CHAPTER NINE

THE WORDS WRITTEN ON the pages were just how I had heard them. They weren't twisted, or altered, or shifted in any way. They were all the same. Ones I had heard pass from several lips all throughout my life, every pair of lips that had nothing to do with me or my family.

I suppose I should have been enthralled, or perhaps content that none of them knew more than that. I should've been tranquil, that the world knew not of the people Grindelwald stepped on for his rise to fame, the people he left behind, the ones he scarred. Did I want my name to be in these books, imprinted on paper for every eye to see? The thought was.. exhilarating. To be immortalized on paper must be exhilarating. But was this what I wanted to be immortalized for? Was my legacy forever to be intertwined with my great uncle's?

I could see Viktor Krum's presence in my periphery, his strong muscular form leaning against a shelf briefly before some spine or the other caught his eye and he reached out a casual hand to pull it off the shelf-and a brief inspection later, instantly putting it back. He hadn't approached me, hadn't shown interest in what I was doing, and for that I was grateful. I didn't want him, or anyone, to see, and somehow I guess he understood that.

I wonder if he knew of Grindelwald. Why wouldn't he? My great uncle grew up in the walls of Durmstrang, before he was expelled at sixteen for his practices. I wonder what Viktor Krum thought of the dark wizard. Perhaps, like the rest of the world, he too was glad that Grindelwald was tied to darkness in four walls only death would help him escape.

I flipped through the pages of the book, finding nothing more than Grindelwald's campaigns in areas of of Europe, numbers upon numbers-of his followers, opposers, but nothing significant to tell me anything of what I needed to know. I wanted to know of the mark, did anybody else remain that Grindelwald had marked? I grew up believing that perhaps it was only me. But what if there was someone else marked, a follower jailed in Azkaban, just now seeing the light of day?

I knew one thing for sure. Grindelwald did not mark everyone. His mark was reserved. Unlike Voldemort, he didn't brand his followers. But if he had branded me, so maybe he had branded someone else too.

Nurmengard hadn't seen any break outs for years. It remained intact still, it's expertise and daunt just how Grindelwald had meant for it to be. And while it held captive his ownself dead or alive, his remaining followers and other wizarding world foes alike, I wasn't worried about it. A fortress not yet breached was the least of my worries. If there was anyone marked in Nurmengard, they were not an immediate concern. Just like Grindelwald was now not an immediate concern. If he was still breathing in Nurmengard, after all these years, it didn't matter to anyone.

Unconsciously, I put the book aside, it was full of everything I already knew. Where was I supposed to get answers? The prospect of approaching Albus Dumbledore was there, yet I had to restrict myself. I have never even met the wizard before, how was I to go over to him and demand things of him that will put me in inevitable risk? Can I even trust him? I had to wait. Dumbledore should be my last resort if nothing else worked, but strangely he seemed like the only resort I had left.

He was no seer, no wrinkly old woman I could put to sleep after extracting information from, so I had to be careful. I had to have him as a last resort.

"What are you doing?" An accusation flooded my senses and I startled, the tone was hard, abrupt.

Viktor Krum stood over me, his ebony irises pinned to my right hand, his jaw tight and features contorted into.. anger?

Quickly, I looked to what I was doing, and found an inked quill in my fingers, resting over a small scribble of the mark I had subconsciously done on the edge of a blank parchment. I stilled at the realization. My mind rushed with excuses I could say to slither out of this mess, to divert his attention, but letting an intrusive thought win, I looked to Viktor Krum instead, ready to observe any other expression on his face that the mark might bring.

He must know the mark. The entirety of the Durmstrang Institute must know the mark. It was made famous by Grindelwald whilst he was still a student there, it was etched into margins and book corners by his very first devoted followers in the school.

Krum's eyes flickered to me, darkened and bursting with the eminent anger he felt. The mark seemed to bring out memories, a flare of recognition in his eyes passed. What memories could he possibly have with the mark associated with my great uncle?

"This symbol..," He trailed, brows furrowing. "What are you doing with it?"

It was a strange question, a stupid one, in fact. What was I doing with this symbol? I had rarely referred to it as that. For me, the triangle carrying a split circle had only ever been a mark. The mark of the deathly hallows, the three most powerful magical objects that death had gifted to the three brothers. Was it more appropriate to refer to it as a symbol? Perhaps only for those without the imprint of it on their skin. For me, it will always be a mark.

What was I doing with it?

"Nothing," I spoke, the need to present excuses or defend myself evaporating out of my body like mist.

I crumpled the parchment in my hand, the hard paper pressing against my skin as I then tossed it over to a bin at the side of the desk. I got up.

Viktor Krum stepped back and blinked, and I could see my answer hadn't sufficed. He looked affected, taken aback. I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to scoff. What could the mark possibly resurface in him that I myself don't live with every day?

I started walking towards the exit. I didn't want to explain myself, the mark, or anything to anyone else anymore. I hadn't ever done it in the first place. My past had remained closed to everyone else, why should I start opening it up to a Durmstrang, of all wizards, now?

"Wait," I heard his voice call, and at that moment I realized he probably did not know my name. Or did he? Perhaps he had heard it in the common room scene after I had told it to his friend Yordanka Hristova, or perhaps he hadn't cared enough to.

Viktor ran up behind me as I quickened my pace and crossed the threshold of the library, sharing a blank look with the goblin behind the desk. He had raised a thick brow, a curious look crossing over his face before his sharp long nose had dipped back into the copy of an American newspaper he had been indulging in. I could make out the flashes of moving black and white images in the print, before I turned my attention to the hallway ahead.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed my elbow, a force of strength steering me in place. My eyes met Krum's daunting anthracite ones, his features pulled in anger and accusation.

"I told you to wait," He spoke, a sneer in his heavy voice.

So this is what these Durmstrangs are like, I thought bitterly, one moment one face and the next moment the other.

"And I should've told you I have somewhere to be," I replied, keeping my voice civil as my eyes dropped to his fingers wrapped tight around my elbow. I met his eyes pointedly.

He let go of my arm then, no flicker of regret on his face.

"What were you doing with that symbol?" He asked once more, the familiarity we had shared earlier had vanquished from his eyes. He was now just talking to a strange witch he had caught in the library.

"I had drawn it on a parchment," My tone came out challenging, eyes looking into his in defiance. "As you saw."

Frustration ebbed away at me. Why should I be explaining what I was doing with that symbol? I have it carved into my skin for goodness' sake. It was the mark of my great uncle, who was Viktor Krum to demand an explanation of me?

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and as we stood in that empty dark castle corridor outside the library, he steeled himself further before speaking.

"Why?"

My surprise was audible as I looked at him in disbelief. How dare he ask me that? How dare anyone at all ask me that question?

"What is it to you?" I snapped, frustration turning into anger, eyes blaring fire.

"That is his symbol," Viktor Krum stepped closer, his eyes menacing as though he was reprimanding an inferior at Durmstrang, as though I was nothing more than an ignorant witch. "Grindelwald's symbol. Those who use it pay with everything they hold dear."

"To whom?" I scoffed, holding my head high. As intimidating as he was, I will never let anyone like him make me cower.

"To me," His voice was loud now, eyes baring into mine with contempt.

It surprised me, this sudden hatred emanating from him, when a while ago I had supposed he was different than what he put himself out to be.

"And why is that?" I challenged, "Is it a hobby aside from your seeker duties?"

"You can call it that," Krum tilted his head slightly, trying to read my eyes. "Durmstrang used to have many pupils with the insolence to reuse the symbol once they saw it carved on the east wall of the school. I purged all of their minds, made sure they never repeated their ignorance again."

Despite myself, a small daring smile appeared on my lips. "Are you to purge my mind too, then?"

He sneered. Jaw tightening again in fury. "Gladly."

Then, before I could react, Viktor Krum whipped out his wand and pointed it at me. It was hornbeam, a soft wood color that matched him in some strange sort of way. The sight of the wood stilled me slightly, a striking familiarity that flooded my mind. My father's wand had been of hornbeam too, but Krum's wand was thicker than his—thicker than any wand I had ever seen before, curving into a beaked creature's face at one end. I remembered nothing of my father's wand except it's wood.

The Bulgarian seeker's stance was practiced, precise, as he stepped back, eyes sharply trained on me. An eighteen year old boy pulsing with the valor he had been taught in combat all his life.

I tore my thoughts away, constricting them to focus, and scoffed. "Vous ne pouvez pas être sérieux en ce moment." 

I could whip that wand out from between his fingers with a flick of my wrist. I could have it turn red hot in his grip, I could do all that and more without even reaching for my own wand tucked in my skirts pocket. I was tempted to, but then I would be giving more of myself away. I needed to stall him off, the suspicion he had on me currently was enough without adding onto it.

The Bulgarian's jaw twitched, not catching onto a word of what I had said, and the anger of it tainted his skin. I wonder if he still thought I sounded exquisite in French. 

"I will gladly rid Beauxbatons of ignorants like you. I imagine Madame Maxime will thank me for it."

"Ignorants?" I managed a mocking laugh. "It is you who are ignorant, Viktor Krum."

He took a step to his right, eyes pinning me in place and tracking my every slight movement.

"You won't attack me," I let out calmly, my obsidian eyes a challenge. "Because if you do, you violate the rules of the Huntlock, and the rules of Ilvermorny. It will ruin you, and that would be such a shame. You do value your public image, do you not?" And besides, I can crush you where you stand, and you won't even see it coming. 

Viktor's eyes darkened as though he had caught onto the words I hadn't said, his knuckles turning paler as the wand in his hands shook with the pressure of his fury. He looked dangerous, he looked like he could bring Ilvermorny down on my head, but I knew he couldn't. He didn't have the power, though he had the face of it. Faces weren't ever enough. You don't shake the wizarding world with a face.

Me? I probably didn't have the face for it, but I had the power. I knew I did. 

"What were you doing with that symbol?" He snarled again, forcing himself to ignore everything I had said earlier.

"I was drawing it," I repeated, feigning innocence, "Call it fascination, or intrigue. I like the way it looks."

"The fault is in your eyes then," His glare hardened, "I would happily burn them in their sockets."

I laughed. His passion was intriguing, though his hatred was shocking. I was used to people fearing Grindelwald's name when they heard it, their eyes widening and heads shaking. I wasn't used to this outright hatred, one that still burned so bright despite it being years since Grindelwald's defeat.

"Tell me, Viktor Krum," I pouted, tilting my head to mimic his earlier gesture. "Why such hate? Grindelwald is powerless and gone."

"His effects haven't," Krum narrowed his eyes. "Dark wizards leave trails, and it is up to others to set fire to everything left behind. I do exactly that."

A familiar sensation washed over me then, an inkling of grief in his intense features, a mask of distraught behind his radiating anger. My palms tingled as I felt a constellation pulse inside me. Constellations helped me see what was not obvious, they copied themselves inside my chest until I felt them fully envelope as though I had swallowed a gulp of light-but they rarely came when I needed them. This was part of my Heuristics, part of what made me the witch I am.

The constellation had spoken inside me, its message had been clear and it had overcome me in a wash of acknowledgement. Viktor Krum had lost someone.

"You lost someone," I spoke the knowledge out loud, my frustration with him depleting slightly. Had he lost this someone to Grindelwald? Was this the source of his hatred?

Viktor Krum blanched, his composure lost to the winds as his eyes widened and his stance disrupted. His expression was that of shock and confusion. He was wondering how I had guessed, he was wondering if he had been obvious. Then he composed himself, reeled his bewilderment in like it had been but a kite, momentarily leaving his grasp.

"My grandfather," He spoke curtly, willing to take away any effect the admittance would have on him. But I could still see it in him, the way his manner became less sure, the way he steeled his eyes, the way his bottom lip quivered slightly.

"Grindelwald murdered my grandfather," Krum repeated, his tone etched with hatred.

I stayed silent, because I did not know what to say. My great uncle had murdered many, but had I ever met someone who had suffered that loss? Had I ever really met anyone who had lost someone because of him? If during my years at Beauxbatons there had been someone like that, they hadn't come forward.

The words I wanted to say were on the tip of my tongue, but they were harsh and I hesitated. But why should I, when I had had my entire family picked apart by Grindelwald too and no one had been tempted to protect me from that?

"Grindelwald murdered many," I spoke, my voice levelled as I broke away from his gaze before catching a piecing look of disbelief shatter his resolve.

He let out a sound, a sharp exhale, and an empty laugh on his face as he lowered his wand slightly. He ran a hand over his shaved head, eyes glaring at the ceiling briefly before dropping to his feet.

"You live in the past, Viktor Krum," I managed, eyes peering at him again. "You must come out of it. Move on. Terror comes and goes, and you lose people sometimes. You can't bring them back."

I had a fleeting vision of my father. His bright smile, his sparkling eyes, his dark hair. He was holding my legs as I sat on his neck, my small hands in his hair gripping it tight as I laughed at the sounds he was making, trying to mimic a hungry griffin.

Was I talking to Viktor Krum, or was I just speaking to myself?

Suddenly, my arm was grabbed and I was slammed against the wall. I winced, as my back came harshly in contact with the cold dark bricks. The Bulgarian seeker's glaring gaze was burning into my eyes, his face inches away from mine. His nostrils flared, his jaw so tight that his facial muscles jerked out, a pulse throbbing visibly.

"You cannot tell me what to do," He snarled, his breath hot on my face. "You cannot ask me to forget."

"I'm not asking you to forget," I let out, my brows furrowing as I stayed still. "Moving on is not forgetting."

He looked at me, the look in his eyes changing briefly to consideration before he blinked and the furious glare was back in them again, sharp and blinding.

"Let go of me," I tried to snatch my arm out of his grip, and it only tightened, his fingers clamping against my skin over my sleeve, hard.

"Viktor, stop it," I tried to yank my arm away, meeting his eyes with fury of my own. "Let go, or you'll regret it."

Amusement broke through his features. "Oh yeah? Why? What will you do?"

He grinned, bringing his face dangerously close to mine. "What will you do that I haven't faced before?"

My eyes fell from his eyes to the curves of his lips of their own accord. His lips were just about two inches from mine, and suddenly, I wondered what it was like to kiss him. I wondered if he had kissed anyone before, perhaps Yordanka Hristova might've been something to him once. Perhaps, she was the kind of girl Viktor Krum kissed and preferred. The thought made me slightly sick.

I lifted my eyes back to meet his dark anthracite ones.

"I will make you burn."

He laughed slightly, a breathy laugh as he eyes travelled from mine, observing every inch of my face.

"I have been burned before, Dominique Lavigne," The seeker answered, the sound of my name on his tongue felt strange, a quivering feeling in the pit of my stomach. "I'm not afraid of fire anymore."

"You haven't seen my fire yet," I half smiled, a challenge in my eyes.

This proximity felt so dangerous, so risky. But I would rather have the world unravel on my head than show him how nervous he made me.

"Show it to me then," Viktor Krum grinned again, "Show it to me at the Huntlock, and I'll show you how it can be extinguished. I'll show you how ordinary you are."

I blinked, my chest felt so heavy. It felt like it could explode under the pressure of his presence, his words, his fury.

"Like all those students at Durmstrang pretending to be something they were not with that symbol in their books, I'll show you just how like them you are."

"And I would show you how terribly wrong you are," I managed, steeling myself, "But I just don't care enough of what you think."

Krum smirked, running his tongue briefly over his lips, his eyes pinned into mine.

"Tell me, are all Beauxbatons Ombrelunes this.. gutsy?"

"Maybe," I said, "Just as all Durmstrang Wolverines seem to be thickheaded and full of themselves."

He didn't say anything, his head slightly tilting to a side, his expression full of intrigue and fascination.

"For a National Quidditch player, you really don't know how to mind your own business, do you, Viktor Krum?" I took a step closer to him, my voice a challenge. The distance between us reduced from two inches to one inch.

"I'm not one of those Durmstrang students you are so in the habit of cowering," My eyes glared into his, a hint of a smile on my lips. "You don't know a thing about me. You mess with me and you will get hurt."

"Maybe I'll do precisely that," He grinned, "Just to see how you make it worth my time."

"Then you are welcome to," I brushed my raven waves off the shoulder of my blue uniform and folded my arms. "I promise to make it a show worth your while."

"Strange promise, Lavigne," He mused, eyes trailing my movements with care, "I will hold you to it, because as we established earlier, I don't forget."

"Bien," I whispered, as I felt Viktor Krum's grip loosen and his hand snake slowly to my back. His other hand was on the wall beside my head, and his head dipped low-eyes on my body.

His hand felt so big on my back. Treacherously slow, he pulled me close, and the inch between us had halved significantly. The Cornish pixies in my stomach rebelled, fluttering viciously around inside me as I struggled to keep my breathing leveled.

Suddenly, a loud shout broke through my senses, coming from the far end of the corridor. Viktor's hand dropped as he stepped away casually. I turned to the source of the voice, annoyed to find the emotion welling up inside me was irritation at the interruption.

The figure of Yordanka Hristova came running towards us, her hard eyes on Viktor Krum before she moved them to me-suspicion and dislike swimming in them. She looked between us, her face swimming in distorted expressions I couldn't pin point. 

"Headmaster Karkaroff asks for you, Viktor," She announced finally, her gaze on Krum again as he nodded curtly.

There was dislike on his face again, and he seemed mildly annoyed-at what he had been about to do or at Yordanka, I couldn't tell.

Then, without a look my way, he started walking away and Yordanka matched his steps, leading him away with a single look of distaste thrown towards me.

***

A/N:
Things are heating up lol. Anyways, I hope everyone is having a good day <3