looks nice on your finger," Harry asked as casually as possible.

"Birthday present. A bit late, but nice all the same. He was a bit tied up during my birthday. And after. What with nearly being killed on our behalf and all," she said bitterly.

"Hermione, I'm sorry. Look, you know Ron didn't mean anything by it, he's just never seen a dead... he didn't think..."

"That's his problem. He never thinks. My God, Harry, it was horrible. He had told me they had a closed casket, but he didn't say he looked," she said, her voice softening.

"I'm sorry. Tell me when I can stop apologizing okay?" he asked, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry too. I'm taking it out on you and I've no reason to. Let me start over. Yes, I'm fine, except for being a bit upset and slightly miffed that Ron has the emotional range of a teaspoon, and apparently no sympathy for anyone at all. Viktor and I had a very nice lunch, and he gave me a lovely present, a promise ring, which I have right here on my finger, and I repay him by making him sit in a filthy shack while a boggart drags up every horrible thing he's ever thought of, real or imagined, mostly real, and tops it off by showing him his sister's crushed body inside her casket," she whispered.

Harry thought for a moment. "They might do boggarts. Better than having him fail the exam because of a boggart. Besides, you heard him. He wasn't mad, he wasn't upset with you, he actually seemed pleased that he managed to get rid of it in the end. Reckon it's worse for him because he has no specific worst fear?' Harry asked as he got up and walked to the window.

"I don't know. I suppose it might be. He would never know what to expect, would he? Dementors are awful, but at least you always get dementors. Well, I'm going back up to bed. Maybe they're all asleep by now and Lavender will quit hounding me about Viktor," she said abruptly, lifting Crookshanks off her lap.

"Ivan and Natasha met Crookshanks yet?" Harry asked.

"No. Might have to do that soon. What made you think of that?" Hermione asked, stretching and yawning.

"Viktor's coming back from Hagrid's. Unless you know another tall, dark guy with a limp and two dogs that live in Gryffindor tower who would be out there cold as it is with no cloak?"

"Tall, yes. The other things, no. Tell Ron I'm sorry I yelled at him and hit him. And that he is still an insensitive prat," Hermione called over her shoulder.

"Done," Harry said, and watched Viktor limp across the lawn in the moonlight, slowing more the more distance he covered. Ivan and Natasha stuck close as always, as though on invisible leashes. So, Viktor could see the thestrals too. At least he wasn't crazy on that count. He did find himself wondering about one thing though. Who was the man on the cot? He had recognized the other figures, had names that went with them, or knew they were victims in the square in Russia. Who was the young man who had screamed at them all, and what was it he had said in English? You let go. What did that mean? No need puzzling over it tonight, he thought with a yawn, and climbed the stairs to the dorm.