Past Present

"Molly, it's innocent enough. I don't see the harm in leaving them just as they are. Lord knows the boy's got to be completely exhausted, and I don't imagine she's far behind. And they're out in plain sight, in broad daylight, and fully clothed. I hardly think we have to worry about them. Even out of plain sight, I'll bet the two of them are more level headed than we ever were," Arthur argued.

"He's not a boy, remember? He's nineteen. I'm not sure I like the idea of it..." Molly warned.

"He's not even older than Percy. Now, Molly, I seem to recall you getting us both a good raking by suggesting we go for a walk when we shouldn't and coming back at three in the morning. And we couldn't have been but a few months older than she is right now. He's been a trustworthy steward. To all three of them," he cajoled, voice low.

"Well... I suppose," she allowed, casting a sidelong glance into the room, at the sagging, bare cot among the haphazard jumble of furniture in the sitting room, where Viktor lay sprawled on his back, Hermione tucked up against his side, bushy head pillowed on his chest. Arthur knew it was fairly hard and uncomfortable, and that they must have been pretty desperate to rest together to even try lying down on it, much less sleeping on it.

"Poor lambs are all exhausted," Molly agreed, bustling off to the kitchen. He can read his letter later, anyway," she added, tucking the roll of parchment with Viktor's name on it back into her apron pocket.

It was late afternoon by the time they woke, reluctant to drag themselves off the cot and into the kitchen, where they could hear Harry and Ron's voices, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. They both lay perfectly still, save the soft kiss he planted on her temple, for several minutes. It took a quiet, "Come on. We should get up," from Viktor to motivate Hermione to slip off the edge of the cot, head still feeling heavy and fuzzy. Not surprisingly, Ron and Harry were busy eating, and Hermione found her own stomach equally empty. "Sandwich, dears?" Mrs. Weasley asked them as they sat.

"Yes, please," Hermione replied, stretching. Viktor simply shook his head 'no'.

"Oh, and this came for you while you were asleep," Mrs. Weasley said, passing a scroll of parchment from her apron pocket to Viktor. He looked at it a moment, flicked a finger under the wax seal, unrolled it, and read in silence. When he had finished, he rose and walked to the middle of the room.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked curiously, and he halted.

"Need to go take care of some things before we go back, and to respond to this. Be ready to go back early this evening, the three of you. Harry, we're going to be pallbearers, I'll need to go get us some robes," he replied softly.

"Who's it from?" Hermione pressed.

"The Delacours. They worked out what the arrangements are going to be," Viktor said heavily.

"I'm not being a pallbearer! She tried to kill me!" Harry protested.

"Perhaps you didn't understand what I said. We're going to be pallbearers. I didn't give you the option of refusing," Viktor said firmly, turning on his heel and walking out the door.

"Well! I'm not giving you the option... really!" Harry complained.

"I don't think Viktor's got much of a choice, either," Hermione pointed out. "I'm fairly sure he's not overly fond of funerals," she added, finishing off her sandwich and giving Harry a disapproving look.

The rest of the afternoon was lazy and oppressive, seemingly sapping their will to do much of anything, so they simply lazed in various rooms, not talking to one another, watching the comings and goings of various members of the Order, old and new. They were gathered around the kitchen table, kicking at the table legs now and again, when Viktor walked in through the back door, carrying a large parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. "Are you three in the middle of something important, or can we go now?" he asked.

Mrs. Weasley fussed over each and said her goodbyes, patting Harry on the cheek and admonishing, "Now, you stand tall, tomorrow. Don't slouch," before she released him from her embrace.

"See you at the service," Viktor murmured to her, before offering the bowl of Floo powder to the other three and saying, "Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts." They each stepped into the fireplace in turn, and Hermione was quite surprised to find that, upon stepping out at the other end, there came a very familiar clearing of the throat behind her.

"Hem, hem. And that doesn't even begin to touch on what they did last night!" came Umbridge's voice. When Viktor stepped out of the fireplace right behind her, Hermione turned and found Umbridge seated square between Fred and George. "And this one! When I tell you what he did..."

"Now, Dolores," Dumbledore said soothingly from behind his desk, "I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation as to why Fred and George were setting off fireworks in the dead of night," he added pleasantly, adjusting his glasses.

"Of course, there is. I told them to," Viktor said flatly, as though it made perfect sense and faculty members had students set off fireworks all the time.

"Well, there you go. It was on orders from a member of the faculty," Dumbledore responded, "and we can hardly fault our students for listening to the faculty, Dolores."

"And he put a boot heel through my doorframe!" she shrieked hysterically, pointing at Viktor. "I know it was you! No good denying it!"

"I'm not denying it. You're lucky I didn't plant a boot heel in you. Now, if you will excuse us, I need to take these three back to the dorm, and I haff some business to discuss with Fred and George," he added calmly, crooking a beckoning finger at the Weasley twins. "Good evening, Headmaster," he said, with heavy emphasis on the last word, looking pointedly at Dumbledore, then Umbridge. "Tah, Dolores," he tossed over his shoulder before slamming the door behind all six of them a tad harder than was necessary. They all walked to Gryffindor Tower in silence, and Viktor dropped the three of them off in front of the Fat Lady, telling Harry, "Be in the Common Room when I get back, please," before walking off down the hall with Fred and George.

"Reckon what that's all about?" Ron wondered aloud, sinking into a chair. Harry gave him an offhand shrug, while Hermione simply kept her own counsel. Since the weather was warm, most of the students were outside, leaving the Common Room relatively deserted. In a few minutes, the portrait hole opened and Fred and George clambered in, then trotted up the stairs, whispering conspiratorially.

Shortly thereafter, Viktor stepped through, carrying a neatly folded long black robe with a gold sash and a blue sash laying over it. In the other hand, he carried a pair of tall black boots, obviously brand new, so highly polished that they fairly sparkled. He laid them on the arm of Harry's chair, squatted, looked up at Harry and said, "You'll go tomorrow. I had Madam Malkin make those from your beginning of the year measurements for your school robes, so they should fit. I guessed on the boots. Better try them on tonight, so we can exchange them tomorrow if they do not fit. You can't go in sneakers. You'll put them on, and you'll go tomorrow. There are only going to be four of us. You, me, Dumbledore and Potenko. I stay behind Potenko, you stay behind Dumbledore. They always lead. It is not that complicated. You get up when I do, you sit when I do, you walk when I do. You will be in that robe, and hopefully, those boots, by noon tomorrow. I will show you what to do with the sashes then. Clear?" His voice was soft and clipped, not commanding or demanding, but the tone made it clear that there was to be no argument. Harry nodded. Viktor looked at Ron, "If you want to go, you can. Your parents will be there, on behalf of the Ministry. You can go with us and meet them there." He shifted his gaze to Hermione. "If you want to go with me, you can. Your parents were fine with it. Be ready by noon. Fleur mentioned you two, so I think they rather expect you both."

"I still don't understand why I'm being a pallbearer for her and they get to decide! I don't understand why you think it's so important. She tried to kill us both. We can go hear whatever we hear without being pallbearers. I don't want to do it," Harry said softly.

Viktor stood slowly. "They picked us both because we were in the Tournament. She mentioned us both. Her parents also want both Durmstrang and Hogwarts represented. It is a nice balance. One headmaster and one student of each. Besides, you're not really doing it for her. You do not actually hold funerals for the dead, you hold them for the living. You do it to show respect for their loss. To grieve with them. If she was on the right side, once, her death deserves grieving over. Even if she wasn't, it still does. She was still someone's daughter. Someone's sister. Welcome to adulthood, Harry. You do lots of things you don't want to do, because decency demands it. Would you rather we celebrated that a family lost someone every time a Death Eater died? Show a little respect, Harry. It's what separates us from them. We don't dance on anyone's grave. I'm not happy either one of them died, Harry. Not Fleur, not Dolohov," he added, biting his lower lip.

"Karkaroff?" Harry asked tentatively.

Viktor slowly shook his head back and forth. "Not even him."

"Why not?" Harry pressed.

"Because, where there's still life, there's still hope. Hope that they'll change. And someone always has to live with it after they're gone. Someone always gets left behind. You should know that as well as I do," Viktor murmured.

There was a long, drawn out silence. "Noon?" Harry asked, swallowing hard.

"Noon," Viktor echoed, then turned and headed for the portrait hole. As evening wore on, more and more students filtered back into the Common Room, from outside and the Great Hall. It seemed like the main topics of conversation were Fred and George's fireworks and the memorial service. Harry soon tired of the questions, gathered up the sashes, robe, and boots, and went to bed.

"You're going, right?" Ron asked after he had gone.

"Suppose I will," Hermione assented, getting up and going toward the portrait hole.

"Tell him I'll go. Don't you all go off and leave me," Ron called after her.

She was a little surprised when he answered after the first light knock. "I thought you might be sleeping," she said. He simply shook his head and stepped back to let her in. Ivan and Natasha trotted over to her, angling for a pat, but they seemed almost as subdued as Viktor. "You don't want to do it, either, do you?" she prompted,as he sank into the chair opposite hers in front of the fireplace.

"Of course not. The only people who are glad of a funeral are the mortician and the gravedigger. I hate funerals. Given my choice, I would never go to another one. But it does not work that way. Tomorrow, I'll carry the casket of someone who helped kill Cedric Diggory. And we will all listen to speeches about how she was part of the first Tournament since its revival and part of the process of joining the three schools closer together, on and on, and we will all nod and act like it's the truth," he said matter-of-factly. "Because funerals are for the living."

"Are you going to get through it okay?' she asked, leaning forward.

"Will because I haff to. Just like Violeta's. Just like Diggory's. Amos Diggory was all wrapped up in that boy. Lived through him. He was so stupidly proud of the fact that Cedric once bested Harry in a match. And what did it amount to?" Viktor asked.

"How did you know about the Quidditch match?" Hermione said.

"Amos Diggory bragged about that the whole time he was here. How Cedric had once beaten Harry to the Snitch. Odd. He could haff been plenty proud of Cedric just for being a decent, intelligent kid with plenty of talent and a good attitude. Seems like he never was, though. At least not when it counted. When Cedric was alive. Made me a little sad to see it. Made me grateful, though, too. That my parents weren't like that," he added with a sigh, leaning forward, propping his elbows on his knees.

"Funerals always make you like this?" she responded.

To her surprise, he gave her a halfhearted smile. "Not when I'm burying old folks who were ready to go. I'm just tired of burying people who are younger than I am. That is not supposed to be something you do at nineteen."

A few moments of comfortable silence followed. "My parents agreed."

"Generous of them."

"Selfish, actually. They really like you."

"You need to get back. Curfew in fifteen minutes," he reminded her.

"Try to get some sleep," she said, rising. He stood too, then leaned down and put his lips to hers, curling his fingers under her chin, trailing them back and brushing her hair behind her shoulder. cupping his hand behind her head. She slipped her arms around his waist, and they remained locked together for a long while. When he pulled away, he put his cheek next to hers and cradled her there for some time.

"Az vi obicham, Sokrovishte," he whispered into the shell of her ear.

"My Bulgarian's kind of rusty, but I love you, too," she murmured back. She had a hard time pulling away, even though she knew she should go.

She got a reproachful "Tsk" from the Fat Lady when she gave the password with only a minute to spare before curfew, but in her view, any number of rakings would have been worth it.