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1. Settled into a dusty corner of the library, Hermione was scribbling incessantly, hunched up and squinting under the feeble lighting. Her usual haunt had a bay window that allowed the Scottish light to ebb in but had become a hotspot for slackers. Even from here, Hermione frowned as a squeal of giggles echoed through the library stacks. Again. Gripping her quill, she failed to suppress a huff of frustration.
“Agh! Damned Quidditch fans, he’s just a normal person!” Almost mockingly, another squabble of feminine laughter burst forth, leading Hermione to wince. Having had quite enough, she rolled up the several foot essay she’d been writing, and slammed her textbook closed.
“I didn’t expect you of all people to be abusing an innocent book.” Came a low, accented voice, oddly projecting from the nearest stack. Hermione flinched, then spun towards the voice. She scanned the shelf, seeing only a dreary set of antique encyclopedias that had seen better days. With a sneer of distaste she brushed aside cobwebs, but only more peeling book spines were revealed.
“Tsk, such disrespect to see a library in this state, this would never fly at Durmstrang.” The voice came again. Hermione snatched a large book so she could see the other side of the stack, and reeled back with an undignified squeak as the glowing head of a shark phased through the shelf, with its endless rows of jagged teeth pulled into a grin.
“Hello Hermione, I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Viktor Krum. Um, the corporeal patronus of his, I mean.”
Hermione’s lips flattened into a displeased line. “A corporeal patronus, impressive. While patronus can be used to deliver messages, and sometimes at great distances, there are limitations.” Primly, she turned to finish packing up her supplies, speaking without pause, “For example, Spangle’s masterwork Charms of Defence and Deterrence tells how unworthy wizards can be consumed by maggots in the patronus casting attempt. Other downfalls include revealing the identity of an animagus, and, less seriously,” she lectured while peering around, pacing across the row, then pausing and looking back across at the shark, “They cannot carry on a conversation, as they don’t have ears. Meaning…The caster must be in earshot.” She concluded, then pulled back a curtain blocking a row of shelves undergoing renovation.
The shark chuckled, amused at the empty space she revealed.
Undeterred Hermione stalked back over to face the shark, barely slowing as they came nose to snout. “ Excuse me.” Viktor’s patronus gamely fulfilled her request, floating back into the next row. She made quick use of the gap, peering through until she spotted Viktor.
He shrugged, “I learned from the snitch, best way to hide is just under the nose.”
“Well, your presence in the library has been immensely disruptive ever since you arrived. What could you possibly want in here?”
“I’ve been coming every day to try and talk to you.”
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2. Hermione shuffled deeper under her winter blankets, still battling a chill in her bones. The weight of them pressed upon her, warming her while unfortunately reminding her of the all encompassing pressure at the bottom of the Black Lake. She hadn’t been this cold before heading to bed, the righteous indignation from her friends at the ridiculous idea of involving innocent loved ones in the lake task of the Tri-wizard Tournament had brought a pleased flush to her face. Constantly shifting, she finally fell into a cold, restless slumber.
Pressure, dull and heavy against her eardrums. Slick, rubbery, seaweed tangling her ankles and never letting go. Logic, demanding she must be craving oxygen. Confusion, the lack of a desperate burn in her lungs. Out of the murky dark, a bright torpedo of light, teeth open wide to bite…
Swallowing air as she woke, nightmares and reality mixed as Viktor’s patronus circled her bed, as if pacing. After a moment Viktor’s voice rushed out, clearly stressed but trying to remain soft,
“Hermione, I know you must be resting but I can’t stop thinking about how you are doing. Please know I can’t stand that my feelings for you put you in danger. I-I never imagined the tournament would implicate others like this. Hermione, there’s no limit to what I’ll do to apologize. Tch- this damned shark isn’t the right messenger after everything that happened today. Probably terrifying. Let me just… hold on a moment…”
His voice faded away and the shark morphed into a semisolid mist before reforming into another shape. It was still an animal well suited to swimming, but the horrendously aggressive shark maw now was a playful smile, twitching whiskers, with barely visible off white spots along the flanks. The seal opened its mouth, likely to continue begging for forgiveness, but was interrupted by itself popping into non existence.
Still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Hermione slowly absorbed Viktor’s overture. “A monk seal?”
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3. Hermione truthfully enjoyed her muggle summers with her parents. Every year at Hogwarts concluded with escalating levels of magical mayhem, and so sitting back in a dental chair at her parents dental office was comparatively a day at the spa. She sat, limp and relaxed, as her mother finished the examination with an inquisitive hum.
“Sweetheart, I know school has been stressful, but you really should tell me if you’re grinding your teeth. I think you’ve taken a bit of length off the front, did you notice?”
Her mother possessed an attention to detail that had obviously been inherited by Hermione, and so she always removed her fingers from her patient's mouth after asking a question. Hermione grimaced, "It's not grinding, I promise. There may have been an… incident requiring some intervention. At school.”
“They have a dentist there?”
“No mom, not a dentist.” Glancing to check the door was closed, Hermione whispered, “Magical healing.”
Her mother’s eyes widened, “What do those people know about the sanctity of enamel? You let them touch your teeth! Oh my god!”
“Mom, please calm down. You just examined them yourself and couldn’t find any material defects, right?”
“I suppose so, while they are shorter, the edge doesn’t actually have evidence of surface abrasion. We’ll have to consult with your father to be sure, though.” Snapping her gloves off, her mother scurried out to find him.
Hermione smiled, amused by her concern. She leaned back to stretch, looking up towards the examination light and letting it wash the last of the stressful school year from her brain. It wasn’t all bad, though. Her dates with Viktor filled her with a newfound effervescence. A lighthearted delight, an ease of being, and those butterflies deep down every time his deep voice called out to her,
“Hello Hermione,” She sat up to find his monk seal patronus in the room with her, and she launched from the chair to lock the door.
“This will be quick today, I’m off to Quidditch practice in a minute. I just wanted to reply immediately to your letter. It's understandable you’re not able to come visit Bulgaria this summer, but if anything changes please do come, you’re always welcome wherever I am. Enjoy your family, enjoy some rest, and I know you’re already through most of your summer assigned reading, so go enjoy a book just for fun, too. And as I’ll always ask, write to me, promise?”
Hermione nodded needlessly as the patronus faded away and her parents footsteps approached the door from the hallway.
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4. Finally alone for the first time in ages Hermione should’ve been happy. She should’ve been steeping tea and selecting a dense book to take advantage of the quiet. Instead she broke, gasping tears as she tried to stay quiet. To keep her tears at the level of sob instead of wailing. She was tired, she was hungry, and she had left her heavier books behind long ago.
Ron had left their camp, vowing to return to the Burrow. Senselessly he had fought with Harry, throwing accusations that the entire Horcrux mission was idiotic. Hermione desperately tried to intervene, but it was no use. The boys were nearly resorting to physical blows before Ron finally stormed off into the forest. That was hours ago, and Harry had not left his seat on a rotten log, staring off into the trees Ron passed into.
The tent was now depressingly quiet, no warm laughter or intense theorizing to be heard. Only the snap of crisp canvas in the bitter late autumn wind. How could Harry and her complete the quest? She didn’t even know what they were actually trying to accomplish, or how many horcruxes there were. What kind of future existed outside of these woods? At the rate they’ve been going, surely they’d be too late to help anyone at all!
Down and down her thoughts spiraled, the panic distilling into a blank apathy as her sobs evened out. When was the last time she was happy? Belly full, with smiling friends and sense of security of her belonging to the wizarding world?
Night was quickly falling, but a familiar silvery glow illuminated the far wall of the tent. Hermione wiped her tears, even though she knew the patronus could not report back to Viktor her disheveled state. In everyday life, Viktor was a man of few words. The one sided nature of patronus messages required him to speak at length, which always left Hermione a bit mesmerized.
His patronus wasted no time, “Dear Hermione, I hope you are safe and sound. Everyday less news is heard from the U.K. I hold every scrap of information of the situation I can find close at hand, hoping to piece together a picture of you, happy and content. And so beautiful, just like at the wedding this summer. Oftentimes my mother asks me what I am thinking about, as I aimlessly sway through the gardens. I tell her I’m thinking of a wonderful girl I danced with, one with inquisitive eyes and always the truth on her lips. My mother asks when I will dance with her again, and I tell her I don’t know, but that I hope I will dance with her many more times, year after year. I can promise, no matter how this war ends, I’ll have my hand out ready to dance with you again. Stay well, Hermione, stay safe. Write to me, promise?”
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5. Дневен Труд, Daily Labor Newspaper-April 1998
Historically Beloved Monk Seal Bids Farewell with Ghostly Apparition
"Long thought to be extinct by biologists, reports recently came in from Burgas Fishing Port of an unlikely sighting. Fishermen claim to have seen a solitary Monk Seal with an extraordinary quality of ghostly silver fur. Stunned by the beauty of the seal, the fishermen were unable to snap a photograph to validate the sighting. Top marine biologists state that any sighting is extremely unlikely, let alone a specimen exhibiting leucistic or albino traits…”
Mikhail folded his newspaper and set it aside to sip his tea. Across the table, Viktor sat with his chin propped on his hand, staring bleakly out the window. Quietly Mikhail observed his friend, the bags under his eyes were darker than ever, sallowing his skin. What used to be a posed scowl to hold off nosy reporters had transformed into deeply etched stress lines, a permanent wrinkle between Viktor’s brows. The escalation of horrid news from Britain and lack of response from Hermione was deeply gouging the spirit of Mikhail’s good friend.
He set down his tea with a purposeful clink, and cleared his throat to draw Viktor’s attention, “It's a beautiful out. How about we grab some brooms and fly around the mountain, just like old times?”
With a half shrug, Viktor grunted an unenthused assent to the suggestion.
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+1. Viktor slowly walked through the garden at his parents’ property, fingertips tapping on roses that had barely begun budding. He had been in a blue mood for weeks, awaiting any news out of Britain. His unanswered patronus was a physical chip out of his remaining optimism. He could bear no more waiting, this morning he had packed a travel bag and left it by the door. After his mother broke out into frenetic disaster planning, he stepped outside for fresh air, pacing the well worn path as the sun sunk low. Unable to face his mother’s tears, he promised to wait till morning before chasing down the trouble out west. The additional hours were a toil pulling him towards his packed bags and out the door.
Deep in the manicured gardens there was a small pond, left slightly wild when compared to the rows of roses. Thick reeds and cattails sheltered the water, creating a darker nook the family often used for afternoon naps. A willow, planted long ago by his grandfather, tenderly draped its branches around a simple bench. The bench had been a lifelong refuge for Viktor, and he walked over to sit and contemplate upon it as he had many times before. He breathed in the fresh green smell of early May, closing his eyes and trying to calm himself. Despite his efforts, his muscles were tense and ready to move, as if awaiting the start of a Quidditch match. Viktor simply couldn’t wait here another minute. Resolved, he straightened his posture, ready to face the loving wrath of his mother when a glint of light caught the corner of his eye.
By now, the warmth and light of the spring sun was rapidly fleeing the gardens as a brisk darkness settled in. There, among the lilypads, a silvery form was swimming and diving in the pond. Ripples of water were frosted with luminescence, while not a single drop or splash was produced. Squinting,he stepped onto the pond’s edge as the shape resurfaced. Swimming with barely contained joy, a glowing white river otter emerged from the depths, launching itself towards shore. Viktor’s squint turned into wide eyed shock as Hermione’s patronus slid on shore to stop at his feet, looking up at him.
From the otter Hermione’s voice, tinged with exhausted relief, sang out, “The war is over.” Before immediately flipping back into the pond in celebration.
Viktor laughed, following the glowing figure with his eyes. He pulled out his wand and conjured dozens of roses on the pond’s surface, as Hermione’s otter dove and bobbed around the floating blooms. His mother would now be much more approving of his trip to the U.K., he thought.