Ecdysis

PART XIV - Raw

I filled up all my spare hours with Viktor.

We went flying together when the weather wasn't bogged down by harsh coastal wind or heavy downpour. He taught me little tricks to go faster. By inching low or squeezing my elbows to my ribs, I gained that extra boost of speed.

"Lift your left butt cheek when you turn left," he'd say, as if it was perfectly normal advice. "Makes sharp turns faster. You won't fall. Trust me."

Then he'd get annoyed if I didn't trust him and make me do it all over again.

Flying was a reckless sport. It required you to nosedive and hope the broom stayed tucked firmly between your thighs. There was no room for over-thinking, no room to pause and figure out the best move. If a branch was about to smack you, you ducked. If a turret was about to knock you out, you swerved. If a hard gust of wind swept you off-kilter, you white-knuckled it and prayed to come out alive. Flying scribbled out everything I was, and taught me to just be.

Viktor was kind to me on the ground, but when we were in the skies, he was someone different. He didn't wait for me. He expected me to keep up. We took difficult circuits, flying way too close to the castle, and higher than I'd ever dared to fly before. My ears popped. It was painful to breathe. The wind burned my eyes. My abdomen was all cramped up from the posture he insisted I hold. But I became a better flyer, and I respected him for it. I practised on a school-issued broom and longed to use the Nimbus instead, which was smooth instead of choppy and quick on the lift off. I wanted to impress him.

One afternoon as Madam Pince drew Silencing charms on the library windows, muting the torrential storm that greyed out our study nook, Viktor asked if I'd like to visit the ship. We cast Impervius charms, mud slopping beneath our boots as we raced to the edge of the Black Lake, and climbed aboard the rusty old ship.

Viktor led us down a set of slippery wooden stairs and, as we emerged into a room that was ten times as large as the ship's hull, I realised there was nothing rusty or wrecked about it. Red carpet, the exact shade of the Durmstrang uniforms, soaked up our soggy footprints. But when I looked back, expecting to find mud trailing behind us, I saw only a clean, unmarked surface.

Above our heads, mediaeval-style chandeliers hung on thick black chains from the wooden rafters. The metal creaked gently with the rhythm of the boat, emitting a warm, waxy scent in the air. There was art on the walls of tall men with long handlebar moustaches and pointy beards, drinking from ruby-encrusted goblets of wine. They followed me with their creepy eyes, and I knew I stuck out like a sore thumb in silver and green, smaller than most of the students from Durmstrang, wide-eyed and awestruck.

Being inside this duplicitous ship reminded me of a passage I'd read in Hogwarts: A History. There were protective wards on the castle that prevented Muggles from discovering the school. To people like Mum and Dad, Hogwarts would present itself as just another pile of ruins. To someone from Hogwarts, the Durmstrang ship was just as unremarkable.

I awed over the porthole windows that, instead of displaying the Hogwarts grounds, depicted a peaceful mountainous landscape, sparkling with snow. Was this a taste of where Viktor grew up?

"Sorry," he mumbled, bumping into me from behind. Squeezing my arm as he stepped around me to gaze outside. "Beautiful," he said, noting my expression. "But cold. Perhaps you can visit some—"

"Viktor." We whirled around to find Karkaroff behind us, a stunted smile on his lips as he took me in with cold black eyes. "I was not expecting such... enthralling company."

"I am showing Granger around." Viktor spoke with an impudence I wasn't used to. Immediately, he switched to Bulgarian, and I waited out their conversation.