Past Present

Harry studied Hermione's bushy head over the top of her Defense Against the Dark Arts book. How she could stand to read all this rot in one sitting, he would never know. She actually looked a little lonely sitting there with no one beside her. Viktor was getting back late this evening from a match and probably a visit home, so she was terrorizing Ron about quizzing her, and he was steadfastly refusing. Funny how he had begun thinking of Viktor and Hermione as a unit. Several days ago, before the disaster at Madam Puddifoot's, he would have thought he would never sleep again. Now, he felt bone tired and weary, like he could sleep forever. For the last few nights, he had been retreating into that blessed dream, that voice. It had returned stronger than ever. "I'm going to bed," Harry said, rising from the table in the common room and trudging up the stairs. "You two can do homework on your own, can't you?" he added in a weary voice.

"Just have to finish reading this chapter," Ron said, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand.

"Me too," Hermione added, shifting in her squashy armchair, rousing Crookshanks a little.

Settling into bed, Harry soon fell asleep. Once more, he found himself on the path in the forest, that beautiful voice singing, calling. He was walking across the lawn, just a little more, just a little bit further, and he would be there...

Hermione tossed in the chair as that horrid screeching echoed across the lawn again. Then she became aware of a furry paw swatting at her face. She awoke with a start, to find herself in the common room, Crookshanks on top of her, Ron mumbling to himself in the armchair across from her. "Ron!" she hissed, and he jumped, his eyes flying open. Crookshanks leapt off onto the floor.

"Wha? What's happened? I was having that nice singing dream again. Why's the portrait hole open?" he asked sleepily.

"Open? What do you mean, open?" Hermione asked irritably, rubbing her eyes.

"S'open," Ron said, stifling another yawn.

Hermione leapt up from her chair, grabbing Ron by the arm, and ran to the portrait hole. In the hallway, she saw Harry, in his pyjamas, headed toward the staircase. She lunged at his arm, managing to grab it and swing him around, head him back up the hall instead, still plodding steadily along, eyes firmly shut. "Harry! Harry! Wake up! Wake up! You're in the hallway!" she whispered loudly. Ron flanked him on the other side and took his other arm. She shook him hard when she heard footsteps, and froze when she realized they had come to a stop. Surely it was Filch. They were already almost at the bend in the hall. There was nowhere to hide. She cringed and waited for the tirade to begin.

"What are all three of you doing out here?" came Viktor's soft voice from the corner of the hall. He was standing there, wand drawn, in his dressing gown and bare feet.

"It's Harry, he's ..." Ron began.

"...been sleepwalking again?" Viktor supplied. Harry finally blinked awake, Ron and Hermione each clutching an arm, looking rather dazed.

"The singing..." Harry murmured sleepily.

A plaintive meow cut through the silence of the hall. "Please tell me that was Crookshanks," Viktor whispered. Hermione shook her head. "Mrs. Norris then. Run, get in my room, it is closer, I head Filch off," Viktor whispered urgently, then sprinted off toward the common room drawing his wand to shut the door to the common room. Mrs. Norris was already sniffing the floor beneath the closed portrait hole and the Fat Lady when he slowed to a walk. Filch was rounding the corner from the steps, carrying his lantern.

"Up kind of late, aren't you?" Filch said, raising his lantern and studying Viktor's face.

"Walking in the halls," Viktor said as casually as he could. No point trying to lie by saying he couldn't sleep. The black smudges under his eyes would probably give it away, even if he were a better liar. Mrs. Norris was beginning to look curiously up the hall behind him, and soon made a beeline for the other end. Viktor just managed to scoop her up before she got past him. She gave a slightly indignant yowl before he could gather her wriggling form up against his chest and give her a scratch behind the ears. Seemingly in spite of herself, Mrs. Norris gave a loud purr.

"I always think you're a student out when they shouldn't be," Filch said quietly. "Evidently Mrs. Norris does too. She came up these stairs lickety-split. Thought I was going to hand out some detentions," he added.

"You make it sound like you are disappointed," Viktor said in a light tone.

"Detentions are alright," Filch grunted, "but I really ought to be given the authority to whip 'em. That would keep 'em in line, that would. Umbridge agrees. Fine woman, that Dolores Umbridge. Knows how to run a tight ship," Filch said admiringly.

"I bet she does," Viktor replied, setting Mrs. Norris back down, trying to hide the look of distaste on his face. That phrase always reminded him unpleasantly of Karkaroff, for some reason. She immediately ran off toward his quarters and Viktor set off at a brisk pace after her, Filch following. "Slave ship," he muttered under his breath to himself. Viktor's heart lurched in his chest when he rounded the far corner and saw Mrs. Norris poking her nose at the opening beneath his door, mewing loudly. They had better be hidden when I open...

"Awful interested in your door, Mrs. Norris is," Filch said, and Viktor froze with his hand on the knob. "Must be them dogs, worrying her," he added, gathering her up himself, and Viktor relaxed.

"She need not worry about my dogs as long as she behaves herself around them and me. They are used to cats. Goodnight," he said, shutting the door swiftly behind him. Harry, Ron and Hermione were flattened to the wall, breath held, eyes screwed tightly shut, where they would be hidden by the open door. Viktor stood for a long moment, running a hand through his hair, seemingly searching for words. "You three are going to get me fired yet! Filch would haff gone straight to Umbridge! No wonder I get heada..." Viktor began, but was interrupted by a pounding knock on the door.

"Expecting someone?" Hermione whispered, eyes wide. She chided herself for the ridiculous question. It was obvious he had been in bed already.

"No. Probably Filch back wondering why I am talking to myself! Get in the cupboard, no noise, I mean it! I may haff to let him in!" Viktor whispered back. Hidden in the large cupboard, among robes and cloaks, Harry found he could see through the opening between the doors. Evidently, Hermione and Ron could see through the folding portion of each door, where the hinges joined, judging by their rapt attention and the awkward tilt of their heads.

"I trust you're not busy at the moment," came a familiar, oily voice, and Harry saw Snape sweep in, his black robes swirling behind him.

"Well, I was about to go to bed, but I suppose I might haff a minute," Viktor replied calmly, sitting down in one of the armchairs. "Haff a seat. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Cut out the pleasantries. You know why I'm here as well as I do. I didn't give you any warning because I didn't want you to prepare. I want you tired. I won't have you blocking me," Snape said sourly.

"So maybe you should haff asked permission the first time. Do you usually go around practicing your Legilimency on people without asking, or just me?" Viktor asked with raised eyebrows.

"I was well advised to. You admitted it yourself. I had every right to be suspicious," Snape replied.

"Still, you could haff asked. Dumbledore thought it was a bit much. Especially since I let you take a good look at my arm," Viktor said evenly.

"You must have been a decent student at Durmstrang. You blocked me completely when I didn't warn you," Snape admitted grudgingly.

"Fair enough at Occlumency. Igor thought I was a tough nut to crack, anyway. He got little out of me when he tried. Go ahead. I haff nothing to hide. Poke around at will and get it over with," Viktor said tiredly.

"Put your wand down first. I don't want you accidentally hexing me," Snape said, crossing his arms, still standing over Viktor.

"Alright. Haff it your way," Viktor said, crossing the room to lay his wand on the fireside table, then returning to the chair and sprawling in it comfortably. A low growl nearby nearly made Harry leap out of the cupboard, until he reminded himself that it was probably one of the dogs. Viktor's head turned to the corner near the fireplace. "Oh. Permit me to put Ivan and Natasha in the other room. Or they will be gnawing your ankles in a bit. They think you are being a little hostile," Viktor added, and Harry could soon see him crossing the den area to put Ivan and Natasha, guided none too willingly by his hands on their collars, into the bedroom, shutting the door behind. Harry could still hear the occasional growl from behind the door.

"Now then. One...two...three...Legilimens!" Snape said in a strong voice, and Harry felt a bit weak in the knees. Harry winced as he thought of his own sessions with Snape, the surfacing memories, the pain in his head, the lightheadedness, the feverish way he felt afterwards. He wondered what Snape could be doing to Viktor, what he could be making him relive, when Viktor leaned forward slightly in the chair.

"Are you sure you're doing anything?" came Viktor's voice. He sounded genuinely puzzled, not as though he were fighting to fend off Snape's advances.

"You're resisting. Legilimens!" Snape spat. After a long pause, Viktor leaned back again in the chair. "Legilimens! Legilimens! Legilimens!" Snape shouted, sounding more frantic. "Legilimens!" he said once more, staggering back slightly, as though he had been shoved.

"Are you alright?" Viktor asked. Harry thought there was some real surprise and concern in his voice. Harry was secretly a little happy to see Snape run full on into a brick wall, after all of Snape's taunting in their sessions.

"You are resisting. I'm not getting anything," Snape said in an accusing tone.

"I swear I am not," Viktor said plainly.

"Maybe it's not conscious, but you are," Snape argued.

"Fine then. What can I do to make it easier?" Viktor offered.

"Get emotional. It's harder to block when you are experiencing an emotion," Snape said coldly.

"Happy? Sad? What do you prefer?" Viktor asked, beginning to sound exasperated.

"Actually another emotion works best," Snape replied, fingering his wand. Harry heard both Ron and Hermione suck in their breath when Snape suddenly cocked his right arm back, slapping Viktor hard across the side of the face, snapping his head around. Hermione's surprised squeak was thankfully drowned out in the noise of the slap. "Legilimens!" Harry had certainly never been slapped by Snape during their sessions. No matter how much Snape hated him, he had never raised his hand to him. Harry half expected Viktor to go retrieve his wand and start in on cursing Snape with most of the contents of his thesis, but he remained in the chair.

Viktor glared up at him from the chair. "Haff you completely lost your mind?" There was only the slightest edge of anger in the question. Snape's only response was to draw back and deliver another cracking blow, even harder. Viktor leapt up out of the chair, grabbing him by the robes, easily bulldozing him backwards into the wall with a soft thump, holding him there with his left forearm across Snape's neck, his elbow pinning Snape's forearm against the wall so he could not use his wand. Harry almost felt sorry for him, pinned there, Viktor glaring at him like he wanted to snap his neck. Almost. "If you ever hit me again, so help me, I will put your teeth out the back of your head," Viktor said through gritted teeth, shaking Snape slightly by the robes he had clutched in his right fist. Harry could see the angry red marks where Snape's hand and fingers had been even now.

"So you're not doing it consciously then. You were really angry just now, and I still got nothing," Snape said softly, and Viktor slowly lowered his arm and let go of his robes. His expression did not change.

"I see why you wanted me to put my wand down. I would haff skewered you with it," Viktor muttered as Snape readjusted and smoothed his robes.

"Igor must have taught you well," Snape said finally, sinking into the other chair. Now Viktor was towering over him, standing over him.

"What he taught me, he taught well enough, I suppose," Viktor said with a scowl. "What? You think he slapped me around? I would haff put his head through a wall, and he knew it. I give Igor credit. He knew when to stop. Who he could hit and get away with it. Fool though he was about some things, he learned pretty quickly that beating me was not ever going to be a good use of his time."

"You were his prize pupil. I assumed you would be fonder of him," Snape sneered.

"You were mistaken. I hated him. I made the best of the situation because I had nowhere else to go, but I hated him. And do not fool yourself. By the time his mark came back, he hated me too. I did not do what he wanted, so he hated me more and more the longer he knew me. He loved me in public because he had to. But deep down, in the end, unless I gave in, I was worthless to him. Do you forget that in the end he was going to quite happily get rid of me? Must be a common teaching technique amongst you lot, hating your students," Viktor said, continuing to glare at him.

"I don't hate my students," Snape said defensively

"I beg to differ. I could name a few. Potter is just the worst case. Not just for show, is it? I would like to believe it is, but it is not. All Longbottom needs is a bit of encouragement, and you will not even do that. And why do I figure there is no love lost between the two of us, even before tonight? What, when you look at me, I remind you too much of Igor? Does that remind you of what you used to be? Remind you of the good old days, when you went out in robes and masks together?" Viktor asked in a strained voice.

"Nonsense," Snape spat. "You should be happy to note you don't remind me of Igor at all. I don't tend to think of you as just his student and you act too decent for me to believe you were ever under his influence too much, but it pays to be cautious."

"Longbottom. His parents. That might haff been you that did that, under other circumstances, if you had made a different decision. Is that it? Does he make you feel guilty?" Viktor turned so that his back faced the cupboard, Harry could only tell that his shoulders slumped and his head hung, as though he were exhausted. "I would say the same about Harry, but you hated his father a long time before you even considered donning that mask," Viktor said softly. There was a heaviness in Viktor's voice that made him sound worn down.

"I don't know who you've been talking to, but that's ridiculous," Snape spluttered.

"You told him. The night Sirius Black got away. You admitted you hated James Potter. Not that you didn't haff a good reason, since he humiliated you and might haff let you get killed if it would not haff gotten him in trouble, but he grew up after that. They all did. You might want to try it. I hope we haff all improved greatly since we were fifteen," Viktor said in a reproachful manner.

"Igor was right about you, wasn't he?" Snape whispered, going paler than usual. "You... you've been poking around in my memories!" Snape accused.

Judging by his shoulders, Harry thought Viktor took a deep breath before continuing. "Unlike you, I did not do it on purpose. It just happened. It comes screaming off of you. The hate. That night in the infirmary. I mentioned the name Potter and it hit me in the face. Your memories. You opened yourself up when you tried prodding around in my head. Never advance without blocking, another one of those things they teach pretty well at Durmstrang. In physical and magical self-defense. No Legilimency without Occlumency even if you think your opponent knows nothing about it. It is not a natural thing to haff someone else inside your head. Most people fight back. You should know better, even if you did go to Hogwarts. I know about exam day, Snape. How many days like that over the years? How many petty tortures before you started hating him?" Once again, Harry felt as though he were straining to pick up Viktor's low words. They threatened to blend together into an indistinguishable murmur.

"You know nothing about what it was like!" Snape bellowed, and Harry jumped. "James Potter was an arrogant, self-righteous swaggering athlete who thought he was owed the world! That he owned it! And Black and Lupin were every bit as bad as he was! He thought he was better than everyone else! They all did!"

"Ah. So that is it, is it? I remind you a bit of James Potter because I am an athlete. All athletes must be just like him, is that it? Things seem to come so easy to some people. Athletes. The attractive people. Some kind of unspoken election, is it not? Groups move like schools of fish. All of one mind, even though they never talk about it out loud. They get together and elect some of us kings, some of us the court jesters. The popular, the pretty, the jocks, the bookworms, we all get labels. If it is any consolation, I do not understand it either. It would be easy to buy into other people's opinions of you. Good or bad. Best to form your own opinion," Viktor said. Harry was reminded of the hushed tone people used in churches and at funerals.

"I admit you don't have the fat head he did. But then, few people could and live. It's a wonder he could get his broom off the ground," Snape said, grinding his teeth.

"I saw Potter's face. And hers. You hated the two of them the worst, evidently. I didn't even get Black, Lupin, Pettigrew. Harry reminds you of James Potter because he looks too much like him. He is good on a broom. People treat him like he is something special. But Harry is not James. Not when he was fifteen, not when he was an adult. They did not even get to raise him. Harry is just Harry, no matter who he looks like. He's not her, either. He has her eyes. Which did you hate her for first? For being what she was, or for haffing pity on you? She could not help what family she was born into any more than you could," Viktor said in a voice so soft that Harry had to strain to hear at all. "I could haff done it too, you know. Hated. Hated so much that my world shrank to just that one thing. You might be surprised how much we haff in common. Or you and Black, for that matter."

"Don't compare me to him! Like you would know. Coddled and rich even in school," Snape muttered. "What would you know about it? No one can touch your kind, can they? You might not have been the incredible jerk to everyone else that Potter was, but I guarantee you were just as protected! Special treatment even now! Know all about life at nineteen, do you? Lecture me about it, would you? Hardly! I bet you never had a hardship in your life! I'm wasting my time here. You will tell no one about what you saw!" Snape roared, then jumped up out of the chair and headed for the door. He paused with his hand on the knob when Viktor spoke.

"Tell Dumbledore I still give my permission if he thinks it is necessary. He can start preparing. Hundreds against one. Or at least three to one. Even at one to one, it has to be done. But tell him I haff a condition. I get to bring them. I deserve that. And the meeting gets guests. Or I do not talk. I still think being kept in the dark is no good. He will know what I mean," Viktor said without moving. In a few moments, he walked to the door and Harry heard the soft click of the lock. The three of them burst out of the tight, stuffy cupboard, wobbling on unsteady legs. Viktor flopped into one of the armchairs weakly. "Wait a few minutes, then I escort you back to bed. It is two in the morning, and if there is any luck in the world, Filch is already in bed and Mrs. Norris is with him and Snape is so mad at me he will not hang around," Viktor said, rubbing at his eyes.

"What was all that about just now? With Snape? And what are you giving Dumbledore permission to do?" Harry demanded, hands on his hips.

"That business with Snape is a load of things I do not haff the right to know, and neither do you, and the rest of it, I am not going into now. It is not my place to tell Snape's secrets. You will probably find out soon enough what I haff given Dumbledore permission to do," Viktor replied with a sigh. "I am tired. Let me haff some rest tonight." There was a significant pause while he and Harry stared one another down. "You promised you would tell me when you found out things about me!" Harry said accusingly. "What did you see?"

"Something I should not haff. And it is not so much about you. That it is Snape's business to tell, not mine," Viktor said in a tone that brooked no argument.

"What did you see? Why does he hate my father so much?" Harry insisted.

"Let us just say your father and his friends seem to haff improved a lot when they grew up, like most of us do. They did not treat some people very well. Anything more would be Snape's place to tell. What were you dreaming about?" Viktor asked, narrowing his eyes and studying Harry.

Harry felt pinned to the wall by that piercing gaze, and swallowed hard. "I don't remember," he lied, not quite sure why.

"You don't remember," Viktor said flatly. There was disbelief in his voice. "It got you out of bed, and you don't remember what you were dreaming. Well, then, like Snape said, I am wasting my time asking. Come on, back to the common room," he ordered.

"I need to talk to you. Alone," Hermione said softly.

"Then do it in the hall next to the Fat Lady. Not in here. Look, I promised not to be alone in here with you after hours. I intend to keep that promise. If I get let go, I would rather it be for me talking to you in the hall," Viktor said tiredly, opening the door and scouting the hallways. In a few moments, he came back to collect them. "Mugwump," he said to the Fat Lady, who started awake and fixed them all with a beady glare. She opened her mouth and Hermione expected a raking like Mrs. Weasley had admitted she got years ago for coming in late, but Viktor cut her off with a quick, "Save the lecture. We know what time it is. Let these two in, and I will prop the portrait. We will be over there, in full view, talking. Just talking. Go back to sleep or not, I do not care." The Fat Lady harrumphed indignantly, but her eyes were closed again by the time Viktor stuck his wand between the jamb and the frame, and they settled against the opposite wall, across the hall.

"You can't," she said.

"Cannot what?"

"Give him permission. To do it," Hermione said, looking up at him

"I just did. You saw. The other does not work. Although I do not know why he got nothing at all that time. I was not doing anything. You trust Dumbledore. You three might be in danger, maybe more than you three. It could be the whole school," Viktor reminded her quietly.

"But you're still risking... you know what you're risking. It's not worth it," she argued. "And why all of us? Ron and I aren't involved."

"Neither was Cedric Diggory until he died," he countered.

"I'm not ever going home alone again, am I?" she replied, finally saying it out loud. She had wondered about it ever since Christmas.

"Not while this is going on. Not if I can help it," he said, brow furrowed.

"I'm just his friend. What would they want with me?" Hermione said weakly.

"Diggory died for less," he chided gently.

"You think the sleepwalking is why Dumbledore suggested the Occlumency lessons?" she asked, seeing that it was useless to argue further. Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to be there when he did it.

"Who do you think recommended them in the first place? I do not like it that he cannot remember what he dreams. Or will not tell them. I had a talk in the headmaster's office after I caught him out in the hall the first time," Viktor said, looking the open space across the hall He rubbed his fingers over his temple.

"You've been having headaches too?"

"Too?" Viktor's head whipped back around.

"In the room, you were about to say something about us giving you headaches. Nightmares and headaches. The fun of fifth year. Maybe it never goes away after fifth year, huh?" she said ruefully. "Ron says he keeps catching Harry out of bed with them. These dreams or nightmares. And sleepwalking. One night he kept mumbling about the lake, Ron said."

"Nightmares? What kind of nightmares do you get?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, standard fare, I guess. O.W.L.s, Voldemort, Death Eaters, Harry ending up dead, Ron ending up dead, you ending up dead, all of us dead, and this one really weird one where all I hear is screeching," she said bitterly.

Viktor narrowed his eyes further for a moment. "And you're on the lawn? Headed toward the lake?"

"Sorry, have I told you this before?" Hermione asked.

"No, but I haff had one like it. And my head always kills me afterwards, too. Wonder what it means? Wait a minute... what did Harry say when he woke up?" Viktor said, looking at her intently.

"Something about singing, I think," Hermione answered.

"Singing...I thought maybe he said screeching..." Viktor said, sounding disappointed, shaking his head.

"Wait a minute! Ron too! When I woke him up, he said he was having that nice singing dream again," she said, looking up at him.

"Wonder if we are all haffing similar dreams. Where does yours start?" Viktor asked.

"Forbidden Forest," Hermione answered.

"Foggy?" he asked.

"And kind of warm?" she returned, nodding.

"But no singing for you and me. Screeching, with us. Maybe it's not the same dream after all."

"But if Ron and Harry are seeing the same thing we are, maybe we are all hearing the same thing. Look, I'll ask Ron later. Could it be something like a thestral? Instead of looking different to different people, it sounds different?" Hermione asked, cocking her head to the side as she considered the question.

"You clever, clever girl! Look, maybe now, we get some answers. In the meantime, let me worry about what I haff agreed to and try not to worry too much about Harry or me. There is an alarm on the portrait hole. Wakes me up if he gets out. Harry just needs to buckle down for Snape and Snape has to get over himself. Maybe I need to read up on what might make that noise. Things that sound different to different people. Maybe it has something to do with what the Guardian said. Maybe nothing, for all I know. But it is something to do. Some little something. Now, get some sleep," he said in a rush, putting his hands on either side of her face and planting a quick kiss on her forehead. He retrieved his wand and held the portrait open for her to step in, then headed back toward his quarters along the dark hallway.

It only nagged at him slightly that there were enough books in the library to keep a person busy for months, trying to find out what he and Hermione were hearing that could sound like singing to Harry and Ron. Something that could keep drawing Harry out of bed that way. The word 'sirens' kept nudging at the edge of his consciousness, but the merpeople in the lake had never done anything like that before, he thought, sprawling on the bed without bothering to pull the covers down. He didn't even complain when Ivan and Natasha settled into the empty spots. No guarantee Ron and Harry were having the same dream. No guarantee he and Hermione were even having the same dream, but it was something to do.