CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE WORLD TRIED TO TEAR you further away from what you wanted in life, it seemed to me. The closer you got, something came in between. The hurdles seemed never ending, absolute. They reappeared in different forms and mystical shapes, and they kept coming until you gave up. What was this undying selfishness? The world was the ground beneath my feet so why would it not want me to succeed? Why test me, why rock me off my axis, when it rotated perfectly in it's own? 

I looked at my wand, tilting it slightly in my hand, before the chaos around me snapped me back to my senses and I pushed the silver green wand into my left boot. 

The smell of fresh coffee wafted in through the air as people talked to each other around us in varying tones, some practically yelling in someone else's face. The smell of toasted bread and warm eggs mixed into the air, making the wind heavy somehow as it rested right at our shoulders. The clanking of porcelain plates and glass mugs, the rattle of silver cutlery and some old man's shaking cough, it all created an atmosphere that seemed entirely foreign to me. All my years in Beauxbatons, I hadn't ever found myself in a place like this before. 

Crowds were daunting in ways I couldn't name. When you hid something about yourself that could result in your destruction, you feared recognition in eyes of people you didn't know the stories of. Recognition from people you didn't recognize, was a strange kind of terrible. 

Viktor Krum's ebony irises observed me, his biceps pushed out as he rested his elbows on the small wooden table for two, seated directly opposite to me. His face was schooled to his stoicism, and knowing the fact that it was he who had dragged me in here, the seriousness on his face at present was astounding. 

I kept my eyes turned away, letting my raven eyes settle on one stranger or the other in the distance, as the unfamiliars laughed or discussed a heated topic, seemingly having no worries of their own. All the while, I felt Krum's gaze on me, as he tried hard to catch whatever I could betray from my expressions. 

Then he raised a hand and signaled to a waiter. The thin guy in question, immediately scooted over, dressed in bedraggled clothes that only slightly put forth the idea that he was here to serve and not beg. 

"Zwei butterbier, bitte," The Bulgarian seeker's voice was curter still. His German was smooth, but his accent was a little too tight.

At Beauxbatons it was our accents that were worked on the most as we strengthened our hold on languages. Madame Maxime claimed that one should speak a language with as much expertise as though one was a native, and it shouldn't be until you were looked at, that it was declared that you were not so. With German, she had insisted we master the accent first, and we had started by speaking French in a German accent, an exercise I don't suppose I'll ever forget. 

The waiter nodded, before taking out his wand and writing the order in the air with the tip of his warm wood wand. Then he floated it away towards the part of the inn where the drinks were being made, before giving us a nod and moving onto the table in the distance where a couple sat waiting. 

"Butterbeers?" I hissed, leaning forward. "You act like we have time to kill." 

I did not erase myself from the minds of Ilvermorny, all those inside it, and from the Huntlock, to sit at an inn in Gregorovitch's village all the way in Hamburg, Germany, to drink a butterbeer. 

"You didn't eat anything at dinner last night," The Bulgarian seeker stated, his eyes still on me. "Neither did I. We need a little strength if we are to traipse all over Germany to find Gregorovitch." 

"I have enough strength," I shot him a hard look. He shook his head slightly dipped his head, focusing on the table top. 

"Je devrais retirer ton enchantement," I added under my breath, "Alors tu verras." 

He looked up, curious eyes meeting mine as he raised a brow. Although we had English and now German too—it seemed—in common, it satisfied me that he didn't have any French, it gave me an outlet to say to his face what I wanted to say the most. To say that he was the most infuriating wizard I had ever met, and that he had no right to drag me off my path. But this new path was as much my fault as it was his. 

"I said, I have a right mind to lift up your enchantment," I pressed, resuming our conversation in English, folding my arms across my chest. "So that everyone can recognize the infamous Quidditch seeker in their midst. I bet you won't see me leave then, when you're suffocating amongst the crowd." 

English was a fine barrier in a place like this, where hasty German hung in the air spewed from enthusiastic lips in multitudes of tones that seemed as though they had never spoken a word of English in their lives.

We had had no other option to hide the seeker's infamous form. We had no ingredients for the Polyjuice potion, and when I had suggested that idea, the burly Durmstrang claimed he would rather be swarmed, than drink the potion in the first place. So I had resorted to my runes, casting one to make him appear as someone else to everyone else but his and my own eyes. To everyone else, his hair was probably ginger, or his eyes were a dirty grey and his form was frail and wrinkly, I hadn't really focused on specifics as long as he didn't appear as himself and no one else alive.  

Viktor let out a scoff, as I turned my eyes away from him to catch a group of young German wizards, some of them our age while others seemingly a few years younger, stare at me with sly eyes and lanky expressions plastered on their faces from a table in the distance. I exhaled slowly, focusing elsewhere and straightening myself. 

"I still can't believe you erased yourself like that," Krum muttered, observing me. 

I had told him that no one in Ilvermorny remembers having seen or even having spoken to me. It was easy cover, to erase yourself like you had not even been there in the first place. 

"I still can't believe you didn't," I shot back. "Espèce d'imbécile. They will probably start a wild goose chase searching for you. The Huntlock would be postponed, and the posters with your face will cover every wall I come across." 

He shrugged, then offered me a grin, letting me know that he had in fact caught onto the insult I had tried to disguise.

"Maybe I like to have people thinking about me." 

I shook my head in disbelief, frustration coursing through my veins. 

Our butterbeers came in then, appearing from a cloud of mist and floating over our table before slowly lowering, one landing in front of each of us. The thin waiter shot us a glance and Viktor gave him a nod, turning away to look at me. 

"This is also supposed to give us time to think of a strategy," He spoke, bringing the foaming mug to his lips and chugging down a sip. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed, and a thick tongue ran over his lips, taking away the remnants of the foam. 

I looked away, slightly flustered. 

"We might also hear something about Gregorovitch from someone here," He continued, "Since your enchantment's lifted, someone must've seen the old man. He is pretty respected around here." 

"So we just wait around until someone says something?" I asked, pulling my own mug to myself. The warmth radiating from it made me feel a little better. "That could take hours and not even happen at all." 

"We can't ask," Krum interrupted my thoughts, a brow raised sternly at me. "It might rouse suspicion. Two foreigners going around asking about the wandmaker. A French witch and.. whatever race you've made me appear." 

"Or gender," I managed a smile as he stilled, eyes going wide. 

"You did not," He uttered in disbelief as his jaw tightened. 

Before I could respond, a quick shuffle of footsteps sounded and our table was approached by the young German wizards I had noticed before. Their sly grins seemed to have frozen stiff on their faces as they lured themselves in our presence, smirking widely. I blinked, eyes narrowed as I turned to look at the taller and older one to state his business. Viktor Krum on the other hand, looked entirely bothered. At what I had said or at being approached, I couldn't tell. Perhaps he suspected my enchantment on him had broken off, and I felt the sudden offense of that notion. 

"Guten morgen, schönheit," The taller and older wizard spoke. He was lean and he looked about my age, with hazel eyes, light hair and a sharp face. "Do you, uh, speak English?" 

I fought the urge to scoff. 

"She must," The youngest boy in the group grinned. "I think she must." 

The Durmstrang in front me relaxed visibly, realizing none of this was what he was fearing. 

"I do," I broke in before a debate started on whether or not I had a hold on the language. "I do speak it, that is, if you have anything remotely interesting to say." 

The taller boy grinned. "Interesting, ah, I am interesting," He caught onto the word, sharp eyes on me, "If you sit with me, I will tell you all about my interesting self." 

I forced a smile. "I must decline. You see, I'm already sitting with someone."

I motioned towards Krum, only to realize his tight jaw and stiff posture. He was clearly uncomfortable, or rather, frustrated. He seemed to be doing that a lot, finding new reasons to tug on his own nerve. 

"Ah, him?" The taller wizard let out a laugh, glancing at Viktor. "What is this sickly meek boy going to do? He won't mind eh?" 

"Yeah," The youngest boy beside chimed in, in fluent German. "I'll hide his big glasses so he won't see you're gone!" 

The Durmstrang looked at me in disbelief as I forced back a genuine laugh. Well, this answered at least some of that question of what the seeker looked like at present, under the enchantment. 

Suddenly, my amusement vanished as I looked at the boys surrounding the table. There were six of them, and they looked like vagabonds. Dirty attires, remnants of snow on their shoulders, dark soot covered caps and dirt on their facial skin. They have got to know something, haven't they? Perhaps they saw something they could help me with. 

"You know what," I started, getting up. "I would love to join you at your table." 

The boys made gestures of victory and grinned as I caught Viktor Krum's hard glare. 

"Lavigne," He uttered, forcing all his frustration and anger into my name. 

"Just trust me alright?" I lowered my voice as the boys scattered, looking for an extra chair to add to their table of six. "They could know something." 

I didn't have time to say anything more when the youngest boy hurried over to take hold of my hand and whisk me away. The boy wore tattered wool gloves, and through them, his skin still felt like ice. I joined the young wizards at their table, and they all hurried around me, taking their spots. I had brought my mug of butterbeer along, because despite claiming I had enough strength, my stomach yearned for anything warm and filling I could gulp down. 

The tall boy began speaking, in spaced out English he talked of how he had never seen me around before and asked if I was new to these parts. Making up a story about paying a visits to my sick aunt who lives in the village, I immediately got to what I needed to know when their attention was still strong and unwavering. I happened to hear one of them placing an order for a round of beers earlier, and exclaiming that it would be their third glass of the morning. 

"My aunt's wand had a little accident," I continued, "Since she's not well, I had to take it to the wandmaker Gregorovitch. I just came back from there with my—cousin," I broke off, glancing at Viktor, his glare was fixed right in my direction as he chugged the last of his butterbeer down. "But, goodness that place is a mess, and the old wandmaker is nowhere to be found." 

I drank a gulp of my butterbeer, feigning a worried expression. 

"Oh that," The tall wizard murmured, "Es ist verrückt. Harry says he saw him being apparated last night." 

"Harry?" I asked, attentive. 

A boy from amongst the group made a noise. He had ginger hair and blue eyes, with tiny freckles smeared all over his face. 

"Ja," The boy who was called Harry spoke, after he had my attention. "Ich sah, dass es einer der Fischers war." 

The taller boy hurried to translate, he didn't need to, though he didn't know I had German as well as I had English. "He says it was one of the Fischers. The dwarf family with brown hair and even browner teeth." 

I stilled. Why did the name sound familiar? The Fischers. 

"Is Harry sure?" I asked. 

"I think he is," The wizard spoke, shrugging his lean shoulders. "You cannot mistake a Fischer if you see one. Short, brown, it is impossible. You see them from miles." 

"And where do the Fischers live?" 

"A few streets down," The tall boy continued. "A crooked black house with the silver door knocker." 

I thought about asking him to take Krum and me there, but these boys were vagabonds, they would probably hang around instead of going back to obliviousness. I sighed and forced a smile on my face. The tall wizard's hand was on the table, and I put mine on top of it, looking into his eyes as he faltered slightly, confused and surprised. 

"Thankyou—," I broke off, looking at him expectantly. 

"Klaus," He stammered, grinning. 

"Klaus," I repeated, the smile firm on my face as I summoned the constellations inside me. They replicated and doubled, until I shot one inside the German boy through the contact at our hands. The constellation had a single purpose, to gather the information I needed. If the constellations inside me already had the answer, then they refused to be sent. In this case, they didn't know what Klaus knew. 

In a matter of seconds, the constellation returned in me and in my head I saw the picture of the house as clear as day. I saw myself approaching the house, slamming the silver door knocker and running away laughing and screaming. Other time, I saw myself tossing a burning log near the door and running off, seeing it being extinguished by a short figure appearing through the door. Except, I was a German boy, surrounded by likeminded foolish boys. Klaus' memories of the Fischer house. 

I didn't need to know what the Fischers looked like, I could see that for myself once I found the house. 

I retracted my hand back as though I felt fire when my present sense returned and I begun to feel Klaus' thumb rubbing against the bed of my palm. I didn't realize he had turned my hand over. I took the last sip of my butterbeer and got up, altered in all the wrong ways at the touch. I felt slightly sick. I shot the German boy a hard glare, which he met with a nonchalant shrug. He didn't need to speak for me to see that he clearly meant I had started it first. Anger surged at me and then a vision blinded my senses.

A vision that entailed the boy lying face down slumped in a pool of blood, the back of the wooden chair he had been seated on sticking out through his back. There was blood all over me. His German blood. I felt the warmth of it seep into my skin and realized I was standing in it barefoot. I stepped back, horrified, but only splashing my feet in more of his warm blood as I tried to back away from the scene. The smell of iron was hot in my senses and I wanted to scream out. I backed away some more, but there was no escape from the scene. My throat felt parched, and I coughed in the smell. Then, his body made a sick groan and convulsed, slithering like an animal fighting for one last chance. But he couldn't get himself free. One last rattle and the body slumped lifeless. I covered my face with my hands. 

Then, suddenly, I was brought out. The scene changed, and I stood looking in the confused faces of six German boys. The one I had just seen die like an animal, was looking at me with a confused expression on his face. 

"I'm leaving," I muttered, breathless as my heart pounded inside my chest. Then I pushed back my chair and turned away.

The boys let out disappointed exclaims, but I had already walked away, approaching Viktor Krum. His glare was the same as it had been fifteen minutes ago, and I had no energy to wonder how he could be so consistent. 

"We have to go," I spoke to him and quickly made for the exit. 

The Durmstrang tossed a couple of coins on the table and hurried after me, following me outside. I kept walking, and didn't realize my walk had turned into a run when I heard Viktor Krum shout my name from behind. I halted in my steps. We were quite a distance away from the inn now. 

"Lavigne," He jogged up beside me, expression clearly displaying his alarm and confusion. "What is it? Why were you fucking running?" 

"I know where Gregorovitch is," I let out, realization settling in me. "He's been taken to a house a few streets down from here. I know where it is." 

"Alright," The Durmstrang panted slightly. "But that's good, right? Why are you so worked up?"

"I'm fine," I uttered through my teeth, turning away from him.

"You are clearly not," He argued, grabbing my elbow and making me face him. "What happened?" 

I looked at him, my brain still flashing images to me from the vision. Why had it seemed so long this time? Why couldn't I escape it? The other times I had been able to bring myself out. The other times, escape had been easy. The other times the visions ended as quick as they had started. Why was this time different. With a start, I remembered my mark and thought of Grindelwald. This had everything to do with him. If he could somehow control my mark, these visions were his doing. If I hadn't been certain of that before, I was certain of it now. But Viktor Krum? Does he have to know?

"It's nothing," I managed, reining in my composure. "Let go, Krum. I told you, you don't touch me." 

My words were sharp, and he acknowledged them slowly, letting go and raising his hands in the air in surrender. 

"You had no trouble letting that German touch you just now," He responded, his own words lined with frustration and sudden mockery I couldn't place. "Is it that you've got a thing for Germans, or a thing against Bulgarians?"

I shot him a look, furious at his thought process. 

"Or can't you decide, принцеса?" The Durmstrang asked, a brow raised in scorn than curiosity. 

I peered at him, the last word sounded printsesa, no doubt a Bulgarian word. Ignoring the retort, I exhaled, willing my anger away. 

"I was getting the information from him," I started. If he thought like that, I may as well that he know what happened. I had no need to defend myself, I wouldn't care if it was anybody else. But him? I didn't want him to just assume, and I don't know why. 

"The constellations," I spoke, with a gesture of my hand. He wouldn't get the specifics if I told him either way. "They help me see and I needed to get a single memory of that boy's. For that, I needed contact. Anything small, just to make sure the constellation had a way of going in and coming out back into me." 

"That's why I touched him," My eyes met Viktor's and his expression had melted into careful resolve. "Either way, Viktor Krum, I don't discriminate." 

He let out a scoff, the kind that sounded less like one and more like a snort. A grin broke through his features and I looked away slightly fidgeting. His grins were irritating, causing strange feelings to emerge in the pit of my stomach, and I would rather not witness them at a time like this, or ever. The Durmstrang wasn't someone predictable. I couldn't even trust him, when I knew he would be the first person to condemn me if he found out about Grindelwald. 

"Constellations, runes. Your magic astounds me," He let out in thought, "Still, that doesn't explain why you were running, or why you're still worked up." 

I couldn't tell him about my visions, I couldn't tell him that I saw a side of me being expressively violent in each. I couldn't tell him that I thought this recent one went on for longer than most and it was brought on by the anger that stemmed from that German boy touching the palm of my hand. 

"I just—," I broke off sighing. "It's nothing. I am worried about Gregorovitch, and that boy back there just—"

"He did something?" Krum interrupted, his features suddenly morphing into stone like fury. 

"No, I just didn't like that I had to hold his hand, alright?" I hurried, his behavior startling me. Why would he care if the boy did do something? I was not Viktor Krum's responsibility. He wasn't even supposed to be here. 

The Bulgarian seeker exhaled, his nostrils flaring as he looked away, eyes intense. "I think we can both agree on that." 

I blinked, my brows furrowing slightly. Shaking my head and reining in my composure, I pointed north. 

"That is where the Fischer house is," I spoke. "That is the direction we are headed." 

I glanced at him to see him nod, eyes still not meeting mine. He was thinking about something, more than a single thought causing a war inside his head. Perhaps he regretted coming here. To the inn or apparating at Gregorovitch's, or both, I couldn't figure. Perhaps he missed Ilvermorny, and the training ground nestled between the Greylock mountains. Or perhaps, he missed Yordanka Hristova. A jolt rattled me from the inside as the thought crossed my mind, a searing discomfort swelled inside me. The thought of him with her was.. unnerving, sickening. 

"Let's go," I murmured softly, starting to walk north and feeling his footsteps fall in beside me. 

We didn't say anything to each other as out feet crunched the snow underneath. The sun was high in the Hamburg sky, though it's heat felt nonexistent. I focused my thoughts on Gregorovitch. Once we had retrieved him, I could go back to my main mission. I could go back to pursing Grindelwald and finding a clean way into Nurmengard Castle. I hadn't even consulted my wand yet, to see if he had escaped or not. I hadn't had a chance to take any step, or devise any plan. But once I had retrieved Gregorovitch, I could fall back into step, on my way towards The Elder Wand. 

***

A/N:
Happy weekend! I made a new cover for this book and this one's going to be permanent. So excited that I managed to capture the final vibe of the story. I hope you're enjoying the book so far.