FIC: Letters Home 1/2

Title: Letters Home I
Author: Sare Liz
Series: Firebolt Ring
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Does not belong to me. JKR & Associates.
Notes: Thank you to my betas who are diligent, but busy. ::huggles::

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Dear Mama,
I have arrived safely in Scotland and have begun to settle into a routine that suits me, for the most part. Hogwarts is a very different place than Durmstrang, but I like it here. The weather is more like Bulgaria, for one thing. I think this year will not be a bad one. Quidditch has been cancelled this year at Hogwarts due to the Tournament, but I am glad to have brought my broom anyway, as I have found it useful in other ways.

I entered my name for the Tournament as was expected and I was chosen to become Durmstrang’s Champion. I am very pleased with this and will do my best. Already preparations are being made for our first challenge, and since secrets are not secrets for long, I have a good idea of where my research needs to go in order to best prepare myself for what will come. I hope that you and Papa will be able to come to at least one of the challenges.

Even more challenging than the Tournament is celebrity status in this new place. There are many girls who believe that because I am good at Quidditch it allows them to follow me around and giggle, but I ignore them as best I can. They are troublesome in the library, however.

But in the library I have found something even better than I could have imagined, Mama. Her name is Hermione (which I cannot yet properly pronounce in English – it is so embarrassing), and she does not care overly for Quidditch – likes it well enough, but was not impressed with me, or my fan club. She glared at me, Mama! It was so refreshing. We have talked a lot since then, and she no longer glares. I really like her, and I hope that whenever you and Papa decide to come that you are willing to meet her. She’s very pretty, very intelligent, and she makes my heart beat fast. Most important to me, she seems interested in me despite Quidditch, and not because of Quidditch.

Give Papa my love, and play a nocturne for me. I love you, and I miss you,
Viktor

---

Viktor,
Your Father sends his love, and I have played you your nocturne. I hope you enjoyed it. We have been thinking of getting you your own Cello as a gift for your graduation. Would that please you, or would you prefer something different?

I am glad to hear that you are finding life comfortable this year. We were worried that life at Hogwarts might not be everything for which you had hoped. Your Father does wonder, however, what other uses you have found for your beloved Firebolt, if not Quidditch. He wonders, but I say you do not have to answer, if you do not wish.

There was never any doubt in our minds that you would do your best, and we are so very proud of you that you have been selected as the Champion of Durmstrang. Of course, we are not surprised at all. Viktor, you are a very talented and multi-faceted young man. The world knows one small part of your abilities. We know there is more to you than your love and skill concerning Quidditch. As for your “fan club” you are very wise to ignore them. I am very proud of you for that as well.

But about your young lady, you must tell us more. A good Greek name, Hermione, but I can understand that you have difficulties getting your tongue around it. If only you had been raised in Smolyan Oblast instead of Montana you might be able to pronounce her name, but Vratsa has been good to you in other ways, I think. She is pretty, intelligent, and scowls? It is an interesting combination that is perhaps only appealing to you, my son. Still, I think you wise to choose a companion from those who care less about your Quidditch career. You will have to tell me how your romance progresses. You are approaching an age where you may marry if you wish it, and with that comes many complicated circumstances: emotions, senses. The body, mind, and heart must be in unison in such decision-making, my love. Know that even far away, you may discuss anything with me, Viktor.

At any rate, your Father and I would be pleased to make the acquaintance of your young lady, Hermione. We are planning to attend the final challenge, but I will tell you more of that when the time comes.

Study well, and have courage in your first challenge. God is with you.

Love,
Mama

---

Viktor folded up the letter and slid it back into the envelope it arrived in. Slipping the thin bit of parchment under his breakfast plate, he made an effort to stop smiling but gave it up quickly as a lost cause. It was a mix of things, really, that affected him so. Partially it was just the receipt of a letter from home. And his father had seen right through his veiled mention of alternative uses for his Firebolt. And his mother was eager to hear more of Hermione… and, had mentioned, she had pointed out – He couldn’t even think it in his head. It was too early. It was too soon. She was entirely too young – his mother didn’t know that about her.

But, oh – Hermione Krum. No. Viktor glared at the eggs and tomatoes on his plate. No. He was being silly, and there was no room for silliness in his life right now. He needed to survive the tournament, he needed to graduate, he needed to get back to Vratsa and play as well the second year as the first. It was an entirely frivolous thought – the sort that those girls who followed him around would have, picturing their own first name between the words “Mrs.” and “Krum.” Besides, it was entirely too soon and wholly inappropriate at this point. His mother would think differently if she knew everything. She would not have even mentioned it, or if she had, she might have said something altogether different about his prospects of marriage. It was absolutely no good, no matter how he looked at it. He would forcibly squeeze the thought from his brain if he had to.

Marriage. Viktor closed his eyes tightly. No, no, no, no, no. Concentrate on not being eaten by a dragon, Viktor! Besides, she wouldn’t be ready for marr- such a thing for another four years. Four years! Four years? Dragons, Viktor! Focus! Yelling at himself in the privacy of his head seemed to help. After all, much can occur in four years, especially years apart. In fact, much can happen in one year, particularly this year. He could be eaten by a large dragon in the first test, for instance.

He sighed. But she was just so brilliant, was the thing. Brilliant, the way the British use that word, to mean not just smart, but wonderful, amazing, and incredible. Relative to everyone else around him, Hermione shone like the moon on a field of stars.

And today was Thursday. Viktor wasn’t sure whether he was more nervous about flying this evening with Hermione, or enduring the first trial in a few days.

*

It doesn’t give you leave to ignore me, you know. Her words earlier in the week haunted him. He hadn’t ignored her, per se, but they hadn’t spoken, either. It was a mixture of things, really. It was much easier to gather his courage when they were alone than to speak to her in the midst of others. For one thing we he got nervous, his grasp of English flew out the nearest window. The other major concern was her habitual partner during such times when he might actually approach: Harry Potter.

Viktor knew that he himself was famous, though it did boggle even his active imagination. But it was a fake sort of famous. Sport was wonderful, but essentially meaningless in the larger scope of history. Maybe less meaningless in that it brought people together, and whenever people came together for a purpose, something interesting tended to happen, but still – of the ways to gather people, a game was low on the list of relative importance. Defeating the strongest, craziest, and darkest Dark Lord in recent memory was higher on that same list.

Harry Potter was only 14 years old – not even at the peak of his powers, but then he hadn’t been at six months, either. Viktor was getting a chance to see, and in a sense work with a young version of someone who well might turn into one of the most powerful wizards of light in history, ranking up there with Merlin and Dumbledore. Either that, or according to the wisdom of his own wizarding education, Potter might turn into quite the powerful dark wizard, but he had good friends, and that was always a good sign. It’s the loners you had to watch out for.

As a matter of fact, Harry Potter had at least one excellent friend, Viktor’s own wonderful Hermione, and the two of them had been together quite a bit over the course of the last month. And Viktor couldn’t actually bring himself to sit down with the two of them, much less speak when he was around.

But if he hadn’t gotten the letter from his mother, if he hadn’t seen her write of marriage when he himself had been daydreaming about, well, if not marriage itself, then certainly things of a long-term and incredibly intimate nature, he might have been able to marshal the nerve to talk with her, Harry Potter or no Harry Potter. But these thoughts of marriage, they were troubling thoughts. Thoughts, too, that he had no business in having. But, God, it felt so good to have them.

And so thusly troubled, he had not approached, and with each missed opportunity he berated himself and heard her echoing voice getting more and more condemning on each pass. Viktor hadn’t approached even once, and for whatever reasons of her own she hadn’t either. He couldn’t keep himself from looking at her, though. It was the worst at meals because he just couldn’t stare at her the entire time, regardless of the fact that it was possible. It just wasn’t polite.

Of course, not everything that Viktor did was, strictly speaking, polite, but as the skills came from his mother and she served as Viktor’s final arbiter in such matters, there was less worry attached. And he’d been practicing that not-entirely-polite wandless magic even more, lately. He’d been honing it for use beyond the Quidditch pitch. His mother was so good at it that she could locate him – and use him as an anchor for apparition if need be – up to ten miles away. Viktor had never needed – or been able – to use the sense to find a specific individual, before now. In fact the skill, vague though it was for him, worked quite well on the pitch, getting an idea of where everyone was, without looking, just by reaching out with his senses. (It was completely useless in finding the snitch, but that was just as well.) But with Hermione, it had become a beautiful game that he would embark on the moment he entered a room. Could he find her? Was she there? How long would it take to pinpoint her location? It was great fun, perhaps, because it came so easily to him, where she was concerned.

And so, he did look, though he never spoke. He wondered if she would understand, or if she might become angry with him. The very thing had happened that she had warned against. Perhaps that wasn’t a good sign.

Regardless of signs, Viktor thought as he waited quietly in the cloister, he was here waiting for her. His heart seemed to beat stronger and faster, knocking harder within his chest at each passing moment. He had arrived a bit early, but what if she didn’t want to meet him? What if she was angry at him for neglecting to speak with her? Perhaps she was spending time with Harry on purpose, to give him a subtle hint. They had spent time together twice, but maybe she didn’t want to see him again.

Viktor shifted his Firebolt in his hands, taking a moment to wipe the sweat off on his trousers. He sat down on a bench that lined the open area, in the shadows as he preferred, because should she come it just wouldn’t do to have her find him pacing again. Who knows what she might think about that. If she came. Which she might not. Because she might hate him at this point. In fact she probably did. Why was he waiting? It was really a lost cause. He’d lost the high esteem and good opinion of a wonderful young witch all because he was scared of his own want to marry her, and intimidated by her powerful and rightly famous best friend. He hadn’t been bold enough, and it just didn’t get any worse. This would qualify for a Shakespearean tragedy.

“Viktor?” a tentative voice called out in the sweetest tones he’d ever heard. There was a God after all. His parents had been right all along.

“I am here,” he responded, rather impressed that his voice sounded normal. He stood up quickly and walked into the space of moonlight. “Good effening,” he said as they neared one another. He didn’t dare use her name right now – he’d just muck it up worse than usual.

She was here, but his thoughts remained dark, nevertheless. Maybe it was the dragon that he knew he’d have to face in five days. Maybe it was the fact that there was plenty of time for her to tell him that she thought him an utter cad, and a bad kisser to boot. His night, he mused, was a nocturne in a minor key.

When she was close enough he reached out his hand and took the one she extended in return. He bent over it and kissed the back tenderly. It was the only thing he could think of doing at this point. It was probably too forward, anyway. Would she even want to fly with him tonight? Viktor lingered over the back of her hand, reluctant to look up at her, but finally facing the inevitability of the thing. Slowly raising his eyes and trying to keep all of his melancholy from spilling out from them, he looked at her. On her angelic countenance there was, unaccountably, a soft and beautiful smile. He could feel his heartbeat again, throbbing dully in his ears and his brain tried to catch up with his senses. The tone of his evening seemed to be miraculously shifting from nocturne to prelude, though Viktor was in a state of minor disbelief.

He straightened and made to let go of her hand, but she held onto him, shifting her fingers slightly so she could get a better grip. She took a step closer to Viktor and blew his mind, just by standing there so close to him and smiling up at him.

“Good evening, Viktor. I hope you’re doing well. I mean, I’m sorry for not talking with you, and I –“ but Viktor cut her off.

“I am sorry, too. I not speak vit you as I say I vould.” Swallowing harshly, Viktor momentarily went back to the dark place, and turned his head away. His slow and halting English was just adding to his misery. God, how he hated foreign languages. “I am sorry,” he murmured again.

A gentle squeeze of his hand brought his attention back to the moment. “You’re forgiven. Will you forgive me as well?”

A relieved smile broke out across his face. “Yes,” he said, even as he wondered what exactly there was to forgive. Though as relieved as he was, he wasn’t ready to linger so close to the castle where someone might wander by and wonder at their tryst. “Ve fly now?”

She nodded and he released her hand. Setting his Firebolt at the proper level, Viktor popped open the one button that was holding his calf-length thick leather and fur coat closed. It was cold enough to merit the jacket, but he’d noticed that it was much warmer with two than just one, especially sitting behind. Mounting his beloved broom, he lowered it slightly and held out a hand for her. And then he noticed something incongruous that had been itching at his subconscious since he first saw her that evening.

“You no vear varm clothes. Don’t vant to fly tonight?”

She didn’t answer him right away, getting on the broom instead, and wiggling back until she was snug against him. The relatively thin layers of her sweater felt like bare skin against his own thick shirt compared to their last broom ride with layers upon layers of thick wool between them.

“Quite the contrary, Viktor,” she said, her voice a quick and breathy murmur, almost inaudible as she turned her head around and slightly down. “But I did rather think that you might be keeping me warm enough.” He could barely understand her murmured words, but he got her point, and his eyes momentarily rolled back in his head and he drew his left arm around her, holding her closer still, then bent down over the broomstick, feeling every inch of her back, her hips, and legs press into his body. He leaned in and pressed a tiny kiss to the edge of her ear before he shot out through the archway, skimming the ground until they were a safe distance from the castle.

---

Dear Mama,
Tomorrow is the first trial, and a few days ago was my third date with Hermione. I thought, just in case an irate dragon should roast me, I would write you today. Should I remain gratefully unroasted, I will write again soon.

That is to be the first trial, of course, dragons. Something to do with dragons. Probably trying to get something away from a dragon, as it is nigh on impossible to do. My guess is that we wouldn’t have to kill one outright – I’m sure the paperwork for importing dragons for the sole purpose of killing them would be enormous, but I’m certain that if they happen to die terrible deaths, no one will be very upset, except perhaps for their handlers. The subject of the first trial is supposed to be a secret, but that didn’t last long. They did, after all, have to store four full-sized dragons somewhere, didn’t they? And the Headmaster encourages me to fly and train in my hours free from my studies and research… Really, how I could avoid finding them, I fail to understand. Perhaps that is all part of the trial, or all part of the Headmaster’s ambition for me. Still, I think the others know, as well. I have not asked Hermione, I have not wanted to put her in that position, but it just seems very likely. The Headmistress of Beauxbaton seems to be keeping quite good company with the Gamekeeper of Hogwarts, who himself is a personal friend of Harry Potter, the fourth champion. And I can’t imagine one champion of Hogwarts keeping something from the other, or at least that is what Professor Karkaroff believes, and I think that of all the things he says, it has the most amount of merit.

And why, you ask, would Hermione have anything to do with this? She is Mr. Potter’s best friend, of course. Well, one of them, but the other is being ‘a right git’ (don’t the British have the most extraordinary colloquialisms? I leave it to you to look that one up. I had to.) and refuses to believe that Mr. Potter did not enter his own name in the cup. I think he is powerful enough a wizard to do it if he had wanted to, but to look at his face at any given time is to understand that he has no wish to be a Champion. It seems to me that I have a kindred spirit in Mr. Potter, in that we both hate our status and wish it were otherwise. Perhaps it is enough for him, defeating Voldemort – and being constantly pursued by that Dark Lord’s spirit, if Hermione is correct. (I have been learning some interesting things, Mama, and I think I may learn more yet. The war is not over, I think. There is just a sort of sickly lull in which we have all drowsed, drunken in our happiness at his apparent defeat. I think this time all of the former Soviet states will not be able to avoid “unfortunate entanglement.” That was perhaps the only thing that Communism was good for – it kept Voldemort’s insane politics out.)

I have settled in well, as I have said, but upon further reflection it is very odd to be here, and I don’t mean just Hogwarts – I think this year would be odd anywhere, even Durmstrang. I feel like I am in a very strange in-between place. I am still a student, but I already have a job that I have participated in and must now put on hold. I don’t wish to skip this year, and I don’t wish that I’d started a year later with Vratsa – not at all, but I feel very strange. I feel not quite an adult, and not quite a child. It’s just as well that I’m at Hogwarts. At least it’s completely different – it might be worse at Durmstrang. The same old castle, the same old classes, the same old faces – I might have gone insane. Sometimes when the feeling gets too much I daydream of settling in a little cottage in the mountains. I should be able to afford it with another year at Vratsa, if not before then. Will you and Papa help me look? I know there is still plenty of time, but it staves away the craziness. Humor me?

Mama, I know what you will think of this transition – from settling into a home of my own, to talking about Hermione, and I won’t pretend that in quiet moments I haven’t had similar thoughts, but it is farther away than perhaps you realize, should such a thing ever come to fruition. And besides, I just wanted to save speaking of Hermione for last. The best, for last.

She is like the delicate strain of a harpsichord floating through the air, reminding you in the midst of a nightmare that there is hope, reminding you in the midst of a dream that there is sorrow. That is what it is like to know her.

There are things that some find upsetting about her, which I should just tell you now and get it over with. Her parents are muggles, professional people - doctors with specialties, if I understand her correctly. As I say, she is best friends with Harry Potter, which annoys most of the children of pureblood old money in the school – they seem to take it as a personal affront. (It is astounding to me how stupid children can be – who would declare such a loyalty to Voldemort in such a way, if they had any brains at all? Perhaps it is a British thing. Certainly we are more careful at home. Hm, perhaps it is a Western freedom of speech thing. At any rate, cultural issue or no, I think it incredibly stupid. Back to Hermione.) There are many aspects of wizarding life that she does not yet accept, the ‘enslavement of house elves,’ among them. Perhaps once she is content with being a war heroine she will continue on to be a major social reformer? Perhaps not, but she does have a determination that is remarkable, and it is combined with her intelligence, which is formidable – I wish never to be opposite an argument with her. But Mama, there is one last thing. Which should perhaps have been the first thing, and maybe you have guessed, if you’ve figured out the math. Her age; she is fourteen, or possibly fifteen – I know her birthday, but there is something about using a timeturner last year – apparently she used it quite a lot. And I am nearly eighteen. So she is four years, or possibly three years, but probably not two years younger than I am. Granted, fourteen and eighteen looks much different in my head than fifteen and seventeen, but regardless of age she has three years of school left, after this one. And, her parents are muggles, and in Britain muggles, especially professional muggles tend to marry later in life. (I checked.) Later, as in, mid to late twenties, or even later than that, rather than late teens. Not to say that she will follow that paradigm, but it hasn’t actually come up in conversation yet, and as there is no way I could foresee, even at the end of a successful and hopeful year with her, inviting her to wait for three more years, attached to someone who is so far away… But I do wonder what might occur, should this turn out to be a successful and hopeful year for us, should we remain in contact, upon her graduation from Hogwarts. Then you may speculate, Mama. (And as you can tell, I have been thinking of this entirely too much. But I’ve been keeping up with my charms work, do not fear. And I’ve been improving some, I think.)

Enough for now. More later, assuming I have not been bested by the dragon that waits for me. (What an odd thing. It’s an expression, of course, ‘bested by the dragon that awaits,’ but it is literally true this time.) Give Papa my love, and play my favorite prelude of Bach’s? I love you, and I miss you,
Viktor

PS- I would love a cello for graduation. Together with my Firebolt, they would be my favored possessions, I think. But maybe you’ve already guessed that.

---

Viktor,
I have played you your prelude the morning of your trial. Such a hopeful tune for someone anticipating his immanent doom, Viktor. Your subconscious will hope for you, I suppose, even when your conscious would rather not. You will have receipt of this letter after besting your dragon – of which your father and I have no doubt you’ve done, despite whatever burns you may have acquired in the offing. Look at it this way – clearly Hermione likes boys with scars. You’ll fit right in.

Your father was gratified to discover what use you found for your Beloved Firebolt. Quidditch may be cancelled, but you’ll still need to practice, of course, and if you find out a thing or two that will help you in the challenges ahead, and find them out in an honest manner, who would have a problem with that? You are resourceful, and we are proud.

I will be plain in saying that it pains me to think that you might be touched by the filth of Voldemort, or the possibility of war, but I would be blind and irresponsible if I did not acknowledge that it is a possibility. The terrorism of the World Cup Finals was to me, a very clear message. I think it is true what you say – if there is to be another war, if Voldemort somehow returns to his previous strength (saints preserve us from such a time) then certainly the Witches and Wizards of Bulgaria will have to cast in their lots with the rest of Europe and Northern Africa. And if Mr. Harry Potter is to play the role of Saint George, am I to guess that you think he’ll not play it alone? I am not so naive as to believe that the State will handle the things properly, but let us hope, if for no ones sake but Hermione’s, that they will not be alone, and that wiser wizards than they will be amongst the counted heroes of the day. And Viktor – besides the wariness of the far-distant future, do be careful of your Professor Karkaroff. If Voldemort is to return sooner rather than later, it may be that your Headmaster turns out to be a wildcard. I would warn you against rashness, but rashness may be advisable if the worst comes to it. Let us pray that it will not, and prepare for it anyway. Have you any avenues to practice your dueling, dear? I strongly recommend charms and hexes for binding and disabling, the more obscure, the more difficult to block. You know my favorites.

In brighter, happier news, Hermione is a muggle-born? Well, that’s not so bad as it once was. Mostly I worry for the difference in culture, but she’s also British, and I’m not sure which aspect of the culture difference would be the most different from the one you’ve known all your life. She does have an interesting view on house-elves, however. Certainly if she ends up vanquishing Voldemort we shall have no problem with the neighbors, but even if it comes to it, I shall beat them into submission for you. What else is a mother good for, if not defending the choices of her children? We have raised you properly, Viktor, and we are not about to question your motives now. We are still looking forward to meeting her, and are very happy to consider you far more enlightened at a far younger age than we ourselves were.

Your father wishes me to include a certain point about Hermione. He believes that though you have already bested one dragon as a Champion, you still have one left to go. He thinks himself quite droll, your Papa does, when he compares Hermione, ‘Viktor’s Little Spitfire,’ as he now calls her, to the dragon that awaits. I might have said nothing to you at all, but for two things. Though I dislike the allusion that you might be dating a dragon, I am rather fond of the ‘Viktor’s Little Spitfire’ epitaph. It seems rather appropriate, from the bits that you’ve told us. Also, it has set your father laughing more in the last few days than in the past year, and as you come by your melancholy honestly, you can appreciate what a joy that has been for me, that your father laughs so freely at his own little joke.

Age, my dear, has very little to do with anything, I’ve noticed. You are right in thinking that it is not appropriate to propose tomorrow, perhaps, but I would not go so far as to ignore the possibility that after a ‘successful and hopeful’ year the future might not be an appropriate topic of conversation between the two of you. If it seems good to the two of you (and really, much can occur in one year, my love – I say this not at all to dissuade you, as I’m rather fond of the idea of you marrying a spitfire that doesn’t care for Quidditch, I think it the absolute best thing, but rather I say it because in two months you may hate each other, or you may be asking for an altogether different sort of advice than you are now – which we will be happy to give, of course), you may be able to see each other with something approaching shocking frequency over her fifth and sixth year. You are not a young man without means, I would remind you, and travel is not the burden it once was. It may be easier to keep in contact, should you wish it, than you so tragically assume. And between her sixth and seventh year an engagement would not go amiss, should her parents approve. And do not despair on that account, either, Viktor. You must meet them before you even consider despair, and I must meet them before you actually despair.

Now that I have planned your wedding (humor me, and I shall find you a house as you request – you would live in the mountains, instead of in town), I will plan your graduation. A small gathering, but some of our closest friends will be there, your Godparents of course, and your new cello. It’s beautiful –we’ve already picked it out. If you would like anything different, or have any particular requests, do make them known, my love. We shall do our best.

May your dreams contain the delicate strains of the spitfire harpsichord that you adore, and may your waking hours be safe and wholesome. God is with you.

Love,
Mama

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EDIT: fixed the monster paragraph from hell that made no sense. All is well in my world, now.