CHAPTER THIRTY

THERE'S A CLINICAL SATISFACTION in watching the joy emanate from people before a certain impending doom. Not quite like the calm before a storm, but more like the oblivious exhilaration before the chaos—the kind of joy that had nothing to do with the destined destruction in the first place. The two sides forever apart, until they are not.

The lights sparkled and glittered, littering the air all around us and reflecting on faces and exposed skin like bright kisses—one moment there and the other not. The Ilvermorny castle ballroom was a relic, extracted from an era gone by, with its pristine sheer-stoned marble floor that seemed to reflect all the lights, absorbing shards in its translucent form. It made it seem as though the stone ran deeper than the eye could see, a sea of translucence frozen in time and cursed to forever conceal its depth.

The ceiling was higher, adorned with crystal chandeliers that seemed duller to catch the light from the clustered stars born of magic that floated overhead, illuminating the room. Along the walls, adorned on decorative pieces, lay burning candles—adding a bit of soft yellow to the silver of the stars which sparkled iridescent at turns.

Conversation rode the air, and I could hear laughter and shocked exclamations blended into one like a strong drink. The air smelled of a mixture of perfumes and sweat—a heady mixture that I supposed would get to me sooner than I had assumed it would.

"Dominique?" Someone called my name close to my ear, and I turned to face Oliver Wood.

His burly form stood close to me, his hand reached out to offer me the drink he had earlier ventured off to get me. He was clad in a dark suit, white collar standing out against his olive skin. His hair stood messy, dark brown hair partially tamed for the occasion of the event.

"Thank you," I managed, taking the crystal from his hand.

The liquid was a deep swirling red—punch turned into strong alcoholic wine. It was courtesy of the Ilvermorny year seven headboy, something which he had made known to all his fellow seventh years and those of the Huntlock delegations, by sending rather prompt messages scribbled on parchment guarded by the notorious finding spell—needless to say, the messages had found everyone they had meant to.

There was also to be a steady supply of weed and lines of cocaine to be done at leisure, and according to the guy, you need only approach him and ask him about it.

I took a sip of the wine, and felt the stingy, burning, liquid run down my throat.

My eyes scanned my surroundings again, and my vision was a blur of dresses and the darks and lights of the guys' suits. I couldn't see Bridgette anywhere. Zubair Dimitrova and Oliver Wood had both been waiting outside the east wing common rooms when we had come out, and after Dimitrova had taken Bridgette's arm, I had lost her when we had stepped into the crowded ballroom.

My eyes though, were strangely desperate to spot Viktor Krum, and so was—I admitted foolishly—my stupid heart. The last encounter we had had was nonsensical. It had made no human sense, and perhaps it was something I said, but his reaction had been so inconceivable for my mind that I hadn't been able to register it since.

I was acutely aware of Oliver Wood at my side, and even in this boisterous environment I could feel him shift on his feet uncomfortably.

I spotted Yordanka Hristova in the distance, standing beside the table that was serving the punch turned into wine with a cluster of other Durmstrangs, drinks in hand. Zubair Dimitrova and Viktor Krum were not amongst them. She laughed then, at something one of her peers had said, and all her teeth went on display in a genuine form of laughter, and it unsettled me slightly. She looked different when she laughed without spite. I wondered if I could get along with her to a point where she would laugh like that at one of the jests I might've shared. But friendship between us seemed so unlikely at present, despite her being thrust with us under Agilbert Fontaine's assignment.

She wore a stark red suit, the trousers and vest hugging her form tight, her thick curly hair a halo surrounding her head. I caught myself observing Hristova's periphery. Viktor Krum was not with her, had he come with her at all? If he had, he wouldn't just leave his date's side, would he?

The music playing in the background slowed down, the disco beats settling into dull beats with an accompanying violin as the hired orchestra in the corner of the ballroom bent their ghoulish heads down over their instruments in concentration. The lights dimmed slightly, the magic born clustered stars sparkling a film of soft deep blue light that fell on our surroundings, bathing everything in deep blue. My dress turned blue under the light, as did everyone else's attires and exposed skins.

The ballroom center floor cleared and couples took to dancing the slow waltz, with those not interested retreating to the table serving drinks and refreshments.

"Would you like to dance?" Oliver Wood spoke close to my ear, and I forced a smile on my face as I pushed back the overwhelming urge to ask him not to do that again. Everytime he ventured close to my ear to speak, instead of just speaking louder, my body seemed to erupt in invisible hives of pure discomfort.

"Yes," I spoke regardless, putting my hand in his as he pulled me to the dance floor.

I put my other hand on his shoulder, as his other hand held my waist, and then we joined the procession of dancing, falling in sync to the music. My peripheral vision became a blur of blue and conversation as Oliver Wood spun me around, his steps coordinated and in perfect unison to the music and the dance. He was a good dancer, I acknowledged, before realizing I should probably make an effort to make the required conversation.

"You are a good dancer," I said, making my voice audible over the music, which, thankfully, wasn't much of an effort.

He smiled, a broad smile enveloping his face. "Yeah, thanks. My mom loves the art forms, she taught me and my brother at a young age."

I smiled at the thought. Two little boys learn the waltz from their mother, as she spins them around in a drawing room, laughing, laughing and smiling.

"That's sweet," I murmured, thinking of how I had learned the waltz—in my fifth year by an overly enthusiastic Bridgette who had learned it before our dancing class curriculum which was to begin in sixth year, because she had wanted us to be the best at it in class.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look?" Wood spoke next, catching me by surprise as he twirled me before I could reply.

"You have," I smiled, "But thank you, again."

He grinned, his hold on my waist tightening as he pulled me in closer. I hadn't realized how he was the exact same height as me, where Viktor Krum was inches taller. But I didn't know why my head was persistent in making comparisons, when Oliver Wood was nothing like Krum. Being near Wood like this, it didn't stop me, rendering me speechless like it did whenever the Bulgarian seeker I was so bent on hating, thrust himself forcefully in my personal space.

I didn't feel the Cornish pixies rebel in my stomach at Wood's touch. His conversation was much pleasurable, yes, but at his touch I felt.. nothing. And I realized then that I didn't need the solace of conversation as much as I craved what that Durmstrang made me feel.

Once again, I turned my eyes away from Wood's and tried to focus around us, wondering if Viktor Krum would even show up. He wouldn't miss the Lock ball without a valid reason, it would raise suspicions, damage this ruse that Agilbert Fontaine intended to maintain. Krum's presence tonight was bigger than he entailed, it was about him being seen—an international Quidditch star, on the cusp of yet another tournament. This time perhaps, to prove that not every tournament ends with a dead student being dragged out from underneath the night sky.

Well at least, to symbolize that.

Just as I was beginning to lose hope, I spotted him indifferent in the crowd. Oliver Wood had picked up pace by then, as the orchestra tightened the violin and the spinning of the couples on the floor increased. I caught a glimpse of Viktor Krum, and his figure was decipherable to the point that I could only know it was him. His expression—his face remained a blur as I was spun on my feet again.

Turning my eyes back to where I had spotted him, I saw that Krum had come closer, out from the shadows of the lightning as if to aid my endeavor of sighting him. And I saw clearly that his eyes were transfixed on me and Wood.

His face was stoic, not a muscle moving from my vantage point, yet I could sense the tension in him. It seemed to radiate through the dense perfume filled air and pierce through my energy, tugging at some heavy weight inside of me that I had perhaps just managed to gradually counter.

"Hey, you seem distracted," Oliver Wood spoke then, his voice hesitant as it brought me out of my reverie.

I met his light brown irises. "I'm sorry," I exhaled, forcing a smile on my face. "It's just—I feel that the fact that this is our last night in Ilvermorny is just dawning on me."

"Yeah," He murmured, frowning a little. "What a last night though. A ball is a grand farewell, even for Ilvermorny."

I nodded, realizing that I had not yet had his point of view of the assignment. He hadn't even sought me out after Fontaine explained the assignment's regulations to all of them. Everyone else had of course vented out their frustrations in my dorm, but what did Wood think? What were his feelings on the fact that Fontaine had made Krum and I in charge of the endeavor?

"But it'll be nice to go back home," Wood continued, grinning again. "Ilvermorny doesn't compare to Hogwarts though. The Quidditch grounds, the teachers, the friends—not to mention the sick things going on in the castle half the time." He chuckled slightly, thinking of something I didn't share.

"But it's not our home," I offered slightly. "We are not the ones going home." You are.

"Yeah, I get that," He nodded once in understanding. "Rest assured though, you'll feel warmly welcomed. Hogwarts is tight. We're a family back there."

Tight, the word echoed inside my head. How tight could they be when they had a potential death eater sitting amongst them in fourth year? A boy who hadn't been made to see rights and errors yet? Were not teachers supposed to be guidance? I stopped myself. Of course. This is how dark wizards are born, sitting in classrooms under ignorant professors. This was how Grindelwald was born in Durmstrang, this was how Voldemort was born in Hogwarts.

The violin shifted and changed to a softer tune, and the dance slowed some more. I saw Bridgette then, as she was swirled past us, locked in with Zubair Dimitrova in the dancing embrace. Her face looked flushed, even in this blue lightning, her sparkling eyes fixed in Dimitrova's.

I turned my eyes, attempting to spot Viktor Krum again where he had been standing before, but he was no longer there. I looked around as much as I could as Oliver Wood switched positions, and we both spun towards the center of the dance floor and my vision to see past was obscured entirely by dancing couples and flashy dresses.

Suddenly, Wood stopped, and I almost stepped on his toes as I brought myself to a halt as well. Confusion marred my eyes as I looked at him, my chest heaving as I panted, but he was looking at someone else at my side. I followed his eyes to the figure of Viktor Krum, standing beside us. His jaw was tight and veins pulsed visibly on his neck as his ebony eyes sat transfixed in Wood's.

Oliver Wood looked irritated, angry at the interruption, and Krum's purpose became clear when he turned his eyes away from the Hogwarts boy and reached out a hand towards me.

"May I have this dance?"

His manner was civilized, though his face at present was the epitome of all that I knew about him.

"She was already in the middle of one," Wood pressed, his eyes cautiously looking around to see if people were noticing the Durmstrang's rude interruption.

"She was at the end of one," Krum scoffed, eyes regarding Wood as though he was one of the fourth year Ilvermorny servers hired for drinks and refreshment for the night.

To stop them from arguing, I quickly placed my hand in Krum's outstretched one, offering Wood an apologetic smile.

Viktor Krum instantly tightened his hold on my hand and pulled me away from Wood, spinning me to face him as he grabbed my waist with his other hand. I rested my other hand on his shoulder, my heart thumping wildly in my chest.

He pulled me close, closing the distance between us, our faces inches away from each other. Krum's eyes bore into mine, with less frustration and anger he had shown Wood. His manner was now resolved, eager, but with a hint of satisfaction. And I couldn't place the reasons for either of those emotions.

"You were trying to make me jealous," The Durmstrang hissed in my ear, dropping his head low.

His hot breath caressed my ear lobe and I felt a chill travel down my spine. I wanted to know how his lips would feel on my skin, pressing my ear lobe between them.

"What?" I giggled, the question so out of sorts that I couldn't keep it in. I met his eyes, but amusement was the furthest thing in his eyes at present.

"You heard what I said," He formed the words, face stoic. "You use Wood to make me fucking jealous."

"That's not what—"

Krum's hold on my waist tightened as he lowered his head to meet my ear again. "This is how he was holding you just now. Tell me how it feels when I do it."

"Krum, you're being too presumptuous," I uttered, a sly smile on my lips as my heart missed several beats in my chest. "If you think I spend my time caring enough to make you feel something."

"But you fucking do it anyway," He snapped, before exhaling. "Make me feel something."

I blinked, turning my eyes away from his intense gaze. He spun me around at the beat and my dress flared against our legs as he pulled me back to him, our eyes meeting again.

"Tell me it feels different," He spoke again, voice tinged with slight desperation.

"From what?" I whispered, maintaining his gaze.

"From every fucking thing you've ever felt before," He dipped his head lower. "Tell me this feels different."

The pounding of my heart increased and I feared suddenly that he would hear it, despite the music, despite the laughter and conversation around us.

"Viktor—"

He stopped then suddenly, and took hold of my hand firmly, leading us away from the dance floor in between glamorous student forms as we weaved our way through. I didn't know where he was taking me, but strangely I didn't care at present. I was more intrigued by what he wanted to do, what he wanted to say—to me.

He brought us out of the ballroom and the crowd that had seemed perpetual around us ceased to a few as couples dangled around in corridors outside the ballroom. Viktor Krum led me down a hallway, and I realized it was the classes floor of the castle, where Ilvermorny students would've been having their daily regular classes as we had struggled with a world of our own in the east wing.

Also, who decided it was a great idea having a ballroom on the classes floor?

The Bulgarian seeker halted in front of a class and twisted the handle, shoving the wooden door open and leading us inside. He let go of my hand, pulled out his wand and locked the door shut. I stilled, heart still going wild in my ribcage.

"Viktor," I breathed. "What are you doing?"

He tucked his wand back in the inner pocket of the dark polished suit he wore, and then he slowly turned around to face me. His expression was unreadable, his face of stone as his eyes bore into mine.

"Viktor," I spoke again, desperation in my tone, "Answer me."

Slowly, he stepped forwards, his eyes fixed on me. Something had changed in his manner then, the lust in his eyes had schooled itself, replacing itself with an indecipherable emotion with startling clarity. An emotion was much too reminiscent of his fury, but a tamer version of it. 

"Your mark," He uttered then, blinking as his jaw shook with how tight he was grinding his teeth. "You hid it."

So he had seen it after all. I felt a strange relief suddenly, knowing that he had, knowing that I won't have to hide it from him anymore.

"Yes," I spoke plainly.

Fury flashed in his eyes at my tone, but I could see him fighting with himself to school the wild emotion.

"Why do you have it?" He let out. "Why the fuck would you have that thing?"

I didn't respond, observing him as I slightly tilted my head. It must have unnerved him, to see the very thing he had despised, the one he had spent so much time at Durmstrang purging from students' minds, the thing that I carelessly scribbled on a parchment when we had first met. Now he has seen it on my skin, and it must unnerve him like no other thing ever has.

I turned around, facing my back to him as I looked at the empty Ilvermorny classroom. I wondered what subject they learned here. It didn't look like a Beauxbatons classroom, with its assortment of glass cabinets for subject essentials and subject appropriate constructed ceilings. This classroom was plain, except for the wooden desks piled in rows and the ceiling formed like a stone archway.

Moon light poured in from the high windows of the classroom, lighting up less than half the space in the dim silver blue light. The further part of the classroom remained bathed in the darkness.

"Dominique," Krum barked, his loud voice echoing in the empty room.

"Why do you want to know?" I asked, spinning around to face him. "So you can purge it from off my skin?"

He stood there, hands fisted at his sides, eyes pinned on me.

"I want to understand why you haven't done so yourself."

I blinked, my eyes narrowing at him.

"I want to know, Dominique," He cursed, his voice coming out with no reins on it. "I want to know."

I reeled slightly backwards as his past words hit me full force.

"Open up to me. When all this is over, I want you to myself. I want to know you, I want to know of everything that makes or breaks you."

Suddenly, I wanted him to know. I wanted him to know everything, but would he understand? Knowing was not understanding.

"Stop saying that!" I cried, his words louder in my head. "Stop saying that when you refuse to understand anything."

Viktor stood unaffected with my outburst, except for a slight softening of his eyes. He ventured closer.

"Stop saying that when you think I'm cursed," I breathed in the silence of the classroom. "Stop saying that when nothing I say will change your mind."

"That's not true," The Bulgarian seeker neared me some more, stopping three feet away, his eyes intent on me. "That's not fucking true anymore."

"What is?"

"You—" He broke off then, breaking our gaze as he ran a hand over his shaved head, exhaling. "You are not cursed. I'm sorry I said that to you."

I stilled, lips parting in surprise. He met my eyes again, earnestly.

"The magic you have can help the wizarding world," The words hot on his tongue, but he spoke them, emphasizing each. "Anybody would be a fool if they don't see that."

I didn't know how to receive the compliment. Coming from such a source, it had rendered me speechless.

"I just—" He broke off again. "I just want to know if I apologized to you, would you confide in me? Because I can't fucking go on like this."

"Like what?" My voice was soft, breaking at the edges suddenly.

Viktor Krum stepped closer to me, until he was only an elbow's distance away. My breath hitched in my throat, and I was certain he could hear the pounding of my heart now if he hadn't before.

"Dominique Lavigne," The Durmstrang spoke the words, his voice slightly shaking. "I'm fucking crazy about you. You consume my every waking thought to the point that I know I'll go deranged if I don't have you for myself."

I gasped, a sudden ache building up in my eyes. He doesn't even know why I have the mark. He despised that thing so much because it was associated with Grindelwald. I couldn't bear it if he took these words back once he found out that I was too.

"Viktor, stop," I shook my head, keeping tears at bay. "You shouldn't say such these before you know—"

"Know what?" He pressed when I didn't speak, his eyes were vulnerable now—a mirror to my own.

"You will hate me," I uttered, a tear falling down my cheek.

It was unbearable to think of him after he knew what Grindelwald was to me. It was unbearable to picture his intense hatred, the way he won't even look in my face again.

The Bulgarian seeker shut his eyes tightly then, before shaking his head and opening his eyes to meet mine with determination and force.

"I can never hate you now," He spat the words. "I've fucking forgotten how to."

I didn't say anything, my throat felt so tight with the fear of the confession. I knew I would survive even if he hated me afterwards, I knew I would survive, but I didn't want the kind of survival that didn't involve him. My heart couldn't afford that kind of survival.

"Lavigne," He pressed, his voice a grunt as he neared me another step, head bowed low, eyes shut tight, as if begging me for closure.

"It's Grindelwald," I lamented, my voice barely above a whisper.

Viktor Krum's eyes flashed open and fixed into mine. I couldn't read them, and at present I didn't want to.

"My name is Dominique Marie Grindelwald," I raised my hand to slowly touch his cheek, as tears poured out of my eyes. "Gellert Grindelwald was my great uncle, and I killed him a day ago."

The Bulgarian seeker took a step back, his eyes firm in shock as my hand fell away.

"Nurmengard—when you went to—" He broke off swallowing, eyes breaking away from our gaze as realization hit him. "That's why Gregorovitch gave the task of The Elder Wand to you. He knew."

"Yes," I pressed, bringing a hand up to wipe my tears away. "That's why I didn't want to tell you."

"Fuck," Krum muttered, before stepping away and bringing his thick hand down on a nearby desk with a loud bang. "Fuck. How couldn't I have seen it? How could I have been so blind?"

"Viktor—" I started in a desperate attempt to save him before hatred for me devoured him completely, but he cut me off.

"The mark, what does it symbolize on your body?"

"He gave it to me when I was a baby," I began. "He meant for me to become his heir."

He scrunched up his face, as if in disgust by such an act. "And can't you get rid of it?"

"I can," I peered into his eyes. "If I used The Elder Wand, I know I can. But I won't."

His brows furrowed in confusion.

"My great uncle gave me his legacy, Viktor," I looked away from him, focusing on the moonlight coming from one of the high windows. "He gave it to me to do with as I choose, and I chose to change it. I chose to mold it into something different and make it my own."

I turned to face him again, hugging myself. "That's why I will always wear it."

His eyes searched mine. He was still reeling with shock, but I could see it settle into him, I could see my words settle into him.

"And you killed him," He breathed.

"He asked me to," I raised my shoulders, tearing up again as I thought of that night. "Somehow, he knew I would never be like him, still he gave me everything he had got left. He helped me to support myself should anything go wrong—should they discover my magic and try to lock me up."

Slowly, The Durmstrang picked his composure back up and neared me again, and this time when I tried to read his eyes, I found no hatred in them. His old unspoken threat lingered in the air above us, how he had threatened to expose my magic, how he had claimed the dementors would take me away and lock me up. Krum parted his lips, as if to speak of that threat, but I broke him off.

"My great uncle told me that Dumbledore had the wand," I rubbed my elbow in my palm. "He said that Voldemort would get it from him, so I must acquire it from Dumbledore to make sure it does not fall into the dark wizard's hands."

"How would Grindelwald know that?" The Bulgarian seeker asked, steeling his voice as he spoke the name. "How would he even know Voldemort is even back?"

"Voldemort is back, Viktor. The wizard who was scouring Gregorovitch's memories that night we were at his cottage, was Voldemort. Grindelwald said that Voldemort would be coming to pay a visit to him too, to ask about the wand. And he came, Harry Potter saw it in his vision. All Voldemort found was a dead body. My great uncle wanted me to kill him before Voldemort did."

I swallowed. "So I did just that."

Viktor Krum raised both his hands and intertwined them at the back of his head, breaking away from my gaze as he pushed his head down and focused on the ground. It must've been a lot for him. But I would much rather have had someone else tell me too than having to go through everything myself.

"I thought of your grandfather when I did it," I spoke softly.

His eyes jot towards me in surprise, as though he hadn't figured I'd ever say such a thing. But then again, how much of everything that I had spoken had he expected?

"Then I wrote a message on the wall for Voldemort," My voice broke as tears started falling again. "I told him he will never get that godforsaken wand, and I promised my great uncle that I will acquire it from Dumbledore. Because if I don't, Dumbledore will lose it to that dark wizard and then who will save the wizarding world?"

"Can your magic be countered by that wand?" Krum asked, hesitant.

"I don't know," I shook my head, "I don't know anything except the fact that I have to get that wand from Dumbledore. Grindelwald implied that if I can take it, I can keep it safe using my magic. I can defend it from being won back."

"I have to keep chasing it down," I cried, "And I just—s'il te plaît, I just need someone to understand."

The Durmstrang leapt towards me then, and suddenly I found my face held in both his hands as he pulled me close.

"I understand," He let out, pressing his forehead to mine. "I fucking understand."

A sob escaped from between my lips, as I held onto his hand holding my face.

"Stop, Dominique," Viktor started, "Don't cry, I can't see you cry."

I looked up at him as we lifted our foreheads away.

"We're going to Hogwarts, and you will get that fucking wand alright? I will do whatever I can to help you. I will do everything you ask me to."

"But why?" I asked softly. "You were supposed to hate me." 

"I can't," He broke in, "I can't hate you, not when you avenged my grandfather. Not when you thought of him when you didn't have to."

"Not when I'm passionately in love with you," Krum sighed, his eyes bearing deeper into mine. "Not when I want you like I've wanted nothing and no one else."

"I want to melt in you, Dominique, I want you to flow through my veins," He dropped his hands from my face and grabbed my waist, pulling me flush against him. With his other hand he caressed my face again, wiping gently at my now cold tears with his thick thumb.

"I'm choked with my want for you. I'm a sinner and every crevice of your body and soul holds my religion. Merlin, I could start fires with what I feel for you."

His words were like the balm to the agony in my heart. It was as if he held my heart in his hands, and I was not sure if he knew it. I was not sure if he knew that I had submitted my organ to him such a while ago, that none of us would be able to pinpoint when or where if we tried to. 

"Kiss me, Viktor," I spoke, my words a plea.

The Bulgarian seeker obliged eagerly, as he crashed his lips on mine. My body erupted in bliss, he tasted of musk, pine and thunderstorms. He licked my lips, craving entrance and I parted them on the request as he kissed me deeper. With one hand on his chest, I raised the other to hold his face. Our tongues danced in an ecstasy that I couldn't ever name if I even tried to.
I broke away to breathe, dipping my head back but it was as if Krum didn't need oxygen at all. His lips trailed down my jaw and as he kissed my neck, sucking on the sweet point between my collar bone and neck.

"You are so gorgeous," He muttered against my skin. 

I moaned softly, feeling my knees cave in as he pushed me gently against the side of a desk so that I could hold myself up.

"Avant même que tu me touches, je t'appartenais. Tout ce que tu avais à faire était de me regarder," I murmured the words that were suddenly floating inside my mind, as Viktor's large hands trailed my body.

He raised his head, his eyes burning with lust and love as he kissed me again.

"Tell me what you said," He breathed in between our kiss. "You make me lose my mind when you speak French, but baby, you know I have none of it."

I smiled, looking into his eyes as I intertwined my fingers at the back of his head.

"It's a poem," I beamed. "From Louise Glück's The Burning Heart."

Viktor nodded, dipping his head into my chest as he kissed my collar bones again, and then gently kissed the spot my heart was throbbing against.

"I don't read poetry," He murmured against my skin. "And I still don't know what you said."

"Even before you touched me, I belonged to you," I started translating, "All you had to do was look at me."

Krum lifted his head to look at me, his eyes darkening slightly as I touched his cheek.

"That's what the poem says," I added. "I feel like it has never spoken to me before this moment."

He exhaled, lowering his head again. Then, tentatively, he reached up a hand and touched my right shoulder where he had seen the mark. I knew he could feel it underneath his fingers even if he couldn't see it. Strangely, the dull ache of it from earlier had vanished.

"You don't need to hide it from me again," He spoke, firm eyes looking into mine. "Do you understand me? Every fucking thing I've ever said to you, every threat I've ever made, and every time I've ever hurt you—I'll make amends for everything, Dominique. I promise you."

"I'll do anything to make you forgive me, I promise you I'll never stop."

I nodded, not trusting myself to form words without tearing up. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled myself to him, as his large form embraced me back.

"Dominique," Krum breathed against my skin after a pause. "If you don't let go this second, I'll have a hard time controlling myself."

I blushed then, a heat creeping up my neck as I countered it.

"I don't want you controlling yourself," I whispered back, as his hold on me tightened. He kissed my shoulder, his hands slowly rubbing my back as he touched every curve of my body.

A moan escaped my lips, and as my momentarily closed eyes shuttered open, I saw a pair of large eyes in the distant darkness—covered by the dark the moon had missed in the classroom. I gasped, my hold tightening on Viktor. The foreign eyes were fixed on me, a plain dead expression marred in them as they sported no irises, only a single white sheen in each eye. I knew those eyes. I had seen them on Angus.

But unlike the latter, this was the guest of Ilvermorny. This was one of free les dorés. This was the creature Agilbert Fontaine had sought help from to find Maximillian Toussaint, instead, this creature had followed its natural instinct and found a heuristic witch. It had found me. 

***

A/N: 
um okay this chapter was intense in feelings!! my inner poet really came out lol. I hope you liked this part! also, i've officially put this fic up on ao3 as well so y'all can access it there as well if you want to!