hogwartsexpressed | the history of magic meme

Entry tags:

what: meme

the history of magic meme

welcome to AU hell

RULES;

1. tag in
2. tag around!
3. mix and match - pick a setting from the first column and an AU from the second column (or use RNG if you like to live on edge -- there's 10 prompts per column)
4. have fun

HINTS;

We welcome and encourage all OCs. Add a little blurb about your character so other players have an idea what to play with, and feel free to add your preferences and permissions.
Ship, don't ship; make out, don't make out - all is fair game.

PROMPTS;

Setting	AU
1. Ancient	a. Soldiers on the same side
2. Middle Ages	b. Arranged marriage
3. 1600s	c. Great new discovery
4. 1700s	d. Childhood friends
5. 1800s	e. Met on the road
6. 1900s	f. Rags and riches
7. Roaring 20s	g. Members of two feuding houses
8. 1940s	h. It's all about the art
9. 1970s	i. Co-conspirators
10. WILDCARD	j. WILDCARD

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One thing was for sure: Viktor feels damn stupid for managing to get injured right at the end of the war.

It wasn't even a proper battle, because he survived those just fine. No. Instead, he was rounding up some diehard Grindelwald supporters who decided to bunker down in the mountains, got hit with a stray curse, and fell off his broom like a complete idiot, because apparently this war has taught him to not always expect a bludger when he is up in the air.

Because it happened so late after the last battle, and hospital in Sofia was already filled to the brim, Viktor and a few others who were well enough to travel were put on the first available Portkey to London, which he honestly didn't mind. Unlike a lot of the other soldiers, he speaks decent English thanks to his Quidditch career, so it's only fair. He'll be able to talk to the doctors here, almost as well as at home.

He is in the middle of getting to know his new hospital roommates when he hears a familiar voice, and that's when he realizes that being sent to London for treatment is even better than he'd thought.

"Hermione!" he lets out, enthusiastic. "I didn't know you work here. Lads, we're so lucky. We have the best doctor."

She honestly should let him finish paying her a compliment and brightening her day, but seeing him in her hospital ward after the war, alive and in one piece, brings such a wave of relief that she does the most embarrassing thing known to her.

She rushes over to his bed, and gives him a big hug. A bear hug. The kind of hugs Viktor used to be good at, not tiny little Hermione, but: "Merlin, it's been so long. Of all the places to land!" She pulls back, now pink in the cheeks, her brain catching up with the rest of her body.

"I mean, hello." She grins. "It's good to see you again."

A few of the guys whistle when Viktor gets his hug, but he just gestures at them above Hermione's head to shut it. No wolf-whistling his friend.

"It's so good to have you here, I feel better already," he says, and gives her another hug, just for good measure. "They've taken everyone from the battle into Sofia, and that's a lot, so whoever is less banged up gets shipped somewhere else in Europe. I got very lucky, you see."

"As lucky as you could get while being banged up either way, I imagine," she jokes, resisting the urge to run a quick diagnostics spell in view of everyone else. From the look of things, her side of the ward is looking very international this morning - and very full.

However great the temptation to catch up with Viktor is, she has so much work laid out in front of her.

She ruffles his short hair as well as she can, pulling back to just stand by his bedside. "Since you're feeling better, don't stir any trouble for me. If you're good, I'll come by after my shift and we can catch up."

"Aye, captain!" he calls out, which causes his troll friends to salute Hermione as well. Which, okay. Good. They better respect.

"If we can get a newspaper, we promise we won't even pick on the French," tries Ivo from the bed next to Viktor's, and the poor boy is clearly trying to sound cheeky, but it just comes out sheepish.

"But we will ask one of the nurses about the newspaper, because Healer Granger is busy," points out Viktor, deciding to come to the poor boy's rescue. Hermione might be in a good mood, but there are limits.

She can't even be upset at her new patience, for all the work they give her in the next few hours, because she is far too busy floating a little on the fact that Viktor Krum is in London, in her ward.

She'd lost touch with him, back when they started to intercept owl mail. It's been years now since she last wrote him any letter, but she can still remember the last one she received from him. The bottom line had been unmistakeably Viktor - stubborn, honourable, brave. I am going to fight, Hermione. It is what I must do, to make the world safe again.

Out of a fondness for their squadron colleague, she drops a few newspapers on Ivo's nightstand a few hours later, but beyond that she barely has time to stop the rest of the day.

It's evening and dark outside by the time her shift is over, and Hermione could call today a success. No losses. No deaths. Only minimal amount of trauma, overall.

Despite most of the Healers on shift with her having left for their homes already, she is still in the hospital, still in her stark white uniform, when they start lighting up the candles near each bed. Most patients are sleeping, though when she approaches Viktor's bed again, she finds him awake, and reading through today's papers as if maybe this is the first time he's had a chance to.

"So, Mr Krum," she says softly, taking a seat on the edge of his bed and holding her hand out for permission to grab his. "We meet again."

"Healer Granger," he says with a teasing smile, and takes her hand easily. It's his left side that got more banged up in the fall, including his left leg, fractured in so many places that it couldn't be fixed with a simple spell, hence his hospital stay. He just hopes Hermione doesn't get assigned to treating it, because he sure as hell doesn't want her to see him in this kind of state.

"It's so good to see you. I've missed being able to write to you. How long has it been, three years? That's an eon."

They started their correspondence when they were still in school, one of the many friendships brought together by the Triwizard Tournament, but the only one that lasted beyond the first year. Hermione's letters have been a fixture of his life for ages, and it hurt him deeply when they had to stop.

"Practically a lifetime," she corrects, and them smiles gently, running her thumb over his knuckles. She's not checking for broken bones, not running diagnostics, but she'd be lying if she said that she doesn't let some of her magic slip and seep some warmth into his arm.

"I've missed it too," she admits. "Is Sophia still as beautiful as I remember it?" She'd visited him once, after Hogwarts, but then the war had broken and they'd been on separate and distant shores, fighting the good fight, living day to day. She barely remembers Sophia as a whole, except for the poetry club they'd ended up in, completely by accident, while trying to find a place to have a tea in.

"A big banged up, but... Still very beautiful. You should visit again. Maybe now that this is all over, we can have visits again. A-ah!"

He makes that noise quietly, and pulls his hand out of hers, to point a finger at her. He noticed that little wisp of magic.

"You're not supposed to exert yourself after hours, I'm pretty sure," he chides. "I promise I'm alright, no serious injuries. I just... Well, to be truthful, I fell off my broom like an idiot and broke my leg. And a few other things, but mostly the leg."

She pulls her hands up in surrender, the very picture of innocence, mixed with some guilty amusement in there. "What? I wasn't - excuse me for holding my friend's hand." She rolls her eyes, a fond little smile on her face, and lets it go.

"What were you doing when you, great big Quidditch star, fell off your broom, exactly?"

"Trying to smoke Nazis from out of a cave from above," he says with a shrug. "I was so focused on trying to find a good spot to drop a Smoke Solution onto them from behind that I forgot they both could see me and had wands. If it had been a Quidditch match, my coach would be making me run punishment laps until Christmas for missing a Bludger like that."

"Not on a broken leg he wouldn't, I'd have his head," she blurts out, stubbornly. She rolls her eyes. "Well, in any case, I am beyond glad that you didn't break anything else more vital."

A pause, and her expression grows quietly fond, in the candle light. "I'm so glad to see you alive, Viktor."

He grabs her hand again, knowing that she won't try anything sneakily healing again. And even if she did... She looks like she needs the comfort.

"And you, too," he says quietly. "I've heard stories, you know... Field Healer? You're braver than most soldiers, Hermione."

Look, some things are just instinctual by now. Formed habits in the war and all that - hard to shake off. It's been a long time since a touch has just been a touch, not means to an end - not a way of running diagnosis on shaken soldiers.

But right now, a touch is just a touch. She's missed it.

"Ah, I don't know about that," she murmurs, ducking her head. "I could point out at least a dozen soldiers braver than me in this room alone, but it was..." She shrugs, trying to not go down the memory lane of the battlefield missions. "Gruesome and necessary."

"Gruesome and necessary is about right."

They can both agree that. Probably everyone in this room would agree that.

"But don't play yourself down, Hermione. You were as qualified as any of us to join one of the squadrons, but instead of killing them, you chose to rescue us. I've seen medics in the field. They often ran in where soldiers have ran out. I don't know exactly what you did in the last three years, but... I think I have a very good idea."

If she manages to muster up a smile, it's a tired one. She's glad, very glad to see him again, but she's grown so tired of the war. And now that it's over, she's not sure how they will go back to whatever could be considered normal, after it.

"Will you be staying in England now?" she asks, very quietly. "Or is it back to Quidditch when you've healed?"

"Quidditch, I suppose," he says with a heavy sigh. "I'm not sure. I think I'll be getting a bit old to compete soon, so... I should probably get a season or two in while I still can, right? How about you? What are you planning? Have you even had time to think about it yet?"

She has had a lot of time, almost nothing but time, since most nights she can't sleep. But he doesn't need to know that, so she answers: "I'm staying here. St Mungo's got a position for me, and I reckon there will be unfortunately many patients still to come, but..." She pauses, looking towards Ivo's bed for a moment.

Young, very young, and he reminds her of - no.

"I want to do something related to Mind Healing." She glances his way quickly, and musters up a smile. "And maybe find a bloke I fancy, let him take me for a dance."

"There will be a great demand for Mind Healing, for sure," he says with a sigh. "A lot harder to mend than a broken leg, isn't it? But tell me about that bloke, Hermione. What dance are you taking him to, huh?"

He knows very well that she's flirting with him gently, but he isn't sure quite how to phrase a similar hypothetical flirtatious suggestion in return, so playing coy it is. He hopes she'll guess, from his smile, that he wants her to carry on.

She still finds enough energy to blush, a pretty and pink little spot of colour in her cheeks, feeling a little more lighthearted than until now. "Oh, I imagine whatever he can keep up with," she answers, following along. Her eyes practically sparkle with mischief now. "Maybe a slow dance?"

"Is that right?" He squeezes her fingers, suddenly surprised by how strong they are. In some part of his mind, he aged since the Triwizard Tournament, but Hermione hasn't, not by much. That part of his mind is catching up very quickly now.

"Hermione, this is completely unrelated, but do you know of any nice dances in London next week? I've a need to know."

She'll be very glad not to have to teach him the fundamentals of maths and the passage of time.

She squeezes his fingers back, sitting a little more relaxed. "Why, do you know a bloke who'd like to dance with me?"

"I might, but I'll need to walk out of this hospital first. I've told a few of my roommates off for talking about asking you out, so if I do it now, they'll know I'm a filthy hypocrite when it comes to seducing our brave Healers."

Also, if he's going for a dance, he'd like to be able to actually stand, so next week sounds about right. And it sounds like both he and Hermione both need something bright now. Something to separate them from the horrors just past.

"I'll make sure you've got a daily supply of Skelegrow," she jokes, and brushes her thumb over his knuckles. No magical healing, just touch, gratitude at being allowed to have a lighthearted conversation for a moment here.

"Wouldn't want your recovery to last too long. You're a good dancer." She has fond memories of their only date at the Yule Ball. "It would be a shame to deprive the world."

"Yes, but only with a great partner," he shoots back, glad that they moved on to flirting that's a bit less grammatically complicated. He hasn't had a chance to speak English in a while, and he's getting used to it again now, but it's slow coming.

He knows now would be the time to ask about other friends - about Harry, and Fleur, and even Ron Weasley - but he stops himself. He can do the proper thing tomorrow. Now, he is sitting with a lovely, warm girl, and he doesn't want to make her think about who she might have lost.

There will be time for that.

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reparo - 2021-03-28 20:08 (UTC) - Expand

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