A/N: This chapter took a while to edit. I do apologise, because it was actually finished ages ago, but I promise the delay wasn't intentional. One particular scene was very hard to write. I just wasn't satisfied with it for the longest time and I didn't feel comfortable with disregarding my concerns for the sake of updating faster. I really like how the story is turning out, and I really didn't want to disrupt the flow by forcing an update that I'm not particularly happy with. Again, I'm really sorry. I hope you understand.

I believe I replied to everyone, but in case I haven't: thank you all again for reviewing the previous chapter and for adding this story to your favourites/alerts list! Last I checked this story had fifty followers, and I'm just psyched knowing that there are fifty lovely humans from different corners of the world interested in what I have to write! Again, thank you so much for making my days brighter. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Also friendly reminder that anything said in italics is being spoken in Bulgarian.


He's invisible to her.

Viktor usually enjoys being invisible outside Quidditch stadiums, so under normal circumstances he would appreciate it, but right now he's very much convinced that, wherever his life is at the moment, it's too far past the point where everything is as normal as it could be for a famous athlete.

Despite what he does for a living, Viktor is not very fond of large crowds. He especially hates the kind that prods and examines him as if he were a property of the public, sometimes with hands and other times with invasive questions, so he savors such moments whenever they come. In stressful times, usually before school examinations or Quidditch season, he often finds himself in Muggle Sofia where no one knows who he is. One would think he'd lead a calmer life in his own country, but in reality it's a lot more hectic because at home he's more than just a great Quidditch player. He's a prodigy, a national icon, and the sole heir to one of the oldest wizarding families in Bulgaria.

He turns heads everywhere he goes. Witches and wizards of all ages recognize him. They always have a thing or two to say to him, and those with cameras will snap a picture he had originally politely declined to. It's the price he had to pay for doing the thing he loves. He had come to accept it a long time ago, and sometimes when his fans are civil and polite he allows his ego to absorb it, but most of the time he'd rather have solitude.

So why does it bother him now, when one of thousands doesn't notice him entering or leaving the library? Why does he care if she doesn't turn to look at him when he walks past her desk to browse the shelves behind her, and why does he keep returning to the library in the first place? Karkaroff had taken his golden egg, much to his chagrin, and insisted on solving the riddle himself. He had no further need for books, at least not for now.

That's not even the worst of it. The real, big question is what compels him to always hover around her like some bird of prey, without ever saying a word, hoping and waiting every single afternoon for her to notice him?

He couldn't keep denying it. He was too old to feign boyhood ignorance. The truth is simple and clear, this peculiar witch fascinates him. He admires her dedication to her studies, for as of yet he has never seen any other student of either three schools working nearly as hard as she does, and more than anything he admires her intelligence and natural affinity with magic.

How funny is it that the one girl you want doesn't want you?

He was quick to shut that thought away. He doesn't know that for sure. Even if she's not seeing him now, unless if she says it herself he's still got a chance. He would've probably known by now had he actually approached her, but as much as he tried and as much as he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Insecurities he didn't know he had kept resurfacing.

Viktor is aware of his faults, of course, and he never really cared much about them as long as they didn't interfere with his performance. He was never desperate enough to deluded himself either. He knows he's not picture-perfect handsome. He knows that he really doesn't have much to offer to a witch besides his name, wealth, and fame. He doesn't exactly have a fun, laid back personality, and he reckons that if he didn't have a career in Quidditch he'd probably be an academic.

He would normally add intelligence to the good list of things he can offer, because he's also aware of his merits, but in this case the language barrier would contradict him. Besides, what if she's already got a boyfriend, and what if he happens to be the type that wouldn't appreciate her talking to other men? He wouldn't be surprised if it were the first, because surely a brilliant witch like her would've caught someone's attention by now, but the second seemed unlikely to be true. She didn't strike him as weak-willed, or that she'd let anyone tell her what to do with herself.

He doesn't expect anything from her anyway. He only wants to talk to her, and the few times he feels brave enough to try he finds her busy working with Harry Potter, occasionally accompanied by their other friend. He thought of pretending to greet Harry Potter in hopes of being introduced to her in the process but he's never actually spoken to the boy before, so the exchange would probably be awkward if not extremely suspicious. It might make her feel more inclined to ignore him, and that's the last thing he wants.

One time she had another redhead keeping her company. Her resemblance to Harry Potter's friend was uncanny, and she appeared slightly younger, so he assumed she's his sister.

How many siblings are there? His mind wondered briefly as he regarded her. She smirked at him in a friendly yet mischievous kind of way when she caught him staring. He scowled and hid his face in whatever book he was pretending to read, because he'll be damned if he let anyone see his cheeks reddening for any other reason besides exhaustion and the weather.


They were standing on deck for nearly forty minutes when Karkaroff finally decided to emerge from his cabin. His curling beard was peppered in crumbs he had either failed to notice or didn't care to brush off before delivering his speech.

His dark eyes studied all twenty men standing rigidly before him, all painfully aware of their sore backs and legs but not daring enough to complain. It was all protocol, after all, demanded especially when the Headmaster calls for an assembly, and during the forty minute wait Viktor came to the conclusion that he hates it here just as much as he did in Durmstrang.

"I presume you all know how to dance?" said Karkaroff, shooting nasty looks at any boy that dared look uncertain. "I expect no less from such respective families, and especially not from Durmstrang's finest." He paused and flashed a toothy grin in Viktor's general direction before he started pacing again. "Nevertheless, you're all very young men, some better and smarter than others," again he grinned at Viktor, "but still young, foolish, and of far better lineage than what our hosts and their guests have to offer. I considered bringing more girls from Durmstrang to avoid this, of course, but knowing Albus he'll insist on having them mingle with Hogwarts' boys to, ah, strengthen school bonds!" he looked revolted by the idea, and as if he'd forgotten that twenty students could hear him better than several hundreds, he added in an undertone: "Utter nonsense! I'd rather take the risk with twenty boys than with one girl who might soil herself with some mud-"

He stopped. He took a deep breath and an extra minute or two to compose himself, appearing more annoyed than concerned with his slip. Then again, Karkaroff was never that secretive about his rather controversial ideologies.

A slight movement at the end of the line caught Viktor's attention. He turned ever so slightly to not avert Karkaroff's attention from scolding Poliakoff for yawning and saw Ivanna, the only female student selected to participate from Durmstrang, standing at the end of the line closest to the railing. She had turned her glare from the Headmaster towards the lake.

Viktor wouldn't have blamed her if she had marched up to him and slapped him across the face for merely suggesting such a thing. It wasn't just Karkaroff's constant obsession about blood purity and prestige that had most parents transfer their children to different schools of lesser educational quality, but of the way in which he's constantly looking down on his own students. Throughout his time as Headmaster he had not only instilled fear, but encouraged it and awarded those better at inflicting it. His favorite target besides the weak were women, and not in the same way men were targeted.

There had always been tension between Ivanna and the Headmaster, mostly due to her constantly fighting her way to the top and succeeding despite all his efforts to discourage her, but since the Triwizard champions have been announced the tension intensified to such an extent that it became unbearable to stand within their vicinity.

She was very strong and ambitious, perhaps even more than Viktor, and she had fought tooth and nail to be selected for the voyage. She had succeeded despite Karkaroff banning women from participating altogether. She took everything he threw at her, every near-impossible challenge he purposely made much more difficult than that of male participants, and she took all his insults and constant degradation in silence just to fulfill her dream of becoming the Triwizard Champion.

At some point Karkaroff felt so threatened by her ambition he had half a mind to ban her altogether from placing her name in the Goblet of Fire, but it turns out that he really didn't need to trouble himself. The Goblet chose Viktor in the end.

She had immediately accused them both of foul play, instantly setting the Headmaster's temper alight, which was already beyond calming after he had just been forced to accept Harry Potter as Hogwarts' second champion.

"If I could've controlled that damn Goblet Hogwarts wouldn't get a second champion, you stupid girl!" he had snarled, uncaring about the fact that for the first time her large eyes were brimming with angry tears. Instead he had her immediately put on a month long probation, which consisted of her doing manual labor on the ship without so much as a complaint or another slanderous word of him or Viktor, should she want to avoid being shipped back to Durmstrang and explain to her family and to the school board why she was back so early.

Viktor hadn't seen her since, and for a while he was happy not to come across her because the last thing he needed besides balancing schoolwork, the tournament's challenges, and his rivals was Ivanna raving at him over things he couldn't control. Now that he sees her gaunt face, thinning blonde hair, and tired, bloodshot blue eyes he couldn't help but feel responsible. She looked nothing like that when they first docked. He could've at least tried talking to Karkaroff…

"The Yule Ball," said Karkaroff, addressing them all now that he's done humiliating Poliakoff, diverting Viktor's attention back to the present. "It is traditionally held to strengthen existing bonds between Europe's best wizarding schools. It is also an opportunity for each school to showcase their loyalty as well as their determination to keep these bonds as strong as they have been for centuries past and as strong as they will be for many more centuries to come, of course not only through the friendships of their Headmasters and Headmistresses but also through their own students' conduct outside the arena. Seeing as you can't all take Ivanna," here he made a sweeping gesture toward her side of the line, grinning at the few chuckles his suggestion induced, "you'll have to mingle with the ladies from Beauxbatons and from Hogwarts."

Something strange happened then. There was a slight movement in their formation, a break of excited murmurs and exchanged grins. Viktor and Ivanna were the only ones who remained still, the first frowning slightly at the sudden, very unusual change and the latter still preoccupied with the lake. No student in Viktor's time at Durmstrang had ever broken formation with a mere blink during an assembly.

Contrary to popular belief, there are many female students at Durmstrang, of which many are pretty and impressive. The male students present have had relationships with those female students in the past, and they have definitely taken them to dances and balls and formal events. Viktor knew it wasn't their first time being around women, and yet the way they received the news made them look like they came from an all-boys school.

The Headmaster seemed to have noticed the change, and was more displeased than curious. He cleared his throat. They were instantly back in line, stone-faced and rigid as before, as if no change had just come on them.

"Let me remind you that the girls you have no doubt already selected are even younger than you are," he said, folding his hands behind his back as he paced before them, "and they seem to be very much enamored with older foreign students. That makes them more vulnerable, foolish, and more likely to believe and act upon silly, unrealistic promises. Encouraging such radical behavior will lead to great, terrible consequences on your future as well as that of the young girls', and most importantly on myself as your Headmaster and on the school's prestigious name. I will only say this once, so hear me well."

He then rounded on them, his face now loosing all its mirth and contorting into something as dangerous and sinister as his reputation. "You are all to behave like perfect gentlemen and treat the ladies with utmost respect. If I so much as hear one complaint on any of you from whatever source, you will answer to me alone and it will be your greatest regret. Now I expect you all to attend the ball with suitable dates and appropriately dressed in your school's colors, because you are representing this school and not yourselves or even your champion. I will accept no excuses. You are obligated to make a proper attendance worthy of this school's name even if you are a breath away from death! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Headmaster," came the loud, collective reply.

He gave them a curt nod, his expression still dark and foreboding. "Very well. You are dismissed- except for you, Ivanna and Viktor. Wait for me in my office. I have compiled a list of suitable young men and women for you to accompany and I would like to discuss them with you."

There was a slight pause in which everyone stared at Ivanna, expecting her to lash out and rebel as she normally does, but instead she nodded and calmly made her up the stairs towards his cabin. All nineteen pairs of eyes followed her until she disappeared behind wooden doors.

Viktor approached Karkaroff as the remaining students dispersed either off or somewhere below deck.

"May I have a word, Headmaster?" he said, nodding towards the rails and away from Karkaroff's office.

"Of course, Viktor!" said Karkaroff, his expression warming but not in a way that conveyed affection. He ushered Viktor towards the stairs. "No doubt you're curious about the egg? I haven't quite figured it out yet, but rest assured that I'll call for you as soon as I do. I wouldn't want to send in my own champion blind, now would I?" he threw his head back and laughed.

Viktor allowed himself a moment to glare at the floor. If the old fool would just give him the egg and stop treating him like an idiot he's certain he would've figured out the second task by now. He was supposed to figure it out on his own anyway, especially without his Headmaster's help, and if there wasn't a disqualification risk Viktor would've reported him to one of the ministry judges.

He shook his head and stopped just before his Headmaster took the first step on the stairs. Now is not the time to dwell on Karkaroff's incompetence, he decided.

"Headmaster," he said, firmly planting his feet as Karkaroff turned to look at him, one grey bushy eyebrow raised. He fought to keep his voice even and neutral. "It's about the Ball. I have already found someone I'd like to take."

"Is that so?" much to his relief, Karkaroff grinned. "And am I right to assume that this very lucky young lady is worthy of Durmstrang champion Viktor Krum?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice after hearing that. He wasn't thinking of his many titles when his mind drifted towards her during Karkaroff's official announcement. It hadn't even occurred to him that she will likely be the center of attention as one of the champions' date, as that of none other than Viktor Krum himself should she say yes.

He hated Karkaroff for reminding him. Now he's worried she'll say No to avoid the hassle.

"Excellent!" said Karkaroff, dismissing him with a wave as he turned towards the stairs. "I'll trust you to take care of this on your own."

He got Karkaroff off his back and that was definitely a good thing. Who knows what the old man had in store for him, or what sort of tragic fates now awaits Ivanna behind closed oak doors.


It became apparent to Viktor that his peers were definitely going through changes.

He thought it was the excitement of the Yule Ball presenting them with the opportunity to properly mingle with students from other schools, namely girls, without Karkaroff constantly breathing down their necks. He'd always find them with one or several students of Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, talking rapidly and laughing as if they've known each other for years. Most have already secured dates for the ball, and were now getting close and friendly with them. Viktor caught some of them boldly holding hands and strolling around the grounds, lounging in the courtyard, or leaving for the village nearby on weekends.

He couldn't help but envy them. How is it that they were able to not only ask them to the Ball but to also properly get to know them before the actual event when he, their champion, hadn't even mustered up the courage to introduce himself to the girl he likes.

He was at a complete loss. He never had a problem speaking to women, so why is it that he can't say a word to this library-dwelling, book-hording girl? He did get himself on first name basis amongst other things with a few before her and it wasn't this difficult, mostly because they had approached him first.

He was finally beginning to see the root of his problem. It was quite simple: he never had to ask, he never truly wanted to, and he didn't think he ever will.

He had offers, of course, mostly from his stalking fan club or from the few girls that managed to stop stuttering long enough to ask him to the Ball. It really just made things a lot more awkward than they already are. On the one hand he admired their courage because he couldn't find his, but on the other he had no interest in going with them. Some took his rejection rather well and laughed it off, while others disappeared from his sight.

At least his horde of fangirls was thinning. Perhaps if they grow small enough, or disappear altogether, he wouldn't have to leave the library early to get them to stop bothering her with their frantic whispers and giggling.

"Viktor!"

He was strolling along the nearly-empty grounds late in the afternoon with only his thoughts occupying his mind when Poliakoff found him, apparently having just returned from the village. He hesitated, then stopped to allow Poliakoff to catch up with him.

Throughout their time together in Durmstrang, particularly since Viktor started playing in international stadiums, Poliakoff had never so much as looked his way before. Viktor always felt that Poliakoff was too intimidated by him, because the few times he tried talking to him the boy would immediately start stuttering incoherently and look around for the fastest exit route.

It took a while for Poliakoff to gather his breath.

"Look at what I got!" he said once he stopped panting, his face still flushed and grinning as he pulled out a small, red-and-white striped box. Viktor looked at the bold black writing against the bright yellow banner. Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, it read.

"Flavored beans?" he said, looking up at Poliakoff's eager face with a raised eyebrow.

"All kinds of flavored beans!" He replied, flinging his arms in excitement and nearly emptying all of the box's contents on the grass. "It's ingenious! I just had strawberry, dirt, and grass. Alphonse couldn't try another after a vomit flavored one, and before him Markus had troll bogey-"

"Why would you eat that?" Viktor cut him off mid-ramble, now looking at the box with disgust. "Why would anyone invest in such flavors?"

Poliakoff shrugged, his excitement about his purchase still unhinged. "It's fun to have with friends, I suppose." He then pushed the box towards him. "Would you like to try? There aren't much left now as I've got nearly everyone to try, but the remaining colors look promising. You might get a strawberry peanut butter ice-cream. I hear that flavor is supposed to be really good."

Viktor looked from the box to its owner, suddenly suspicious and uncomfortable with his sudden ease. He briefly considered asking him if one of the flavors happened to be alcoholic, and if he had perhaps took more than he should. Poliakoff, on the other hand, seemed blissfully unaware of Viktor's discomfort or of his general revulsion of the product he was offering him. He was smiling as if they had done this many times before.

He shook the box at him. "Everyone tried, Viktor. You're our champion, you can't say No. What would the others think?"

It was more of a friendly jab than an actual threat, and Viktor felt the need to comply. He reached for the box and grabbed one that felt small and smooth, praying for it to be anything but vomit. He popped it in his mouth and gave it a few thoughtful chews before spitting it out on the grass, sending Poliakoff into a laughing fit.

"What did you get?" he asked.

"Pebble," said Viktor, glaring at the grey mangled jelly pieces on the grass. "Why do I know that?"

Poliakoff shrugged. "Perhaps they're enchanted?" he plopped a light pink bean in his mouth. "Hmmtastes like salmon." his eyes widened and his smile dropped all of a sudden. For a moment Viktor thought that he had finally come to his senses and realized who he's been talking to, but then he swallowed with some difficulty and said: "I'm allergic to salmon."

"It's just a flavor."

"Y-yes but I should still check with that Healer. My throat gets blocked and my face swells the size of a balloon-" he gasped. He then quickly grabbed his face with both hands and dropped the box and spilled its remaining contents in the process. His head wasn't swelling, and it didn't look like it was going to anytime soon, but his fear of his allergy might as well had him convinced that his head had become the size of a hot air balloon. He apologized hastily and sprinted towards the castle, still holding his head with both hands.

Viktor looked down at the spilled beans. He considered putting them back in the box and taking them to Poliakoff, but then thought better of it. They've caused enough trouble for one day.


Her usual desk was empty. It wasn't in the sense that it's unoccupied, because he'd recognize the mess of scrolls and books anywhere, but it was empty in the sense that she wasn't hunched over that mess scribbling away and muttering under her breath.

He looked at her empty chair with slight disappointment. It had taken him all afternoon to shake off his fan club. He had fully intended on finally asking her to the Ball, insecurities and Harry Potter and his friend all be damned. He had a book in his hand, too, one he grabbed randomly from one of the shelves on his way to her desk to use as means of escape should something go wrong.

Perhaps she was looking for a book somewhere. He glanced at the desks on either side of hers, but they were all full of students hard at work. He couldn't exactly go looking for her, because the library was massive enough to swallow her whole. She could be anywhere. It would take him all day if he were to scan every row, and by the time he's finished she'll probably have already left.

He turned around, thinking he'd browse the books on the shelves closer to her desk until she returns, when he nearly collided with her.

He couldn't help looking shocked if not a little guilty, not because he finally got caught, but because he hadn't realized until now when she stood so close to him how small she really is. She was glaring up at him with her arms stiff by her side and a quill clutched like a sword in one hand, seemingly unaware or uncaring of the height difference.

There was no better word to describe her, she was absolutely cute. He couldn't stop staring, or even attempt to make an escape, and he really didn't need to because she wasn't going to let him try.

"Well?" She demanded, her brown eyes narrowed.

"Sorry," he said, tearing his eyes from hers and moving around her.

She easily and quickly intercepted him despite his long strides, then again he barely got a step ahead with a racing heart and legs as heavy as lead.

"Why are you following me?" She asked, folding her arms over her chest.

"I am not," he said, trying denial. "I am reading."

She raised a brow. She grabbed the book hanging loosely in his grip and turned it over to read the title. "Modern Breast Enlargement Charms?"

He flushed. "It's for friend."

She sighed and placed the book on a 'return' trolley that floated by. "Do you also watch me for this 'friend' of yours?"

He frowned, sensing a double meaning behind her phrase but unable to detect it.

"I don't understand," he said when he realized she wasn't going to point it out for him, looking bashful enough to gain a flickering sympathetic look. "Sorry. My English is bad."

"Oh. It's alright," she said, looking uncertain for a moment before quickly strengthening her resolve. "Did Karkaroff send you to spy on Harry?"

"No need to spy. I don't need Harry Potter to win," he said, growing a little irritated at the suggestion despite himself, "Fleur, maybe."

The corner of her lips twitched upwards. He felt hope despite the rather disastrous turn of events.

"How do I know you're not lying?" she asked, once again blocking his path. "How do I know Karkaroff didn't tell you what to say in case you get caught?"

He thought about it for a while, taking his time mostly to calm himself. He can't help taking offense at her suggestions but at the same time he understood where they were coming from. Her friend is in mortal danger because of the people Karkaroff was associated with in the past, and she doesn't exactly know anything about Viktor. She's probably only seen him either on his own or with Karkaroff.

He pushed the sleeves of his sweater to his elbows and stretched both arms in the space between them, turning them over so that his pale wrists were exposed to her. She leaned closer to stare at the unmarked skin of his wrists, tilting her head slightly and squinting her eyes as if expecting to see something in small print. Again he couldn't help but admire her now that she's so close to him. He couldn't stop himself making mental notes of how her nose scrunches up when she's thinking hard about something, or how her eyebrows knit ever so slightly, how her teeth gently probe her lower lip, the curls that bounce over her shoulders…

It took him a few seconds too late, mostly because she had suddenly withdrawn, to notice that she had just realized what his gesture meant. She was now regarding him with widened eyes and a mortified expression on her face.

"Of-of course not!" She gasped, stepping back and placing a hand on her chest. "I hadn't meant… obviously you can't be a- a Death Eater, you're too young! You weren't even here when- when- when You Know Who was defeated! I wouldn't ever accuse you of being a part of such a hateful, murderous cult, even if Karkaroff– at least not without proof! I was talking about the tournament!"

She placed her hands over her face and uttered a disgruntled cry when her stuttered words kept merging and stopped making sense even to the native English speaker. She walked to her desk and leaned towards it, the hand holding the quill fisted and pressed against the surface as the other ran through her bushy mane, her mind whirring still and as clustered as the space before her. Viktor slowly lowered his arms and considered leaving now that his path is finally clear, but his feet were as glued to the ground as his eyes were on her.

He didn't have the heart to leave her agitated and mortified, especially when it was his fault she got to that state.

She spun around to face him again, her expression anxious and her voice rising to a shrill. "Why do you keep staring at me like that?"

"You are very beautiful," he said, his voice calm despite the onslaught of emotions.

"What?"

"You ask why I watch," he said. "Answer is because you are very beautiful."

She stared at him. The only indication that she had heard and understood what he said were her pink cheeks.

He cleared his throat and bowed, finally tearing his eyes from hers. "I am sorry I scared you. I will go."

He then turned and walked away from her. He kept his face clear and his pace slow as he made his way towards the exit, trying his best to ignore his mind's nonstop 'stupid, stupid, stupid' chants. He didn't want to think about how embarrassed he felt or that he still couldn't accomplish something as simple as asking a girl to a ball despite all his past achievements and fancy titles.

He hadn't realized that she was trying to catch up with him until she barely managed to stop him by the door, looking winded and flushed from all the running.

"You didn't scare me," she said, still trying to catch her breath. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you and made all those horrible assumptions. It's obviously not your fault the Goblet selected you, or that it selected Harry in the first place, and it's definitely not your fault your fans are inconsiderate and loud in the library of all places. You have every right to use the library, so please don't feel discouraged because of the things I said. I just…if you want to, next time please just say Hello."

He felt the corner of his mouth quirking. "Hello."

She smiled at him for the first time and his heart leapt.

"Hello," she said. She hesitated before extending her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Viktor Krum," he replied, staring at her small hand for a beat before taking it in his large one and bringing it to his lips in the traditional Durmstrang manner, prompting the appearance of more pink spots on her cheeks.

"I know," she said absently, allowing her hand to linger in his as she regarded him in a way that suggested she had expected an entirely different response, and that perhaps she wasn't all too disappointed in being wrong.


Karkaroff seemed to be in a really good mood that evening. For starters, Viktor was no longer on that ridiculous, 'nutritious' diet he was forced to follow after the first task, and to celebrate he helped himself to seconds and thirds in addition to too many wine refills. Ivanna was also joining them on the Slytherin table for the very first time since her probation, looking sullen but still helping herself to a generous portion.

His side of the table was alight with friendly conversations between his schoolmates and the Slytherins, but he hardly spared them a word or a nod whenever his name was brought up. He had caught a pair of brown eyes staring at him from across the hall and couldn't possibly think of anything more interesting to focus on, and when he caught her several more times afterwards he forgot his surroundings.

Before he knew it he had turned it into a game. He'd smile or wink every time he'd catch her staring, making her swiftly turn away and blush scarlet. She'd scowl at her plate and then allow herself a small smile when she thinks he's not watching, and for every smile he'd catch he rewards himself with another goblet of wine. He was enjoying their game too much to care if anyone takes note of his odd behavior, or even if he ends up stumbling to his bed with a killer hangover waiting for him in the morning.

He was struggling to decide if it was the wine fogging his judgment or the knowledge that her eyes were knowingly seeking his.