Hermione had recently confronted a werewolf, two animagi, and a hippogriff with minimal injuries to show for it, but she still felt weak as a newborn lamb in the face of Krasmira Lazarov's penetrating expression. The Healer, who was about forty or so if Hermione had to guess by appearance alone, had piercing black eyes and a large patrician nose that sat on an equally angular face. Her dark hair was pulled back into a severe french braid, accentuating the sharp angles of her jawline. Her robes, which were undoubtedly tailored, had narrow sleeves and were clasped in place across her chest with small chains.

For a brief moment, Hermione wondered if Severus Snape had any Bulgarian relatives, or if they perhaps both attended a seminar or something on how to wordlessly intimidate others. She swallowed as the Healer ever-so-slowly took her measure from bottom to top, starting with her slightly scuffed trainers to her bushy brown hair.

"So," Madam Lazarov said at last in perfect, slightly accented English, "you are what Albus has sent me to work with. He has assured me that you are the brightest that Hogwarts has to offer, despite your age, but that does not matter."

Hermione's jaw threatened to drop, but she controlled herself as Madam Lazarov slowly approached her, hands clasped behind her back. "What matters," she said slowly, "is how hard you are willing to work. It is all well and good that you have the brains, Miss Granger, but do you have the determination?"

Hermione looked her straight in the eyes and spoke, determination running through her veins. "I do. I'm ready to work as hard as you need me to."

"Here in Bulgaria, in this club, we do not laze about. We are all part of a team that aims to propel its players forward to victory. You and I will prepare various remedies while the team trains, and we will go through various training scenarios in which players are maimed or seriously injured. Mark my words: what we do is essential. If we are not not prepared for every scenario, if we are not ready to take action at a moment's notice, players may die. Quidditch is not a forgiving sport, and I do not have the patience to train a girl who is only here to trail after men on brooms."

She bristled at the insinuation, but returned respectfully, "I assure you that I am not here to 'trail after men on brooms'. If I wanted to do that, I could do so much more easily at home than here. After all, one of my best friends is a Seeker for one of the teams at Hogwarts, and you don't see me trailing after him." Unless it was to badger him to do his homework, she mentally added.

Lazarov remained unconvinced, that was clear from her expression, but she turned without another word and headed deeper into the infirmary, which had approximately ten beds, three curtained off 'private' rooms, and two shut doorways at the end. The beds were all immaculately made, the sheets a crisp, no-nonsense white, though the top sheet and pillows had thick burgundy borders as well as the team's logo stitched on them.

Lazarov opened the door on the left and entered what appeared to be a fully equipped potions laboratory. The room was long and rectangular, with one incredibly long counter placed between four workbenches in the centre of the room. Along one wall, several cauldrons of varying types - was that one silver? - sat in stasis, while an unbelievable range of ingredients sat flush against the opposite wall, all neatly labelled and placed in rows.

"This is where I brew all the potions for the team," she announced, sweeping an arm expansively. "As you can see, it is a class four laboratory. It is equipped to handle even the most dangerous of potions. The room itself is warded should an accident occur." Her tone made it clear how likely she thought that to happen. "You shall be spending a large part of your time here. After all, there are some things that wand waving simply can not cure."

Suddenly, she turned around, robes snapping at her feet, to face Hermione directly. "What are the ingredients for a Draught of Peace?"

"Powdered moonstone, syrup of hellebore, powdered unicorn horn, and powdered porcupine quills," Hermione recited promptly, the image of page the ingredients flashing in her mind.* Thank Merlin she had read through both Moste Potente Potions and Helga Hedgebrooke's Guide to Healing Potions that day by the lake while she was also attending both Muggle Studies and Herbology via the Time-Turner. It was quite handy for her pursuit of learning: three Hermiones meant three times the learning. And it ended all in her head.

"And the steps for an Invigoration Draught?"

She rattled them off, pausing for a moment between steps eight and nine to make sure she had the timing of the stirring right - thirty-two times counter-clockwise in a smooth, even hand - before finishing triumphantly.

Krasmira looked down at her, unimpressed. "Why are the mandrakes sliced instead of cubed?"

"Slicing mandrakes adds potency and longevity to the potion, in particular because it interacts with the crushed lacewings. Were you to have mandrakes in another potion such as the Draught of Living Death, however, you would want to cube them to ensure the potion's potency was not, erm, overwhelming." As in, it didn't actually kill the poor sod who drank it.

"Hm." Madam Lazarov didn't offer anything else besides that, but Hermione supposed she had passed whatever sort of on-the-fly test that was since the Healer commanded, "Make one batch of Skele-Gro and one of PepperUp within the next two and a half hours. You may place them under stasis when you are finished. I shall be across the hall in my office if something dire occurs and you need me." Her tone indicated Hermione wouldn't get much help even if she did need her.

Hermione almost fell over. Two different potions in two and a half hours? She quickly did the calculations in her head and bit her lip. She'd have to brew them concurrently—and carefully. The Skele-Gro wasn't particularly complicated, but it had a rhythm to it that couldn't be disrupted or it would go foul.

"Is there a problem, Miss Granger?"

She swallowed. "No," she said, already looking at the empty cauldrons placed on a shelf below the ingredients on the right, "no problem whatsoever."

The next two and a half hours passed in a blur of concentration as she first readied her two cauldrons, obtained and prepared the ingredients, and then switched between making the two potions as the timing dictated. She cast modified Tempus charms above them both that counted down the times and chimed when it was time to move to the next step, and fell into the resulting rhythm easily enough. Occasionally, she heard noises from the main room, and Madam Krasmira's voice mixed once or twice with some male voices as she talked with them. Otherwise, it was rather quiet and peaceful, which she appreciated.

She was just casting the stasis spell on the perfectly revolting orange PepperUp when Madam Krasmira swept in, looking just as perfectly coiffed as before. She stared at a somewhat limp-looking Hermione, whose robes and clothes were wrinkled from the heat the PepperUp gave off, gazed critically at both cauldrons, and sniffed. "That will suffice, I think. Now, for your spellwork." She strode off to the main infirmary again, casting an impatient, "Come along, Miss Granger," behind her.

Hermione blew out a breath and pushed tendrils of hair that had escaped from their braid off her face. She'd take 'sufficient' as a grade in this case, especially since she knew the two potions were textbook perfect. Honestly, it was better than anything Professor Snape had ever said to her, so she really couldn't complain. "Right, then," she said, and followed Krasmira out the door.

By the time Krasmira has done her best to empty Hermione's magical reserves via an extremely thorough examination of her wand technique and knowledge of applied Charms, DADA, Arithmancy, and Transfiguration, it was past time for lunch, and Hermione's stomach let her know it rather emphatically.

"I really am sorry," she apologized to Madam Krasmira when her stomach audibly rumbled. "I was just so nervous this morning…."

For the first time, Madam Krasmira's expression became slightly less foreboding, although Hermione wouldn't necessarily classify it as approachable. "Come. We are at a good stopping point for the morning, anyways, and it is best that I show you around now so you can familiarize yourself with the place. It is not the easiest place to navigate, so pay attention. I will only show you once."

Remembering how long it took her to find the infirmary this morning due to her not exactly keen sense of direction (or misdirection, as her father had once called it), Hermione nodded obediently and tried to pay as close attention as possible as Krasmira pointed out the main offices, the owner's office, the trophy hall, the equipment room, and so on, until her mind fairly spun with it all. Bugger. It was going to be like First Year at Hogwarts all over again. At least they didn't have moving staircases.

She was pathetically grateful when they arrived at what Krasmira called the Hall of Inequity, which in reality was really just a casual dining room with two long tables much like the ones in the Great Hall. Sunlight filtered through windows placed near the top of a high ceiling, making the simply furnished room bright and airy. "You can either sup here or you can request something from the kitchens and take it elsewhere," she explained. "The players are often split on where they eat. Some apparate into town while others regularly eat on the grounds. Feel free to go to the kitchens during irregular times as well - the elves are accustomed to feeding hungry players at all hours, and would be delighted to feed you, too."

Krasmira drew a worn out pocket watch from the pockets of her robes and frowned at the time. "I've got to be off, now, as I have lunch plans. I trust you can find your way back in an hour or so?" She hardly waited for Hermione's nod before the crack of apparition echoed through the room.

Hermione looked around the room, a little at loss about what to do next. Should she just sit here and eat alone? What if the players came in and she had to introduce herself? She wasn't exactly the best at making first impressions — she grimaced at the memory of her first lonely term at Hogwarts — and didn't want them all to hate her on sight because she thought she was good enough to sit with them all, what with her being a lowly apprentice and them all extremely skilled and famous quidditch players.

Her mind screeched to a halt for a moment as she really thought about what she had just thought about. Really Hermione? She asked herself. They're just Quidditch players. It wasn't like they were better than her just because their skills on a broom far outstripped hers. If she wanted to eat here, she would do precisely as she pleased.

Quite frankly, however, her curiosity about the training grounds outstripped her admittedly low urge to dine at the hall. She had only really seen the entrance, a massive, sprawling room lined with fireplaces for flooing, statues of the players, and moving photographs of the current line-up looking intense and skilled, as well as the disastrously complicated maze that somehow spit her out at the infirmary.

She bit her lip. Perhaps she could ask for a picnic basket to carry out? It was a rather lovely day outside, and considering how large the stadium was, they likely wouldn't notice her if she sat in the stands somewhere and ate. It would be nice to see them in action.

"I do not have patience to train a girl who is only here to trail after men on brooms."

Madam Krasmira's voice echoed through her mind, and she winced. Perhaps not, then. Well, she could doubtlessly find somewhere outside to picnic.

Her mind made up, she left the room and tried to find the kitchens. Surely they couldn't be too far from the dining hall.

*Re: Draught of Living Peace: Yes, those are the ingredients; I was also surprised to see everything was powdered...lol

I hit 75K for this fic today! Wooo *celebration emoji* What a good feeling :) So many exciting things ahead of us!

Also, happy Friday! Hope you all are staying safe, healthy, and sane.