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The library was a haven of peace and quiet compared to the raucous laughter of the party in the Gryffindor common room. Hermione was proud of Harry, truly. But as usual, acknowledgement of her help had fallen into the background. This left her on the edges of the party, watching Harry be lauded for his “grand defeat of a dragon” by those who whispered him a cheat not even a week ago.
Not that she minded. Well, she did about the whispers and if it weren’t so clearly against school rules she may have hexed a few of her housemates throughout the week. But she didn’t mind falling to the wayside when it came to getting credit for her help. She much preferred it actually. Unlike Ron, who was still whining about not being entered, Hermione preferred to stay out of the spotlight. Attention brought trouble, as Harry so aptly demonstrated every year.
Most recently with the nonsense being published about him as a Triwizard champion by Skeeter. Though she supposed, thinking back on the flash of a camera as she hugged Harry before the task had started, she would be pulled into the mess soon enough if that horrid woman had her way. No, it was much better to be quiet Hermione, forever found in the library, covered in ink.
So in the midst of the stacks of books, Hermione sat at her table, surrounded by the hushed murmur of pages turning and the occasional tap of shoes from a reader fetching a book or Madam Pince shushing some poor first year. It’s where she belonged really. Not in exciting parties or in dramatic recounts of daring adventures.
Hermione breathed in the musty scent of old paper and ink, feeling at home among the shelves of books that towered over her. The soft glow of reading lamps illuminated her surroundings, casting a warm light on the rows of neatly organized tomes that stretch out before her. She took the moment to sink into her chair, finding comfort in the stillness of the library, temporarily and willingly lost in the words of long dead witches and wizards, content to remain in this peaceful sanctuary for as long as she wanted.
“May I sit here?” a heavily-accented voice murmured.
Hermione jumped. When she shifted a stack of books out the way, she was shocked to find Victor Krum standing there with a stack of NEWT level textbooks in his hand.
It shouldn't have surprised her. After all he WAS a 7th year student at Drumstrang, of course he had NEWTs coming up, Triwizard cup or no. It's just that in her experience, those bound for quidditch careers didn't really bother studying too hard past OWLs. Not that quidditch players weren't smart. Oh no. As a matter of fact Oliver Wood helped her in herbology until he graduated and even a bit past that via owl post. But rather, that with quidditch drills, games, interviews and meetings with scouts there wasn't time for both. Of course Hermione found the sport both dangerous and nonsensical but the same could be said for football and muggle boys had been dropping out of secondary school to join youth programs for as long as humans knew a ball could be kicked into a net. Was it really all that different? Not that she approved of either.
Krum shifted awkwardly, his face flushing slightly. That was her prompt to remember she was sitting there like a slack-jawed louse just staring. Her mother would have chastised her for her rudeness.
"Oh uh…" she corrected, scrambling for words. "I suppose."
He sighed gratefully and set (not slammed, thank Merlin) his textbooks on the table, shifting her towers to encase a majority of him as well. Then he promptly opened one of his books and began to read.
She waited expectantly in the silence. There was no reason for him to be at her table, after all. To start there wasn't room with all the books she had lying about. There wasn't really room for her if she was being honest. Secondly there were plenty of open tables throughout the library. Of course this was the best table, which was why it was her table. Perfect light. A good cross breeze. Easy access to the stacks. But it’s not like he had been here long enough to know that.
So why was Victor Krum sitting at her table, seemingly reading a textbook. It had to be a prank or something, some very unfunny joke on the bossy bookworm, or a poorly thought out Triwizard competition strategy.
For all her guessing, time continued to pass and nothing came of it at all. Eventually she considered that perhaps he really was there to read after all. Though it was only as his shoulders visibly lost tension and his back began to slouch that she lowered her guard. Going back to reading they continued on in silence, her occasionally glancing up at him.
Krum was… quiet. Another oddity. Even the Ravenclaws tended to chat amongst themselves or complain under their breath (both equally as appalling in the sacred silence of the library) as they read. Even she would rarely hum in deep thought. But he was just… silent. Occasionally he would flip a page or his quill would scratch against some parchment. When he read something interesting his eyebrows would raise slightly, erasing the furrowed standoff-ish look she had seen when they crossed paths around the school. Perhaps, just maybe, he was a true scholar like her. Not that it mattered to her one way or the other.
Hermione eventually got so lost in her reading she had forgotten he was there. Then suddenly a chair scraped. Krum had pushed back from the table, his finger still on a page and pointing to a word in Bulgarian. Then he promptly turned on heel and stalked off. She blinked at the sudden change wondering if she had somehow offended his pride by not fawning over him immediately.
Then she chastised herself again. Ginny had warned her that she was too quick to judge others and she needed to learn not to think the worst of people. It had stung at the time to be lectured by a younger girl and yet, she had a point Hermione could not deny. She couldn’t become minister of Magic by alienating people. No one would vote for her.
Besides, why would Victor Krum want her of all people fawning over him. What a ridiculous notion. So had he just… gotten bored? Forgotten something?
But then again his books were still here. Hermione shrugged, returning to her reading after deciding it wasn’t her problem.
It was about five minutes before he came back, a Hogwarts text in his hand. He sat back down and squinted at the tome, a third year potions book, opened to the chapter on shrinking solution. One of her favorites. The recipe he had chosen was the same one Hermione had received an "slightly above adequate" comment from Snape for. Higher than anyone else in Gryffindor house had received for as long as the grand bat had been teaching it.
Krum started to mutter in Bulgarian. The language was harsh but also had an almost melodic under current to it. Without knowing the words he could be musing in awe or swearing like a sailor. She wasn't sure.
Eventually he growled and stalked off again. She peeked at the Durmstrang text but couldn't read a word of it and sat back down. This time he came back with a herbology book and opened it to dittany. After some more muttering he stopped, tapping his quill absently on the parchment. He was clearly stuck on something. And unlike Ron or Harry he had tried to puzzle it out alone. Hermione had great admiration for those who sought knowledge, even when it was difficult.
He deserves help . The thought nagged at her brain until she couldn’t take it anymore.
"Is something the matter?"
Krum jumped, as if he had forgotten she was there. Understandable. When she worked in the common room, many of the students would look past her, only to startle when she moved or absently answered a question they had asked a friend.
"Oh. Sorry. Am I hurting you?" Krum asked brokenly.
“What?” Hermione asked.
Krum clicked his tongue before speaking again. “How you say stopping your studying? Making you uncomfortable? An interruption?”
“Being a bother?” Hermione asked uncertainty.
“Da!” Victor said quickly. “‘A bother’!”
“Oh. No, you aren’t bothering me at all,” Hermione said as shook her head. "I was just curious. Shrinking potion doesn't contain any dittany," Hermione said pointing to the respective books. "So I was wondering what you were trying to make."
Krum blinked at her then turned the potions book towards her. "You are young. Have you made this?"
Not that young. She wasn't, you know… a child. But still she took the book, ensuring it was the same recipe she had used last year before nodding.
"Yes, but if you want to make it last longer you'll need to slice the bramble bugs not crush them,” Hermione corrected thinking back on the lesson. “It reacts too quickly that way. It can be difficult but if you freeze them with your wand first it helps. Or at least that's what Snape told Malfoy."
“Who?”
“Nevermind,” Hermione responded. “But yes, I have made that potion before.”
"I…” Krum paused for only a moment before he cleared his throat. “May I ask your help?"
"How so?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowed. This was Harry's compilation and she was not about to offer up all his secrets like a moon-eyed hanger-on.
"Ze book. Et… my English is not so good,” he admitted. His cheeks colored slightly; the action made her soften a bit. There should never any shame in not knowing something, only not trying to figure it out. Besides, she thought he looked more human this way.
“Are you not using translation spells?”
He shook his head.
Hermione had seen both the French and Bulgarian students speaking fluently in each other's languages as well as English. They flowed naturally of the student’s tongue in a way that could have only come from translation spells. But now that she thought about it, Krum’s English really was too deeply accented to have been a charm, even a bad one.
“Why not?”
“The spells. Da, they are a shortcut. Easy. But the vords, they translate wrong sometimes.”
“Really?” Hermione asked curiously. Everything she had read said that they were used with ease throughout the world, especially in the government sector.
“Da. Dey can only translate things dat da speaker understands themselves. You did not know dis?”
Hermione tried not to bristle. She couldn’t know everything after all and he had been pleasant up until now. Perhaps some of that patience Ginny preached about was in order and where better to practice than on a student who would be leaving at the end of the year. She forced herself to relax.
“I’ve never used one, just read about them. And none of them mention that problem.”
“They vork sometimes but not always. And when they go bad they can be very bad.”
“Really?” Hermione questioned. That seemed like important information.
“Da! My aunt once started a minor civil war in Tuscany because of a faulty spell. Vould you like to see? I could cast a Bulgarian one for you to show.”
Hermione hesitated. While performing magic on others was nothing out of the ordinary, it was really only done between friends. Even then it was usually on objects, like hair or clothes. The only spells that were actually cast on one’s person were unpleasant hexes or curses out of malice in her experience.
And yet… she was curious. If it was true it could really impact her career. No one else had ever thought to mention it before and she could easily see herself stumbling into an awkward situation. What if she somehow propositioned the Minister of Tanzania! Besides, it’s not like he could curse her with anything too nasty under Madam Pince’s watchful eye.
“Are you…” Hermione paused awkwardly. “Is it safe?”
“Da. It is a simple spell. If it is no good you just won't speak good Bulgarian.”
Hermione still hesitated, never truly able to trust an overly friendly person giving her attention. Life lessons learned through cruelty are often hard to forget. But ultimately, she did want to know. Her curiosity ruled her and perhaps she could write a book on it if it were true, exploring the root of the problem and how to fix it.
“A-alright,” Hermione said before glancing around for witnesses in case things went south. “But if you do something untoward-”
“You are very suspicious for a schoolgirl,” Krum responded but withdrew his wand, entirely unaware of her grimace. A school girl. Honestly.
“Bad things happen to those who are unprepared,” Hermione responded primly.
“Wise for one with so little experience,” Krum said. “You can point your vand at me, if you like.”
You don’t know the half of it, Hermione thought, her wand already in her hand as he began the incantation.
She knew of it, or at least vaguely recognized it from a book. Though the wand movement was the same, the incantation was in the native tongue of the desired language making casting intonation essential. Krum’s magic responded quickly and covered her like a thick blanket, warm and slightly disconcerting as it settled over her skin with a sense of ‘other’. She was mildly concerned when her tongue tingled but then the feeling melted away to taste of strong coffee and vanilla.
“Did it work?” Hermione asked.
“Well you are speaking Bulgarian now, so I would assume so,” Krum responded. She was able to make out the melodic chanting from earlier but this time, rather than lilting and smoothing randomly, it processed into words that she could understand as perfectly as if he were speaking English.
“I am?” Hermione asked excitedly, listening to her words spilled out in another language. “Oh it sounds so elegant!” She excitedly attempted another phrase. “ Hello, it is lovely to meet you!”
“ Hello, you may call me Victor. It is lovely to meet you as well,” Victor said with a smile. “Your accent is beautiful. Perfect actually.”
“Oh that’s-” Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly, even as she tripped over the words they did sound quite nice. “Wow. You must be an excellent spell caster.”
“You give me more credit than I earn,” He responded with an amused chuckle. “I am not that talented. I can only give you the vocabulary. You must be naturally skilled in languages.”
His words now flowed in a smooth and beautiful timber that seemed to vibrate through the air. It was jarringly different from his halting English and temporarily wiped Hermione of all suspicion. No wonder he thought her accent was pretty, who wouldn’t! What a lovely language.
“Wow! This is marvelous! I can’t believe it’s so straightforward. Who wouldn’t want to use such a simple tool?”
Victor snickered into his hand and Hermione’s eyes narrowed.
“What?” she snapped, her hackles raised. “What did you do?
“Nothing, nothing. It’s just what you said. Let me explain,'' Victor said, he smiled and shook his head before he switched back to English “You said that da spell vas great and that you do not believe it to exist in a straight line. And that no one would refuse such a simple hammer.”
“But that’s not what I meant at all!” Hermione said, still in Bulgarian even as her cheeks colored. “Are you teasing me?!?”
“No, I am not insulting you,” Victor replied in Bulgarian, his hands raised and lowering as if she were a wild animal. However something tickled at her brain, trying to tell her it was a friendly sign. An artifact of the spell maybe?
Victor saw her staring at his hands and smiled before shaking his head. “The spell works. It even works well. But it is only as good as the caster’s knowledge of both languages. It can run into problems when the meaning between words and actions don’t match up. In particular with words that have more than one meaning and phrases.”
“Phrases? Like a metaphor?” Hermione asked. She had heard idioms didn’t work in other languages.
“Da. But also anytime words don’t match up perfectly with their meaning," Victor said before briefly switching back to English. “Like when people say you are ‘bloody brilliant’ but zis is not true. Dey mean smart. In translation spells it vould sound like someone called you shiny with blood. Anything like that is…. How you say… Exactly? As read? Ah no! Da word is ‘literal’.”
“B-but that’s so many words!” Hermione whined.
“Da,” Victor nodded sagely before he continued in his native tounge. “And that is the problem. It happens the other way as well for phrases you may not understand. For example, "The mind precipitates, the mind is cruel, the mind grazes ducks.”
Hermione blinked slowly, trying to parse out what was said versus what was meant. She came up blank. ” What?”
“What did you hear?”
“The mind precipitates, the mind is cruel, the mind grazes ducks,” she said uncertainty.
Victor switched back to English. “Ah, I said. ‘The mind reigns, the mind is enslaved, the mind grazes ducks.’”
“Well that’s… better,” Hermione said doubtfully.
“You mind did not think of "reign " as a king would, and rather used "rain" as falls from the sky. With ‘enslaved’, you replaced it with the word you most associated with its meaning ‘cruel’. Thus the original meaning of the phrase was lost.”
“But what about the ducks?”
“Ah… well It is a Bulgarian phrase…” he switched back to English. “Ah no. A how you call, old saying?”
“Proverb?” Hermione answers, pointedly thinking of the word in english. When she spoke she found it had switched back to her native tongue.
“Da. Da proverb in Bulgarian means people can be anything they make themselves into. The ducks… well I do not know. Perhaps zat was lost in translation long ago!” He said before booming a laugh.
Hermione smiled at the sound, It was hearty and full, the chest shaking sort of laugh that was just infectious and reminded her of a free-felt comfort. She found herself giggling alongside him. Of course it also summoned Madam Pince and a harsh ‘hush’ quickly silenced the conversation.
She felt Victor’s magic tingle over her skin as he lifted the translation spell and tried not to flush, or lament the loss of the warming wave in the cool, dry air of the library. The spell tickled at her tongue and she vaguely missed the feeling. Testingly she darted her tongue across her lips, wondering if she would taste that vanilla-coffee flavor again.
Victor smiled and shook his head.
“What?” she whispered, her words flowing once again comfortably in english. “Is there something on my face?”
“You are… how you say… with charm? Pretty?”
Hermione flushed. Certainly that was not right. Not in the sense of… attraction. He probably meant that she was young and adorable, like a puppy or a little sister. Though his tone sounded smoother, more like his native tongue. Maybe… No, that was ridiculous.
“C-cute,” Hermione said, trying not to sound bitter. “You probably mean cute.”
Lost in translation indeed.
They went back to their work, and it was only after some time had passed with Victor scowling at his books that she recalled why the conversation on translation spells had started in the first place.
“Oh! Right,” Hermione said, leaning over the table slightly to glance at his books. He had not moved from the page she had left him at. “You were having trouble with something.”
“Da. It is difficult.”
“What is? The concepts?” Hermione asked. A few words of Bulgarian and a misspoken compliment didn’t mean she was just going to fall over herself to do his homework for him.
“No, no. Da words, they are hard to read.”
Hermione glanced at the text in confusion. It looked pretty standard to her.
“How do you mean?”
“Da script is sideways,” Victor scowled at the book as if it had directly offended him with its slanting lines. “And za words! When I can read dem dey are familiar but not quite right."
Hermione blinked and stood, walking to the otherside of the table to review it more closely. She leaned closer to the text for a better view only to be hit by the scent of warm coffee. It smelled sweet and comforting, almost soft. Nothing like the boys who return from winter hols drowning in cheap cologne or the stench of Harry and Ron when they got back from the pitch. What was it?
She glanced briefly at his face. He had the lightest cast of darkness over his skin and it took her a moment to recognize it as the shadowy growth of facial hair. Not the twiggy scattered hairs Semus called a mustasch last year. Instead they looked thick and rough, and she briefly wondered if it was scratchy.
A man, not a boy, she realized. She had never noticed that there was such a clear difference before. But it was obvious. Everything from the way he held his quill, tapping at his parchment to the focus of his eyes as stared at the book. Is this what made Lavender and Pavarti all giggly? When it was Ron or dean she didn’t understand, but with Krum, she could get the appeal. Of course the stacks of books and the flickering light of the library helped.
Right. The book.
She shook her head, quickly refocusing and hoped he didn’t notice her strangeness, or the flushing in her cheeks.
"O-hh yes. I see the problem,” she stumbled. “It's written in Early Modern English. An older version of our language. Not what we use now but closer than say Old English. There are a few extra letters on words and some different sounds. What are you having trouble understanding?"
"Da Shrinking Solution. For my project I vant to apply it to vounds to make them smaller. Den da dittany vill heal dem. But I cannot see what da soultion is made of so I do not know if da dittany reacts or not. There is no list. No instructions. The ingredients are mixed in with uses and complications and methods."
"I agree,” Hermione scoffed, having complained about the same thing all of last year. “It's so unorganized. Quickclaw, the author, had a bad habit of rambling. Let me just…"
Hermione quickly noted down the ingredients and quantities in modern English, trying not to glance at the way his fingers tapped against the table. They danced along the wood in complicated patterns that without a single mistake in rhythm. His dexterity as a seeker no doubt played a role but watching it was still fascinating… for some reason she couldn't quite parse out.
“Your ink dripped,” he said, startling her back to attention.
“Huh?” When she looked up he was far too close to her. Her leaning put their faces within inches of each other and the vanilla-coffee smell was everywhere. There was a soft grin on his face that made her stomach swirl oddly, his dark eyes crinkled with an amusement that erased the harshness she had associated with him from afar.
“On da parchment. Not that it… how you say ‘bothers’.”
Hermione glanced at the parchment and noticed the splotch directly over her neat handwriting. She quickly drew her wand and erased it, pushing all of her focus into the spell and nearly erasing the whole thing. What was going on with her?
"Sorry. Um, I-I don't think you can use the dittany. It'll react with the acanthus and curdle the potion. But you can try malswallow of vivancia which I noted here."
"Ah, I had not considered those as they tend to make potions acidic. Vut you are correct. It vill be countered by the flobberworm. Very impressive,” Victor hummed as he reviewed the notes. For some reason the praise felt better than usual. Like it was more important.
“Thank you,” she said, trying not to glow.
“You know much for someone so young."
And like that she crashed back into reality. Right. She was a child to him. A helpful, bookish child, but still a child. Though it wasn’t the usual displeasure that came when people were dismissive of her. That typically just made her angry. This… Why did it sting?
"I'm not that young,” Hermione said meekly. "You're not that much older than me."
"Pardon. I meant, you know a lot of detail for someone who has not been taught it yet. It was meant to compliment. I am impressed."
That was sweet. It really was. But she had allowed herself to get distracted. Conversation had flowed easily, the comforting topics of reading and language, the odd presence of someone who had not seen her as her same bookworm that everyone else had done something to her brain, making it slow and confused. That had never happened before and it was unexpected. Like someone had put a spell on her and suddenly she couldn’t thin-
Hermione's eyes narrowed again.
"Why are you here?” she asked firmly, not moving from her spot. But not because she didn't want to leave. No, it was strategic. She was above him, that was intimidating, right?
“Hm?” Victor asked, not looking up from his parchment as he wrote quickly. Without the issue of the organization he was speeding through it quickly. Though she couldn’t not read Bulgarian, his penmanship was beautiful.
“There are plenty of empty tables," Hermione said again firmly, forcing his attention back to her. His eyes were strikingly dark, open and honest. But was that a front? What else could it be? Why else was he here? “So why pick mine?”
His eyes flashed with something and then he looked away, his cheeks just barely reddening with embarrassment.
“Da girls.”
Hermione blinked, somewhat thrown off. “Girls?”
“Da.”
“What about them?”
“Dey don't leave me alone!” he groaned deeply, dropping his head. “Vhen I try to study dey don't let me focus. Even here they bother, trying to "help". Pah! Dey dont know a charm from a hex."
"Okay?" Hermione said quizzically. "But that doesn't really answer my question."
"When dey follow and I pass here dey go quiet.”
Hermione still stared at him, not quite understanding. Victor shifted uncomfortably for a moment before looking back up to her and sighing. He then nodded towards the library door. A collection of girls were gathered by the entrance muttering to each other and glaring at her.
Well, that was new.
At her notice she could see them shuffle, speaking to each other with words she couldn’t hear. Out of curiosity, she took a step closer to Victor, (possibly too close considering how she was confident that the scent of warmth would be tangled in her hair for days) and watched as they all fell silent, just glaring at her.
“Huh. Odd.”
"I tink dey are afraid of you." Victor said quietly, as if she would be upset.
But given the harmless nature of his actions she actually just felt relief. Suddenly everything made sense again. Nothing malicious about that . Hiding behind her from admirers was something Harry had done a thousand times. She was used to it. Victor was just doing the same thing. It made sooo much sense.
And as for that fuzziness in her brain… must be from staring at the cramped lettering of books too long. Yes, that was it.
Hermione snickered, turning back to Victor who was pointedly staring at his work and ignoring the gaggle of girls. "They're afraid of Madam Pince. The librarian."
Although, in a way, the old matron did seem somehow connected to Hermione. When she was younger, everytime someone had tried to pick on Hermione in the library, Madam Pince would show up and unleash a tongue lashing. It was the only reason Pansy Parkinson didn’t try to torment her here like she did when Hermione got caught alone in the halls.
Victor just glanced up at her and shrugged before smiling in a way that made her stomach do the flipping thing again. “It is still vorking all da same. Besides, I like this table. Intelligent conversation and protection from da fans both. I don't know why dey would fear you. Your company is lovely.”
Lovely?
Movement at the entrance caught her attention. A beautiful Beaubaton student was trying to enter but was stopped by a Hogwarts girl. After a whispered conversation they looked at her and noticed her raised brows before ducking back behind the door.
"Some of my housemates say I can be a bit of a terror around exam times," Hermione conceded before sitting back down absently. It was only after she looked back at Victor that she realized she had taken the seat next to him. Usually all the seats at her table were empty and she would swap between them without thought. She was about to scurry to the other side, not wanting to crowd him.
"Vait! Stay. Please? I vas hoping I could use that book you are reading as vell." he said, reaching over the table to grab her discarded book.
“Oh you can just have it!” Hermione said quickly, moving to stand. “I was just doing some light reading-”
His hand caught her wrist and she stilled at the feeling of his skin on hers. His hand was so large, completely encircling her wrist in a way that made her feel intensely delicate. Was that a good thing? She had never really wanted to feel delicate before but now it felt like a deeply important thing.
“Ve can share, da?” he said, his voice was confident but lilted up at the end. Like he was nervous.
Still, she sat back down, smiling softly. “I suppose it would make for a more effective flesh shield."
“Eh?” Victor responded, looking alarmed. “Vut about flesh?”
“Oh, sorry. It's a phrase,” Hermione laughed, recognizing her odd word choice. “Um, me being closer will be more effective at keeping the girls away. Right?”
“Ah,” Victor responded, looking relieved. “An vunderful bonus. One of many.”
He still hadn’t let go of her wrist though and it now dangled between them. Hermione could feel a tingling warmth traveling up her arm and it was making her brain fuzzy again.
“Many?” Hermione asked distractedly.
"You also know potions and share a table well," Krum said with a grin. He looked younger when he smiled. More teenage boy and less quidditch superstar. It was much easier to deal with considering she spent her days wrangling Ron and Harry. “And as I say earlier, your company is lovely.”
Hermione could feel her heart beating suddenly and strongly, as if she had run a marathon. How odd, she wasn’t sick. But then he let go, turning back to his pages. After a moment she smiled softly, doing the same, adjusting the reference book between them and dragging her primary text over to continue reading. Every once in a while he would flip a page on their shared text and his shoulder would brush hers. Or she would lean over to grab a book from her towers and her knee would bump his thigh. Though neither of them seemed to mind.
After a time of companionable silence Hermione spoke, her voice low and her eyes stuck on the pages to bolster her bravery.
“You aren't what I thought you'd be.”
VIctor sighed then sounded slightly disappointed when he spoke again, “Big dumb brute?”
"Scheming competitor," Hermione admitted softly. He chuckled lightly.
"I could be scheming. You don’t know."
"Not successfully if your schemes involve using fourth years for healing potion translation."
"I zink dey might,” he responded with a grin she didn’t quite understand.
“You won’t win anything that way,” Hermione said.
"I disagree," Victor said softly. Though she barely heard and didn’t follow his meaning.
" I'm happy to help you more with your potion if I can." Hermione said. "But I won't help you with the tournament. Harry is my friend after all."
“Der is no honor in a cheated vin,” Victor said firmly. “Dat is not why I am here.”
“Right," Hermione said, exhaling in relief. "You're here because you’re hiding.”
“Da… I vas.”
Hermione looked up at that. He was still staring softly at the pages, quietly present in a way that wasn’t overwhelming. The candlelight flickered softly and she realized that the library was almost entirely empty. It had grown late. When she glanced at the door, the girls were gone.
“Oh, they’re gone.”
“Da. About an hour ago.”
She looked back at him, only to find him smiling at her still, making no move to leave.
“Guess my job is done,” she joked awkwardly.
“If you vant. But if I can still share your table Ms…?" He trailed off and she realized he wanted her name. Then belatedly realized they have been here for hours and she hadn't given it yet.
"Oh! How rude. I’m so sorry. Hermoine Granger," she said, holding out her hand. "And you can stay. You don't talk half as much as my friends do."
He smiled and it then shook it. "Victor Krum. And you don't talk at all. Vell unless you're accusing me of scheming or lying about translation spells."
"Or if I am helping you with potions," she corrected primly.
"Or then. You are very helpful and smart, not-young Hermenoninny," Victor winced and it took her a moment to realize that was supposed to be her name. "Apologies. Could you say it again?"
"Her-my-o-knee" Hermione said slowly, making each syllable clear.
"’Er-Min-nee," Victor frowned but Hermione smiled.
"Better."
"Da sounds feel hard on my tongue. Like I cannot make them right," Victor said with a scowl. “I am not used to it yet."
"How long have you been learning?" Hermione asked as the lights dimmed further, warning students of the impending closure. She pointed her wand at the stacks of books, sending them drifting back to their shelves. Victor pleased her by doing the same, halving the work and also offering a respect to the ancient texts that she rarely saw in others who just left them lying about.
"I started right before the Cup," Victor answered as he waved another book back to its particularly high home. Hermione was momentarily distracted by the long reach of his arms. It took her a second to process his statement.
"That was barely 4 months ago!"
"I know,” Victor sighed, looking defeated. “It is so slow but there is much to be-"
"No! That's amazingly fast. And really impressive. You must have a great capacity for languages. And you say I'm smart."
Victor blinked then smiled again. She decided that she very much liked it when he smiled. They finished clean up and scurried towards the door, a tsking Madam Pince on their heels. They barely made it outside before the door latched swiftly behind them.
“Ah, she is scary.”
“She just cares about her books is all,” Hermione said.
“Hm,” Victor agreed before looking around the empty hall. “I vould zay goodbye, Miss Her-min-nee but ah, it is late. I shall walk you to your dorm?”
"Oh, there's no need," Hermione said quickly.
"It is only gentlemanly. I vas not raised to send a girl home alone."
It’s not as if Hogwarts was unsafe. The biggest risk was other students and most of them were in bed. She really didn’t need-
Victor stood tall and formal but after a few moments his eyes darted down the hall in clear worry. Hermione grinned when she just barely caught a flash of pastel blue at the edge of her vision.
"Still there are they?” Hermione whispered, leaning a bit closer to him than strictly necessary.
"Yes,” Victor groaned and whispered back. “And they have put on more perfume. I can smell it from here."
"Fine.” Hermione laughed, shaking her head. “You can use me as a flesh shield a bit longer."
“Thank you!” he responded, the relief obvious on his face. Victor held out his arm and she surprised herself by taking it. But then they were wandering through the castle.
They spoke about Bulgaria. Hermione had approximately 109 questions and he seemed pleased to answer them. She even clumsily tried to insert one about quidditch but thankfully he brushed it off and continued to discuss the harpy enclave near his home. Before she knew it they were nearing the tower.
"I hope my questions weren't too annoying,” Hermione chirped, happy to have found so many new topics to research into. She hadn’t even heard about the dragon-like Zemy.
"You ask excellent questions,” Victor said happily. “It vas nice to talk about my life."
"Don't you do interviews all the time"
“Bah,” Victor scoffed, the harshness shocking her for a moment after all the softness from earlier. “Those are not me. Those are always for da youngest seeker in history. Da professional. Dey do not ask about my favorite dishes or my pets or how my family home vas built.”
He sounded bitter. She couldn't blame him. While it was sometimes difficult to live up to the standards expected of her as the Top of the Class, it was ultimately a title she took on willingly and with pride. Victor was a good player and he certainly loved Quittich, but there was much more to him than that. Much like there was more to her than just books and ink spots.
"It's hard being put on a pedestal like that, isn't it?" she asked.
"Da," Victor responded softly. "You know my troubles well. Are you the youngest potions master?" he teased.
"Not quite," Hermione laughed. "My friend Harry has his own brand of fame. I've read of him as "the boy who lived” before ever even meeting him. That portrayal would be nearly unrecognizable from the Harry Potter I know, if not for the scar. I imagine it is much the same for you."
"As yes. Da boy who did not put his name in da goblet,” Victor said.
"You believe him?" she asked somewhat stunned. While few people were actively shunning him anymore, almost no one aside from herself actually believed his claim of innocence.
"Of course. Though he did vell vith his dragon. The summon of his nice broom was smart. Zat was your idea?”
“I….” Hermione flushed. “I helped.”
“You did it all, didn’t you?” Victor teased.
“How did you know?”
“He is brave, but he is a child. He vould have not thought of something so… how you say ‘clever’?"
"He's barely younger than me,” Hermione muttered defensively. “And I thought we clarified that I wasn't that young?"
"No," Victor agreed, an amused half smile on his face. "You are not. Not vith that fire."
Hermione sighed. "I know. I’m sorry. “
“Vhy are you apologizing?” Victor asked, his voice laced with confusion.
“I've been told I had a temper. That I'm overly emotional," Hermione grimaced. “It’s hard to control sometimes.”
"You sound sad. Is that considered a bad thing here?” Victor asked. “Emotion is part of life, no? Vhy else do we live?”
“It can be a bit much to some people,” Hermione said. She could be a bit much.
“Who says this?” his voice growing heated. “If dey can not handle da way you are as you den they are lesser for it.”
“Victor, that's… kind. But they have a point. I can be a know-it-all, and judgemental, and I often talk too much.”
“No,” he stamped his foot harshly. “Dey cannot make you quiet because they are veak. It is like asking the sun not to shine because dey fear getting burned. Fools!”
“I know you say that but I am sure I would get on your nerves eventually too. Even Ron and Harry are bothered by me sometimes.”
“Never,” Victor scoffed. “I am not a coward. I like dis you, da way you are now. Of books and “too many emotions” and talks in the library.”
“I don’t… Victor," Hermione's throat knotted uncomfortably. With dawning horror she realized that she was about to cry.
“EH? What did I… Da eba!” Victor snarled, Hermione was pretty sure he was swearing. “ I am sorry. Do not cry. I am trying to tell… say… gah! It is frustrating. I cannot say what I vant vell enough yet!”
“It’s okay,” Hermione whispered softly. “Really Victor, you didn’t offend me.”
“Den vhy do your eyes shine?” he asked.
“It was just sweet is all,” Hermione said, rubbing at her eyes before smiling back up at him.
"Sweet?" He repeated. "You keep saying dat. Like a cake?"
"No." Hermione corrected gently. "Like… you. Kind. Nice. Sweet."
Victor blinked before smiling softly. "Not many people have called me those words before."
"Well maybe not many people are taking the time to get to know you," Hermione said instinctually. "Or your scheming ways."
"Ah yes,” he said smiling softly as he calmed. An emotion drifted over his face, something she couldn’t quiet recongize. “Those schemes, dey are vorking out better than I had imagined."
"How so?" Hermione asked curiously. But Victor shook his head.
"My secret. It vould not be a scheme if I told you, eh?"
"I suppose not," Hermione laughed lightly as they arrived at the base of the tower. A group of fifth years existed and Hermione caught the door before it shut. No need to give him the password or anything.
"Well this is it."
Victor blinked at her. "Dat is a painting of a fat singer?"
"How rude!" The muffled voice of the Fat Lady gripped. "I'll have you know I am not a singer. I am an operetta and I-"
"Ignore her," Hermione whispered. "She gets a bit techy when she's had her nightcap."
"Dis school… it is a bit strange."
Hermione deadpanned the viking-like man who flew a cleaning implement for a living.
"Vut?"
"You sleep on a boat," she said finally.
Victor opened his mouth to argue then seemed to think. After a moment he laughed, his eyes shining with that soft mirth.
"I suppose I do. And I best get back. Before your Mrs. Norris begins to meow at me."
"She is a terror," Hermione agreed. "Thank you for the walk Victor."
“Sleep vell, Her-minne." Victor grimaced at the mispronunciation again.
“Well keep working on it,” she laughed lightly as she released his arm with a pat.
“Ve Vill?”
“If you'd like,” Hermione said, pausing in the portrait hole to look back. “My table is always open…as long as you don't talk.”
"I vill try, but I promise nothing," Victor said before grinning at her and making her stomach do flips. “Your company tempts vords too easily.”
She flushed deeply but he didn’t look away. It only made her more confused and so she simply whispered a goodnight before pulling the portrait shut behind her.
Hermione drifted through the common room in thought, ignoring Ron and Harry playing gobstones in the corner. He hadn't meant it any way of course, a confusion of the language was all. And yet, as Hermione climbed to her room, she couldn't help but smile, mentally promising to be found in the library tomorrow.