CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

"BUT WE BOTH KNOW WHAT YOU intend," The words were raw on my tongue, unfeeling and numb as I talked to the formerly captive—Harry potter's infamous godfather—Sirius Black.

I hadn't known anything of that man until Oliver Wood had filled me in with brief details before this unorthodox meeting. Why should I be concerned with the life of a solitary man who had been imprisoned in Azkaban—regardless of whatever the misunderstandings of his convictions were? Though whatever Black's convictions were, wizards and witches got thrown in infamous prisons like Azkaban and MACUSA in heaps, once the authorities found so much as a mere silk thread to even connect them to a vicinity where a crime had happened—or to others involved. And other times, those authorities would go blind to a whole rolled ball of that same silk thread even if it was thrown at their faces.

The French wizarding authorities were no better. Except, they were major fans of disposing immediate punishments instead of crowding their cells with captives.

The wizarding authorities in general were nobody's friends. They were all wound together in inexplicable ways, separated by language barriers yet they were still a single unit, distances be damned. Deaf, blind and they folded when faced with slightest of threats—ever confident afterwards in the fleeting front of authority that they maintained in front of the commons.

"We both know what you intend," I spoke to the man's face dominating the flicker of the flames in the fire Gabriel Chevrolet had built outside our camp.

Sirius Black had come of his own accord, manipulating the blameless flames with his presence, despite my instructions to Oliver Wood. The Hogwarts boy had been at a loss to explain, and I had already deciphered that Black was no one's messenger wizard. He was his own, with his short curly hair molding the fire and the yellows and oranges defining what his face looked like—a typical face of a wizard in his late thirties who had undoubtedly been the victim of many knees and elbows in the past twelve years—the man was an Azkaban escapee. He was nobody's messenger man. He had found us of his own accord, possibly by locating Wood in some way that I could not put my finger on at present.

"I say I want to save the wizarding world and you and your order hold me by my throat and force me to do it your way."

Sirius Black blinked in surprise, taken aback, his face in the raging fire unchanging.

"I say I will save the wizarding world, and you and order are right there behind me, weaponizing me."

I glanced at some of the others huddled around the fire on thick logs, intense and somewhat detached looks marring their faces. Viktor Krum's eyes were pinned on me, his facial expression trained to detect any discourse on my face, ready to interrupt whenever the interruption was needed.

"That is what you intended to do with Harry, is it not?" I asked, my eyes breaking away from Krum's gaze to fall on Harry Potter's.

The chosen boy was sitting on a log opposite to me, conscious and alert again, just as I had convinced my brain he always had been. He had opened his eyes quickly, and had shown no signs of discomfort, leading me to believe that I had been successful in taking away the pain and hurt of the Cruciatus curse away from his body. But the curse was still in his memory, and perhaps the pain of that was stronger, for the boy had barely eaten and barely spoken since he had come to.

I had worked on Draco Malfoy next, laboring over his crippled form as I paired healing with a variety of different runes. One had offered me sufficient co-operation, and it had taken me an entire two hours to attach and mend the bones of one of his legs and one of his arms. The effort was draining, and I couldn't bring myself to carry on all the way through and resist Krum's plea as he urged me to rest. The Malfoy boy's screams of agony were raw in my ears as Elias Dupont held him steady for me, yet his pain was not as excruciating to consider as Harry's had been at the Schalun castle. In my wretched labor, I couldn't help but think that the Malfoy boy deserved it—all the agony was only returning to him, like a measly boomerang taking too long to arrive.

"I see," Sirius Black spoke after a deliberate pause, his tone controlled, refined. "You are headstrong, Miss Grindelwald."

I narrowed my eyes, slightly startled at his use of my given name. I hadn't realized he knew. Oliver Wood knew only of my heuristics until about an hour ago when Gabriel Chevrolet let out his present grievances to the two newcomers, the Beauxbatons boy as high as a kite as he smoked the weed Lucas Benjamin had kindly provided. So Wood couldn't have let this information loose to Black, the Hogwarts Quidditch keeper—despite having sought us out to recruit me for an order I didn't approve of—couldn't lose any information to the outside world in my presence.

"Yes," The man confirmed my thoughts as he read my face. "I am well aware. So is the order of the phoenix. Do you suppose Albus Dumbledore would not warn us that Grindelwald had a kin left, if he knew?"

"Warn you?" I mused, "Well, that's exciting to know."

Sirius Black exhaled sharply, a flicker of orange ash dusting off of the fire and disappearing before it touched my bare feet. I cringed slightly at the sight of the lower half of me. I was warming my skin by the fire and hadn't realized the state I was in. My calves were adorned with a distribution of purple green bruising against my olive skin, and I had cuts across my ankles—now dried up and covered with hard brown. An ugly aftermath of dueling a headmaster and death eaters in bejeweled and exposing burlesque and linen dirndl-esque dresses.

The German style dress Fischer had got for me in Vaduz was still presentable anyhow, only covered with a layer of dust at the hem that lay just below my knees.

"I do not intend any such thing with Harry or you," The wizard in the flames let out then, ignoring my previous statement. "Nor does the order. All we require is your trust and cooperation."

"And my heuristics, of course," I tilted my head slightly. "Or do you already possess such a thing, if you did, you wouldn't be here now, would you?"

"Please," The man blurted out, frustration in his tone. "I do not have much time."

I observed him silently, as the wizard gathered himself, casting his eyes briefly over all the rest of the young wizards and the witch gathered around—their eyes and ears pinned to the exchange unfolding.

"Just," The man exhaled. "I need to have a moment alone with you. There are some things you need to know. I believe they can make me gain your trust if only you should listen."

I rubbed my legs briefly together, a calming effect producing itself on my skin under the impact of the warm heat.

"Alright," I decided, before looking at the cautious eyes fixed on me. "A moment alone with the fire, please."

"Hell no," Viktor jutted up, his face hard and eyes intent on Black's burning and molding face. "I'm staying. I need to hear whatever the fuck he has to say. Came a long way for a just a moment alone, did you?"

"Krum," Black raised a flamed brow, in amusement. "Huge fan, champ. But I'll still be needing to speak to Miss Grindelwald in private."

I met Viktor's eyes, exchanged confirmation that I would tell him or call for him if I needed to. The Durmstrang understood, and then he motioned to everybody else as they hauled themselves reluctantly away to corners and businesses I couldn't think of at present.

"Harry," I gently nudged the boy beside me, and he stirred out of his stupor. Flashing me a hesitant look, he offered his godfather in the fire a small smile before sauntering off, his manner in a daze.

Once everybody was out of sight, Sirius Black lowered his voice and dropped it to an urgent whisper.

"He who must not be named," The wizard started, "Is desperately searching for you, Miss Grindelwald, and I cannot emphasize that fact enough. The desperation has caused him to lose part of his motive for Harry too, it seems. Though I cannot be sure of that fact. What he requires from you is only your heuristics, and The Elder Wand so that he can transfer your magic to himself."

"Hogwarts is under his entire control, and most of the rest of the wizarding schools across Europe are being taken over by death eaters. Beauxbatons is endangered too, since the headmistress has been called to Hogwarts. Still, Britain remains he who must not be named's base. He means for it to be the capital of his reign of terror, he means to use it to control whatever parts of the world he chooses to."

"As for the heads of the wizarding schools he has summoned, I am told that Olympe Maxime and Agilbert Fontaine have been imprisoned in dungeons, while Igor Karkaroff was brutally killed as soon as he was brought in—the reason remains unclear to me and I might have to refer to Lupin for that one."

I gripped the log I was sitting on tighter, my palms pressing harder against the harsh wood beside my thighs as I dug its skin with my nails.

"Currently, aside from indulging himself in these motives, his primary focus remains you. It is believed that he is in possession of persons who can lead him to you—one of whom we are desperately anxious to retrieve."

"What?" I let out, startled.

"Your duel with Albus Dumbledore," The wizard started, his tone unaffected as he brought up the leader of his order. "I understand you had accomplices, did you not? A certain unwanted from America and Albus' nephew, Aurelius."

"Angus—he's not from America, he's—," I broke off, the hair at the back of my neck standing up as my heart skipped several beats in fear.

"Angus," The wizard spoke the name. "It seems you tamed him, gave him a name. The creature must be important to you then, and our suspicions were correct."

"What suspicions?" I managed, anxiety and fear making my head rush.

"That the captive may reveal you. It does not take a genius to know that they are being subject to torture, Miss Grindelwald. Hell, the order fears even Aurelius might be persuaded if he is driven across the breaking point."

Torture. I thought then of the Halmasti who had approached me in Ilvermorny during the Huntlock ball, when I was alone with Krum. I thought of the creature's appearance. The burn marks on his skin, his fur and deep pieces of flesh and skin missing. If Voldemort did that to the les dorés just to persuade them into doing his bidding and locating me, what would he do to Angus?

"You also killed he who must not be named's valued death eater, I hear," Sirius Black continued when I had not spoken, his recounting tone thawing at my frustration, igniting my anger and fear.

"And you are in possession of his son, I see."

I looked at the direction of the camp sitting a distance behind me. Draco Malfoy couldn't yet walk, with only one functioning leg and zero energy to use it at present. I wasn't sure how this Sirius Black of the order of the phoenix could've seen the boy at all.

"I am just keeping him," My voice was small, my focus fixed on Angus. "I don't know what to do with him yet. Maybe if he is kept away from death eater influence, that would be all the better for him."

"I suppose," The wizard affirmed.

"Look, Miss Grindelwald," He continued then. "I have managed to acquire all this information because I have been keeping a secret eye on the happenings of the Malfoy manor—the house of the valued death eater you killed and he who must not be named's current residence. I gave the same information to the order and now I am giving it to you, just so you could understand that I need your trust in return and your co-operation as well."

"He who must not be named, is supposed to have made horcruxes. Simply put, a horcrux is an object in which you can store a piece of your soul and a wizard cannot truly die unless that stored piece of his soul is destroyed as well."

I blinked at the word. Horcrux. I knew about those things, I had read about them in the Beauxbatons library once in my fifth year. It was when I was investigating the piece of the pendant I had of Grindelwald's—the shard of the vial connected to it which had once contained the blood of Dumbledore and my great uncle after they had made a blood pact in their youth. The piece had shown up to me, basically landing at my feet. I wanted to know why it was relevant enough still to show up to me like that. Now I realize it was Grindelwald setting the stage for me, making me remember him in tiny ways and acknowledge his presence, before he would be bold enough to summon me.

"He who must not be named has made eight of these things, Miss Grindelwald," Sirius Black brought me out of my reverie. "All eight must be destroyed if we have any hope to see him destroyed."

"Horcruxes," I spoke then, the words cool on my tongue as my sharp eyes met the wizard's. "I have the deathly hallows. I have The Elder wand, and I have my heuristics—the most powerful magic in the wizarding world. I have enough to destroy that wizard. Surely I can destroy all the pieces of his soul with his mortal presence, I have enough faith in my own heuristics, even though I have never been trained for Voldemort."

"Faith is good," Black's words were cautious. "But Albus himself has expressed the urgency to locate the horcruxes—"

"Then you locate them," I interrupted, dark annoyance flashing on my face. "Your order can locate them. No fucking wizard will send me on a pointless goose chase again."

"Albus Dumbledore mustn't have known of me then, when he expressed such urgency to you," I narrowed my eyes. "Dumbledore only found out through his nephew, after I had killed my great uncle in Nurmengard. Besides, what did Albus Dumbledore know of heuristics? What do any of your order know of heuristics? I have dealt with its power for my entire life. You will not conquer my faith in it."

Sirius Black didn't say anything, exercising caution as though he was afraid I'd lash out.

"Working on Harry and healing Draco, I have had a lot of time to think since Wood told me of your order's interest in me. I will oblige you with my trust and co-operation—as much as I can offer it—now that you have confided your knowledge in me, Sirius Black."

The wizard looked at me, his flaming eyes determined as he braced himself for what I was about to say. It was as though he completely expected that he wouldn't approve of my decision, and that it would go entirely beyond what he and his order had planned.

"I'm going to Hogwarts," I started, my voice hard. "I will not be hiding from Voldemort any longer."

Black flinched, and for a moment I thought perhaps he too believed Lucas Benjamin's theory about the tabooed name, but then I realized that Black's shock was merely the audacity of my statement—the fearlessness and selfishness of it. The idea that a wizard's only weapon was falling out of his grasp must've been an appalling one indeed.

"I will make myself known," I continued then, unaffected. "I will offer myself to him. I intend to gain his trust somehow. I will offer him things he wouldn't be able to resist from a heuristic witch, the prospect of having the heuristic power in his favor will be too great to refuse for him—until of course he duels me, takes The Elder Wand and then tries to suck out my power. That is when I will strike, the duel will go in my favor."

My thoughts ventured on to Angus. I will free him too, and Aurelius Dumbledore—if the man was still alive by the time I got to him, Halmastis were capable of withstanding extreme torture, but humans had an earlier limit.

"You mustn't," The wizard in the campfire spoke then, his tone desperate. "The horcruxes will be a safer, more reliable option. It will entirely eliminate him if we destroyed them first—"

"I will entirely eliminate him," I seethed, fury clawing at me now. "I told you Black, if you want to scavenge for horcruxes you can do so. I will not sit around and search for things, it is a petty excuse for delay and I cannot afford the thing any longer."

"And if you fail?" The wizard prompted, "If you lose the duel, he takes The Elder Wand and takes your heuristics, then what?"

"I won't fail."

"If you do, what then?"

I blinked, my fury turning cold. "Then nothing."

"If I fail," I met the fire's eyes. "I'll know that at least I tried. I'll know that I was the only one who tried, while others only tried to weaponize me. That knowledge alone would make me realize that the wizarding world was getting what it deserved after all. There's no peace for those who cower and submit, Sirius Black, I'm sure even Albus Dumbledore was aware of that fact."

Albus Dumbledore, traipsing all over the country as he managed his duties, thrashing around to find ways to fight the fate that was falling onto the wizarding world—even if it involved making alliances with death eaters in sketchy London gentlemen's clubs, who might spill important details from loose lips after glasses of brandy. A newfound small respect ebbed away at me for the fallen wizard, at least he had tried too, regardless of how clothed in folly his attempts had been.

"I'll free Angus, and the rest of them before if I can," I spoke, swallowing a lump in my throat as I thought of Madame Maxime. And Igor Karkaroff—what a fate.

"You are cruel, Miss Grindelwald," Sirius Black exhaled then. "You harbor such hatred and you do not know where to put it."

I looked away from him, feeling his words churn in me. That defined me, did it not? I had no place to put my hate for a world that only wanted me when it needed me.

"Very well," The wizard continued after a pause, not at all resigned to my decision. "If you insist on ruining the mightiest of our prospects, you may do so. But realize this, Miss Grindelwald. You may be cruel, but I am not. Albus Dumbledore mentioned you to the order for a reason, and so I will try to keep in contact with you whether you are in Hogwarts or at the Malfoy Manor. I will try to assist however I can."

I didn't respond, not wanting to turn this offer of help away but not brave enough to acknowledge it. Being in Voldemort's presence in London had been unnerving, and now there would be no escaping it.

"What of The Elder Wand?" I asked, my voice small in the silence. "Will it work for me as it had for Dumbledore? I haven't used it yet."

The question could be considered ridiculous, I knew that, but I felt this urge to ask it regardless. I wanted to be sure.

"It will work better for you," Sirius Black responded. "That wand recognizes internal power in some ways, else it wouldn't be the most powerful thing created by death. It hasn't been yielded by anyone with any internal power since its creation, I believe."

"I thought all the three hallows were the most powerful things ever created," I offered plainly, "Was death someone to discriminate amongst his creations?"

"Certainly not," Sirius Black shook his head once, a thoughtful look on his face. "I don't believe he was."

"Will you take the other hallows with you?" He asked then.

"No," I looked at him, pursing my lips slightly. "I'll leave them here, with Viktor and Harry."

"And your acolytes?"

I narrowed my eyes on Black, as the wizard's face moved as though he had shrugged—but of course he had no upper body for me to confirm the gesture.

"Don't act surprised," The man raised a brow. "It would only be natural to assume that you have them. Prisons were vigorously broken into and out of these past few months, and Gellert Grindelwald's corpse was found nailed to a high wall in his own cell in Nurmengard. It would be foolish of me to not get straight to the point and say what needs to be said."

I turned my eyes away, annoyed at his boldness.

"I do have them actually," I started, pushing past my annoyance. "Though I will not be taking them with me. I told you, my plan involves only me."

"So you do not need them?" The wizard's head moved in the fire, a certain anticipation in his manner, "Perhaps you could employ them for use in the order—"

I scoffed. "Are you serious? My acolytes will join no deceased wizard's order. You are forgetting, Black, I dueled Dumbledore. I may not have killed him but I defeated him, and I had had to. And these are my acolytes you are talking about. I'll be damned if they join the army of a wizard I defeated."

Sirius Black pursed his lips, his head shifting in submission once he realized the failed prospect he had incurred.

"So what do you intend to do with them, Miss Grindelwald? You leave them be and they are free to choose their preferred side—even if it is Voldemort's."

Black wasn't aware of the loyalty of those acolytes. It was fickle in the sense that it was so difficult to grasp and pin down to one, yes, but once you got hold of it, it seemed to be unmoving. I had seen that very thing in that tavern in Vaduz. I had sensed it in them though they reserved no grief for my great uncle.

I swallowed an empty lump in my throat, glancing at the camp. Harry and Draco were inside, and I had spotted Elias entering a while ago. Others I could make out in the distance, Viktor Krum and Zubair Dimitrova had built a smaller fire a distance away, and Yordanka, Gabriel, Benjamin and Wood were lulling around it.

"My acolytes will be given a task, rest assured Sirius Black," I turned to look at the man's face in the fire. "They will be protecting my friends. Harry, Viktor, Zubair, Yordanka—all of them for however long they need the acolytes' protection."

"I have already lost one friend," My eyes dropped to my toes. "We buried her in the sunlight. And it was my fault for not having the acolytes protect her when my back was turned."

"Alright," The wizard exhaled, his tone not affected by my loss. "If that is what you wish."

"It is," My palms cupped my knees. "I'll be leaving alone for Hogwarts at first light after I assign the acolytes here. I will not be looking forward to your contact, but if you manage, it will be appreciated, I suppose."

"Glad we could reach that, atleast," Sirius Black exhaled, shaking his head slightly.

"I will ask you to keep this from your order, Black. I do not want anyone else knowing where I'll be, or that I'll be facing Voldemort."

"I might as well," The wizard huffed. "Since I entirely failed to convince you of the plea they all mutually agreed on."

"Farewell, Miss Grindelwald," Sirius Black then turned to face me with a resolved expression on his face. "I'll be seeing you again, I assure you."

With that, the wizard's face vanished in the fire as the orange yellow flames were relieved from the magic's hold, their natural positions resumed as though nothing altering had occurred at all.

I sat by the fire still, before I heard footsteps against the loose rocks and Zubair Dimitrova appeared in my periphery. The boy neared, a certain anxiety in his manner as I turned to look at him.

"I saw he was gone, so I—," The dark skinned boy broke off, the firelight pronouncing his facial bone structure and making the perspiration on his forehead glisten.

"Can I talk to you? Before the others arrive?"

I blinked in surprise. "Yes, sure."

Nodding, the boy took a seat on the log beside mine, quickly glancing over his shoulders to make sure nobody was approaching as of yet.

"Well, I just wanted to ask—," He broke off again, before exhaling and running a hand through his wet hair. It was probably wet from perspiration or he had dunked his head in the little stream that was running in the forest nearby—both were equally likely.

"What is it?" I furrowed my brows, it was slightly jarring seeing Dimitrova in a state like this. He looked hesitant and wary, and so defeated and cautious at the same time.

"I was hoping," He shut his eyes tight, steeling himself before opening them meeting mine head on. "You could tell me what she was like. Before—"

"Before she met me," He finished, swallowing.

Bridgette Monet. The contrast was startling. Sirius Black had barely acknowledged the loss, not bothering to even ask her name. And here Dimitrova was, asking me to tell him about her though he and I hadn't even exchanged a single nice word in the entirety of our acquaintance. All in a span of fifteen minutes.

I looked away from him, not wanting my surprise to throw him off and make him go away. His question was a consolation to me. At Least he was still thinking about her, where as my thoughts had already begun to cloud with matters that were forcing their way in.

"She liked poetry, I suppose," I managed after a pause when I felt Zubair shifting in his spot. 

It felt awkward and jarring suddenly, to think of Bridgette's interests in order to tell them to someone else. When have I ever been in such a position before? Bridgette and I never talked about each other's interests to someone else. It was a topic of discussion decidedly off limits. We talked of our interests amongst ourselves, but of somebody else needed to know, then we spoke of our own interests ourselves. But to speak of the other to someone else like this? Where do you start? Where do you stop? 

"But the kind that didn't truly label itself to be so, you know?" I tried, briefly meeting Dimitrova's eyes. "Like the words of the muggle philosopher and author Albert Camus. Mon Dieu, Bridgette adored him. His love for Maria Casares—she loved it all so much. She was not a fan of outright poetry, but feelings expressed in words like the ones Camus used for Casares, that was the kind of poetry she consumed." 

I remembered a moment in time when we had debated amateurly about what the word poetry even meant. I remember shaking a volume of the French muggle and poet, Edmond Jabès' poetry, at her while she had stuck her chin high and recited passionate phrases written by Camus and Franz Kafka at me. I was the one who obsessed over outright poetry and musical lyrics, whereas she had found her comfort in passionate passages that elaborated a feeling in more words than necessary and illicit love letters written long ago.

I wonder why I didn't remember these things before. I wonder why when she was alive, all I could focus on was the less than perfect times in between us. I wonder why her presence always made me see the flaws in our relationship, and her absence made me see beyond all that. It was unfair. It didn't make sense. 

I didn't know how to continue to Dimitrova, or how to simplify everything I understood about my late best friend. Where was she, so that I could ask her to explain this herself? This question Zubair Dimitrova had posed was a consolation yet seemingly the hardest one to answer. Did I even know Brigette well enough to offer someone else the specifics of her life? Doubts began to cloud me, and my heart sank in the hurt.

"Like love confessions," I kept speaking, not wanting to let my doubts stop me. "Or hate confessions. Bridgette seemed to believe there was more passion in words people intended to hide. She called that poetry."

Zubair cleared his throat slightly. "I don't read poetry."

His words were simple and abrupt and full of this dense regret that made me turn to look at him. I could tell that he was beginning to realize something terribly broken—the fact that Bridgette had been more unlike him than he had imagined.

"That's surprising, coming from a self proclaimed Casanova," I mused softly, allowing myself a little moment of jest just to add some lightness in the air.

I was to be facing Voldemort tomorrow, and I would like to have more things to remember in dark times—light moments, jests—everything with these people who had volunteered to be out here with me despite every disagreement and hateful wall we had carried along.

"Yeah, well," Dimitrova uttered, slightly embarrassed. "I'm no such thing. I just said it at that time. She is—was—so pretty, and you too and I just—it was for an impression I wanted to make. Doesn't matter now."

I laughed, despite myself. "You thought she would swoon if you said that? Is this how Durmstrang girls are ensnared?"

Zubair smirked the barest of smirks, his eyes briefly meeting mine before they dropped to his hands fiddling together, elbows on spread apart knees as he leaned over, fixed in his spot.

"Not really," He managed, a bare shrug playing on his shoulders. "I mean, maybe some are. I wouldn't know."

Curiosity peaked at me in a gentle, mischievous way.

"So Bridgette was your first?"

The question rang in my head. What first was I referring to? First hookup or a first proper relationship? Or both? I wasn't sure. I wanted to think it was the latter, Bridgette had meant for this to be so much more than just a hookup. Mon Dieu, where was she so that I could nudge her shoulder and ask her? 

"No," He met my eyes briefly again. "I've—"

"I've been with a couple of girls before," The Bulgarian beater prompted, no trace of boast in his tone but a simple reservation. "But none of that meant anything until now—you know?"

"I know," I offered, relief clogging my chest. 

Though I had nothing to back up that understanding except for how it had felt to be intimate with Viktor, in comparison to that Beauxbatons sixth year Ombrelune boy I had given my virginity to in my fifth year.

"I'm sure Bridgette thought the same," I continued when Zubair didn't speak.

"Did she—," He broke off and it startled me how his sentences were when he wasn't sure of himself.

To me, Zubair Dimitrova had always appeared sure of himself, surer than Krum had.

"Did she have a guy before me?"

The Durmstrang met my eyes, a certain intrigue mixed with an odd fear circulating in his dark orbs. Against the fire light his eyes appeared to be the deepest dark brown I had ever seen. I thought of Viktor then, his eyes offered me so much more than just a depth.

Dimitrova waited, slightly anxious. Perhaps the notion that Bridgette slept around often would not be a pleasant one to hear, thankfully it was an entire falsehood that needn't be spoken at all.

"No actually," I started, maintaining a light air. "She thought most boys at Beauxbatons were vain. Though you weren't her first."

I tucked a piece of my hair behind my ears. I didn't ever suppose I would be talking to anyone let alone Zubair Dimitrova about Bridgette and I's girlish pact made of folly in our fifth year at school. But I hadn't also supposed she wouldn't suddenly be there anymore too. The universe seemed to be at constant odds with me and my suppositions.

"So you both just went with the first guys you saw?" Zubair raised a brow when I had finished, equal parts amused and equally parts concerned.

I laughed. "No. We had the guys in mind."

"Merlin," Dimitrova swallowed, his face thoughtful. "I wish I could've asked her if it was different with me."

"It was," I prompted. "Though I never asked her that. But she told me how she felt about you, and I'm sure she felt everything with you."

The Bulgarian beater met my eyes.

"We really had no time. Fuck, if I had known somehow, I would've made every second count."

I looked away, guilt creeping onto me. Today could be the last time I see Viktor too, had I made every second I had with him count? I hadn't. I really hadn't.

"Hey," The Durmstrang's voice erupted in our silence then, as Viktor Krum approached, his dark brows furrowed slightly.

"You guys okay?"

Zubair Dimitrova straightened himself, the vulnerability not yet gone from his face as much to my surprise, the boy seemingly embraced it.

"Yes," I spoke, offering Viktor a full smile.

"We were just chatting."

Viktor, convinced, sat himself down right beside me, his thick arm pulling me close to his side.

"I see Sirius Black is gone," He spoke against my skin as his lips kissed my jaw.

"Yes," I looked at Zubair, the boy's eyes fixed in the fire, face deep in thought.

"We reached a mild understanding, it seems. Though I won't be joining the order. He had obvious news and some bad news to inform."

"He says that vicious wizard is thriving in his anger for me," I carefully recounted some bits. "Considering I killed Lucius Malfoy—who was a very trusted death eater it seems."

"He also said—," I broke off, swallowing hesitantly. "That Voldemort has Angus and Aurelius. They are being subject to torture in hopes that they would tell him where I am."

Viktor's jaw tightened, his eyes fixing themselves on the fire.

"I'll find a way to save Angus," I dared to speak, wishing to give him a mere hint of my plans just so that I wouldn't drown in the guilt and heartache of it later. "I cannot leave him there."

"We'll find a way," Krum asserted, his arm around me firm, making my heart drop in my chest. I had already found a way, and it didn't involve him.

"Voldemort killed Igor Karkaroff," I added then, veering the topic.

Zubair, jolted out of his stupor, gaped at me in shock—his alarm matching that of Viktor's.

"Sirius Black said he was killed on the spot, and Madame Maxime and Agilbert Fontaine were imprisoned."

Realization coated Zubair's features slowly.

"Karkaroff was a former death eater," The Durmstrang started. "He snitched on the whereabouts of a handful of death eaters just so he could save himself from being persecuted for his crimes. The authorities, they let him go afterwards."

Viktor exhaled, a fury twisting his features. "So it was fucking revenge."

I was startled. I didn't realize Durmstrang Institute was being run by a former death eater. The fact was astounding, especially considering the fact that the institute seemed to go to such lengths to purge Grindelwald's presence from off their walls. I had seen Igor Karkaroff, he'd had a daunting and hard presence, but I could've never assumed.

Zubair Dimitrova got to his feet. "Excuse me, I'll be needing some more of Benji's stash I believe."

The Durmstrang sauntered away, and I turned to look at Viktor, his fair skin gleaming against the fire light.

"What?" Viktor grinned when I didn't speak, my eyes admiring his face in a silent reverie.

"Do we make our seconds count, Viktor?" I asked, my voice small and hesitant.

He blinked in slight confusion.

"Bridgette—," I started my voice cracking, "She was there one moment and gone the next."

I broke away from his gaze briefly.

"I just—Zubair's upset and I can see that. He regrets that he didn't make his seconds with her count. But I think if I were to ask Bridgette, she would say that they did."

I blinked the tears as they started forming unrelenting in face of my attempts.

"Because she wasn't like Zubair, she didn't always look at the loss. It was always the gain that held precedence for her. But he doesn't know that and even if I tell him, it wouldn't be the same as knowing and discovering for himself."

"And for us," I swallowed, using the back of my wrist to wipe away a stray tear. "I don't make every second I have with you count. I'm always so pulled, like a godforsaken marionette. I'm strewn about in different directions. My mind is such a mess and my heart can't keep up with it."

"Baby," Viktor Krum breathed, his brows pinched together in concern, this thick hand grabbing hold of my face, forcing me to look at him.

"I can't even begin to understand all that you have to consider in this fight for the wizarding world. Try as I might, I don't have the capacity like you do. I don't fucking think at all, I don't consider, I just go for it. And that doesn't work in this case. So I'll be there in your background, or your side—whichever side you fucking want me on. I'll be there while you decide the details and I provide you the muscle to make them happen. That is what I'm good at."

"Do you see, принцеса?" The Durmstrang probed, his hand reaching at the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair forcing my forehead against his.

Printsesa. When was the last time he had called me that?

"I'll be the one making every fucking second count for us. I'll be the one doing that."

I shut my eyes tight briefly, before opening them to meet Krum's. His face was hard, his features unrelenting as he leaned in and instantly slammed his lips on mine, forcing my head in place with his fingers still threaded at the base of my scalp.

I kissed him back, my senses exploding in the feeling of ecstasy that I didn't realize I had been yearning for. Our lips moved in sync, before his hand left my hair and he gripped my back with both his hands. My lips parted and his tongue entered my mouth, exploring my crevices with desperation. He tasted of the earth somehow, wet earth, thunderstorms with an underlying taste of cigarette smoke. I wondered briefly if he had been helping himself to Lucas Benjamin's supply during his wait for me and Sirius Black to be done with the conversation.

Before I could think another thought, I was held up off the log and my feet left the ground, Viktor's thick arm snaking in behind my knees. He held me as though I was entirely weightless, my arms wrapping around his neck as our kiss broke briefly and continued, deepening. He was taking me inside the camp, and I wanted to protest, knowing that Harry and Draco were inside and possibly Elias was too.

But my strength to protest didn't seem to hold up, with my stomach erupting in butterflies and every ounce of my will yearning for his touch.

The inside of the camp quickly darkened outside my closed eyelids, and it was when Viktor pressed me to the rug covered ground that I realized he had sectioned off a room of the camp, an impromptu opaque dark barrier separating the area of the camp with the remaining two rooms and exit.

The Durmstrang tossed his thick wood wand to a side, his eager lips finding mine again as his hands roamed my body hungrily before he yanked my dress up, his warm hand gripping my thigh as he rode my dress higher and higher before pulling it off my head, breaking our kiss in the process.

Cool air gently caressed my skin, but despite the comfort, even my bra and panties felt like a burden on my body.

"Viktor," I breathed as his forehead touched mine and I backed away gently from his desperate lips.

"Someone will hear."

"I sound blocked this area, baby," The Bulgarian seeker groaned, his words thick on his tongue. "Harry and Draco and sleeping anyway."

I bit my lip, knowing still how risky it was to have sex in the oblivious periphery of two injured fourteen year old boys—even if they could not see or hear us. But my body ached in protest, my heart pounding painfully in my chest, my mind going blank as Viktor's thick fingers undid the clasp of my bra, his lips clamping onto my chest as he undid his buckle aggressively—furious by the barrier of clothes.

He sucked on my breasts as I moaned, tightening my lips together, my hand holding his shaved head and catching myself when I got louder—ever conscious of being heard despite Viktor Krum's spell work.

The Durmstrang moved on from my breasts, the wet warmth of his lips and tongue trailing to my stomach and below as I gasped in the ecstasy of it. He tugged on the edge of my panties, pulling the fabric desperately down and relieving me of it entirely as I took my legs out of it.

The seeker tossed the fabric aside where his own shirt, jeans and my dress was piled up.

Before I could comprehend anything else, Viktor's lips kissed my core, his tongue lavishing attention on the sensitive part of me, eliciting a scream from between my lips as he held my thighs in an iron grip. The sight of his head between my legs was insane, crazy. The sensations coursing through my body were equally so, yet I felt as though I could walk through fires in the state my body and mind were in. I could conquer anyone and anything, in this pure euphoria.

"Mon Dieu, Viktor," I cried out, desperately trying and failing to catch my high tone.

I was on the edge, as his tongue found crevices in me that I didn't know existed. It repeatedly toyed with my clit, my tiny nerves embedded in the area evoking earthquakes throughout my whole frame. I was on the edge, filling to the brim and almost bursting before Viktor instantly pulled away—knowing full well that he had brought me close.

"You taste so fucking good."

His facial features were contorted in a desperation I couldn't figure out. It was as though he feared I would get away if he wasn't fast enough to pin me down. My heart churned in sudden guilt, he was right. I had always been getting away regardless of him telling me not to so many times. I always left him behind, more out of fear for his safety than out of anything else. I was getting away at first light now too, and perhaps this would be the last time I ever got to be near him like this—or in any other innocent way ever again.

Viktor had pulled down his boxers, his large member adorned in the protection he was thankfully cautious of. I hadn't seen him put it on, but his wand had shifted from the earlier spot he had tossed it at.

He leaned over me then and gripped my waist, holding me steady as my own hands placed themselves on his chest and he thrust himself into me.

My back arched, my head tipping back as the Durmstrang waited a few seconds, letting me adjust to him before he began to thrust again, his slow pounds into me unraveling me like a woolen sweater knitting backwards, before he gained momentum and my moans turned louder—my awareness no longer in control.

"Fuck, baby," Viktor breathed, his voice heavy in my already engaged senses, as he repeatedly thrusted—gentle and aggressive at the same time. "This is fucking heaven."

"You are my heaven," I whispered in between my unsteady breaths, my eyes peering into his ebony ones.

His eyes softened before he caught my lips with his, his thrusts quickening as my toes curled at his back, my legs encasing this muscular back halfway. His skin felt so hard, as though all his muscles were tense, pushing against the skin barrier—giving me his concrete form to hold on, to ground myself to.

"I'm lost without you, Dominique," Viktor groaned against my skin, his face buried in the nape of my neck. "I can't fucking live without you."

My eyes burned with tears, and a few stray ones slipped from the corners, as I shut my eyes tight. I could only hope to win against Voldemort, if I ever wanted to see Viktor again.

It wasn't entirely true, what I had said to Sirius Black. Knowing that I had at least tried would never be consolation for me. Defeat would lead me to inadvertently condemn Viktor, Elias, Zubair, Gabriel, Yordanka and Harry. Even Oliver and the blameless Lucas Benjamin. My defeat would make them all suffer, because whether I liked it or not, they too happened to be a part of the wizarding world I happened to have such qualms against. If the wizarding world suffered, they would too, regardless of how many acolytes I assign for their protection.

The Durmstrang's lips found my chest then, as he thrusted in his acquired momentum, his mouth lavishing attention onto my breasts again, making my soul tether to the brink—in sync with my body for one of the rarest times in my life.

"Viktor," His name was a religion on my tongue, the way it was always there regardless of what I was feeling or thinking.

There was a certain permanency to it, which startled me so much. There was consolation in the fact that his name and memory would always be there with me. Perhaps Zubair Dimitrova felt the same when he thought of Bridgette—perhaps he ought to take respite in the permanency of her memory and her name. Or perhaps, he wouldn't or couldn't. Perhaps he didn't see the permanency as clearly as I did. Perhaps what Krum and I had was incomparable to anything pre-existing in the universe.

I kissed his sturdy shoulders, his muscles rock hard underneath my touch. With one hand clasped around his neck, my other roamed his chest and his back—forcefully committing his form to my muscle memory, so that I would always somehow feel him underneath my touch even if he wasn't there.

His head raised then, as his lips left my breasts and met my own again. He was closer to the edge, I could tell with the aggressive yet passionate violence of his kiss. His tongue was desperate inside my mouth, and my own lips refused to give out as I matched his energy, my heart pounding as I deprived it of sufficient oxygen.

We parted to breathe, our foreheads touching. That was when I came, my head tipping back as I muffled the scream of his name that burst through my lips. Viktor came quickly afterwards, holding himself in place as he grunted and caught his breath, before slowly shifting to an elbow and sinking his back into the rug-covered campground.

No words escaped our lips then, as the chaos of our panting breaths filled the silence heavily. Then slowly, Viktor snaked an arm behind my waist, pulling me close to his rock hard chest as I rested my head on top of it, his arm securing me in place. His heart was pounding too, and I could hear it slowly thrum under the clothing of his warm skin and the barrier of his hard muscles.

"We make our seconds count, baby," The Durmstrang spoke after a while, his voice steady. "Even in this fucking chaos, we'll continue to make each second count." 

***

A/N: 
off topic haha, but I've been reading Evanna lynch's memoir lately, and it's so good. I kind of want someone to write an epic luna lovegood fic ugh—the way the actress talks about luna's character is so insightful and mesmerizing, I love luna so much but I had never thought of her like that <3