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Pretty Track Marks	By : DeniPie Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1860 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Pretty Track Marks
- 2-Blindsided
- 1
- 2
chicWell here we are again ^_^ RestrictedSection.org has
kinda been pissing me off lately. I tried to start an account and submit
Bulgarian Mascara to them and after 3 weeks of waiting they said it had too
many grammatical and spelling errors. I re-read it and I saw like 2. That�s
just nonsense. They can accept an ongoing fic about Hermione licking feces off
Draco�s dick while getting pissed on, but a story that accidentally has �who�
instead of �whom� isn�t quite up to par for a website of such renowned status.
Ah whatever, I like submitting my fics here better anyway�

Much luv

The Deni Pie

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P r e t t y T r a
c k M a r k s

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Hermione
graciously thanked her meticulous early bird habits for what might have been
the ninety-four millionth time in her life. Had she gotten up even five minutes
later than usual she probably would have missed him. Stepping groggily back
into her room still trying to shake the sleep induced mush from her brain she
stumbled upon a very much dressed and ready to leave Viktor. She paused,
startled by the sight, her hand still on the back of the doorknob. �You�re
going already?� She gawked incredulously.

�I must leaf, my parents haff been expecting me back since
last night.� He explained.

Frowning in
disappointment and worry she had the impulse to lock her window and demand he
stay until Madam Pomfrey inspected him for herself. �Are you sure you should be
flying in your condition? Its such a long way back.� She fretted imagining him
plummeting from his broom from exhaustion or pain.

�I vill be fine, Hermy-own-ninny.� Viktor assured her.

She began to feel the heavy weight
of concern bear over her shoulders, his excuses doing no good to ease it away.
�Saying it over and over again doesn�t make it true, you know.�

Viktor tugged on his gloves,
feeling the leather tighten over his fingers. Besides a broom, they were
probably the most useful items in Quidditch. They protected the hands from
blisters and helped keep a firm grip on the broom handle. �I haff not received
letter from you for a long time.� He remarked, disregarding her previous
comment.

Hermione blinked, suddenly at a
loss for words regarding the abrupt change in subject. �I�m sorry.� She said
finally. �I�ve been quite busy really. I was made Head Girl here. I suppose I
lost track of time.�

His nod was the only sign that he�d
even heard her as he continued to right his robes and pull on his other glove.
�I understand.� And he did, how long could he really have expected them to stay
in each other�s lives when they were whole countries apart? When she was a
whole life away? Loosing track of time. It was inevitable. But it didn�t soften
the bitterness rising in his heart. �You haff responsibilities.�

Gazing at
the floor, unable to meet his eyes she couldn�t stop the bit of shame worming
its way underneath her skin. �No, not so much that it would justify ignoring
you.� She confessed guiltily. Yes she had been made Head Girl, and yes she had
been busy and given new responsibilities, but her insensitivity had been more
due to her forgetfulness rather than her overworked schedule. She had
obligations to her school and professors, but he expected things from her as
well and it was her own fault for dismissing him so rudely. �But the year�s
half over and if you�d happen to have another invitation for a visit this
summer, I�d love the chance to make up for lost time.� She asked sincerely.

Things were different now. They
couldn�t rewind everything and act out the �good ol� days�. They�d lost track
of time as it were. And that�s all they had now. Lost time. Time that could
never be regained. Never be recovered. A clock that could never turn back the
hours, the seconds, the minutes. �I vould like to thank you for letting me rest
here. But I must go now, Hermy-own-ninny.�

His accent was thick and gruff, his
face that same assortment of tight lips and dark glaring eyes. For a second she
thought she was fifteen again catching him invading her library once more with
his round-shouldered slouch, dour look and duckfooted walk. Hermione sighed as
he slung his spindly over the sill and took off, not sparing her a second
glance. Her first impulse was to go to the sill and watch him until he faded
from sight, but something held her back, held her firmly in place.

The sudden
brush of something light and soft against her ankles caught her attention,
taking it away from the blowing curtains and open window. Glancing down, she
watched as Crookshanks twined himself in and out of her legs, making a perfect
eight between them. Hermione smiled warmly, crouching down to pick him up in
her arms, grateful for the small comfort. He let out a disgruntled growl at
being hauled off the safety of the floor, but began to settle himself when she
ran her fingers along his neck in a soothing manner. �And just where have you
been you naughty little thing?� She cooed scratching the backs of his ears with
her index and thumb. �Hiding under the bed? Did you not recognize that strange
man in mummy�s room?�

Hermione
absolutely loathed baby talk, and would always cringe whenever she caught her
mother doing it with the neighbor�s new bundle of nappy wasting, colic
infested, sleep disrupting joy. Honestly, how were children to learn to speak
properly when their alleged instructors were doing nothing but �goo-ing� and
�gaah-ing� at them? But for some reason
all her intellectual standards and morals were tossed right out the door when
it came to Crookshanks and that flat sour face of his that apparently only she
was capable of finding adorable. Fortunately she made sure she was in private
when indulging in speaking to him like a love struck Neanderthal.

Casting one last lingering look at
the billowing window she held the ginger cat a little tighter, more to reassure
herself than anything else. Giving her head a regretful shake she went to her
closet to get dressed before going down for breakfast, knowing Harry and Ron
would be rapping thunderously at the Head Picture Frame in a matter of minutes
complaining about how they would be forced to sit at the end of the table if
she didn�t hurry up.

-------------------------------------------------

She hadn�t
been wrong about the flight being terribly long and tedious. But he felt it did
him good. He was still horribly sore in more places than one, but his body no
longer felt like it was being ripped apart at the seams. The good night�s rest
did wonders for him and he wished he could simply fly back home but knew he
couldn�t continue to stall as he had been. Firming his resolve Viktor slowly
leaned into a decent, straightening up when he neared the ground and began to
land. Before, when he had been younger and still learning the art of landing he
would often stumble or fall with the momentum once his feet hit the grass. Now
he could stop on a nut, knowing to pull up later instead of sooner so the speed
wouldn�t buck him forward.

Once he touched down, he scanned
through the area, searching for something he could transfigure into a portkey.
The chosen object ended up being no more than a stray rock, but it did well
enough. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to ignore the vertigo induced blurs
that rushed about him at breakneck speed, becoming a melting pot of raging
colorful smears all mixing and twisting together to give him a grand headache.
Unlike his broom, a portkey landing was something he doubted he would ever get
the total hang of. Viktor let out a painful grunt as he fell headfirst into the
slush and snow, his first sign that he had reached home in one piece.

Rising to
his feet he shook the frigid ice out of his hair and robes, gathering the later
more tightly around him. It was night once again and he squinted around the
area, concentrating on regaining his bearings. Spotting the warm light of a
recognizable house roughly a dozen yards behind him he started in its
direction, his long feet making sizable imprints in the whitish powder beneath
them. The large ch�teau became bigger, brighter, and more distinct in the darkness
the nearer he came until he was finally at the doorstep, and for once no relief
was to be had from standing before the thick wooden door.

Before he
could even raise his hand to the knocker the door swung open with enough force
to crash against the wall behind it. Jolting in surprise he didn�t get the
chance to react before the small, dark haired woman now in front of him leapt
on him in a shower of tears and kisses. Viktor shook off his initial surprise
and hugged her back, trying not to show his discomfort regarding the rough
treatment his injuries were now having to endure. She sobbed his name over and
over muttering her worries and thanking the deities in her own Bulgarian. His
mother tongue washed over him like a soothing blanket, seemingly taking a
weight off his shoulders now again able to understand and converse without fear
of tripping over or misinterpreting another language. �Maika, I am okay.� He
mumbled, not knowing how to respond to her maternal fit.

�Vare haff you been, Viktor!? It has been almost two days!
You vill never do that to me again! I thought�I thought they..I thought
they had�..� The stocky woman�s reprimand dissolved into another bout of sobs
and fierce, smothering hugs, trying to assure herself that he was really there,
that he was really okay.

Viktor
rubbed her back comfortingly, not wanting to upset her any more. After a few
moments of further crying and bawling words he couldn�t make out, she finally
pulled back, sniffling and dabbing at her watery eyes. �Come in here, vot are
you doing still out in the cold?� She scolded pulling him through the doorway.

Walking into the house was like
walking through a wall of much needed heat. He relaxed and let all the icy
coldness melt away and warm him inside and out. His mother hurried to shut the
door behind him, removing his robes and whimpering in concern at the violent
rips and holes she found there. Swallowing back her worry she hung them up and
ushered him into the den.

�Viktor?�

He had just
made it out of the foyer when a tall man with pale skin and a rather hooked
nose passed the hallway, stopping at the sight of him. �Bashta.� He
acknowledged, not sure what else to say. What could you say after what
had been done, what they already knew had been done? His father�s eyes softened
sadly and he beckoned him into the house.

�Come.� He said, putting a careful hand at his back and
leading him to the fireplace in the living room.

Viktor took
a seat opposite the sofa his father now occupied. He stared at the wavering
flames brooding slouched in his chair. What did you say when there was simply
nothing left to be said?

�I did not think it vould take so long.� His father started,
looking him over.

What did he
know of how long it was supposed to take? he thought sourly. �It didn�t.�
Viktor curtly replied.

The older
man nodded, understanding and accepting his son�s antipathy. He let his gaze
skim over his sharp profile, noting every scratch, every welt, every bruise. He
sighed regretfully, hanging his head to pinch the bridge of his nose. It could
have gone worse, he supposed, but it could have gone so much better as well.
Making a firm promise to himself, he resolved to never question Viktor about
the details of what had happened. He doubted his son would ever want to relive
such atrocities, and he didn�t think he could handle knowing about them either.
He wanted to say something though, but what was he supposed to tell him? You
did the right thing, son? Adding more pressure to the top of his nose he tried
to fight off his rising frustration. Who was he to say what was wrong and what
was right anymore? The lines were so blurred and hazy these days. Now it was
almost impossible to tell the difference between the right thing to do and the
smart thing do to. Luckily the dainty clattering of porcelain and silverware
saved him from any forced conversation of discomfort and unease.

�Viktor, I haff brought you some tarator. You must be
starfing.� His mother said sympathetically, carrying over a tray of soup, hot
drinks, and bread.

Fisting his
hands on his knees, Viktor shook his head negatively. �I am thinking I vould
rather eat at my own home, Maika.� He replied sternly, rising from his chair.

The dark
haired woman balked at him, stunned, and even his father�s eyes widened in
surprise at this. �But, but you haff just gotten here!� She squawked, almost
dropping the tray but luckily her husband caught it in time and set it aside.

Nevertheless
Viktor continued back towards the door only muttering brief apologies as he
passed her. She cried out his name tears coming to her eyes again as she
urgently tugged at him, following him down the hallway. �Viktor I beg of you-�

�Let him go, Devora.� Her husband chided, gently but firmly
grasping her shoulders as she pleaded with her son.

Before she
could shrug him off, Viktor was already out the door again, the thick wood
shutting heavily in his wake. Whirling around furiously she slapped his chest
in a flood of angry tears. �Let him go?! I let him go once and look how he has
come back to me, Edik!� She shrieked.

The tall
man let her take her anger out with her miniature fists until they faded into
another round of sobbing and hysterical clutching. �He needs time, slatko
matze.� He answered softly. �Give him time.�

-------------------------------------------------

His broom
was lost and he doubted it would ever be found again in all the snow. At least
not until Summer, and it most likely not by him. Apparating back to his own
home he had purchased only a couple of years ago he found that he welcomed the
solitude residing there. The house was small and only possessed two house elves
of its own but bigger homes always seemed too vast, too ominous, too empty.
Smaller homes were much cozier and easier to fill.

He trudged
in feeling exhausted and much older than he was or should feel for his age.
Immediately the elves of the house popped out of nowhere, gushing over his
return, practically fighting over taking his robes and coat. Slinking into his
study he sunk heavily in front of the fireplace into a cushioned chair of his
own. He could hear the house elf that apparently lost the
hanging-of-the-coat-contest punishing himself against the kitchen wall while
the other happily stirred something he hoped was warm. The answer to his question
appeared with another pop in the form of a steaming mug suddenly shoved into
his face. Reclining his head back to see the large glass entirely, he took it,
wrapping his fingers around the cup, his thick knuckles standing out against
the brown pottery. Taking a sip he half listened to the elf as it chattered
away in excited Bulgarian, though the poor, uneducated grammar left something
to be desired.

�Avel made the master his own special drink!� He beamed. �He
puts honey in the airian this time, and he warms it too! Is good, yes?� He
inquired eagerly.

Viktor
nodded, he had to admit it did taste different, in a better way. �You did vell,
Avel.�

The words
had no sooner left his mouth than the other house elf appeared glowering
spitefully at Avel, carrying a tray of bread and an open jar of something that
looked like a cross between chocolate and peanut butter. �Master can�ts fill up
on airian.� He jeered, giving the other elf a pointed look. �Efim brings some
toast and nutella.� He announced proudly thrusting the tray up at Viktor. �Efim
makes more if master is vanting?� He asked hopefully.

�I vould like to be left alone now.� Viktor replied, resting
his head against the tall back of the chair.

Avel�s ears
fell dramatically in exaggerated sorrow, already thinking of a punishment
fitting such a crime as displeasing his gracious host. �Master is not happy?�

�Master is tired.� He repeated.

The two
gave a reluctant nod and obediently disappeared as he�d wished. Viktor let out
a relaxed breath and mad himself comfortable in his seat, the heat from the
flames bouncing off the fronts of his defrosting skin. In the few letters she
had written him, Hermione had once mentioned some sort of campaign she was
trying to put together, he couldn�t remember the name but it was basically for
the betterment of elfish rights or something or other. He couldn�t help but
laugh sentence after sentence, picturing her serious expression and composure
while writing something to blatantly silly. He could only imagine the outrage
on Efim and Avel�s faces should he ever hand them a pair of mittens and tell
them he was turning them loose.

Taking one
more swig of the honeyed airian he set it down before decidedly popping the
nutella laden butter knife in his mouth. Efim had obviously wanted to add his
own two cents and it was best not to ignore him. House elves were quite the
jealous creatures when given decent reasoning. Plus, he�d sooner lick a patch
of the delicious substance off the floor than let a drop of it go to spoils. He�d
first found a jar of the wonderful mixture at Hogwarts and become so enamored
with it he�d made sure he�d always had a lasting supply of it at his own home
ever since.

Sucking the
knife of every last bit he finally relinquished it back to its rightful
container before resuming his previous dwelling. He would have to buy another
broom early tomorrow, he had a Quidditch match late that afternoon. It was funny, in a rather morbid way, that
the whole world was changing before his very eyes and he was still expected to
be at practice. It wasn�t a big game, not like Ireland, but he was expected to
be the first one there anyway. They were playing Russia, it wasn�t as if the
team wasn�t good, they just had such poor funding that he doubted they would
ever get the financial support necessary to achieve their full potential.
Talent only went so far, it was like an old saying, you could be a master of
the sword but when everyone else has a gun what does it matter?

Now though,
his team wasn�t his only priority, at least not the first, anymore. He was one
of them now. If his dark mark beckoned him, it didn�t matter if he had
just caught the snitch in the middle of the Quidditch field, he would have to
go. What did you do when the thing you were most repulsed by was now the number
one precedence in your life? Viktor idly lifted his arm, his fingers grasping
the little knot he�d tied it with and slowly began to unravel it. Bit by bit,
it came apart until he could see the whole of the grotesque skull and snake in
all its monstrous glory. The serpent swiveled out of the gaping jaw, flickering
at him mockingly. He gazed at it longer, his muscles tensing furiously the more
he watched it, until finally he aggressively snatched the innocent butter knife
from the jar, falling out of the chair to his knees and sunk the serrated edge
into the tainted skin.

Burning
pain seared through his arm as he dug the knife viciously into the damnable
mark, desperately carving, desperately cutting. He had no sooner begun drawing
blood than a piercing wail broke out from behind him, small arms flinging
themselves around him in a vice-like grip. The feminine form struggled fiercely
with him grappling for the knife he was viciously scoring into his forearm.

�Stop it! Stop it! Give it to me Viktor!� She cried.

Viktor
growled irritatedly and continued to shove her away. �Get avay, Maika!� He
snarled.

But she
came at him again, this time throwing her arm around his eyes to blind him long
enough to wrestle the butter knife away. Once she seized it she hurriedly
shoved it behind her back, climbing to her feet and quickly stumbling away from
him.

Viktor rose up angrily and advanced
on her. �Give it back to me, I can stand this no longer!� He growled.

His mother stood her ground
unafraid. �I vill not! You are hurting yourself!�

�I am getting rid of this!� He shot back, thrusting
his butchered arm at her. �I vill not look at it anymore!�

�Then do not look!� She retaliated.

Glowering
furiously he caught a silvery gleam shining behind her back and lunged at her.

She
squealed in surprise but easily dodged his clumsy attempt. �Efim!� She
hollered. Instantly the house elf appeared before her all a twitter, excited to
have a new chore. Unfortunately his elation was short lived, the earnest smile
vanishing at the rage present on his master�s face. �Take this avay!� She
commanded shoving the blade at Efim.

�You vill not!� Viktor shouted. �She is not your master.
Give it to me!�

�Look at his arm, Efim.� Devora urged, pointing at the
bloody appendage. �He is trying to hurt himself vith it. You are not vanting
him hurt, are you?�

The little
elf followed her finger to the gaping wound and shook his head in fright,
immediately yanking the new weapon from her and disappearing before his master
could grab him.

Viktor
growled heatedly, gripping the nightstand with the bread and airian and heaving
it across the room. The furniture smashed against the wall in a grand firework
display of splintering wood and shattered glass. �This is vot you vant!?� He
barked, jerking up his sleeve to better reveal the now sliced up mark. �You are
happy now, yes?!� He sneered.

�I am happy you are alife!� She retorted defiantly.

He scoffed
at her, crossing the room to get in her face. �Alife for vot?� He spat. �Vot
life!? The life of a servant to a murderous madman?! That is the life vorth
safing?!�

Her eyes
watered pitifully as she stared him down. �Any life,� she hissed �vare I know
you are still breathing, is a life vorth safing.�

Shaking his
head he looked away from her, not wanting to see any more tears in her eyes.
Slowly he felt the fight drain out of him and he relented. �I do not vant to
vake up alvays vith this on my arm, Maika.� He whispered weakly.

His mother
cupped his face tenderly, bringing him to meet her loving gaze. �It vill get
better, my lof. I promise you, it vill get better.�

�I do not know if I can vait that long.� He sorrowfully
confessed.

Devora
embraced him fiercly, her small arms trapping him with a powerful grip.
�Parents vere not meant to outlif their children, God did not make it so. And
my heart vould shrifel up inside me and die if it vere ever to happen.� She
wept. �Viktor I could not stand it!�

Rubbing her
back did not seem to have the usual comforting effect it always had before and
now she only cried harder.

�He vould haff killed you Viktor! I know it!� She said
harshly. �If you stood in his vay he would haff killed you!�

�Instead, then, I should join vith the devil and lif in
fear?� He rejoined sourly.

She pulled
away and held him firmly at arms length giving him a thorough shake. �No!
Instead you should just lif! That is vot I�m asking, Viktor! Do you know vot he
does vith his enemies? He kills them! He does not ask questions! Do you know
vot the ministry does vith their enemies? They capture them, they take them in,
they interrogate them, and if they are not villing participants of crime they
let them go! Could you honestly say he vould be so generous?� She asked
vehemently. �I vill not stand vith those other griefing idiot mothers who sent
their sons out to fight a loosing battle for the sake of righteousness.�
She spat the word like it left a vile taste on her tongue. �They cry, but they
cry proud. They cry proud because they say their sons died an honorable
death, died fighting for �the cause.� I
vill tell you now, there is no cause vorthy of me sending my child avay for.
There is no such thing as dying honorably, and I vill not let any cause or
ministry make a martyr of my son.�

Viktor listened to her but found no
reassurance in her words. Yes, Voldemort was a more dangerous and lethal enemy
than the ministry, but he would still rather be struck down by the hand of the
devil than stand at the right side of it. Unfortunately it seemed the situation
was much more complicated than a simple question of what he wanted for himself.

Taking him by the undamaged arm she
began to lead him into the kitchen. �Come, you are bleeding into your shirt.�

He let her take him to the table,
sitting down almost mechanically. He felt drained, numb and drained as she left
from his sight for a moment. The sound of rushing water vaguely filtered
through his ears, reminding him of his time in Hermione�s room. She came back
carrying a rag, some new bandages and a bowl of water. Carefully lifting his
arm she began to blot the torn skin gently with the wet cloth. �He is killing
people, Maika. And he vill make me kill people also.� He spoke softly.

Devora sighed, wiping the last of
the blood away. �I did not say this choice vould be easy. But what must be,
must be.�

�You vould haff me kill innocent people?� He asked looking
up from the gashes peppering his skin.

�I vould haff you lif, Viktor. You cannot fight for good if
you are dead. At least this vay you may lif to fight for righteousness another
day.� She replied coolly, beginning to wrap the new bandages around the clean
lacerations.

The last of
his wound was wrapped and he didn�t even wince when she tied it a little too
sharply. Standing up she brushed her
robes free of any dirty or lint it might have acquired in the scuffle. �I vill
stay here tonight.� She announced.

�No, go home Maika. There vill be no more hurting tonight, I
am too tired.� He rebuked, his voice even and exhausted.

She eyed
him suspiciously before seeming satisfied that he would indeed not try anything
more. �I vill haff Efim vatching you.� She warned.

�Yes.� He relented.

She
appeared hesitant for a moment but did not object. �You haff a match tomorrow,
yes?�

�Ve are playing Russia.� He agreed not really paying that
much attention.

�Your father and I vill be vatching then.� She declared
firmly, kissing him lightly on the forehead. When he did not respond she took
his face in her small hands once more. �You know that this if for the best,
don�t you?�

Her dark
eyes seemed to beseech him, to beg him to understand. And he did. But that did
not mean he had to agree with it or feel good about himself for it. �Yes,
Maika.�

She smiled
warmly at that and gave his brow one last kiss before taking her leave.

Viktor leaned back in his chair
with a heavy breath as she apparated away. It felt like there was a dull,
droning weight constantly bearing down on his back and there was nothing he
could do to get rid of it. Picking himself up he left the kitchen, passing
through the den and straight to his room. As he removed his clothes he didn�t
even bother to fold them neatly aside as he usually did and instead simply
threw them haphazardly on the floor before lifting the covers of his bed and
sliding between the sheets. Last night he had been so physically exhausted he
had no strength left to toss and turn, now though, he wondered what it would
take to make sleep come easy again.

Staring up at the ceiling he tried
to think of other things, things that had nothing to do with the war, with
Voldemort, or how he had turned his back on everything that he was, that he was
raised to be. How could his parents talk to him as though this were simply
something that must be done? As though it were only something to bear and
tolerate. They knew nothing of what was going on. They had no idea of the
lengths this wicked madman was willing to go to. His father was right, the
world was changing. Though he had no idea how fast. Dumbledore was gone, the
Potter boy was still too green, there was nothing left to stop him now. The day
of reckoning was growing closer like an ominous black cloud. �Avel!� Viktor
called.

The elf immediately appeared at his
bedside, his ears drooped in worry. �Master?�

�Get me a sleeping draught.� He said.

�Yes master.�

Viktor
threw his arm over his head as the house elf vanished from sight. Apparently he
would be getting more acquainted with the syrupy potion from now on. He would
have to remind himself to order it in bulk in the morning.

-------------------------------------------------

Bashta � Father

Maika � Mother

Slatko Matze � Sweet Kitten

Airian � It�s a drink that�s not only popular in
Bulgaria but most other countries as well. And no its not liquor as far as I
know. I mean, u can add liquor to it, like eggnog or something but it�s
basically yogurt, mineral water, salt, and some lemon. Its pretty thick and
sweet, but I like it too.

Well how was it? Shorter I know but there really wasn�t much
that could be done in this chapter, its still early and what not. So tell me
what you think, R&R. I�m shocked that this fic hasn�t gotten anywhere near
as many reviews or favs as Bulgarian Mascara. I guess that�s cause I suck at
summaries, don�t ask me why, I just do.

Much luv

The Deni Pie
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