Chapter 14: Bulgarian Troubles
"We've stunned a French auror." Sirius sounded quite concerned.
Harry was pretty sure that attacking an auror wasn't a good thing, but it wasn't as if they had hurt him… he took a closer look at his godfather. Sirius was looking nervous, even sweating. Of course - he had to be remembering prison. Azkaban. He stepped closer and put his hand on his shoulder of the older wizard. "It's just a stunner."
"We did not know it was an auror. And he looked suspicious?" Hermione sounded nervous too. Well, she was a muggleborn, and she knew - though not from experience, fortunately- that law enforcement was generally less lenient with muggleborns than purebloods. Harry still remembered her reaction to that particular information.
Nymphadora stood up and waved her wand in a complicated pattern. "I don't detect any compulsion charms or other spells. He'll be pissed for getting dropped like this, but he might not make a big deal about it if we keep it secret - he'd be teased by his fellow aurors if this got out, I think." She did sound like she had experienced that, and Harry filed the information for later use. One couldn't have enough leverage when it came to Blacks.
"'e was stalking us. 'e should 'ave known better than to 'ide like this - especially since I am a veela." Fleur stated, frowning at the still unconscious wizard on the ground. Of course the granddaughter of the Head of the Aigle family would not be too concerned about such an incident, and Harry relaxed. Sirius and Hermione didn't though, from what he could tell. There was not much that he could do about it though, not and remaining within the limits of proper behaviour in public.
"Ennervate." Nymphadora woke the auror up.
"Ugh… oh." The man opened his eyes, then went for his wand, freezing when he realized his situation.
"We didn't know you were an auror, sorry about that. You were a bit too good with your disguise." Nymphadora smiled at him and handed him the badge back. "I am Nymphadora Black-Tonks, British Auror Corps, on security detail for this bunch here."
"Enchanté, Mademoiselle. Marcel Dufort, Gendarmerie Magique." The man stood up and used his wand to remove dust and specks of dirt from his robe. Harry wondered why he didn't have a self-cleaning charm on his robe.
Nymphadora introduced the rest of their group, even though everyone was sure Dufort already knew their names. "So… let's forget that this unfortunate misunderstanding happened?" Nymphadora smiled widely and winningly at her French colleague when the man nodded, after a short hesitation. "Why were you following us, though?"
"I noticed the group but didn't see you, so I decided to keep an eye on our famous guest." Dufort inclined his head at Harry and managed to not sound as if he was joking about the Boy-Who-Lived's fame. "You're certainly very good at hiding," he added after returning his attention to Nymphadora.
The metamorphmagus smiled proudly. "Thank you. Tailing was one of my best subjects at the academy." Harry had to suppress a snort at that - keeping Nymphadora's special talents secret was certainly a wise precaution, but it also served her ego.
"Indeed. My cousin's quite talented." Sirius, apparently recovered once it seemed there was no danger of getting to explore the inside of a French prison, put a lewd meaning on that sentence with both his expression and tone.
If looks could kill, Harry would have been out a godfather right then. Nymphadora certainly had the glare of an experienced auror down pat, if not yet the experience itself. Even though she had been flirting with the French auror - or was that gendarme? - or at least had been about to. The important thing was though that they had not gotten into trouble for stunning an auror.
*****
Dinner that evening was a lively affair: Sirius recounted their adventure in Marseille with such exaggerations and lewd insinuations that he had half the table giggling throughout the tale. Hermione didn't think it had been that funny - she had not been looking forward to find out if the rumors about French prison procedures were correct, especially not as a foreign muggleborn - and she hoped Sirius would not do anything to offend their hosts. Harry's godfather had a particular sense of humor not everyone shared, and Azkaban had not helped by adding a rather dark undertone to it. And with Nymphadora off "learning about French police procedures" it was left to Harry to rein in his godfather - Hermione couldn't do much if Sirius went overboard, not without embarrassing Harry and possibly their hosts.
To the young witch's relief Sirius finished his tale without any real faux pas, and soon was busy flirting with Fleur's numerous cousins again. Harry might be slightly embarrassed by that, but it was no real problem in Hermione's opinion.
"My house in London is open to all of you, and I hope to be able to return the hospitality shown to my family."
Hermione almost choked on her next bite. Sirius extending a blanket invitation to half of Fleur's family on the other hand could be a real problem, at least for a young muggleborn witch who was no veela. Sure, the veela aura was a myth invented by unfaithful husbands, but she wasn't sure that Fleur's family had really believed that Hogwarts' reputation for orgies was vastly overblown, and not an indication of British customs. Sirius's attitude - and as far as she could tell, his nightly exploits - certainly had not helped. A bunch of too-pretty veelas trying to get into Harry's pants, or hers, or both at the same time, while she and her Patron were still trying to sort out what exactly they felt for each other was not a pretty thought.
Harry's strained smile at the proclamation showed he had similar thoughts, and the two exchanged a knowing, suffering glance while Sirius was already telling the veelas about the wonders of Wizarding Britain. Fleur seemed to be amused by it all, and even more so when she saw Hermione frowning at her. The French witch probably thought that was just the impetus Hermione needed to sort out her relationship with Harry.
Not that the veela would be entirely wrong about that, Hermione knew. Things between her and Harry seemed to be getting more complicated, and more tempting, every day. If it turned out to be the result of a stupid spell or oath… Hermione didn't think she would survive that.
*****
The group arrived in Bulgaria's capital the same way they had arrived in France - by international portkey. This time, Harry almost managed to remain standing - until Hermione crashed into him. They both fell down on the cushioned floor, barely missing the wildly flailing Nymphadora. There were buckets there too, two of which the clumsy auror bowled over while sliding along the grey stone wall until she crashed into the corner. Even Sirius winced at that, and didn't make a joke until his cousin had managed to get up, apparently unharmed by her ordeal. Harry wondered if that kind of resilience was due to her metamorphmagus talent, or if she simply were used to such incidents. Hermione might know, but asking her right then would be asking for a hex from Nymphadora - or something worse later.
Two stern-faced guards in black robes that reached their knees and matching pants, both shimmering slightly with the effects of either overpowered protection spells or specially designed illusions, stood guard at the entrance, wands drawn. They checked the group's passports, ran a few detection spells over them, and only then did one of them tap the door behind them with his wand to open it. A very different welcome than in Paris, Harry noted.
The door led the four British travelers into a large hall, grey stone walls and pillars dominated it. At first it looked rather drab, though when he was passing a pillar on the way to the floo rooms, Harry saw that it was decorated with stone carvings of several animals, all in elaborate detail. He also spotted the tell-tale signs of a lot of detection spells.
Near the customs area a small crowd had gathered around one tall figure - Viktor, waiting for them, and apparently surrounded by his fans. The Bulgarian star seeker had a brief apologetic smile on his face when he spotted Harry and his family, but the wizards and witches parted easily when Viktor walked towards his guests and did not follow him - though many of them stared with unabashed curiosity at the British. Mostly at Harry and Hermione, but that was expected after the Triwizard Tournament.
"Welcome to Bulgaria, Harry!" Viktor, wearing a black and gold embroidered short coat with matching pants as well as sturdy dragonhide boots, bowed his head slightly in greeting.
"Hello, Viktor." Harry returned the greeting. "You already know my godfather and Head of the Black Family, Sirius Black. This is his cousin, Nymphadora Black-Tonks." He didn't introduce or mention Hermione, that wasn't done in Bulgaria in public. But a quick glance showed him that his retainer wore the polite, bland expression she so often used to hide her annoyance or anger in public.
Viktor bowed to the two Blacks, and then pointed to the side. "Please follow me, the floo is right behind the gate there."
They had to pass another checkpoint with two guards, though with Viktor declaring them as his family's guests, there was no further delay, and the floo took them right to Viktor's home.
*****
Hermione's first impression of Viktor's home was warm and welcoming. The walls were paneled with wood, carved and lacquered. The wooden floor was mostly covered with thick, beautifully woven carpets. Everything showed both care and age, and a lived in feeling - like the Weasleys' home, if more orderly and sturdy looking.
The young witch's second impression was less welcoming. Viktor was introducing his family, and everyone - his father Mihail Bogomiliev, his mother Lyubuv Radomirieva and his older brother Apostol Mihailiev - were ignoring her as if she was not present while smiling and bowing to Harry, Sirius and Nymphadora. The sole exception was a young woman standing a bit behind Viktor's brother, wearing a long dress without embroiderment, who looked at Hermione with a shy smile. Viktor hadn't introduced her either. That probably meant she was a muggleborn. Like Hermione herself.
There wasn't any formal hospitality ritual, as far as Hermione could tell, just a jovial declaration by Viktor's father that his home was their home, before Viktor's mother led the pureblood guests out and to their rooms. Since the woman didn't follow them but waited still smiling at her, Hermione waited as well.
Once everyone else had left the room, the young woman bowed to Hermione. "Welcome to the household of the Krum Family. I am Lala Veselinieva."
Hermione returned the bow. "I am Hermione." She didn't mention her family name - as far as Bulgaria was concerned, she was part of the Potter family, but as a muggleborn, she could not wear the name. Up close the British witch saw that Lala was wearing a necklace with a design matching the ornaments on the door - the family crest.
"I hope you had a nice trip. We've been expecting you and preparing for your stay for weeks! I am so excited to have a British guest staying with us!" The witch was smiling widely, and talking enthusiastically, even grasping Hermione's hand - quite the difference to the demure, silent wallflower she had appeared to moments before. "I'll show you around the house so you don't get lost. We've expanded the interior some in the last years, ever since Viktor started to play professionally."
With that Lala led Hermione out of the room as well, chattering all the way and pointing out the numerous tapestries and few portraits lining the walls. The first stop was a small but cozy room with a bed and a chest and a desk in it. "This is your official guest room. We expanded the room and brought in some furniture since Viktor said you might actually sleep in your own room."
"Ah." Hermione started to wonder about her reputation in Bulgaria. "Did you expect me to sleep in Harry's room?"
"Of course! Since you're from Hogwarts we were not sure you'd even bother with a room of your own, but Mother Lyubov was glad to keep up appearances at least."
Hermione sighed. "The reputation of our school is vastly overblown." She didn't comment on the exact nature of her relationship with Harry. But at least there wouldn't be any scandal if she visited him in his room. To talk privately, of course. A few movements with her wand had her clothes out of her charmed traveling bag and placed, neatly folded, in the chest.
"Really?" Lala sounded almost disappointed.
"Really. You're a muggleborn like me I take it?"
"Yes! I am Apostol's mistress. I represent the lower house of the family in the household." She sounded proud, then grinned. "I am also the only member of the lower house here."
Hermione was familiar with that situation. "Ah. I know the feeling. I am the only retainer of the Potter family."
"Oh? Didn't your head send for someone else from your family to help you?" Lala sounded quite surprised.
"The Potter family consists currently of Harry, who is the head of the family, and myself." Hermione smiled ruefully. It seemed Bulgarian families were far larger than British ones - although a rich family could grow quite large under one head in Britain if the children didn't want to become emancipated and lose access to the family fortune. The wars with Grindelwald and then Voldemort had had a drastic effect though - the fate of the Potter family was an extreme example, but not that rare.
Lala had fallen silent, probably shocked by the implications. Hermione smiled, to show she was not offended by her question, and prodded her gently. "Would you mind showing me around some more? I'd like to know where the rooms of the rest of us are."
Lala recovered and started chatting again while showing Hermione her own 'official room' - which was rather bare - the kitchen, living room, and then the guest rooms on the upper floor, in an expanded wing opposite the quarters of the family proper.
Hermione noticed that just about all rooms were expanded magically. Again similar to the Weasleys' home, but the walls looked far sturdier and thicker, and reinforced by spells as well. And from what she could tell by looking through the windows, there were clear lines of fire up to where wards on houses usually ended. "The house looks really solid, and easy to defend."
Lala nodded. "Yes. It was built after the War of Liberation and since then the village withstood a number of raids by the Turks."
"Was that before the Intervention?" That expedition had put an end to such large raids, as far as Hermione knew.
"And one after it. 'Rogues and bandits', the Ottomans claimed." Lala's expression made it clear that she didn't believe that. "Don't go outside the village borders by yourself. You never know who could be waiting - we patrol the borders, but it's not perfect."
"I won't." First Fleur's tales of Barbary Coast Pirates, and now raids by Turks. Britain had suffered through Voldemort's war, of course, but after his defeat in 1981, the British wizards and witches had lived without fear of getting attacked. Hermione tried to shift the topic of their conversation to something less troublesome, but finding out that muggleborns, half-bloods and purebloods each wore distinct clothes in Bulgaria wasn't that much of an improvement. And if she visited Harry to talk about those issues, everyone would assume something else was happening. Hermione kept smiling politely as she followed Lala around, but it was getting a bit difficult.
*****
Harry was in heaven. He was on his Firebolt, chasing Viktor. The Bulgarian was on his new 'Blitzschlag II' broom - a customised and improved replacement for the broom destroyed in the last task - and both flyers were pushing the envelope. There was no snitch to catch, nor rings to fly through, not even a goal to race to. Just two expert flyers matching and surpassing each others' maneuvers and stunts. Weaving through a small forest at close to their top speed, skimming the ground to pick flowers, corkscrewing so fast and with such tight turns Harry's arms felt as if they were close to getting ripped out of their sockets from the g-forces - If Sirius, or worse, Hermione, saw them right now, Harry would never hear the end of it.
He loved each and every second of it. It just felt so liberating, to enjoy the skies. Leave all the worries and annoyances on the ground. Like the Bulgarian custom that when guests were present, only pureblood family members got to speak at the table unless it was to answer questions. It didn't take a genius to know what that would do to Hermione.
Viktor dove towards a small river, and Harry followed at once, both seekers accelerating all the way down. Viktor pulled up in the last second, the tips of his boots touching the water, almost causing him to crash. Harry was a fraction of a second faster with pulling up, but then flew through the spray of water Viktor's boots had thrown up. He yelled with glee. They followed the river for a few turns, almost splitting the water, so close to the surface were they flying, before a small bridge appeared in front of them. A small and very low hanging bridge. Neither of them slowed down though, or tried to fly over it, even if there was less than a foot to spare between the bridge's underside and their heads, pressed down to the broom handles.
The two wizards shot out from under the bridge and on to a small lake, where Viktor finally slowed down, stopping at the shore.
Harry joined him, a wide grin on his face. "That was great!" If all Bulgarians could train like this, it was a wonder they had lost against the Irish in the World Cup finals.
"It is a rush." Viktor agreed. The usually stoic wizard was smiling widely as well. "Though most of us prefer hunting with brooms to acrobatics."
"Hunting with brooms?"
"Yes. We chase through the forest, scare up game. Birds are never hexed; it's a matter of pride to catch them with your bare hands." Viktor grinned. "Deer is different. If you go after a deer with your wand, you're considered weak by the village, even if they will eat the meat. If you go after a deer with your bare hands and succeed, you're seen as a fool - but girls or boys will flock to you."
Harry chuckled, not sure how serious his host was.
"It is said my family - my extended family - was born on a broom. We were famous for our broom cavalry in the War of Liberation. We're still patrolling the border too, but there hasn't been a war since Grindelwald. It's a good thing, of course, but the older wizards and witches look down on us, call us 'green' and 'inexperienced'." Viktor looked at the lake in front of them, then to Harry. "Between us, I'd rather be called 'green' until I die of old age than know war."
Harry emphatically agreed with him - though with Voldemort having returned, he knew he would very likely experience war. And sooner rather than later.
His face must have betrayed his thoughts, since Viktor clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't look like that! I know what you are thinking, but your Hermione is safe. Lala is a good woman, very friendly, and will be able to answer any question she has about our village and life."
Harry smiled, though it was a bit forced. "It's just quite a new experience for us." Especially for Hermione. "Customs are different in Britain."
"Oh, yes. The year at Hogwarts was quite the experience." Viktor's face changed to a slightly wistful expression. Harry didn't feel like prying, and both rested for a few minutes on their brooms, silently gazing out over the water.
Suddenly Viktor turned to his guest again. "Let's go hunt a few ducks for supper. Impress the witches."
Harry wasn't sure Hermione would be impressed, but he was not about to decline such an offer, not on a broom and not from Viktor. Catching a bird in flight… it wasn't quite a proper seeker's duel, especially not if it was a duck, but he would give his best anyway.
*****
"And this is the manufactory where felt boots are enchanted." Lala pointed at another sturdy stone building with small windows - on the outside, inside they were quite large - but this had a small, enchanted sign showing various boots over the door.
Hermione spotted a woman in red robes leaving the building, and frowned. She had learned to discern the typical clothes of the different castes easily. "Are all the half-bloods doing the manufacturing, and the muggleborns tend to the fields and gardens?"
Lala nodded. "Mostly. Purebloods used to protect the village and serve in the army, since they had gone to Durmstrang. Half-bloods learned their craft at the school in Sofia, while the muggleborns were home-schooled in magic needed to grow crops and herbs. These days, muggleborns go to Sofia too, and the best half-bloods go to Durmstrang, and everyone learns some defensive spells, so there's some overlap, but most stick with tradition."
Hermione had noticed that the people seemed a bit less carefree than in, say, Hogsmeade. They acted more like the Gryffindors in the common room when the Weasley twins started to get excited over something - odds were the Slytherins would be suffering from whatever the two had thought of, but one could never be truly certain, or safe. "What about you?"
"Ah, I am the mistress of Apostolos Krum. I tend to the gardens and help his mother, but I'll mostly take care to the children we'll have. Once he finds a wife, that is." Lala sounded proud of her position, so Hermione didn't tell the other witch what she really thought of such a future. "What's it like at Hogwarts? Do you truly attend the same lessons as the purebloods?"
"Of course." Hermione did not like to sound arrogant, but she couldn't help adding: "I have been the best student of my year four years running now." The girl needed to know that muggleborns were as good or better than any purebloods.
"Truly? And the purebloods do not take offense?"
Hermione shrugged. "Some do, but it's their fault if they don't study hard enough." Or were fast enough on the draw. Though she had to admit, at least to herself, that if the teachers would not have cared, if the pureblood bigots like Malfoy had had free reign at school, and if she hadn't been under Harry's protection, she likely would not have been the best student of her year at Hogwarts. If she would have been at the school still. Fortunately, Hogwarts' egalitarian reputation was well-deserved, contrary to its other reputation.
"They say Hogwarts is a lesser school since it allowing muggleborns to attend it."
Hermione scoffed. "Those are ignorant. From what I could see, we did well enough against the best Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had sent, and a fourth year Hogwarts student won the Triwizard Tournament in the end."
"Yes, but that was the Boy-Who-lived, and the goblet chose him above the older students at his school."
Hermione couldn't claim Harry was not special, but at the same time she couldn't let the misconception that Hogwarts was a bad school stand. "In my experience - and I took part in both the dueling and curse-breaking competitions - there was no significant difference between the students from the three schools."
Lala nodded, but Hermione couldn't tell if the Bulgarian witch believed her, or was simply being polite. The two walked past a warded garden where magical herbs were grown. A fat cat chased a gnome past them, batting the creature around with its paws.
"Are you running the household of the Boy-Who-Lived?"
Hermione chuckled. "No, no. Outside school I am living with my parents. Harry's living with Sirius, and most of the housework is done by their elf." There was no need to mention the Dursleys. The less people knew about Harry's relatives, the safer they were.
"Wouldn't your parents want you to live with your Patron so no one can steal your position?" Lala sounded honestly concerned.
"What?" Hermione shook her head. "It's doesn't work that way. I mean, you can't just steal ... that." The Oath would prevent that.
"Veela can. They can cloud a wizard's mind, and make him forget about anyone else." Lala nodded with obvious conviction. "A witch has to be on her guard to defend her Master."
"Do you fear that Apostol would kick you out for a veela?" Hermione could understand that, somewhat, after their week at Fleur's family. It wasn't as if she hadn't had such fears herself.
"Until we've had children, that could happen."
That was touching subjects Hermione didn't want to talk or even think about. Witches also seemed to be a bit less equal in Bulgaria than in Britain, if 'mistress to a pureblood' was such a coveted position for a muggleborn witch. At least Hermione didn't think wizards had a similar option. Not that she was about to ask. She distracted Lala with questions about herbs and local animals, until it was time to return to the Krum's house for dinner.
*****
Harry was covered in feathers from a too-close catch at too-high speed, but he was laughing. Between him and Viktor - mostly Viktor, if he were honest, but the Bulgarian had far more experience - they had caught two ducks and two pigeons in edible condition and were now flying back to Krum's village at a leisurely speed. Harry pointed at the large mansion - or castle - on the hill at the edge of the village. "Is that where the head of you family lives?"
Krum nodded. "Yes. We will be visiting later this week, for the proper meeting. Things are a bit tense."
"Tense? Does he not like foreigners?" Uncle Vernon had a bit of an attitude against foreigners, mostly the French.
"No, no. It's… you've seen my father's house, right? With the money I make as a seeker, it could be bigger. But that would be seen as a challenge by those in a higher position in the family. Even expanding as we did, internally, is pushing things. I did earn the gold for it with Quidditch and many think that's not proper. The old way, the proper way to gain status, is the military. Defending the motherland. Or liberating it. But there haven't been any wars since Grindelwald."
"And you don't like wars."
"Yes. So, inviting the Boy-Who-Lived will also be seen as trying to reach for a higher position. Even though it was the proper thing to do, to return your hospitality."
"Cursed if you do, cursed if you don't."
"Yes. And I'd rather do something, than do nothing. In life as in Quidditch."
Harry agreed with that. Hermione might call him impatient at times, but he too felt doing something was better than doing nothing - usually. Sometimes it wasn't.
*****
A few hours later, doing nothing seemed to be the best course of action. Hermione was pacing in Harry's room and ranting while he was sitting on the bed, which was more than large enough to accommodate two people, or so Sirius had told him. Fortunately, his friend had cast a few privacy spells on the room before she exploded.
"And did you know that the muggleborns have to wear different clothes? That they think becoming the broodmare for a pureblood, producing half-blood servants, is one of the best lives a girl could have?" Hermione didn't give him time to answer. "And the jobs they can get are also separated by castes! At least in Britain, you can't tell if a person is a muggleborn, half-blood or pureblood simply by looking at their clothes, job or house!"
"Unless they are rich." Harry quipped, then winced when his best friend glared at him. "Sorry."
"And did you know that my most impressive achievement according to the village muggleborns is not being the best student in our year four years running, nor helping to kill a basilisk or placing well in competitions against students two to three years my senior? No, the villagers are impressed because I became the kept woman of a pureblood wizard before I even took my O.W.L.s!"
"But you didn't." Not that Harry would have minded terribly if that had happened. He wanted to take care of her, provide for all her needs, Oath or no Oath.
"That's beside the point!" Hermione was standing in front of him, chest heaving, gesticulating wildly. Her hair had mostly thrown off the charms she had cast on it in the morning and was forming a wild, frizzy mane. Harry thought she looked cute and passionate. "And I can't even talk at the table without causing a scandal!" she spit out.
"It's just a week. Weve been through worse."
Hermione sighed and sat down next to him, then closed her eyes and leaned back, stretching out on the bed. Harry didn't stare at how that stretched the fabric over her chest. Much. "I know. It's still frustrating. I can hardly believe Viktor turned out so nice in such a country."
Harry frowned, unseen by his friend. Viktor was a great wizard and seeker, but he wasn't that nice. Or great.
"I am almost tempted to simply stay the entire time in your room, just so I don't blow up at anyone."
Harry had been about to reach over and pat Hermione's thigh reassuringly, but froze upon hearing that. "Ah…"
"Err…" Hermione hid her face with her hands.
"I know what you meant." Harry chuckled.
"Prat."
Harry grinned at her. "Feeling better?"
"I'll survive the night."
"My door's always open for you, night or day, you know." That earned him a pillow to the head. "Ah… I think your mind went into the gutter to take offense at my innocent offer…" That caused his friend to send every pillow in the room at him until he was pushed off the bed. But she was feeling better again.
*****
Dardan Curri studied the village through his enchanted glasses. Night had fallen, and most villagers would be at their homes. The target, the so-called Boy-Who-Lived, was staying in the house of Viktor Krum. It didn't look like much, just another house in that backwards village. Quidditch had to pay less than he had thought, if Krum couldn't afford a bigger one. Not that he minded; it would make the task of his men easier.
"I still say we should ambush the boy when he is out on his broom." Ernir Prifti was complaining again. If he wasn't Dardan's cousin he'd have hexed him twice already.
"Have you seen how he flies? Or have you slept through the last two days? You want to try to ambush him when he can be out of reach in seconds? We have to catch him in their home, where he cannot simply flee."
"He's just a boy." Ernir sounded like a boy right then too.
"A boy who can fly. Better than you."
And there was no comeback for that. Everyone in the family knew that Ernir had lost two brooms to accidents as a kid.
Dardan looked at the rest of his band. Twenty wizards, unfortunately not all related to him, but even so he could trust them - within limits. All were dressed like Turks. Their employer had insisted on that, to make it appear that slavers from the Ottoman Empire were behind the attack. The Albanian mercenary was fine with that. As it happened, he'd be fine with making a bit more gold by kidnapping suitable witches or wizards for the markets in Constantinople as well. The boy wouldn't have any need for his mistress once he was dead, after all.
"Attacking a Bulgarian village with only 20 wands is not a good idea." Leka Xhepa, the other annoyance. That wizard wasn't related to Dardan, but he knew the land, unlike Dardan himself, who had mostly plied his trade in the western parts of the Mediterranean, and Greece. Easier targets, no chance to start a blood feud, but Bulgarians couldn't be that much tougher than Greeks. Leka had done well enough guiding them past the patrols, but he obviously lacked the spine a successful mercenary had to have. Dardan needed him too, though, but if the wizard would not shut up after they were done...
"We'll be done before they know what's happening, our distraction will make sure of that." It was a good plan. Set a field or two or a barn ablaze, on the other end of the village, watch the villagers run around like headless chickens, then strike at your real target. The house was heavily warded, but fiendfyre wouldn't care about the wards and force them out, as long as floo and apparition were blocked. And anyone trying to fly out the few small windows would get a spell to the face. And if it was Krum… well, Dardan had lost quite a sum betting on Bulgaria at the World Cup. Krum owed him.
He checked his watch, taken from his first kidnapping victim, 15 years ago. The enchantment was not weakening, showing the time despite the darkness.
"It's time. You know what to do. Ahmed, set fire to the fields and barn. Ernir, once you see the flames, cast the jinxes to block the floo and apparition. The rest of you - surround the target house while disillusioned, and hex anyone that looks like Potter. Go!"
*****
In the middle of the night Hermione was woken when her torc vibrated - Harry needed her! She had her wand in hand before she was fully awake. The young witch threw off her nightshirt, grabbed her robe and slipped into her shoes, then stormed out of her 'official room' while the enchanted garment was still closing itself around her body. She should have slept in Harry's room!
Viktor was waiting at the foot of the stairs leading to the upper floor. She almost ran past him but spotted Harry descending the stairs. The two exchanged a look and smile, then Harry turned to Viktor and Hermione stepped behind her Patron, satisfaction filling her - she was at his side, where she belonged, ready to protect him. Sirius and Nymphadora, both not completely dressed, joined them. Hermione didn't comment while their robes adjusted themselves, but noted that her own enchantments had been as fast, or close to.
"The village is on alert. Someone set fire to the fields in the west." Viktor explained. "My family has gone out to help."
"We can help as well. We've got some experience with fire, after all." Harry stated. Hermione didn't think it was funny, even if Sirius chuckled. She still had some nightmares about the last task. And Harry had them as well, even if he managed to joke about it.
Viktor shook his head. "You're our guests, it is our duty to protect you, not send you into harm's way."
"As your guests and as your friends we are bound to help you." Harry countered. Hermione felt that staying where it was safe was far more reasonable, but held her tongue. She knew Harry wouldn't see her point.
Before Viktor could respond the house shook and he jerked. "That was the fire ward… overloaded, but how… it's not… Baba Yaga's dancing hut, it must be fiendfyre!"
That sent a chill down Hermione's spine. Cursed fire, born of dark magic, consuming everything in its wake, often the caster too, until it burned itself out - it was the stuff of nightmares. Her nightmares, after the fourth task. The protective enchantments on her and Harry's robes wouldn't do much, if anything, against fiendfyre! She started to tremble. "We need to get out before it burns down the house, Harry!" She tugged on his arm and tried to pull him towards the floo, they needed to get away from the fire!
"I just tried to apparate two meters. It did not work. Assume floo travel is blocked as well." Nymphadora's statement made Hermione freeze up again. The young muggleborn witch was close to hyperventilating. Caught in a burning house, cursed fire coming closer and closer… Harry needed her help, she had to make sure he was safe! Suddenly, she started to calm down. She didn't know how, but she was not panting anymore, nor was she shaking with fright. Purpose filled her. She had to protect her Patron, she could not afford to fail him because she was too weak to do anything.
"Death Eater tactics." Sirius's voice was grim, no trace of the usual humor audible. "Summon your bags." Hermione and Harry obeyed, summoning their mokeskin bags. The clothes in the chests and armoires would be lost, but they could be easily replaced with Sirius's money.
Harry's godfather meanwhile had stepped to the wall next to a window. He conjured a block of stone, then transformed it into a head that looked like him and levitated it to the window. Both the window and the head were shattered by an explosive curse right away, showering him with splinters that were deflected by the enchantments on his robes. "Definitely Death Eater tactics." More spells followed, forcing the group to move away from their original position.
Hermione heard a crack and roar, and felt the air brush past her, from the now open window to the entrance. Smoke, not fire usually killed people, she knew that. "Bubblehead charms!" she said, and cast one herself. Everyone followed her example.
"The front door just got consumed by fiendfyre." Viktor confirmed what she had feared. "We need to signal the other villagers."
"They can't really miss a burning house." Sirius looked grim, but kept his wand pointed at the broken window.
"But they might take too much time to reach us. The fields are quite a way from us."
Nymphadora interrupted them. "Shut up and listen. Harry - you and Hermione use your cloak. Sirius, Viktor - disillusion yourself. I'll distract the ones out front, Sirius blows up the back door, and then you three flee with your brooms through the upper windows. Open enough so they cannot cover all of them." The young auror's tone broke no dissent.
Viktor tried it anyway. "You're my guests! I…"
"Shut up, we are running out of time! Do what I say, now!" Nymphadora yelled at him, then turned towards the entrance hall, which was by now filled with fiendfyre. The cursed fire seemed to be alive, monstrous forms made of flames appearing and striking at furniture and walls, turning tapestries and portraits to ashes in seconds. If the expansion charms started to fail… Hermione had a sudden vision of the house being filled with too much furniture for its natural space. They would be crushed, and even if they survived that, they'd be trapped, stuck helplessly in the debris while the fire burned its way towards them…
"Do it!" Sirius yelled, then started for the kitchen where the backdoor was located.
Cursing, Viktor led Harry and Hermione upstairs, summoning his own broom at the same time. They had barely reached a window when they heard screaming from Nymphadora "Get out, get out!", followed by the sound of a cannon blast going off. It was so loud, Hermione expected the house to shake even though it was no real explosion.
Another blast - Sirius. Viktor stopped cursing under his breath, and blew out all the windows in the hallway before mounting his Blitzschlag and fading from view. Hermione felt Harry's arm around her, then she was pulled behind him. "Get on the broom!"
She complied, wrapping her arms around him. He draped his invisibility cloak over both of them. Various spells hit the windows that had blown open, some striking the walls behind them, others the frames. One blew a hole in the wall large enough to walk through, which drew more spells from below.
They were standing still for a second, and Hermione could hear the crackling, hissing cursed fire, closer than she wanted. Smoke was filling the hallway, and screams could be heard outside, followed by explosions. Then Harry kicked off and they shot towards a window.
"Protego!" a blue shield appeared in front of them, barely in time to stop and be shattered by a curse that would have struck them otherwise. Then the two were out of the window. Hermione felt a tingling sensation, they were passing a ward. For a moment something seemed to ripple around them, blue sparks outlining them despite their invisibility cloak, then they were past it and the sparks disappeared. A failed anti-disillusion ward? Such things usually defeated invisibility cloaks easily. She had no time to dwell on that though.
The young witch had to hold on to Harry for dear life, wishing she had had the presence of mind to cast a sticking charm beforehand, since Harry went into one crazy turn after another, dodging spells that were sent at the window they had flown through, or simply into the air. More spells crossed each other on the ground below. The attackers didn't seem to see through the cloak though, and soon they were in the clear. Harry stopped the Firebolt hundreds of meters above the village, giving them a good view of the fight and fire below. Several spells, brightly colored, were flying around - the villagers must have returned.
"Sirius…" Harry whispered, barely loud enough for Hermione to overhear. then, louder he said: "I'll drop you at a safe distance with the cloak. I'll have to help Sirius."
Hermione was furious. Her Patron wanted to risk his life, and leave her? "Don't be stupid! You fly, I cast, we give Sirius air cover. You're not leaving me alone!"
Harry was silent for a moment, tense. Hermione waited. Would he order her to wait? If he did... Then the wizard slouched a bit, sighing. He held her left hand, which was gripping the front of his robe, for a moment, squeezing it gently. "OK."
Despite the fact that they would be facing Dark Wizards, Hermione felt jubilant. Her Patron, her friend, trusted her to fight at his side. Then Harry dove at the burning house, and it was all she could do not to scream. They wouldn't enter the house, wouldn't get too close to that terrible fire either, she told herself...
*****
Dardan was cursing. The fight was not going as planned. Those damn villagers were attacking instead of fleeing, and the maniacs inside the burning house were still not all dead. Someone hit him with a piercing curse from the side, but the protections on his transfigured robes stopped most of it, and the small blow it managed to deal to him still didn't stop him from returning a curse at the man who had attacked him. The villager went down with a scream - the poor fool had no protective robes, and his shield shattered under the spell. Dardan's own protections were spent now though, or that curse wouldn't have touched him at all. Until they were restored, he had to trust his shield and seek cover.
Ernir was dead already, hit by some dark curse that strangled him with his own entrails. His mother would be weeping once Dardan told her. Leka was gone - maybe dead, more likely having fled. Ahmed the fool had chased a large black dog that had simply been trying to flee, and had gotten mauled for his stupidity. At least the screams had sounded like that was happening.
The rest of his men were holding their own though. Three quarters of his remaining wands held the villagers at bay, the rest were reducing the damned house to rubble and ashes. At least he was reasonably sure about that - it wasn't as if he could see all his men, with them having to spread out to cover the house as well as all approaches for the villagers. Or trying to - it was remarkably tough, far more than a peasant's house had any right to be. Almost like a fortress or castle.
And Potter was still inside, casting at them regularly. No one else but the Boy-Who-Lived could have such infernal luck. But it would run out soon enough, a few minutes, at most, and the house would collapse. Already some expansion charms had failed, he had seen the rippling effects, had felt the sudden increase in heat when the fire had gotten more fuel at once. Soon the upper floor where the boy was moving around would collapse and he would burn. There was no way out - they had gotten his broom, and the wards defeated his disillusion spells. "Don't let up, remember the gold!" he shouted, aided by a Sonorous Charm, before sending another cutting curse at a witch in a white robe who had gotten a bit too close. She went down as well. Unprepared fools.
He took a step to the side, trampling some night-active herb that tried to grasp his boots, and crouched down behind a transfigured rock to cover his back while he watched the house. There! Movement on the upper floor! He sent another explosive curse at the wall covering the boy, and was rewarded with a scream. Yes! Another curse should finish the boy off, or take out the floor and send him into the inferno on the ground floor…
Before he could cast though the earth around him exploded, and he was flung through the air. Dazed, he got up on one knee, pointing his wand around. Who had cast… then something stepped out of the darkness and he froze with fear. Red eyes and white teeth, fur darker than pitch black. It hadn't been a dog Ahmed had chased! It was a grim, the messenger of death himself! Before Dardan could cast, or flee, or even move again, the monster pounced. His wand and hand were crushed between those terrible jaws, and he screamed, trying to break free with increasing desperation.
When the grim released his mangled hand he felt elation, hope despite the pain from his wounds. He would live! Before he could get his portkey though the monster leaped at him again. Paws landed on his chest, pushing him back. He staggered over the rubble behind him, lost his balance and fell down. Dardan didn't understand why the grim was not attacking again, just standing there, until he saw the cursed fire licking at his robes and boots. Then he felt the heat on his skin, smelt his hair burning, saw his robe melting on his legs, and started to scream. The Albanian almost missed the grim changing into a wizard and smiling at him, before the shape-changer's curse tore out his entrails.
*****
Nymphadora Black-Tonks was done for, she knew that. Not even John McClane would be able to escape from this. She was on the first floor of a burning house, whose expansion charms were failing one after another, shaking the walls and even foundations. Fiendfyre had turned the entire ground floor in an inferno and was now following the damned wood paneling up to the floor she was on. She could barely see anything inside the house, and outside a bunch of Death Eaters was waiting for her to show herself so they could curse her again.
Not that she could move much, not anymore, not even using her metamorphmagus talent. Shifting from one form to another had helped with the first wounds she had taken, but she couldn't work miracles. She was back to her own form now, for all the good it did her. The young auror had lost her broom, and almost her life, when she had tried to escape through a window early in the fight, to be caught by spells crossing her path, driving her back.
At least the bubblehead charm was still working and she had some cover left. The spells reinforcing the walls were very strong, or the house would have imploded or exploded long ago. Though given the fate waiting for her, maybe dropping the charm would be a good choice. She might suffocate to death before the fire reached her and burned her alive. At least the children had gotten out. Her parents would be devastated, but she had known this could happen when she signed up for auror training.
The auror looked at the tattered remains of her robe. Top of the line, a gift from her mother for her graduation. Expensive as hell, but it had saved her life multiple times this evening. Though in the end it had not been enough. She coughed, pain stabbing her chest, and for a moment she wondered if her bubblehead charm had failed. No, the air was still clean and cool. The charm was still working. It was her lungs that were not working right anymore, she was coughing blood. Maybe she would die before the flames reached her. Or not - the house shook again, and the floor started to tilt beneath her. Slowly at first but gaining speed she felt herself sliding down, towards the cursed fire on the ground floor. She tried to scream, but her lungs were not cooperating.
Then she was yanked up and into the air, away from the inferno raging below her. The last thing she saw before she passed out from the pain that filled her was Viktor fucking Krum sitting on his broom with his wand pointed at her while spells splashed against his shield.
*****
Harry stood next to Viktor, staring at the remains of the star seeker's house. All that was left of it were ashes and still smoking rubble. The fiendfyre had spread too quickly for anything to be saved. Harry didn't say anything - what could he say that would not sound empty and stupid?
The house was not even the worst loss the family had suffered. Lala was dead, killed by a cutting curse when she had tried to reach the house to cast the same flame-extinguishing charms she had used on the fields before. More bodies were found all over the battlefield. Most of them belonged to the bandits, but there were dead villagers too. More had been wounded - over a dozen were in the hospital in Sofia, suffering from dark curses or complicated wounds or both. Nymphadora was among them. The auror was alive, though Harry didn't know how. Probably some metamorphmagus ability. There had been so much blood, if not for that potion from Viktor...
Harry felt an arm slip around his waist, and a body press into his side. Hermione. She like him was still covered in soot, her hair was a mess, but she was unharmed. Like Sirius. His godfather was in Sofia, arranging an international portkey back to London via Vienna and Paris. It did not feel right to leave the Krums, not after that night, but Harry couldn't do much, couldn't do anything here, and staying would only cause his godfather, and his retainer, to worry. And they had been through more than enough already.
Harry glanced at the bodies lined up nearby, then looked away again. Some of them had been maimed by teeth and fangs, the work of Sirius's animagus form. Harry didn't know how to feel about that. It was one thing to send curses or transfigured animals at an enemy, but to bite and savage them as an animal? Sirius's robes had been covered with blood when he had ranted at Harry and Hermione for returning to the battle before hugging them. Harry hoped he could look at his godfather again without remembering that scene too vividly.
"Is it weird that I can only think that it was a good thing that we had not yet built a bigger house?" Viktor asked without averting his gaze from the ruins.
"You're still in shock, it's a normal reaction." Hermione pointed out, probably glad to find something to distract herself as well.
"I see."
The three stood there in silence again.
"Thank you for saving Nymphadora." Harry had to say something before it became unbearable.
"What kind of man would I be to leave her to die?" Viktor's voice was still lacking any emotion. Still in shock. Like himself, Harry thought, and like Hermione. He felt numb, and guilty. They had fought, and probably killed last night. Casting from the air, under his father's cloak, at night. It was as far from the heroic tales one found in books, even in history books sometimes, as one could get without poisoning someone's food or drink. And yet the bandits had deserved it. They had come to kill them. He didn't know why they had done it. Slavers used similar tactics to flush their victims out, Viktor's father had told them, but these attackers had been going for the kill.
They had deserved it, and even those who had been taken alive would likely be executed for their crimes, and yet... Harry's excuses and reasons didn't help with the guilt he felt. When he closed his eyes he still saw men exploding, burning, getting cut. Hermione must be feeling the same, he knew. He had failed her. Failed to protect her. He should have ordered her to remain safe, and yet, if he had done so, he knew he would have hurt her even worse than she had to be hurting now. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't, indeed.
Hermione's voice addressing Viktor shook him from his morbid thoughts. "If you saved Nymphadora, does she owe you a life debt now?"
That made both Viktor and Harry turn their attention to the young witch. Harry didn't know what Viktor muttered in response, but he was sure it was not printable.
*****
"What do you have for us?" auror Kenneth Fenbrick asked when he walked into the office he shared with his partner, Bertha Limmington.
"Remember that attack on Viktor Krum and Harry Potter last week?" She didn't look up from whatever she was reading. Typical.
"I've read about it. Wasn't that in Bulgaria? Turkish 'bandits', fiendfyre and killing curses, open and shut case?" Kenneth sat down on the edge of her desk, smirking when he saw her frown. She hated that. Just as he disliked her not fully paying attention to him.
"The Bulgarian aurors finished interrogating the surviving attackers. They were Albanians mostly, not Turks, and were specifically hired to kill the Boy-Who-Lived. By a wizard with a British accent." Now she looked up at him, her expression as serious as usual.
Kenneth whistled. "That's bound to make some waves. Do you think it's the same wizard who tried to sabotage the tournament?"
His partner nodded. "It would fit. The accent could be faked, but the DoM identified the robe as the custom work of Madam Malkin thanks to pensieve memories of the meeting with our mystery wizard the Bulgarians sent us. Apparently the kind of self-cleaning charm that was triggered when he spilled a drink on himself is distinctive in its effect. Something about a 'flower pattern' for the effect."
Kenneth closed his eyes and held up his finger. "I've got a vision! I see us two, heading to Madam Malkin's, getting a list of her customers, and then working through the list, asking annoyed rich wizard after annoyed rich wizard where they have been two or three weeks ago. How am I doing as a seer?" He grinned at the witch.
"It's standard procedure." His partner still had not found her missing sense of humor.
Sighing, he stood up. "Let's get to it then."
*****
Six hours later, Kenneth was sure he would have been better off as a seer. They had gotten a dozen names from the tailor shop, each one richer and more arrogant and more annoying than the other. They were up to number five on the list now, and if he had not been sure Bertha would arrest him without hesitation, Kenneth would have hexed a couple already and claimed they were resisting arrest or obstructing justice or something.
Number five, or Malcolm Branwick, seemed to be a difficult one too. Not surprisingly - he had admitted having supported the Death Eaters in the last war with gold, if not his wand, but had claimed he had been forced to after the war was over. Like so many others. Kenneth shook his head and used the door knocker again. He heard the gong inside go off, but no one came to open the door. He exchanged a glance with his partner. Branwick was too rich not to have a house elf who'd answer the door even if he was absent. If the elf was not opening the door, then he or she would have been ordered not to…
"In the name of the Ministry, open this door for the aurors!"
Kenneth rolled his eyes at Bertha. "This sounds so pompous."
"It's the official command."
They waited a few minutes, as per standard procedure. "I am calling it in. We'll need a curse-breaker team to deal with the wards." Kenneth sighed. More paperwork. But he didn't fancy breaking into the house of an old family, not with wards still up. That was a nasty way to commit suicide.
Bertha nodded. "We can go ask number six on the list while they work."
Kenneth sighed. So much for taking a break while the curse-breaking boys worked. Then he blinked. Had that been the hint of a smile on his partner's face? He narrowed his eyes, but Bertha was not showing anything but her usual determination now.
*****
They had finished with number six when the curse-breakers were done. It had been amusing, for Kenneth at least. That rich old wizard had been hitting on his partner without any subtlety or shame, referring to his wealth and influence in every sentence, but he had stayed so clearly within the borders of politeness and traditions that Bertha had had to endure it with a forced smile. And for the last ten minutes after they had left she had twitched each time Kenneth had mentioned 'gold' 'old family' or 'good breeding'. Life was good.
When they reached the door, he grew serious though and drew his wand. One never knew what awaited an auror in a suspect's house, and that went double for the mansions of the old families. The rumors he had heard about the cleaning of Grimmauld Place 12 were enough to send shivers down his spine. Only a madman would want to live in such a place - but then, Sirius Black had spent a decade in Azkaban, he was bound to be crazy, and the Boy-Who-Lived was suicidal judging by how he flew in a Quidditch match, or so his nephew had told him.
"DMLE, Aurors Fenbrick and Limmington! We're coming in with wands drawn!" he shouted before he pushed the door open with a spell. No curse flew out, so he quickly ducked around the door frame and took a look inside. A small body caught his attention in the middle of the entrance hall. "We've got a stunned or dead house elf here."
Bertha nodded, and both stepped inside. No trap triggered, no one seemed to notice them. No portraits even. The house elf was dead, cutting curse to the throat. That was not good news. They proceeded with even more caution. Fifteen minutes later they had cleared the ground floor. The mansion was inhabited, the pantry well-stocked, the rooms clear. "Upstairs."
Kenneth nodded and took point. His partner was a stick in the mud, but she was still his partner, and he was better in a duel, so it fell to him to go in front. If only she would reward such bravery and gallantry properly! If she had been a Gryffindor instead of such a Ravenclaw…
Upstairs the door to the room overlooking the street was ajar. Kenneth stepped up and again took a quick glance inside. "Someone's at the desk, slumped over." he informed Bertha. Both entered carefully, taking care not to disturb anything. There was a bottle on the desk, and an empty glass next to it.
"It's Peruvian Chameleon Viper poison, at least according to the label." He looked at his partner.
"Such a viper was used in a failed attack during the third task." She was not a Ravenclaw for nothing.
On the desk were notes with Potter's traveling schedule, contact addresses in Albania and a payment note from Gringotts, for gold transferred to Tirana.
"That looks pretty damning." Maybe a bit too damning, Kenneth thought. "But who killed him?"
"It could be suicide. He realized we were onto him, and would be able to match his schedule to the traveling done by the instigator. That would mean he'd be interrogated with veritaserum." Bertha speculated.
"He could have fled." Kenneth would have, in his place.
"I checked with the tax collectors while you were taking a break. He would have lost most of his fortune if he fled, it was tied up in land and buildings. Easy to confiscate. Hard to move."
Kenneth nodded. Many of the richest purebloods would rather die than become poor. Or so he heard often enough. "Plausible enough. Let's see what else we can find out."
*****
Albus Dumbledore sighed, looking at the headlines of the Daily Prophet. "Saboteur found, killed himself!" It looked like Harry would dominate the front pages for another week, just when the frenzy of articles covering the attack in Bulgaria had started to fade. The boy would be hounded in public again. Worse even, with the saboteur apparently found, the security measures taken by the Ministry would be relaxed, or even lifted completely. Everyone liked a neatly solved case. Even the Order members would not remain as vigilant as they should be. And Albus couldn't say anything without tipping off Voldemort that he was aware of his return.
"Well played, Tom." He raised a lemon drop in a mocking salute before popping it into his mouth.
Chapter 15: Consequences
