Viktor had often been grateful for the compact two way mirrors the family used for communication, but this was not one of those times.
"—the tact of a goblin!" his mother exclaimed, her cheeks flushed. "Have you even talked to her?"
"Of course I have!" he said defensively.
"About what? The weather? Because you certainly haven't learned anything at all from your conversations with her, it seems."
His mouth worked as he thought about their conversations, and he felt a flush crawl up his face and the tips of his ears as he discovered that he...well. She might be onto something.
His mother rolled her eyes as she watched the realisation wash over his face. "What am I to do with you?" She asked, exasperated. "Brevity may be the soul of wit, Vitya, but not in situations like this!"
"I'm doing my best!" He defended himself. "I never wanted this—never asked for it—"
"It doesn't matter what you wanted or asked for," she interrupted sharply. "All that matters is what is happening now. The past is done with and the situation remains the same, no matter what you wish. Talk to the girl and listen to what she says. And for Merlin's sake, Viktor, don't send her courting items that intimate marriage!" She huffed. "No wonder she was furious. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous."
And with that, the mirror went dark.
"That wasn't particularly helpful," he muttered, frowning. He had hoped she would have some insights, but all she'd had were judgmental looks and recriminations. He didn't call her for a lecture. Heaven knew he got enough of those when he was at home.
It seemed his first overture was a massive bust, but it was what A Pureblood's Guide to Courting Right recommended, and he was determined to do things right to show he respected and valued her. He couldn't bear to have a repeat of his parents' marriage, a spectre that haunted him when he closed his eyes at night.
He turned a knob on the side of the mirror until the edges glowed amethyst, indicating he'd attuned it to Kosta's mirror, and activated the mirror. Moments later, his brother's face appeared.
"Viktor?" he asked with a frown. "Is everything all right?"
"Can't I call you to say hello?"
Kosta raised a brow. "Have you ever done so before?"
Maybe not. "Once or twice," he hedged.
Kosta rolled his eyes. "Just tell me what you want, malük brat. You're a terrible liar, did you know that?"
Viktor ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not lying, I'm—okay, I'm lying. I want to get something from the family vaults."
"Ah. A courting gift?"
"How did you know?"
Kosta shrugged. "You're not the only one who went through this, you know. I had to court Calista, too, the same as you."
Viktor remembered that, vaguely. Kosta had been a bear that year, prickly and short-tempered as he'd run around doing things that hadn't made much sense to anyone, let alone his little brother. Idly, Viktor wondered if that was what he looked like to those not involved in the absolute insanity he was in.
"Right," he said slowly. "Any advice?"
His elder brother looked heavenward. "Is the sky falling? Have I been cursed to hear the opposite of what is being said? I can't believe that the great celebrity Viktor Krum is asking me, regular old Kosta, for advice."
"Shut up," Viktor snapped. "As if you're not famous on your own." Kosta had published three groundbreaking papers on runic warding in the last year alone, having been called a wizard unparalleled in the subject since he was still at Durmstrang for his uncanny ability to link runes and charm work together.
"I'm boring. You're not. Oh no, you couldn't just follow the rest of the family into mostly obscure, academic fame: you had to make your own path, flashier and bigger."
"Quidditch is a viable career path," he retorted, his hand gripping his thigh as the old argument threatened to make his temper rise. "Look, I'll figure this out on my own. Forget I said anything."
As he went to cut the connection, Kosta raised a hand. "No, wait. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone down this path. You wanted advice on your girl? Get to know her, listen to what she says, and do whatever she asks."
"The last thing she asked for," Viktor sighed, "was for me to never contact her again. For some reason everything I say or do is offensive somehow."
Kosta shrugged. "Women. Either that, or you're just an idiot."
That...was not helpful. "So...the vault?"
"As someone who has used baubles and jewels to claw my way back into Calista's good graces, I can understand your approach."
In response, Viktor held up A Pureblood's Guide to Courting Right, and Kosta's eyebrows winged up. "Ah. That, too. Gone traditional, have you?"
"What else was I to do? She's British. You know how uptight and rigid they are about things like this."
Kosta made a face. "Fair enough. They are rather...traditional. So what do you want to get from the vault?"
He thought for a long moment about the contents of the family's vaults, which he had never paid much attention to when they went. After all, it wasn't like he would be interested in things like jewelry and the like. "Hm…" he hesitated. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I don't have a good handle on what we have that might suit."
"Great-Grandfather Piero had a compact mirror he liked to carry around and use," Kosta said slowly, thinking. "It would compliment him every time he opened it. Perhaps that might be a useful gift, if you've managed to bollocks it up?"
Viktor thought of Hermione, her eyes flashing and expression absolutely irate as she'd returned his wax seal and snarled, stop sending me letters full stop, and nodded. "That sounds good, and I think it'll fit the book's dictates. But Kosta—she loathes me. I don't know if anything can help me, but I don't think things can't get much worse. I hope it will help."
Translations: malük bra = little brother
Credit where it is due: Shakespeare penned "Brevity is the soul of wit". I just used it to throw shade at Vitya.
A/N: I needed a palette cleanser from some stuff I'm writing, so here we are. Damn is that stuff intense. Anyway, Happy New Year, all! I hope we all have a better year than the one we had.
Meanwhile, earlier that week at Hogwarts:
Hermione: I'm sure you foresaw in your teacup this morning what I'm going to give to you.
Milena: No, actually, I—
Hermione: Here. *shoves wax seal at her* I don't want to talk about it. Ask him. *flounces away*