HP: After The War (Solo x RPRoulette)

[RoleplayRoulette]

The Second Wizarding War was something Viktor had feared for years. With Bulgaria's roots coming from all sorts of dark and unique magics, those that worked on the side of evil always seemed to think that their residents would work their ways. Sure, some Bulgarians did sign up with Grindelwald. And others denied him, paying with their lives instead. Viktor knew this all too well, his grandfather being one of those that perished by the dark wizard's hand. Horrified by the acts of evil, Viktor knew he would never stray from the light, even if it had cost him his own life. He Who Must Not Be Named's followers did come knocking, with many of Viktor's peers following them into the night. Not Viktor though. He stood strong, willing to face the green light of the deadly spell to not betray his morals. If only he had been so lucky, losing his parents in the Second Wizarding War rather than himself. Angered by the celebrity Seeker's denial of their cause, it was Krum's father who had been killed instead, used in an attempt to send a message. When he and his mother still stood strong in their bonds, the Cruciatus curse had been used next to bend their wills.

One of Durmstrang's mandatory classes had been the survival of dark spells, including the unforgivable. It admittedly helped, learning to overpower the will of the Imperius, or discovering just how painful the torture curse was, not to mention how best to transfigure your surroundings to defend the Killing Curse. This class, however, had not been mandatory during his mother's time in school. After fifteen minutes, her mind had been lost. With one parental figure dead and the other driven insane, Krum had been left, the Death Eaters assuming that a few days to ponder his options would be enough to bring Krum to their cause. Dark Wizards loved their egos...

Yet the wizards never returned. Three days later, while Krum sat in the Bulgarian Wizarding Hospital with his mother, the wizard heard news over the Wireless; the War was over! Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort, his body falling motionless in a crowd of onlookers. A wonderous sight, a calming sight, after losing so many loved ones. At the news, a tear ran down Krum's cheek. It was over.

The Wireless continued to discuss the events that had unfolded, and discussing what was 'next' for the magical community. The next twenty four hours would be spent gathering those lost in the war, and then the rebuild would start. Helpers would be welcomed and encouraged to join.

Looking on at his mother, eyes blank as she stared at her child, Krum gave her hand a squeeze. "I'll be back soon, mother." Krum whispered, kissing her forehead before returning home.

--

Sighing, Krum gathered his suitcase, filled with clothes and necessities, walking to the fireplace. "Hog's Head" He called, throwing the powder and stepping through. It was 7am, much too early for a lot of the Hogsmeade clientele. But perfect time for someone like Krum to make an appearance. Despite everything, Krum was a celebrity. Once on par with Harry Potter (though certainly nowhere near that now), Viktor feared that his presence would take away the meaning for his work. This was no publicity stunt. And announcing his presence would ruin any preservation of that.

A room was provided, to which his suitcase was thrown in. He didn't stay long, making the trek up through Hogsmeade, reaching the closed castle gates of Hogwarts. It had been a few years since he had been to the castle, the last time was when he had seen Cedric Diggory's dead body. It had been a sickening sight, but he supposed it would be the first of many dead bodies he'd see on castle grounds.

As he reached the gate, he had not expected to see anyone else here - castle restoration efforts weren't open to the public for another two hours. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the morning sun, before finally recognising the elderly face of Minerva McGonagall. "Sorry sir, no one may enter just yet." She said. It was a familiar, albeit tired tone she used. But as it had taken Krum a few moments to recognise Minerva, she had to take that same time to recognise the large body that stood before her. "Mister Krum... I... It's lovely to see you again, dear." She said, the faintest of smiles appearing on her thin lips. His early appearance required no extra words, the castle gates opening behind her with a flick of the wand. "Thank you for coming. Professor Flitwick is not too far, if you walk in the direction of the Great Hall. I'm sure he can find you somewhere to start. Somewhere... private." She assured the guest, silently thanking Lee Jordan's plea for help. She had been doubtful at first, but it was already a great success...

 

[Solo]

There hadn't been time over the years to consider what would happen after the war; every day had been wholly focused on surviving until the next. With every Horcrux they'd destroyed, Hermione had only a moment to celebrate before attempting to figure out where the next would be, and even as things came to a head during the Battle of Hogwarts, it was never certain that she, or anyone else, would survive. Though things had looked bleak, with Harry assumed dead in the Forbidden Forest, things had pivoted at the last moment, and soon, there was only scattered ash where Voldemort once stood.

The trio had stood on one side of the crumbling bridge leading from the school to the other side of the grounds, the valley and the Black Lake stretching endlessly before them, and the chapter of their lives that encompassed their entire adolescence came to a close.

Immediately following Voldemort's defeat, there had been little to discuss — tending to the dead and their families was most important, and funeral after funeral passed, each one numbing Hermione further. First, Colin, far too young, his younger brother Dennis seemingly aged ten years over the course of the days leading up to it, the Muggle Creevey parents silent with shock at suddenly being thrust into the world that had taken their son from them. Next, Lavender; even Madam Pomfrey had been unable to restore her to a state that would be viewable, so her casket was closed, the wounds from Fenrir Greyback's savaging lost to time. Remus and Tonks, together, as they'd been in life they'd be in death; Harry gave a beautiful eulogy for the longest-surviving Marauder, pledging to see to Teddy's care.

And then, Fred.

The Weasleys had been a mess, with Molly nervously trying to handle everything but being unable to make as inconsequential a decision as the colors of the chairs on the Burrow's lawn, so Hermione had taken on the bulk of the organizing, attempting to stonewall her feelings. Succeeding just long enough to see Fred's ceremony concluded, she'd broken down in the bedroom she temporarily shared with Ginny, inconsolable, though neither Ron nor Harry bothered to check on her.

When the call to action came to restore Hogwarts, Hermione was the first to sign up.

The work was toiling, the lingering traces of Dark magic making it impossible to use any kind of magical means in most areas of the castle, so it would be a long, difficult road to restoring the school to its former glory. When Hermione had arrived, most of her time had been spent with the new Headmistress McGonagall and the newly minted Minister Shacklebolt, putting her knowledge of magic to use in coming up with a plan for Hogwarts' restoration.

When the first night ended, Hermione was directed towards the girls' dormitories in the Hufflepuff wing, the kitchens seemingly mainly untouched by the Battle. It was a restless sleep, filled with flashbacks to the battle, and by the time dawn broke, Hermione had already been awake for an hour, tossing and turning to get just a bit more rest before facing the public. It wasn't to be, however, so she rose, preparing herself for the day with trepidation.

The media would make their way there, she was sure, eventually; there wasn't a chance that Rita Skeeter wouldn't worm her way in to prepare a heavily exaggerated and editorialized version of their efforts for the next day's Daily Prophet. It wouldn't be a call to action to assist them, of course, only for her to try and gain some ground back after her abhorrent reports during the war, but Hermione couldn't focus on that. It wasn't as though she'd get a quote out of her, not even if she begged.

Twisting her hair up into a knot, she dressed simply in plain jeans and a grey t-shirt; it would be a bit chilly at first, but with the scale of the work ahead of them, she knew she'd soon warm herself. Making her way to the Great Hall, she was wrapped up in conversation with Professor Flitwick for only a few moments before the professor's head turned toward the door, swinging open in the early morning.

"Viktor," Hermione muttered in shock. "What are you doing here?"​

 

[RoleplayRoulette]

Viktor had been thankful for Minerva allowing him entry into the castle. He had known he was early, much too early for anyone else to show up but the Hogwarts staff, so it was special that she still had a place in her heart for him. One of the Triwizard Cup competitors. A small title, but one he was proud of. To share the stage with three other exceptional students, competing with their own skills and merits without any assistance... well, of course everyone had help from their own school's staff, but no proper assistance during the actual tasks. It had been so different to his time on the Quidditch pitch, not having a team behind him. He could stand for his own successes and failures. And while he had certainly earned his reputation as a highly skilled Seeker, that year he was able to show off the rest of his magical ability.

Nodding at the instructions provided, the burly man walked in the direction pointed, moving across the courtyard and noting the various signs of dark magic that lingered. It was a sickening feeling. You could feel the energy difference in certain areas, not to mention the various scorch marks that stained the walls. Approaching one particular mark, his gloved fingers lightly touched it, before yanking back as if he had been shocked. Such a strong energy from this particular mark, he could tell it was the Killing Curse that had stained this wall. Chanting quietly, his wand in hand, Krum spoke a Bulgarian spell that slowly cleared the wall of any evidence that dark magic had been used. His feeling of relief was short lived, the disappearing discolouration revealing spots of blood. Looking away, Krum took a deep breath, clearing his mind before waving his wand, the blood remnants vanishing too.

"I should have been here." Krum muttered softly, his hand once again moving to the wall he had cleared up. "So many lives lost. I could have made a difference."

Shaking his head silently, Viktor knew that what's done was done, and he could only look ahead to the future. Flexing his hand open and shut, Krum could already feel himself depleted momentarily. That spell took an unusual amount of out him, he could tell this would be a long rebuild effort. Perhaps that was why that blackened wall had remained this way still since the battle. Perhaps magic would be a last resort for now.

Looking towards the Great Hall, the former Durmstrang student moved towards the large doors, a familiarity hitting him despite everything. Pushing through, a feeling of dread hit him as he admired the usually-beautiful insides. Chunks of columns strewn across the floor, a large portion of the enchanted ceiling destroyed, revealing the true morning's sky. In one corner laid bundles of blankets, and there was no mistaking what was contained within the bundle. The Dead.

Finally, his eyes found the small statured professor that Minerva had directed him towards, seeing him talk to a young woman. He mentally sighed, having hoped to be here without anyone his age seeing him. No autographs or photos, no discussions of a celebrity making an appearance. And while the woman seemed stunned to see him, it was with a face of familiarity that he had not expected.

Approaching the pair, Viktor gave the two a small smile, happy to see familiar faces despite the situation. "Professor Flitwick... Uh, Hermione. It's wonderful to see you both again, despite the uh... despite everything." He nodded, the smile fading from his face after this comment. "I'm here to help in whatever way I can. I cannot begin to imagine what you faced here, and I want to make amends for being unable to contribute. I took the first floo here the moment I heard about the rebuild effort." Despite addressing them both to begin with, his eyes remained on the Professor as he continued to speak, assuming he was the one organising the rebuild effort. He was here first and formost to help out - seeing Hermione was simply an unexpected bonus.

 

[Solo]

For a moment, Hermione was young again, thrown back in time to what felt like decades ago even if it was only three short years. So much had happened since they'd danced together in a transformed courtyard just outside the very hall they now stood in that it felt like another lifetime. All of it — giggling with Parvati and Lavender like schoolgirls as they performed hair-smoothing charms in their dormitory bathroom, descending the Grand Staircase and praying she wouldn't trip over her heels, dancing late into the night to the hits of the Weird Sisters with Viktor's arms encircling her in a most gentlemanly manner — had faded into the background as the war had intensified, nothing but a fond memory to look back on when she was feeling sentimental.

And now, that memory stood in front of her, living and breathing.

The years had been kind to him; the mischievous spark in his eye that always told her he understood more of what she said than his English skills would let on hadn't left, and compared to her, it seemed he was relatively untouched by the war. Though most of those that lay motionless — lifeless — in the hall, waiting to be prepared for their funerals were Hogwarts students or alumni, she was all too aware that some former Durmstrang students had cast their vote with Voldemort, joining him at the final battle and some eventually falling victim to the war just as her own friends had. Were there any of his schoolmates laying amongst hers? Was someone he cared about resting with Lavender, with Colin, with Fred?

Swallowing back the thought, Hermione steeled herself, re-devoting herself to the cause and putting her own personal feelings on the backburner. It wasn't an ideal tactic, she knew, and it would eventually bubble up and boil over — but that was a problem for the future, not one to get in the way of the restoration efforts.

"Mr. Krum, so lovely to see you again," chirped Flitwick, ever the optimist. "I was just explaining to Miss Granger here that you needn't use your wand — the residue from the Dark magic will take time to fade, and attempting to counter it this soon will only leave you feeling drained. No, I'm afraid it's good old-fashioned sweat and tears today." Notably, Flitwick left out the blood portion of the idiom; he knew just as well as anyone there that too much had already been spilt.

Doing her best to muster up a smile, Hermione turned her attention from the professor to their new helper. "Well, you won't need your Quidditch workouts today," she attempted to joke, though with her tone, she was sure it fell as flat as she felt. "Want to get started?"​

 

[RoleplayRoulette]

Krum gave a kind smile and nod as Flitwick explained not to use magic, a soft chuckle coming from the much larger man. "Yes, I unfortunately learned that on the way in. One of the columns on my way in had been scorched with dark magics. The mark has gone, but not without the cost of a depleted feeling. I'll be right soon." He assured the two, continuing to flex his hand open and closed by his side.

He could see Hermione studying him, perhaps curious as to his part in all of this. She knew him good enough to know he'd have never turned to the side of the Death Eaters. But the Bulgarians did have a tendency to go into ideologies that the rest of the world shunned. It was not an incorrect thought to assume Viktor had friends that perhaps assisted in the deaths of her friends. Just that very idea of that make his chest feel tight with sorrow. He should have been here to stop them.

As he studied her back, he could not help but let his mind flash back to his own times with Hermione. The late nights talking and laying by the Black Lake. Listening to her rave on about her friends being idiots, which had been quite an amusing tirade. Or the beautiful dress she wore on the night of the Yule Ball, an image he would forever cherish. The two had never done anything improper during their time together; with the age difference and the culture difference, he had only the best of intentions for the young girl that had kept him company for all those months. No, not even a kiss. But now as the years had gone by, and the age gap became insignificant, Viktor couldn't help but picture what nights could have been if the two shared a kiss.

Oh yes, he was in trouble. He was here just for the restoration efforts. Nothing more. He had to stop these thoughts.

It was Hermione's own voice that drew him out into the real world again, making a joke about Quidditch training. Krum offered a smile in return. It was not a laugh out loud joke, but it was an amusing sentiment. "Yes, let's get started. Please, show me where I can be of most use." He requested with a nod.