The Bulgarian and the Bookworm
As Hermione Granger sat in the Hogwarts library trying to complete her History of Magic homework, several twittering girls came in, one wearing a Bulgaria scarf round her waist. She groaned inwardly. Oh, damn, Krum must be here. I'm not in the mood for this. She tried to focus on her book.
The goblin wars of 1816 were originally wrought by...by..Urgog the Unfriendly...No, it was Gorg the Gorgeous...and the International Confederation of Wizards formally declared war...in 1819...no,1820.
"Look, I'm trying to read here. Do you mind?" she said. The girls flounced away in a huff.
"Excuse me, but...I vos vondering if you are being finished vith that book," said a surly Bulgarian voice behind her. Hermione turned, and indeed it was Krum behind her. "No, but I've read it a dozen times. Take it," she said, handing him the book.
"Blagodarya. That is, thank you," he said. "I am Viktor Krum." "I know. I saw you at the World Cup with my friends. I'm no Quidditch expert, but I do know good flying when I see it, and that was good flying. My name's Hermione Granger, by the way," she said. "Herm-own-ninny," said the Bulgarian. She smiled at the mispronunciation. Viktor took her hand and kissed it, and she blushed, which he found adorable.
"You are priyateli, that is, friends, with Harry Potter, are you not? I haff seen you vith him and the redhaired one," Viktor said. "Yeah, I am," she said. "I vood like...if you are being all right with it...to get to be knowing you better," he said shyly.
"I'd like that," she said. "Vill you valk vith me, mila?" Viktor asked. "All right," Hermione agreed, packing up her many books and slinging her bag over her shoulder. "So this Cross Stitch of yours...it is a good book?" Viktor asked, trying to make conversation with the pretty girl before him.
"Oh, yes! I love historical novels," Hermione explained. "How did you know that's what I was reading?"
"It vos sticking out of your bag," Viktor pointed out. "Is not a Vizarding book, is it?"
"No, actually. My mum and dad are Muggles," she said.
"Vill you please go to the ball vith me?" the eighteen-year-old blurted out.
Hermione was startled. No one had ever asked her out before. Anyone could see that the poor boy had clearly been trying to work up the courage for a long time.
Viktor inwardly cursed himself for being a dolt and let out a string of Bulgarian curses. At this Hermione began to laugh. She gave him a squeeze of the hand. "You don't need to be so nervous around me, Viktor. Just be yourself," she said.
"So you vill go to ball vith me?" he asked hopefully.
A blush crept onto her cheeks, and she gave a small grin.
"I'd like that."