Tarnovo
Saturday, July 9, 1994
The floo spat them out in a stylish cafe in Veliko Tarnovo, the old Bulgarian Capital, and Ioana’s mouth watered as she looked at the elegant desserts behind the glass front display case. Tsveta, however, tossed a few coins in the floo-box and dragged Ioana out of the cafe and into the street. “We’ve got a lot to do this afternoon,” she said.
It was a steep, cobblestoned street built into a hillside, cut with a retaining wall of stone, overlooked by a forested hill and an imposing square-towered fortress. The street was busy, lined with clay-tile roofed two story buildings, plastered in soft shades of cream, yellow, and white, many with ornate steel balconies, and climbing roses everywhere. She felt a bit like she’d stepped back in time a few centuries.
“I’m still not sure,” Ioana said. “I really appreciate you bringing me, but really, I’m not much one for parties, I’d rather a quiet evening with a book, before my language charm finishes wearing off.”
“You’ll learn far more useful Bulgarian from a shopping trip and than a dusty old book,” Tsveta said. “It will do you good to learn some Bulgarian that isn’t about Quidditch or warding. Really, my aunt’s been neglectful, looking after you this summer. I’d suggested that I’d host you, but Severus said you and my aunt would be a great fit, overworking bookworms, the both of you.” Tsveta said. “But at some point, it’s just not healthy. Come along, let’s get to the bank. Bookshop after clothes shop.”
“What’s that?” Ioana asked, pointing to the fortress above.
“Ah! It’s an old Muggle fortress. Tsaravets. That church at the top was just restored a few decades ago by the muggles. It’s where the tsars had their palace, back before the Ottomans. We’re in a wizarding district, of course, but this is one of the oldest parts of the old Bulgarian capital.”
As they walked they passed a line up outside a shop, and Ioana peered curiously, wondering what the fuss was about. There was Viktor’s face, scowling – under a banner that read “Official 1994 Bulgarian Quidditch team memorabilia available now!” . Hermione scowled back at him. Two witches in their early 20s tittered and pointed at the poster of Viktor, loudly admiring his biceps and speculating on ways to wipe the scowl off his face.
“Have you no shame?!” Tsveta scolded as she passed them. “That’s my cousin!” The witches jumped and scurried off, while the shopkeeper glared at Tsveta. Tsveta just waved, and kept walking.
The bank was imposing in the way of old banks everywhere – all gleaming marble columns, gilt, but in a bit of un-Muggle incongruity, the creatures pictured on the pediment moved! But it was also odd, to Ioana’s Muggle-raised eyes – the front looked typically Roman or neo-classical, but there was a very large golden dome behind it, and were those minarets?! It looked like the architect(s?) had taken every element of style they’d taken a fancy to over several centuries, and mashed them all together into one imposingly bizarre building.
In large letters over the bank, it read:
Ruda Bank
809
The edges of the granite steps leading to it were well rounded, and Ioana grabbed the brass railing automatically, then looked more closely when she realized the colour wasn’t quite right for brass, it looked more like gold. Based on the scratches, which didn’t change colour, she had to wonder if the railings were, indeed, actual solid gold. She supposed they might be, for who would be insane enough to steal from a goblin bank, even something on the exterior? Madness.
They passed through the doors, where armoured Goblins carrying spears with sheathed swords eyed them as they entered, but nodded at Tsveta.
Inside it was cool and dark, all tall columns, distant gas chandeliers, and shiny granite tile (were those veins of GOLD in the tile? No, surely it was just pyrite!) and Ioana wished she’d brought a jumper. It felt, if possible, distinctly LESS pleasant and welcoming than Gringotts in London. Still, Tsveta moved confidently to a desk, with the air of someone who’d been their a million times, bypassing a line of other witches and wizards, who did not protest.
“Greetings, Healer Zheleva of the House of Krum,” the goblin behind the desk said. “What business have you today, with Ruda Bank?”
“Greetings, Urgit,” Tsveta replied politely. “I’ve brought my aunt’s employee, Ioana Denisova Petrova – she needs the key to her new vault. We submitted the paperwork a week ago, and the first deposit should have been made. She is a muggle born, from England, and this is her first vault.”
The goblin smiled toothily. “Ah, yes. We were wondering when you’d come to seal your vault. We are always pleased to assist the Krumov family and it’s dependants.”
“Come along.” Urgit led them through impressively thick doors, on soundless hinges that rotated open with a mere press of his finger, and into the back.
“You’ll need to remove that thieve’s pendant,” he said. “It will interfere with the vault enchantment.”
Ioana glanced at Tsveta worriedly – but Tsveta nodded in agreement. “There are no secrets from the goblins – take it off, and you can put it back on before we return to the main bank.”
Ioana lifted the pendant over her head and put it into her pocket, and the goblin led them down the corridor towards more doors.
“Where are the carts?” she asked.
The goblin sneered. “Unlike younger banks, like your Gringotts in London, we at Ruda have mastered the art of deep mining - the mines and vaults of Ruda Bank reach over 2 kilometers deep,” the goblin said conversationally, and Hermione marvelled, never having met a conversational goblin. “You humans are only now beginning to approach such depths in your mining, and, of course, you cannot speak to the rock, so must force it into submission, with steel rods and concrete.” He sneered, obviously. “No beauty to it. We have a very organized system, with three deep shafts, and many shorter drifts connecting from them. Simply enter this elevator, and we shall begin.” He picked up a lantern from a stack along the wall, and opened the elevator door.
“Press here, please,” he said, and Hermione and Tsveta touched the door. It opened, revealing a surprisingly austere iron cage inside a rough stone shaft. It wobbled disconcertingly as they stepped inside. Hermione looked up – it was suspended by two immense wire ropes, and in the centre was some sort of control station, with an ornate wire base, a large lever, and something that looked rather like the gear shifter in a car.
Tsveta peered around curiously.
“Haven’t you been here before?” Hermione asked.
“Our family’s vaults are in another shaft,” she said “This is far less... ornate.”
“This shaft is primarily used for business accounts and smaller accounts,” the goblin said as he stepped into the cage and moved the shifter into a slot marked “5” . The door closed behind them with a clang that made Hermione jump. “The Krumov family vaults are, of course, elsewhere.”
“Now – hold on to the bars,” the goblin said. Hermione grabbed onto the walls. Was this some other security feature?
“No! Not the outside of the cage- unless you wish to donate a finger to the bank?- these bars!” he said, pointing at the ornate welded iron at the centre of the lift. Exchanging glances, Tsveta and Hermione complied, grabbing the centre structure. “Deep breath now -”
The goblin muscled the lever up, the cage began to fall, and Hermione screamed.
Three unending seconds later, the lift screeched to a halt. Hermione kept clutching the centre for a minute, until Tsveta pried her fingers open.
“I should have warned you,” Tsveta said, “but the lift I use isn’t quite so... dramatic.”
The goblin opened the door of the lift, carrying a lantern, and Hermione hurrriedly followed him out into a dark tunnel limestone with an arched top, with Tsveta at the rear. The goblin lead them down twisting tunnels to a door, marked “5322”.
“Here is your vault, Ioana Petrova,” he said. “Touch the door, and your blood will be registered to the vault.” Tsveta sent Hermione a reassuring look, and summoning her Gryffindor courage, she put her hand fully on the door. She bit back a yelp as the door adhered to her hand, rather like the feeling of the leach she’d picked up on her foot playing in the duckpond near her house as a child. She shuddered, and the door slowly released, allowing her to peel back her hand. On the door was a shining handprint in red. Hermione looked at her hand, and it was like every pore had opened up then closed, leaving the tiniest dots of blood behind.
“Good – a worthy token,” the goblin said approvingly. “The vault is well fed. Here’s your key,” he said, fishing it from his pocket and handing it to her bloody hand. “Open the vault.”
Hermione decided at that moment that she hated banks, but gingerly put the key in the lock and opened the door. She flinched as it opened it, and chided herself – what was the worst that could happen, a dragon?- but thankfully, the vault just opened, the stone door swinging on silent, well balanced hinges to reveal a small room beyond, with an even smaller pile of gold shimmering in the corner.
Hermione found herself standing in her vault – her very own vault! Sure, she’d had a bank account in the muggle world for ages, her father teaching her how to write down deposits and manage the little account book – but there was something about standing in a vault(!!!) of her very own that felt monumentous. Another step into the wizarding world.
It was just a bit taller than herself, but lower than a standard room – perhaps 7 ft?, and roughly cubic, hewn out of limestone, long, long ago, the joints in the rock filled in with calcite deposits, and a faint smell of musty wet rock. But more exciting, was the tiny pile of gold glimmering in the corner. Somehow seeing her first wages in the form of a stack of Galleons seemed far more “real” than any written paycheque ever would have.
“Unlike human bankers, goblins don’t share wealth across borders. Whatever you deposit here, will remain here, until you remove it. Goblins are not known for co-operation,” Urgit said with a sharp toothed smile. “Your dealings with every goblin bank are ... individual. Still, I trust that you’ll find us far superior to the horde that runs Gringotts in London. The Krumovs have banked with us since the bank opened, of course. Bank fees are charged per transaction, and you are welcome to discuss investment opportunities with the bank.”
“I am already more impressed with Ruda, than with Gringotts,” Hermione admitted. It seemed to be the right thing to say, since Urgit bowed briefly to her. But it was true – her parents had inquired at Gringotts, on her first trip to Diagon Alley, about opening an account, and had been told to come back when Hermione had graduated “if she ever found employment”, and a petty part of Hermione was thrilled to deposit her first income here, not in Gringotts.
“Now, take a little if you wish to go shopping,” Tsveta said. “Iskra will be paying for your robes, since you’ll need them for work events, and it’s the least she can do with how neglectful she’s been, but I imagine you’d enjoy a trip to the book shop.”
“There’s really no need for her-”
Tsveta shook her head. “Nonsense. She was just telling me yesterday that you are far more help than she’d expected from a student – you’ve earned it. But – the bookshop?
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Yes, please! I was hoping there’d be more about Bulgarian magic, since most of Iskra’s theory books are in German or French - or Japanese, or Chinese - , and I was hoping to delve a little more into local magic culture prior to the Ottoman empire, and maybe even see if there’s records of Thracian magic- ”
Tsveta laughed. “Enough, enough! I’ll take you to Koleva’s, which is better for acadamic texts, not to Chakarov’s which has more novels, then. But first! The robe makers.”
Their business at the bank concluded, Ioana and Tsveta walked down the streets, past the Quidditch shop again, where Tsveta paused to scold three more witches who were ogling Viktor’s poster. Ioana would never say it out loud, but the matching scowls on Tsveta and poster-Viktor made their familial relationship very obvious. They continued on down the winding, shop lined street to an elegant-looking shop, with gilted mullions on the windows and a jaunty dark green awning reading “The Modern Witch”.
“Ah, Tsveta, you made it – I was just about to let Nadia talk me into trying on new robes,” an affectionate voice greeted them as Tsveta opened the door and gestured Ioana inside.
“I didn’t worry that you’d be bored here if we were late, vúyna,” Tsveta said affectionately.Ioana rapidly translated that word to mean that Tsveta was speaking to her mother’s, brother’s wife and almost groaned at the complicated Bulgarian familial terms she still hadn’t quite wrapped her head around. Maybe Tsveta had a point about learning more every-day Bulgarian. The Bulgarian language seemed to be obsessed with knowing EXACTLY how someone was related.
Wait – if Iskra was Tsveta’s mother’s sister... and Iskra was Viktor’s father’s sister... then...
“Vuyna, this is Ioana Petrova, a Hogwarts student who is working for the team as a wardcrafting assistant,” Tsveta introduced. “Ioana, this is Charms Mistress Radka Krumova of the Council of Seven, you know her son, Viktor.”
Merlin! This was going to be awkward.
Radka smiled, and reached a hand out, which Ioana shook reflexively, if a bit stiffly.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Ioana said politely.
“Viktor and Iskra both speak very highly of you, I’m happy to finally meet you,” Radka said, gesturing Ioana further into the shop. “I’ve been at the International Confederation of Wizards for the past few days, otherwise I’m sure I’d have dragged you free from Iskra earlier.”
“My aunt has agreed to help find you robes for Viktor’s birthday party – she’s got a knack for it,” Tsveta said.
“Thank you,” Ioana said politely, looking over the many bolts of fabric and little fashion dolls strewn around the room apprehensively, and the racks of premade clothing. “Honestly, I don’t really think I need -”
“You own nothing but school and team robes. A young witch needs more than that,” Tsveta interrupted, and Radka humphed in obvious agreement.
“We’re looking for something rather traditional, very Bulgarian, for a few events,” Radka told the shopkeeper, ignoring Ioana’s protests. “She’ll be at the world cup events, so everyone will be rather over-the-top with patriotism... And maybe one or two more modern robes, too...” she muttered. “And some day wear, of course,” Radka said gesturing at Ioana’s muggle attire dismissively.
“Of course, Gospozha Krumova,” the shopkeeper said. “I think I have a few designs that will suit-” she disappeared into the back of the store.
“I’m surprised to hear Viktor’s been singing our Ioana’s praises,” Tsveta said, an evil glint in her eyes.
“He’s been quite effusive,” Radka said, and Ioana blushed. “I think he’s quite enjoying having someone to talk to about academics – if it weren’t for Quidditch, I think he’d be asking to go to Hogwarts for his last year.”
“Really?” Tsveta asked, eyes glinting evilly. “Well, he’s been quite chilly with Ioana for the last few days.”
“Oh?” Radka asked, leaning in.
“It appears my beloved cousin didn’t like being scolded for his poor behaviour.” Tsveta said. Ioana gestured wildly at Tsveta, miming zipping her lips. She did NOT want to be having this conversation with Viktor’s mother! Tsveta, predictably, ignored her.
“What did he do?” Radka ask, sounding exasperated.
“Well – did you hear about the curse in the mail targetting Polina? No? Well, we had a late team dinner on the beach, and Viktor managed to get all the on-duty Obliviation squad called out, AND half the reserves,” Tsveta said. “Quite the mess.”
“No, I most certainly did NOT hear about that.” Radka said hotly. “I’ve been away the past few days, but surely the gossip at least reached my husband! It seems I’ll need to have a talk with Asen and Viktor to see what else they may have forgotten to mention. Polina – is she alright?”
“Yes, yes she healed up nicely, nothing to worry about-”
“And the obliviation squad? You know it’s horrible for the family reputation when something like that happens – I really cannot afford a breach of the Statute right now, with the negotiations I’m doing with Greece, and my public position on the government spending-”
“Everything was sorted promptly and discreetly,” Tsveta reassured her. “We’re quidditch mad enough no one is going to interfere with anything that will affect the cup, and everyone knows Viktor’s our best chance.”
“Good,” Radka said. “But truly, that boy ought to know to behave better, particularly when he’s so prominent in the public eye right now - and you said nothing? Really, Tsveta!”
“He was far out of earshot by the time I realized what he was up to, and when he finally returned, Ioana was doing a fantastic job of scolding him without me,” Tsveta said. “It does him good to have a pretty girl call him out for behaving like an irresponsible child!”
“Well he was!” Ioana interjected. She wasn’t usually a snitch, but really! “He flew up and down the coast on his broom with a child, like a reckless idiot, and caused who knows how many Muggles to need to be obliviated. The Muggle police showed up! I thought they were going to shoot us!”
Radka winced visibly.
“And the Muggles!” Ioana continued. “It’s really not safe for them to be obliviated repeatedly, all because some Quidditch player couldn’t keep his broom inside the wards.”
Radka frowned. “You won’t enjoy the World Cup. They try to chose somewhere remote, to save on costs, but the Obliviator Squads are incredibly thorough with the nearby Muggles– no choice really, for such a big event.”
“Well, surely there’s something better than Obliviation?” Ioana protested. “It’s so – crude!”
“Not that I know of,” Tsveta said, and Radka shook her head in agreement.
“Well, what about this?” Ioana said, pulling out her thieves pendant.
“Put that away!” Tsveta hissed, but Radka looked thoughtful.
“You’re right – something like that does have potential... You wouldn’t believe the amount of Bulgaria’s budget that goes to Obliviation squads. And it’s one reason I’ve always voted against hosting the World Cup in Bulgaria, as much of a boon for tourism as it would be – I wonder if a variation on that pendant... I’ll have to think about it,” she said, and Ioana was suddenly reminded that the woman before her, was a member of the governing council of the foreign country she was still a guest in, AND a Charms Mistress, and Ioana’d let her tongue get away from her, and insulted her beloved only child...
Tsveta jerked her head, to where Nadia was returning from the back room, and Radka stopped talking.
Nadia was followed out by dozens of dancing fashion dolls, dressed in what must count as high fashion for Bulgarian witches.
“Give me your hand, Ioana” Radka said. Ioana complied, bemused at the change of subject. Radka flipped it over and inspected the skin of her wrist. “Look at your veins! Yes, like I thought – definitely cool toned, not like Tsveta and I. Very British.” She dropped Ioana’s hand and turned to flip through the racks, pulling out bolts of fabric and depositing it with the waiting shopkeeper. “Yes, this, no, yes, certainly not THAT...” she muttered, occasionally lifting something from the rack and holding it up to Ioana, only to put it back on the shelf.
“Truly, I don’t need new robes..” Ioana demurred. She had no idea how much these would cost, but judging by what Madam Malkins charged for alternations to school uniforms, which she and her parents had deemed not worth the money, bespoke witches’ robes were going to eat up a large part of her wages for the summer, and she hadn’t even had a chance to scope out a bookshop yet.
“Nonsense,” Radka said. “You’ll be representing Bulgaria at the World Cup. Consider it part of your uniform. If Iskra wasn’t paying, I would be – it would look poorly on the family if someone under our care did not have appropriate robes for international events. Nadia – some ideas for design, please?”
“Of course!” she said, gesturing to the first doll, which looked uncannily like a miniature Ioana, which marched forward, dressed in a frilly white robes, curtsied, and did a pirouette.
“Hmm- try the silver?” Radka said. The doll shimmered, and the fabric switched. Radka glanced between the doll and the real Ioana and shook her head.
“No, too childish,” Radka decreed, “Something with more presence.” The shopkeeper gestured for the next one, and so it continued.
Three hours later, Ioana was exhausted and Tsveta had slipped her head ache tablet, and she had more witches’ clothing on order than she knew what to do with.
Shoes! Dragonhide dancing slippers and heels, and every day shoes and boots. Five sets of day robes, in dark blue-green, silver, lavender, mint, and a carmine red that Hermione had to admit suited her much better than Gryffindor crimson. They had short sleeves, meant to be worn with the white blouses that were in the stack, which were heavily embroidered on the sleeves and cuffs with geometric black, grey, or green. Two sets of black undertrousers were added “in case you decide to go flying”.
“I don’t like flying!” Ioana had protested but she was ignored.
And then there were the dress robes.
Her favourite were periwinkle blue, with silver embroidery covering the bodice, and sleeves and skirt of floaty, sheer silk organza embroidered with bits of silver at the hemline, over silk satin.
Radka had said “you’re only young enough to pull off pale pink once,” she said. But Ioana put her foot down, and cranberry robes were chosen instead. Another set was in a dark bluey green. All of them, Radka had embroidered in silver.
“Wear the green to the party this week,” Radka suggested. “You can alternate it and the cranberry for evening events at the Cup. But if I were you,” she said, with a teasing grin, “I’d keep the blue for the school year.”
“I never wear anything but school robes,” Ioana protested.
“An owl told me that this year is going to be different,” Radka said, smiling. “I suggest you keep the blue.”
They’d be delivered as they were made, with the first set of dress robes arriving for Tuesday’s party, and Radka brushed off Ioana’s offers to pay, again, for which she was privately grateful, and Tsveta urged Ioana to change from her Muggle clothing into the lavender day-robes, which were already finished before she left.
But finally, it was time for books, and Ioana had escaped down the road, feeling much less conspicuous in her new robes, to an excellent bookshop, perusing the sort of books that would be delegated to Knockturn Alley or the Restricted section at Hogwarts, shelved with the sort of books she’d spied on her (better) professors’ bookshelves, NEWT level and beyond level theory, a truly brilliant collection! Tsveta and Radka had gone off to have coffee, and Ioana was blessed with at least an hour to peruse at her leisure – so naturally, she had a battle plan.
Ioana forced herself on task and pulled the list she’d prepared the night before, when this trip had been promised. She needed 1) Books on Old Slavonic enchantments and Bulgarian language spellbooks, like Iskra had recommended, and more Bulgaria spell books, for practice, 2) Books on space enchantments for trunks, etc, because there was absolutely no way she was going to be able to fit all the books she planned to acquire with her earnings in her trunk without some. With regret, she crossed out 3) Books on Thracian and other early magic, and replaced it with 3) Books on memory charms and alternatives to memory charms, because SURELY there were better options available than Obliviate, and when she found them, she intended to wave them in front of Viktor Krumov’s delightfully scowling face.
She’d amassed a collection of five books for Goal 1 (helpfully following her around the store in the most cunning floating shop basket), and had moved onto Goal 2, and was flipping through and comparing two compendiums of space enchantments, one in German, one in French, when she heard a voice behind her.
“I’d recommend Von Drachenfestung over Dubois. Half of what’s in Dubois is wrong, the other half is so poorly explained, it might as well be wrong,” someone said in lightly accented German.
“Thank you,” Ioana said, turning to look at the pretty dark haired girl standing behind her. She was about Ioana’s age, and dressed in stylish casual robes. “I’m afraid my wish list is probably longer than my book budget today, and I was trying to remind myself I really shouldn’t buy both.”
“I know the struggle! I’m Vera,” the girl said. “Lovely to meet a fellow bookworm.” She smiled, displaying perfect teeth, and Ioana smiled back awkwarldly, carefully not too widely.
“I’m Ioana. And yes – it’s a pleasure.”
“I’ve not seen you here before, but it’s my favourite bookshop when I’m in Bulgaria.” she said in a fast rush of German, “I always make my brother bring me. I’m at Durmstrang – are you at Beauxbatons?”
“No, Hogwarts,” Ioana said. “And it’s my first time here, but I hope not my last. It’s such a fantastic store!”
“It is! We’ve got nothing that even compares in Macedonia. I’ve never met anyone from Hogwarts – is it true, that the boy who killed the Dark Lord goes there?” she asked, eagerly.
“Yes, he does, but I don’t know him well.”
Vera shrugged. “I suppose that’s understandable – it’s a big school.”
Ioana stuck the Von Drachenfestung in her basket, and put Dubois back on the shelf.
“You wouldn’t happen to know any good books on memory charms?” Ioana asked, and Vera grinned. “Definitely – come over here!”
An hour later, Ioana had purchased eight books (including, guiltily, a book on Thracian magic that Vera had said was an absolutely essential read), and the two girls were deep in a fast-paced discussion of the theoretical basis of spell creation, with only occasional pauses to try and translate a word that Ioana didn’t know in German – usually, they’d figure something out through either a Macedonian word, similar to the Bulgarian, or French, or simply a definition.
“Vera!” a younger male voice yelled from near the door of the shop. He shouted something like “are you still here?” in a language that wasn’t quite Bulgarian, but sounded rather similar. Vera scowled, stomped around the corner of the bookshelf, and shushed him. She hissed something back in the same language, evidently scandalized.
“Really, Dragan,” Ioana heard Radka scold lightly in German. “You’d think you were raised by trolls.”
Ioana stepped around the shelf to find Radka and a tall, strikingly pretty boy with dark hair, a few years older than her and Vera.
“Ah, Ioana, there you are,” Radka said cheerfully in Bulgarian. “Have you met Vera Dolohova?” she asked, in German. “Vera, have you met Ioana Petrova?”
“We did,” Vera said with a grin, flipping her long hair. “So lovely, after spending time with Viktor and my troll-raised brother, to meet someone in Bulgaria worth talking to.”
“Good,” Radka said. “I thought you’d like each other. Ioana, meet Dragan Dolohov, Vera’s brother, and my son’s best friend.” Ioana shook Dragan’s hand politely.
“Glad to meet you,” he said, turning on the charm in a way that made him look just like his younger sister. “Viktor’s told me about you, and I’ve been looking forward to meeting you – and of course, anyone who can keep up with my sister is a woman worth knowing.”
Ioana blushed. “Pleasure to meet you, too,” she said.
“Vera and Dragan are staying with us for the summer while their parents are otherwise occupied,” Radka said. “So glad you’ll know someone at Viktor’s party this week – and, no, Vera, the two of you cannot spend the whole party in the library.”
“Write to me!” Vera demanded. “I’m so bored this summer- sorry Radka, no offence intended, your home is lovely, but Dragan and Viktor are always so busy!”
“Ioana’s working with Iskra this summer,” Radka warned. “I’m not sure how much time she’ll have to write, and she’ll be back in England very soon.”
“Fine, write to me from England then,” Vera demanded. “School’s boring too. Or-” Vera brightened. “You could always transfer to Durmstrang? You’re German’s good enough, and our spell creation curriculum is really quite advanced, and I think we’ve got better wardcrafting, too, not that you’d need that if you’re working with Iskra...”
“I think I’ll stick with Hogwarts,” Ioana said, and felt a sudden wave of guilt as Vera’s face fell. There was a reason, there was a reason, what was the reason? “My parents -” Ioana paused. What about her parents? “I’m not sure my parents would like me being any further away – Scotland was enough of a stretch for them.” she watched as Vera’s face fell even further, and felt like the most horrible person in the world. “But I’d be happy to write!”
Vera pouted prettily and her brother poked her stomach so that she squealed, batting his hand away. “Dragan!” she scolded.
“Turn it off, Vera,” he ordered. Vera scowled.
“I just wanted to be friends!” she protested.
He shook his head. “Vera... We’re not common, in Britain – I don’t think Ioana is even aware of what you’re doing.”
Vera took a deep breath in, let it out, and suddenly, Ioana felt the drop in a little pressure in the room she hadn’t even been aware of, like she could suddenly take a deep breath.
“Sorry, Ioana,” Vera apologized, looking genuinely remorseful. “I got excited, and my shields dropped. I hope, you’ll still be willing to write to me- that’s safe enough?”
“Yes, of course,” Ioana said, automatically, with some confusion.
Radka watched them. “I’ll tell Iskra you need Occlumancy lessons, Ioana – I’d not even considered that Hogwarts doesn’t teach it, and there’ll be no shortage of Veela and part-Veela at the World Cup.”
“Occlumancy?” Ioana asked, tasting the unfamiliar word.
“I can help, if you visit!” Vera said, earnestly. “I swear I normally am far more careful.”
“It’s a form of protection against mental magic,” Dragan explained. “Takes years, really, to master, but it can be terribly useful.”
“I’ll ask Iskra,” Ioana said. New magic sounded great, but where would she find the time, and what exactly had just happened? Iskra would know what was going on.
Radka shook her head in approval. “Good, good. Vera, Dragan, it’s time to leave. Ioana- Tsveta is waiting outside, and I look forward to seeing you again on Tuesday.”