Welcome to Bulgaria
Varna, Bulgaria – 12:15 (UTC+3)
- and she dropped to the floor, on her hands and knees, and promptly vomitted on the floor, face hidden by the curtain of her hair. Beside her, she heard a forlorn yowl, more retching, and smelled partially digested fish as Crookshanks vomitted too. The smell hit her nose, and she found herself vomitting again.
Hermione just knelt there for a few seconds, dry heaving. This was quite possibly the most mortifying thing that had ever happened to her.
Her hair had swung forward when she puked, and there was vomit in her hair, she could see- and smell - it swinging in front of her. Maybe she could just stay on the floor forever. Never have to show her face again.
Her head was pounding and dizzy, her empty stomach and she could hear Crookshanks grumbling plaintively, and bloody hell, why couldn’t she use her wand again? She reached over and opened the carrier door, and Crooks tumbled himself out, cat footing disdainfully around the vomit in his carrier.
“Moga li da vi pomogna?” someone said above her in a language that Hermione hoped was Bulgarian. Oh bloody hell, what if in her hurry, she’d taken the wrong portkey? Was there more than one portkey leaving Vienna? Oh, this is why Hermione hated rushing!
“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” Hermione replied, voice shaky as she pushed herself upright and swayed, stumbling. She heard a hard exclamation of a word that sounded like it might be a curse, and someone caught her.
She looked up and found herself staring into the dark brown eyes of a wizard. He was maybe a few years older than her, with tanned warm-toned skin and dark brown, almost black hair, sunstreaked lighter at the top. He had the kind of body that would make Lavender rip his picture out of a magazine, giggle and call him very fit, and despite rather prominent nose, his face was strongly, if austerely good-looking. She felt that flutter of attraction that never meant good things, she’d sworn strictly off of crushes after Lockhart. Oh, Merlin, forget what she’d just thought. NOW she’d never been more embarrassed in her life. At least she’d never have to see him again, and she could just pretend this never happened.
“Can I help you?” he asked, in flawless, concerned German, far less accented than her own. “Can I escort you to a bench? Can I help you clean up?”
Hermione nodded, overwhelmed, and then remembering something from one of her library books – Bulgarians nodded for no- forced out, absolutely mortified, “Please, if you could help -” she gestured to the cat, the vomit on the floor, “I still have the trace.”
Mercifully, he didn’t ask any more questions, just vanished the vomit from the floor and the cat carrier with some impressively wordless magic (this was completely unfair, he was not just attractive, and kind, but magically talented, too, and she met him like this?), then carefully, checking her face for permission as he raised the wand to her face, vanished it from her hair, her jacket, her face. Oh, Merlin, this was mortifying.
“Ministry portkeys are awful – no one uses them if they can help it,” he said in a low, sympathetic voice. “Come, can I take your trunk and help you sit down, out of the way of the next arrivals?”
He grabbed her trunk with one hand, and wrapped a supportive arm around her waist as he led her to the bench on the side of the hall and helped her to sit. “Rest your head back against the wall and close your eyes, it helps,” he advised, and Hermione did just that. With a “mrrpt” Crooks jumped up and settled himself on her lap. Crooks leaned against her stomach, and the warmth of him helped ground her.
“Can I get you water?” the wizard asked, sitting beside her.
“No, thank you. I don’t think I could handle anything right now.”
“How about a tooth cleaning charm?” he asked.
Could this day get any more embarrassing? But honestly, it was her pride versus getting that awful taste out of her mouth, and her pride lost. “If you could,” she squeaked.
He pointed his wand at her mouth and murmured a charm, and her mouth felt fresh, like she’d just gotten a cleaning at her parents’ clinic, but without any minty aftertaste.
“Danke schön,” she said, heartfeltedly.
“And your cat, too?”
It hadn’t occurred to her, and she felt like a terrible cat owner in that moment, but she nodded her permission, and he repeated the charm on Crookshanks, who reared his head back, looking momentarily offended, before settling with the beginnings of a purr, a miracle after the morning they’d had.
“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the seat beside her, and Hermione nodded.
He sat down on the bench beside her, and seemed content to just wait while she put her head back against the wall again, and closed her eyes, resting. Her head still felt too odd, and Hermione still felt too awkward to attempt a conversation.
She was interrupted from her rest by a strident female voice alternating between Bulgarian and German and a babble of defensive voices, and looked up.
“My aunt,” her rescuer said, rather fondly. “She’s terrifying when she wants to be. We were supposed to meet someone on the 12:30 portkey, and it looks like she missed the portkey.”
Oh. So it was possible for this day to get worse. Well, Hermione Jean Granger, you’re a Gryffindor. Time to prove it.
Hermione sat up and attempted to regain her dignity.
“Is your aunt Frau Dobrenova?”
“Yes. Oh! Are you Frau Granger?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Lelyo!” he yelled.
The woman stomped over, and he stood.
“Lélya, this is Frau Granger,” he introduced , politely speaking German for Hermione’s benefit . “It seems she was on the earlier portkey from Vienna, not Prague.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Iskra Dobrenova said. She was a tall and energetic woman in her mid-60s. Her hair was long, dark, and streaked with silver, pulled back into a loose braid at the back of her head. She was maybe a touch plump, and had a presence and energy that seemed to command all the attention in the room. “The desk-wizard will be relieved to hear that, I was quite worried when you didn’t arrive. Severus’s letter had quite clearly stated you were on the 12:30 from Prague.”
“ I’m very pleased to meet you, Frau Dobrenova,” Hermione said, forcing herself to stand and offer her hand to shake politely despite how it made her head spin. “ There was an issue with my portkey from London,” Hermione said. “They cancelled the portkey to Prague, so I ended up here by way of Paris, Berlin, and Vienna.”
“They cancelled your portkey?!” Frau Dobrenova exclaimed. “The British ministry grows more incompetent by the day, I swear. I don’t know how I will survive this summer. I told Severus to get you a direct ticket, but apparently the ministry isn’t arranging them right now, and Ganna defend you if you suggest making a private portkey in Britain. ”
“I think they needed the spot for a different trip, and I was the only passenger.”
“So they sent you on a grand European tour, instead of simply creating a personal portkey, as is standard in any civilized country. Bah! What is that, four portkeys? It’s a wonder you didn’t fall over midway . Was this your first portkey? Severus said you were muggleborn. Did you pack anti-nausea tabs? Here, I brought some.” Hermione watched her dig in her bag, and pull out a small tin, and offered one.
Hermione took one gratefully, and chewed it. The taste of fennel hit her tongue, and the na u sea faded almost instantly. “ I think I may live now. T hank you.”
“ I see you’ve met my nephew, Viktor,” Frau Dobrenova said, elbowing him.
“Frau Granger, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the wizard -Viktor- said. She looked into his eyes and held out a hand. He shook her hand firmly, his hand warm against hers, then released it. Suddenly, he was handing her a small bouquet she somehow hadn’t noticed. Hermione took it reflexivel y. There were five yellow roses with ruffled petals that blushed to coral at the edges , highly fragrant, and a few clips of something green. They smelled heavenly. “ Welcome to Bulgaria.”
“ Hermione, please. U m m – thank you. They’re beautiful. ” Hermione said, smiling shyly . She’d never been given flowers before. She’d always thought it was a rather silly custom, but felt a thoroughly unexpected flutter of happiness in her stomach to receive them, and oh, Merlin, was she blushing?
“They’re from my garden,” Frau Dobrenova said cheerfully. “Bulgaria is famed for our roses, and they’re a bit of a hobby. Come, if you’re feeling better, let’s get acquainted over lunch. Viktor- take Frau Granger’s trunk, and the cat carrier. This lovely boy can walk himself, I think.” Viktor shrunk Hermione’s trunk and cat carrier and picked them up. “Let’s go,” she said.
///
Hermione looked around as they followed Frau Dobrenova, boots clicking on the polished stone floor and Crookshanks silently padding beside her. The ceiling was tall and coffered, with tall arched windows covered in diagonal, crossing bars, and warm plaster walls with ornate cornices . The ancient carved dark wooden doors flipped open automatically as Frau Dobrenova approached. Outside, the sun was shining and the sky was blue and cloudless.
She led Hermione and Viktor down time-worn stone steps. They were in the midst of a large, open round area centred around with wide radiating cobblestone roads coming off like the spokes of a wheel, flanked with ancient stone buildings. Many of the newer buildings had domed roofs, and Hermione was reminded about the book she’d read, where they’d mentioned the influence of the Ottomans on Bulgarian architecture. She itched to stop and take a better look, but Frau Dobrenova marched on.
At the centre of the circle was a fountain in a wide basin and a couple of children played in the water, splashing each other while adults, presumably their parents, sat on the rim. Based on the odd clothin g, men in robes, and lack of cars, it was definitely a wizarding-district. She pulled off her coat and swung it over her arm, then peeled off her jumper, too. The coat, perfect for rainy London was definitely too much for early July in sunny Bulgaria.
Frau Dobrenova took them to the patio of an outdoor restaurant, gesturing for Hermione to sit at a square metal table with four chairs and a large red umbrella.
“Now – what would you like?” she asked. “Salad to start?”
“I’ve never had Bulgarian food before,” Hermione said. “I’ll probably enjoy whatever you suggest, I love trying new foods.”
“Good, good. This is my favourite place to eat in Varna, it’s always good, especially in the summer, and near to the stadium, too.” The waiter came over and Frau Dobrenova and Viktor conferred with him in Bulgarian, not even bothering to open a menu. He bustled away, and Frau Dobrenova turned to Hermione.
“ I understand you’ve just finished a busy third year? What were your favourite courses ?”
“Oh, that’s impossible to say . I’d have said Charms last year, I think. But I really like Runes and Arithmancy, and I’m not sure which I’d choose this year. And I love Transfiguration, of course, and our Defense professor was wonderful this year, and I enjoy Potions.”
“ Where have you studied in Runes and Arithmancy?”
“This year we covered Elder Futhark ruins, and started working on phrases and positioning. In arithmancy we’re working on basic numerology principles, and have done simple calculations.”
“Have you covered warding at all?”
Hermione worried her lip. Oh, no, was she supposed to have? “No, I’m afraid not. I know it was mentioned in our textbook in 1 st year Defense , but it’s not come up in any of our classes. I’ve read a bit, because I was curious, but it’s not been in the curriculum.”
“ I see. Well, warding could in some ways be considered creating a permanent charm, linked usually to a structure. Wards may also differ from charms in that they can be set up to draw power from sources beyond the caster and their wand. Ward ing and ritual magic are often heavily entwined, with the largest difference being warding tends to cover objects and structures, and ritual magic, living things. I think Hogwarts doesn’t cover ritual magic?”
“No, not at all.”
“ Pity. At higher levels, it becomes hard to separate out warding, charms, and ritual magic. And of course, Runes and Arithmancy work support it all, particularly warding and rituals . Have you looked at the arithmancy of locations? ”
“ Oh ! I was just reading about that before the end of term. I thought I’d be in France this summer, so I was reading An Arithmantic Atlas o f Alsace. It was mentioning that you can use arithmancy to find the most potent sites for a potential activity, but also that you can use the arithmatic identity of a location to better-fit the wards to the site. I planned to look through the library in the fall to find more references about that.” Hermione found herself rambling, and forced herself to shut her mouth. Of course Frau Dobrenova, the renowned wardcrafter, knew that!
“If you help me this summer, I don’t think you’ll need to look in the library , that’s exactly what we’ll be doing. Both spatial and temporal calculations to check and improve the warding.”
The waiter returned and put plates in front of them, a salad of chopped tomatos, cucumbers and some sort of white cheese, and glasses and bottles of sparkling water. Frau Doloheva dug in, and Hermione and Viktor followed suit. The flavours burst on her tongue, subtle and fresh.
“This is delicious!” Hermione said. “One thing I miss when I’m at Hogwarts is vegetables. The food is pretty traditional, and I don’t think I’m not sure if I have ever seen a salad. I think if it wasn’t for the stairs, they’d have to roll us down the halls.”
“Durmstrang’s similar,” Viktor said. “I miss Bulgarian food when I’m there. I’ll be happy if I never see another turnip after I graduate.”
“Oh, what’s Durmstrang like?”
“It’s very cold, it’s very far north, but the scenery is beautiful. I’m just entering my final year this year. I think our curriculums are different. Hogwarts has a reputation for Transfiguration, Herbology, and Potions. We don’t cover Herbology at all, and Potions are optional after 3rd year. But in Durmstrang, we tend to cover the wandless magics more thoroughly – the Dark Arts is a core subject, and ritual magic and warding are upper year electives.”
“What’s your favourite?” Hermione asked.
“Transfiguration, definitely. I wish we had a better professor. And probably arithmancy.”
The waiter arrived, banishing their plates to the kitchen, and setting down heaping platters of grilled meat on skewers, and more skewers of onions, peppers, and tomatoes, and a flat spiral of bread in the centre of the table.
“Eat!” Frau Dobrenova ordered cheerfully, serving herself a skewer of meat and mixed veg, as Viktor cut into the bread. “Try this,” he suggested, and served her some. “Banitsa, it’s famous.”
Hermione practically moaned as she tried the bread – fresh baked, airy, and cheesy.
“Delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it, Her-my-own.”
“Her-my-oh-nee,” she corrected softly.
“Yes,” he agreed. “What is your transfiguration professor like?”
“Professor McGonnagall? Oh, she’s wonderful. Very strict, of course, but she’s brilliant. She’s a cat animagus, so she’s obviously brilliant at the subject. But she’s also very thorough and I feel like by the end of seventh year, I should be able to transfigure anything I want, out of anything I have on hand. And conjuring, too. It’s later year, of course, but I’ve been playing a bit with it, and I can’t wait to cover it in class. She says that transfiguration is really only limited by your imagination, but of course, you have to understand practically every thing to be good at it.”
“Ah, yes. Herr Nielsen is very practical. I think that’s the problem. Imagination is not his strong suit. I’ve read some of your professor’s articles in Transfiguration Today, and she seems to be very inventive.”
“Oh, the article about possible exemptions to Gamps law, and her experiments with transfiguring grain into rats, which she used to feet rats transfigured into hawks. That was fascinating. What other subjects do you like?”
He shrugged, modestly. “Oh, it’s all good. I like learning magic. I find wards fascinating, of course, lelyo might kill me if I didn’t do well in those, and ritual magic.”
“Viktor had top marks in everything but Potions last semester,” Frau Dobrenova said smugly.
“Oh, wow! It’s so nice to finally talk to someone our age who isn’t obsessed with Quidditch,” Hermione said. “One of my best friends is on the team for our house, and my other best friend, well, most of his family is or was on the team, and he’s obsessed with all the stats and things. It’s nice to talk about something other than a silly sports game. Although I guess I’ll not be lacking for Quidditch-talk if I get this job.”
“Do you not like Quidditch, Her-my-own?” Viktor asked.
“Honestly? No. It’s such a dangerous sport, I’ve watched my friend be hexed while he played, break bones, and almost hit the ground or collide mid air. And the bludgers are barbaric, and broomstick flying just doesn’t seem safe even without the bludgers! I go to every game, and I’ve read books to try and understand it, but I don’t like watching, I’m just so worried that something’s going to happen to my friend, again.”
“Yes, it can be dangerous – but that’s the fun,” Viktor laughed.
“And the rules! It’s such a stupidly created game. The seeker has far too much power over the game, and I don’t even see the point most of the time for the chasers and keepers to even bother playing.The rules and the point system just doesn’t make sense.”
“Before modern brooms were developed, with their current speed, I think the other positions were more important,” Viktor protested. “But yes, you’re right, it’s rare these days for a game to not be won by the best seeker. Still, the points go to league rankings, so they do matter.”
“Ah, and just when I thought I’d found a wizard who wasn’t obsessed with Quidditch,” Hermione mourned playfully.
“I’m not just interested in magical theory! I play Quidditch too. I just know there are more things to talk about than just the game with a clever witch, Er-me-nee.”
“Her-my-ow-nee,” Hermione repeated, slowly.
Viktor nodded, seriously. “Her-my-own.” Hermione boiled with irritation. Her name was long, but it wasn’t THAT hard! Even Ron could manage it.
“I agree with Frau Granger,” Frau Dobrenova said. “It’s a silly game, and far too many promising young witches and wizards waste years playing it, instead of school work, or pursuing an apprenticeship,” she levelled a glare at her nephew, who grinned, unperturbed.
“Will it be a problem for you, to hide what you are doing this summer from your Quidditch friends? And after the summer?” Viktor asked.
“Well, Ron barely writes me, and Harry’s family unfortunately don’t let him send much mail. They never want to hear about my summer, anyways, or what I’ve been up to. I think Ron hopes to go to at least one World Cup game, but it sounds like it’s such a big event I can’t imagine running into him.”
“Don’t worry,” Frau Dobrenova said. “Particularly as we get into the competition games, I expect you will be earning every knut of overtime you can. Quidditch can be a nasty sport, and it’s our job to protect the players from everything security misses.”
“You mentioned an interview in your letter,” Hermione said. “Will that be tomorrow?”
“No, no, silly girl! This was the interview! You have curiousity, knowledge, and most difficult to find, no interest in Quidditch or Quidditch players. You have the job.”
Hermione’s mouth dropped open. Lunch was the interview? Oh, Merlin, she had a six page list of potential interview questions, and potential responses, and she hadn’t used any of them. Oh, how hadn’t she known? What if she’d messed something up? Was what she’d said about arithmantic theory actually correct? She’d just been chatting about a book she read, it wasn’t something she’d STUDIED really...
“I had no idea this was the interview. I’m very happy to hear I have the job, and look forward to working with you this summer!” Oops, her voice had squealed a bit at the end there, but it felt polite enough. She’d passed the interview! THE Iskra Dobrenova wanted to work with her, even after they’d met.
“Congratulations, Her-my-knee,” Viktor said. “I think my aunt and the team will enjoy having you this summer.”
“Frau Granger, what’s your full name?” Frau Dobrenova asked before Hermione could correct Viktor one more time about how to pronounce her name.
“My full name? I’m Hermione Jean Granger.” She enunciated it very, very slowly.
“Her-my-own Jin?” Viktor sounded out carefully. Did he have some sort of hearing difficulty? He spoke German so well...
“No, Her-my-ow-knee. Geee -n,” she said, extra carefully, extra loudly and extra slowly.
“Her-my-knee Jin,” he repeated, equally carefully, equally loudly, and equally slowly.
“Wait! You’re doing that on purpose!” she burst out. “You can’t be having that much problem with a simple name!” His face split with an absurdly handsome grin full of mischief that reminded Hermione far too much of the Weasley twins. No, Hermione, you are not doing crushes, remember?
“Maybe. But it’s far too hard for a poor, brainless Quidditch player to pronounce,” Viktor teased. “The team will never talk to you if they can’t say your name.”
“I think, Frau Granger, that my pest of a nephew is correct. I suspect the whole team will delight in mangling your name. What’s your father’s name?”
“My father? Dion Granger.”
“And your father’s father?”
“Peter Granger.”
“I think Jean is the English way to say Ioana.” she mused. “And Dion would be... Denis. Peter would be Petar. In Bulgaria, you get your names from your father, and sometimes your grandfather, So perhaps, if you were born here, you might be... Ioana Denisova Grangerova.”
“Yo-an-a,” Hermione repeated, trying the name on her tongue. Was she cursed at birth to have a name with a mouthful of vowels?
“Or perhaps, more traditionally, you would be Ioana Denisova Petrova. If I used a Bulgarian name, it would keep the Bulgarian Ministry from getting in a snit about me having a British witch help me, and the British might be less likely to balk at removing your trace. It’s common in Europe for muggleborn witches to choose a new name when they join our world.”
“Oh! Like a secret identity!” Hermione said. That sounded ... kind of fun, really. She’d always kind of wished for an easier first name, and truly did not relish spending a summer correcting people’s pronunciation. As a kid, she’d spent a full week going around insisting everyone call her Emma, pretending she was a spy.
“Sort of, yes.” Frau Dobrenova’s face turned grave. “I know that Britain has had... issues with muggleborn witches in the past, and many of the previous supporters of your last Dark Lord escaped without consequence. Neither of your professors said it, outright, but I think one of the ideas behind this visit was to help you establish a presence outside of Britain, if things deteriorate again. A new name, a name that you will be contractually bound to keep secret, will go a long way to getting you out of Britain again. My father – Viktor’s grandfather – was killed by Grindelwald, He tried to flee, and sent my mother and the children ahead, but was caught. Our family knows how dangerous it can become when Dark wizards are rising again, and I worry at what I hear from Britain. I don’t think they’ve learned their lesson yet.”
“I – um – I’m very sorry to hear about your father.“ Hermione stuttered. When her professors had told her about this opportunity, were they really thinking about war?
Frau Dobrenova swept her hands over each other, as if brushing off the dirt from the conversation. “It was a long time ago. If you’ll permit me to file the paperwork with that name, consider it a secret identify for the summer, a bit of a game, and we will hope that you shall never need it.”
Hermione’s mind flew. She knew enough history to know that wars had a nasty habit of flaring up again, and thought about her last three years of school. “Would it be possible for me to keep whatever money I earn in a bank here, too?” she said. “The wage you are offering is more than generous, and I don’t need much other than enough to buy my books and a few gifts, and my parents give me an allowance. I’d planned to save for after graduation, but, would it make sense to keep it here?”
“That seems very wise, and yes, we certainly can. Now, which do you like better? Grangerova or Petrova?”
“Petrova, I guess. I like that it’s my grandfather’s name. He was my last living grandparent, and he died my first month at Hogwarts, and I miss him. And if we are going for secret identity, it’s even further from Hermione Granger.”
“Ioana Denisova Petrova it is, then. Do you think the poor, dumb Bulgarian team can handle that, nephew?”
“Ioana Denisova Petrova?” Viktor repeated. “I think so. I like it.”
“Good then, tomorrow, I’ll do the language charm, and we’ll submit all the paperwork to the ministry, then I’ll take the new Frau Petrova to the stadium to meet the team. And Ioana? If you are to live with me for the summer, I think you should call me Iskra.”