Moody Slavic Man Part 4: Dancing With Her

Author's Note: None of this belongs to me. This story is based on Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling and will feature "offstage scenes" as well as scenes from the book reinterpreted from Viktor's point of view. (This is a companion piece to "Hermione's Fourth Year".)

Special thanks to Zsenya for betareading, and for the hex idea and the food, to Jedi Boadicea for the idea for the "Responsum" spell.

Moody Slavic Man

By Elanor Gamgee

Part 4: Dancing With Her

Viktor awoke on Christmas morning with a slightly sick feeling in his stomach. It took a few moments for him to realize what day it was. Tonight was the Yule Ball. And he would be with her. In public. The thought of his private feelings being on display was almost enough to send him burrowing under the covers again. But then he thought of her. The champions are to lead off the dancing. Tonight he would have an excuse to touch her. Tonight he would dance with her.

As Viktor sat up, rubbing his face, he saw the pile of packages at the foot of his bed and groaned. His own family would not be celebrating the holiday for another twelve days, so he knew that the packages would be from people who didn't even know him. He quickly cast a Revealing Charm on the pile to make sure none of the packages were dangerous. This had become a habit ever since he had received a Pingvini Hex in the post after his team had beaten the Craidva Centaurs; he did not relish the idea of spending another afternoon with shrunken legs, waddling around like a penguin. The air around the pile of packages shimmered yellow for a moment, then subsided. The parcels were all safe.

Viktor hated this. He hated this enormous pile of expectations that showed up on his bed every holiday. And he hated the stacks of envelopes that appeared on his desk every evening. He knew he should appreciate it—his mother was certainly always telling him so. She liked to remind him how lucky he was to be known throughout the wizarding world, and to be seen as a role model for other young people. But Viktor would have traded every piece of post he had ever received to be allowed to play Quidditch as he had done as a boy—with his peers, and without expectations. Sometimes Viktor let his fan mail pile up for weeks at a time, as though it would disappear if he just ignored it. But his guilt—and the echo of his mother's voice—would eventually prod him to read it. He usually found himself searching desperately for some sign of sense, something he could relate to. Often, reading the letters would just depress him and make him feel more isolated than ever.

As soon as he opened the first envelope, however, he felt guilty for his initial reaction. Inside was a beautiful card that had been enchanted to emit soft music, while snow drifted softly onto the meadow depicted on the front. As he opened the card, a picture fell out and fluttered to the floor. He read the inside of the card before bending to retrieve the picture. Inside was written:

Dear Viktor,

Merry Christmas and best of luck in the Triwizard Tournament.

With love from

Megan

This was a simpler note than he had received in a long time. More amazing, the person who sent it didn't seem to expect anything from him in return. Curiously, Viktor looked at the picture. It showed a tall, pretty girl with long red hair, standing in front of a large Christmas tree, smiling and waving at him. Well, he thought, it certainly wasn't the worst piece of fan mail he had ever received.

Encouraged, Viktor put the card aside and opened the next package. This one was larger, and when he ripped off the brown paper, he found a box of fudge inside. The note attached to it read:

Dear Mr. Krum:

I saw your performance at the Quidditch World Cup and you were just amazing! I heard that you are competing in the Triwizard Tournament and I was not surprised one bit. You are an amazingly talented young man and I don't mind telling you that if I were a bit younger I would be sending you something much more provocative than fudge. Please send me an autographed picture for my collection.

Love,

Your Biggest Fan

Gladys Gudgeon

Viktor wondered what she meant by "something more provocative" as he put the box aside and turned to the next parcel on the pile. It was smaller, and gave off a feminine scent of perfume as he lifted it. For a moment, he froze, wondering if it might be from her. Taking a deep breath, he ripped off the paper and lifted the lid.

A piece of pink parchment lay on top of some fancy looking silver paper. Viktor could feel his heart pounding in his ears as he lifted the parchment and began to read.

My dear Viktor,

I would do anything for you. Anything. As I hope this gift shows.

Owl me!

Sarah Wells

Viktor's heart sank. He was foolish to think that she would send him a gift. After all, she had agreed to go with the ball with him. Could he really expect more than that?

With some trepidation, Viktor pulled back the silvery paper to reveal what was underneath. The sick feeling returned to his stomach as he saw that it was a silky pair of red panties. Instinctively, he flung the box away from him. It landed halfway across the room and turned over on the floor.

Viktor leaned his forehead onto his palms. He couldn't take this, not today. Taking another deep breath, he leaned over and picked up his wand from the nightstand. "Incendio," he muttered, pointing it at the fireplace. Flames sprang up immediately.

"Mobilidonum," he said, now pointing his wand at the box on the floor. He did not want to touch its contents. The box turned over and soared toward the fireplace, where it fell into the flames with a soft flump.

He was half-tempted to burn the entire pile of parcels now, but he knew his mother and his coach would both have a few choice words for him if he were to do something like that. Conrad always insisted that answering fan mail was a part of his players' obligation to the team. Reluctantly, Viktor sifted through the pile, and was rewarded by the sight of his mother's familiar loopy handwriting. Leaving her letter on the bed, he gathered the rest of the pile and carried it over to his desk. He pulled out a sheaf of parchment and a quill, tapped the pile of letters with his wand, then tapped the quill, muttering "Responsum". The quill immediately began moving over the parchment, writing out a standard response to Jonas Roadcup of Brighton, who had written the top letter on the pile.

Satisfied that the spell was working properly, Viktor sat back down on his bed and opened the letter from his mother.

Dear Viktor,

Your father and I hope this finds you well. We are so sorry that you cannot be home for the holidays, but I am planning to send you all of my special treats in just a few days. Perhaps we will Apparate up for a short visit on the 6th if we can get away. The cousins will be arriving next week, but I am sure they will not mind if we slip away to see you for a bit.

Your father has been to see the Vultures practice four times this month, and he wishes me to tell you that Ligachev has been steadily improving, but he is, of course, not nearly up to your skill level. He says that Boyar is growing frustrated with him during your absence. Boyar is always asking your father when you will tire of the Tournament and come back to the team—"where you belong", he says.

Viktor felt a twinge of guilt as he recalled the rigorous practice routine that Boyar had given him when he had left Bulgaria, and how badly he had kept to it.

I hope this reaches you before your ball. I am sure that you will have a fine time, and that your young lady will as well. I have the impression that you are especially taken with this girl, though you say very little, as is usual for you. I know that you have missed many events like this while you have been working so hard with your team. I worry sometimes that you have missed out on too many things that a boy your age should be doing, so it is good to see you enjoying the kinds of things a young man should. I do hope that you will send us a picture from the ball, and that you will tell us the young lady's name?

Have a wonderful time, darling!

Love,

Mother

Viktor shook his head. Sometime he felt as though his mother could read his mind; it was unnerving. He had barely mentioned the ball and his partner in his last letter to her, and she had, of course, sensed right away that it was more important than he had let on. It had been that way for as long as he could remember. It had been his mother who had understood how much he loved to play Quidditch, even while his father had blithely gone on about Viktor finding a position in the Bulgarian Ministry.

Deciding that he would write back to her later, Viktor put the letter aside. He glanced at the clock—twelve hours from now he would be meeting her. Trying to ignore the sudden flutter in his stomach, Viktor stood decisively and started to get dressed. If he hurried, he could spend some time flying before the other students woke up. He found he suddenly wanted to be airborne more than anything else—it was, perhaps, the only thing that would calm the restless energy that had suddenly seized him.

********************************

Viktor entered the Great Hall at lunchtime, his eyes instinctively straying toward the Gryffindor table. But she wasn't there. He sighed and made his way to the Slytherin table, where he found a seat next to Pashnik. Pashnik didn't seem to notice Viktor's presence, as he was completely engrossed in talking to Edina, who was practically in his lap. This was fine with Viktor; he was in even less of a mood to talk than usual.

As he helped himself to turkey and dressing, Viktor wished he could be out on his broomstick again. He had spent nearly an hour soaring above the empty Quidditch pitch before there had been any sign of movement on the grounds, and when he had entered the Great Hall for breakfast, there had been so few students there that he had wondered if the school had switched the mealtimes. She had not been there this morning. Apparently, Hogwarts students were used to sleeping in on holidays. Viktor had rarely had such a luxury. Absently, he realized that he now had the same opportunity, and wondered why he had failed to take advantage of it.

An almighty "CRACK" from his right made Viktor jump. Pashnik and Edina had pulled a large Wizarding Cracker, and were now laughing raucously as Pashnik pulled out a hideous flowered bonnet, while Edina waved smoke away.

An evil grin lit up Pashnik's face. "Viktor! For you!" he cried, draping the bonnet over Viktor's head. Edina giggled uncontrollably.

Viktor felt his face grow hot as he reached up and snatched the bonnet. "Don't do that," he muttered, shoving it back at Pashnik. Quite apart from wanting nothing to do with Pashnik's antics, Viktor had just seen her enter the hall with her friends, and he was not about to let her see him in such a ridiculous state.

She was saying something to the red-haired boy, who was wearing a horrible orange hat that clashed with his hair. Whatever she said caused the boy to roll his eyes and walk around to sit on the opposite side of the table from her. She merely shrugged and continued toward her seat. As she turned to sit down, however, she seemed to feel Viktor's eyes on her, and looked up suddenly. She met his eyes and gave him a brief smile before turning back to the table.

Viktor wished he could go talk to her now. He wondered why he didn't. She had never said that he couldn't speak to her outside the library, but somehow, that was the only place they ever did speak. He still felt uncomfortable about the idea of approaching her when she was with her friends, and he was reluctant to let anyone from Durmstrang know about his feelings for her. She wasn't something he wanted to share with anyone else.

Viktor thought back to the last conversation they'd had. They had been in the library, of course; he had continued to look for her there every day, even after she had accepted his invitation. Some days she was there; most days she wasn't. But when she was there, she always came over and talked to him, as if she knew that she was his only reason for being there. He felt as if he had learned more about her with every word, with every glance in his direction. Their conversation had been awkward at first, but she seemed to know exactly which questions to ask to get him talking. Before he had known it, he had found himself telling her about his father's collection of suits of armor, and how the singing armor at Hogwarts had given him an excellent idea for a gift for his father. She had told him about her parents and their strange Muggle profession of cleaning and fixing teeth. Viktor had been fascinated.

"Were they disappointed?" he had asked abruptly, as she finished explaining to him what a cavity was.

"What?" she had asked, looking startled.

"When they found out you were a witch. Did they want you to be a…dontist—"

"Dentist," she'd supplied helpfully.

"—dentist, as well?" he had asked.

She had frowned thoughtfully. "No, I don't think so. I think they just really, really want me to be good at whatever I do. And I do too, of course," she had added hastily, looking up at him.

Viktor had nodded. He knew exactly what she meant. He knew what it was like to live with other peoples' constant expectations. He had wondered if she would understand, if he told her how much he sometimes wished he could be rid of it all. Would she think him ungrateful?

She'd shifted slightly, and Viktor had realized he had been staring at her again. He'd looked down quickly.

"Can I ask you something?" she had said quietly, and Viktor had looked up. She had begun twirling one of her curls around her finger again, with a look half-pensive, half-apprehensive on her face. This had made him nervous—what was she going to ask?

Viktor had nodded.

"I'm curious," she'd said. "At the Quidditch World Cup, why did you catch the Snitch when you knew Ireland would win anyway?"

Viktor had stared at her for a moment in disbelief. She had wanted to ask him about Quidditch? But the serious look on her face had told him that her interest was genuine, so he'd shrugged and attempted to answer.

"We would not have won the match. It was better that way. It was my job to catch the Snitch. I caught it. We ended it on our terms."

She had looked slightly taken aback by his answer, then had pursed her lips in thought. "That's what Harry said," she'd said absently. Viktor had frowned. "We were there," she'd continued, "in the top box…Ron's father got us tickets. You really did fly well. It was very brave of you, catching the Snitch after your nose had been broken and all…"

Viktor's irritation at her mention of Potter had melted away as she had given him one of those beautiful smiles. He'd flinched inwardly at the idea of her seeing him in a bloody mess after the game—and if she had been in the top box, she would have been close enough to touch. Why hadn't he noticed her there? But she'd thought he was brave. He wondered if she had any idea how much her comment meant to him.

Viktor was abruptly jostled back to the present as Pashnik shoved another Wizarding Cracker into his hand. "Come now, Viktor, your turn!" he said loudly. Viktor gave a half-hearted tug and the cracker exploded, sending clouds of smoke billowing down the table. As the smoke cleared, a white rabbit hopped off of a serving platter. Edina seized it with a delighted squeal. Viktor stood up abruptly, ready to be far away from the noise of the Great Hall once again.

He spent the afternoon in his cabin, trying to ignore the footsteps that thundered up and down the corridor outside as the other students laughed and joked. The giggling, especially, seemed to have increased, which Viktor found amazing, since there were only three girls on the ship. By mid-afternoon, Viktor had a pounding headache. This was not helped by Pashnik pounding on his door every ten minutes inviting him to play chess, or cards, or some other silly game.

Finally Viktor used one of his mother's headache remedies, which she always made sure to send him whenever he was away from home. He still felt slightly queasy, though, so he decided to get some fresh air up on the deck. No sooner had he emerged from below decks, however, than he heard shouting in the distance, followed by a high-pitched laugh. He looked up towards the castle, and saw a small group of people engaged in a snowball fight. Two boys with flaming red hair were pursuing a smaller figure, which was laughing loudly. As Viktor watched, a snowball came out of nowhere and hit one of the boys in the arm. The boy stopped and looked around for his attacker, and then a figure Viktor recognized as Harry Potter stepped out from behind a tree and threw a snowball at the second boy. When he saw Potter, Viktor's eyes automatically searched for her…and found her, seated on the steps of the castle, apparently watching the snowball fight with interest. He couldn't see her face from this distance, but he would know her posture and mannerisms anywhere—the way she clapped her hands delightedly as Potter hit one of the boys squarely in the chest with a snowball, her sudden indignation when the third red-haired boy—Ron, was it?—missed his target and his snowball hit her instead.

Watching the scene, Viktor felt a sudden longing to go and join the group. He wished he could know her like this—that they could have such vibrant, comfortable interactions, instead of the awkward conversations carried out over library tables. He tried to remember when he had ever been part of something as normal and ordinary as a snowball fight, and failed. It looked like fantastic fun.

"Viktor! There you are!" came a voice behind him. Viktor turned to see Pashnik holding the white rabbit that Edina had seized at lunch. "We are going to teach the rabbit to dance. Do you want to help?"

Viktor shook his head distractedly. "No," he said. "I am going back to my cabin."

*********************

Viktor stood in the deserted Entrance Hall, clutching a bunch of wildflowers tightly in his fist. It was exactly seven o'clock, and she would be here any minute. Or so he hoped. A sudden cold feeling spread through his stomach as he wondered what he would do if she didn't come.

But he was being stupid. She would be here. As he had walked up to the castle, he had seen her friends climbing the stone steps in the distance, and she had not been among them. She must have left the snowball fight earlier to get ready to meet him.

To meet him. The thought sent fresh waves of panic through him. What was he doing here? How had he ever thought he would be able to attend a ball with someone like her? He was sure to make a fool of himself. He gripped the flowers more tightly and stared at a spot on the stone wall in front of him.

Focus, he told himself. Breathe. This was how he always calmed himself before a major Quidditch match. But, somehow, he couldn't remember ever being this nervous before any Quidditch match. He frowned at his own unrest and adjusted his robes—the black ones with the silver trim that his mother always insisted made him look very handsome. Viktor knew that he wasn't good-looking, especially his large and crooked nose. The Quidditch World Cup had not been the first time it had been broken by a Bludger. But being handsome had never really mattered to him, before.

A soft footstep on the landing above drew his attention at once. There she was, descending the marble staircase, looking very elegant, if slightly nervous. She looked very different from the girl he had spoken to in the library—even her walk was more poised—but he knew her at once. She wore a bluish-colored dress robe that floated around her like a cloud, and her hair was up in a bun. It was remarkable, in fact, how well this image of her meshed with the image that he had carried in his head. She looked like a princess.

Viktor couldn't help smiling at the sight of her, some of his nervousness ebbing away. She was here, just as she'd said she would be.

"Hermione," he said, trying her name for the first time. She frowned slightly, and he wondered why. "You look lovely," he said hastily. She smiled again. He stared at her for a moment, then realized what he was doing, and held out the flowers. "For you."

She looked delighted as she took the flowers, and Viktor privately vowed to give her flowers every day, if it would make her look at him like that. "Thank you," she said, holding them to her nose and inhaling their scent. "They're lovely."

Like you, he wanted to say, but the words got stuck in his throat. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off her.

"Well," she said, breaking the long moment of silence, "should we be going to the reception?"

Viktor shook himself. What was he doing, staring at her like an idiot? Stop acting like a fool, he told himself sternly.

"Yes," he said, turning toward the doors.

"I am rather looking forward to it," she said behind him, causing him to turn around in surprise.

"Are you?" he said blankly. He couldn't imagine why she would look forward to it; he didn't.

"Well," she said, a slightly puzzled expression on her face, "I would like to meet some of the other Durmstrang students. I haven't really had a chance before, and this tournament is supposed to be about meeting people from other schools."

Viktor frowned to himself as he held the door open for her. Was that all this was about, for her?

The question flitted through his mind and was lost as he rushed forward to help her down the stairs. Her shoes seemed to be made of some sort of slippery material that didn't look safe for descending icy stone steps. Viktor was not about to let her slip.

They made their way along the path that had been worn by the Durmstrang students going back and forth to the castle. The snow had been packed hard here, but the slick surface still made Viktor worry. He hovered next to her, ready to catch her if she should slip. He realized that he had left his cloak on the ship, but it didn't matter. His nerves had distracted him from the cold on his way up to the castle, and now, walking so close to her, with his hand at her elbow, he felt…quite warm enough. She was wearing a delicate wrap that matched her robes, and did not seem to feel the cold at all.

Karkaroff had set up a large tent of red silk by the lake for the reception. As they approached it, Viktor felt his heart sink slightly. He did not want to take her in there. He knew what Karkaroff would probably think, but he didn't care. He was fairly certain that Karkaroff would not do anything embarrassing; much as the Headmaster liked to tell Viktor what to do at times, he also rarely failed to give him what he wanted. If this evening had been less important, or if he had any respect for Karkaroff at all, Viktor might have been troubled by taking advantage of that fact.

Karkaroff was standing by the front of the tent, wearing black robes with gray fur at the wrists and collar. Viktor muttered a hurried introduction to Karkaroff as they passed him and moved into the heated interior of the tent. The Headmaster didn't say a word, but narrowed his eyes. Viktor gritted his teeth and hurried his partner toward a group in the corner, where Pashnik was holding forth with one of his ridiculous stories. Even Pashnik was a welcome distraction at this moment. Edina's laughter pealed across the tent, and then she caught sight of Viktor and his partner. She turned quickly back to Pashnik, and they shared a meaningful look. Viktor wished he could evaporate on the spot, and take his partner with him.

Pashnik hopped down from the chair where he had been standing, and held out a hand to Viktor's partner. "And who is this lovely creature?" he said, kissing her hand with an exaggerated bow and looking expectantly at Viktor. Viktor gritted his teeth. If Pashnik didn't let go of her…

But she was smiling, apparently amused by Pashnik's ridiculous behavior. "Hermione Granger," she said, extricating her hand from Pashnik's and stepping back slightly to stand right next to Viktor. Viktor felt his chest swelling slightly at this small gesture, and looked down at her. "This fool is Ivan Pashnik," he said. He wasn't joking, though she seemed to think he was.

She looked around at the others expectantly, and Viktor realized he should be introducing them. He told her the other students' names, and nodded lamely as Poliakoff and Razin introduced their partners, both girls from Hogwarts.

"Would you like to sit down?" Viktor asked. She nodded, and he led her over to a quiet corner. He wanted to get away from the others. He wondered how he would get through an entire ball with so many people around, when he really just wanted to spend the evening alone with her.

"It will be time to leave soon," he said, to have something to say. She nodded, smiling, and the words he really wanted to say came tumbling out. "Thank you for agreeing to go to the ball with me."

She looked up quickly, seeming startled. Then she grinned and said, "And thank you for asking me." Viktor nodded. He wanted to think of something clever and witty to say, something that would make her laugh, or look at him with that same focused concentration she gave to her books. But he couldn't think of a thing.

It was something of a relief when Karkaroff called out that it was time for the group to go up to the castle. He had them form a line, with Viktor and his partner in front, and walk up toward Hogwarts.

The area in front of the castle had been transformed into some sort of fairy grotto for the occasion. Viktor hardly noticed, however, as the sensation of her arm linked in his was somewhat distracting.

The doors opened, and they entered. Viktor kept his eyes trained in front of him, ignoring the hundreds of eyes turned in their direction.

"Champions over here, please!" called a voice that Viktor recognized as Professor McGonagall's. Viktor led his partner over to her as the other students began filing towards the Great Hall. The other champions and their partners soon joined them. Viktor was just turning to ask his partner if she had ever heard the Weird Sisters play before, when she suddenly smiled brightly over his shoulder.

"Hi Harry! Hi Parvati!" she said.

Viktor turned around with a frown. Potter and his partner, a pretty Indian girl, were standing behind him, both looking very surprised about something.

Once the other students had moved into the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall had the champions and their partners line up and follow her in. Deafening applause accompanied them to the top table, where the tournament judges sat. Karkaroff was watching Viktor with narrowed eyes. Viktor pointedly ignored the look and hurried to pull out a chair for his partner. She looked a bit surprised at this gesture, but gracefully sat down.

Small silvery menus sat on the plates before them. Viktor, familiar with this method of ordering from events he had attended for his team, picked up the menu and looked down at his plate. "Syrmi," he said. And his favorite stuffed cabbage dish materialized on the golden plate before him.

She looked over at him and smiled. "That looks good. The same," she said to her plate, and an identical meal appeared before her. She tasted it gingerly. "It's nice."

Viktor felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It seemed he liked her more every moment he was near her.

She looked down at her plate quickly, and Viktor realized he had been staring yet again. She looked up a moment later, however, and said brightly, "So, Viktor, I've been wondering, is it very different here from Durmstrang?"

Viktor nodded, almost fervently. "Very different," he said

"How?" she said, looking as if she really wanted to hear the answer to the question. It was still hard to adjust to this genuine desire to hear what he had to say.

"Well," he began, "we have a castle also, not as big as this, nor as comfortable, I am thinking. We have just four floors, and the fires are lit only for magical purposes. But we have grounds even larger than these—though in winter, we have very little daylight, so we are not enjoying them." Viktor paused to take a breath; this was more than he had spoken in a long time. "But in summer we are flying every day, over the lakes and the mountains—"

"Now, now, Viktor!" came Karkaroff's unctuous voice across the table, cutting him off. "Don't go giving away anything else, now, or your charming friend will know exactly where to find us!"

Viktor scowled. He had wanted to tell her about the flying—about how wonderful it was to soar over the mountains and lose himself in the sky. But Karkaroff was now engaging in arrogant debate with Professor Dumbledore about school secrets.

She was looking over at Karkaroff with concern on her face. Viktor wanted to draw her attention away from Karkaroff's too-buoyant joviality, but he didn't know what to say.

"The flying," he said softly, "is the best part." She turned back to him, her face showing interest once again, and he stumbled through the story of how he had been chosen for the Bulgarian National Team. He wasn't sure what made him tell her about that.

As he finished the story, she smiled. "That must have been a wonderful moment for you."

"It was," he said, looking into her eyes. "You look lovely tonight, Hermione."

She winced, and Viktor leaned forward in concern. "What is it?" he asked.

She went slightly pink. "It's just that…well, my name is actually pronounced 'Hermione'," she said quietly.

Viktor frowned, irritated with himself. "Hermione," he said, and he knew, this time, that he had mangled it.

She said it again, very slowly and clearly, and he tried repeating it after her.

"Close enough," she said with a smile, but her eyes were not on him. Viktor glanced over and saw that she was exchanging a grin with Potter. Viktor narrowed his eyes at the boy, but Potter had already looked away.

Viktor felt out of sorts after that, and was glad when the tables were cleared away and the dancing would begin. While he was not eager to lead off the dancing, it was dancing with her that he had been looking forward to all day. Viktor was not a terrible dancer—his mother had made sure of that. As the music started, he took her hand and led her to the dance floor, where he moved closer and put his other hand at her waist. She was looking down, not meeting his eyes, and Viktor wondered if she felt the same sudden heat he did at this unaccustomed closeness. She smelled like a mixture of some kind of flower and…fresh parchment. It was an odd combination, but it suited her, somehow.

Finally, she met his eyes, but only held them for a moment before looking away across the dance floor. Viktor frowned as he saw her watching Potter and his partner. He pulled her slightly closer as other students began making their way onto the dance floor.

The slow song ended, and a faster one began. A tall redheaded boy and a black girl nearby began dancing so enthusiastically that Viktor, afraid his partner might get hit, steered her to a less crowded corner of the dance floor.

"Would you like a Butterbeer?" he asked her, as the song ended.

"Oh yes, please," she said, fanning herself with her hand. "I'll go find us a table, all right?"

Viktor nodded and made his way over to the table of drinks in the corner. He had to wait in a bit of a line before he could get to the table and take two bottles of Butterbeer. Then he turned around and scanned the crowd to see where she—Hermione, he had to start thinking of her by name if he was ever going to get it right—had gone.

He didn't see her, but he did see Potter and her red-haired friend at a table on the other side of the dance floor. He made his way across to them, thinking that she would have wanted to sit with them.

But she wasn't there. Viktor paused for a moment, looking around, then went up to their table. "Where is Hermione?" he asked.

Ron, the red-haired boy, looked up at him with a surprisingly unfriendly expression. "No idea. Lost her, have you?"

Viktor frowned. Was she trying to avoid him now? Had she told her friends not to tell him where she was?

"Well," he said curtly, "if you see her, tell her I have drinks."

Viktor walked away through the crowd, trying to avoid the flailing limbs. He didn't see her anywhere in the Great Hall, and he was beginning to think that he was being made a fool of. He slumped into an empty seat by the door and opened one of the Butterbeers.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pashnik approaching. Of course, he thought sarcastically, just the thing I need.

Pashnik did an exaggerated double take. "Viktor Krum, the famous Quidditch player, all alone at a ball?" he asked in a tone of mock disbelief.

Viktor ignored him.

"What happened to your partner?" Pashnik asked, making himself comfortable in the chair across from him.

Viktor grunted.

Pashnik then did something unexpected. He leaned forward with a serious look and said, "Truly, what happened? She ran out of here looking upset."

Viktor sat up quickly, concern flooding him. "Where?" he demanded. "Which way?"

Pashnik pointed toward the Entrance Hall. Viktor leapt up and went quickly toward the doors. There were a few students milling about in the Entrance Hall, but she was not among them. Viktor looked around indecisively for a moment, then went to the front doors and pushed them open.

She was there, perched on one of the rough stone steps. She must be freezing, he thought; she had left her wrap inside. Her back was to him, and she seemed to be breathing heavily.

Viktor stepped outside and let the door fall shut behind him. "Hermione?" he said, cursing the fact that he knew he was still mispronouncing her name. He meant to ask her what was wrong, but what came out instead was, "What are you doing out here?"

She turned to face him, and he thought her face looked a little red despite her smile. "Oh, Viktor," she said in a strange voice as she got to her feet, "I'm sorry…it was just so stuffy in there…I came out here to get some fresh air. It's starting to get cold though…do you want to go back in?"

Viktor looked into her face. He was fairly certain that she wasn't being honest with him; despite her pleasant demeanor, her eyes were distracted, almost…sad. He wondered whether he should ask her what was wrong. But she didn't seem to want to share whatever it was with him. He felt a wave of disappointment roll through him, but he nodded and led her back into the castle. To his surprise, she steered him right over to a table where Pashnik and some of the other Durmstrang students were sitting.

She seemed different now. He wasn't exactly sure how. But she seemed more…determined to have fun. She made pleasant conversation about Quidditch and schoolwork, and even listened avidly as Pashnik described some of the more interesting things he had ever done with Fire Charms. Viktor watched this exchange, forgetting to be jealous of her diverted attention as he sat back and studied her.

Two of her friends came over to join them shortly afterwards. Viktor recognized the girl with red hair as one of the figures from the snowball fight he had observed earlier. The boy, whom she introduced as Neville, gave Viktor a frightened look when he shook his hand, and chose a seat on the far side of the table. When the two girls excused themselves for a moment, the boy instantly jumped to his feet and offered to get Butterbeer for the whole table. He didn't come back.

The moment that Viktor's partner and the red-haired girl were out of earshot, Pashnik leaned over to him. "What was wrong?"

Viktor shook his head.

A slow smile spread across Pashnik's face. "Lover's quarrel, eh? Heh heh heh." He nudged Viktor in the ribs with his elbow.

Viktor grunted and pushed him away in irritation. Edina put a restraining hand on Ivan's shoulder. "Now, Ivan, don't tease," she said soothingly. "Leave Viktor alone."

Pashnik grinned, then grabbed her hand and twirled her into his lap. She fell onto him with a shriek and began giggling. Pashnik whispered something to her that made her blush and giggle even harder. Viktor had to look away from their obvious closeness; it gave him a strange tightness in his throat.

Fortunately, the girls came back shortly after that, and Viktor and his partner—Hermione—spent the rest of the evening out on the dance floor. She seemed to enjoy the fast dances, though Viktor preferred it when he could hold her close during the slow songs. He only wished she had worn her hair down; he would have loved to have an excuse to touch it, as he had longed to do that day in the library.

The ball ended at midnight. As they moved with the crowd out of the Great Hall, Viktor suddenly wondered if he should kiss her goodnight. He wanted to, certainly…but no. Not here. Not in front of all these people. He would kiss her, one day, if she let him. But not tonight.

He was, however, determined to let her know what this evening meant to him. He led her over to one side of the doors, out of the direct line of traffic, and stopped. "I had a wonderful time, Hermione," he said softly, looking into her eyes. Those deep brown eyes. He took her hand and squeezed it. God, but he wanted to kiss her.

To his slight surprise, she smiled and squeezed his hand back. "I did too. Thank you Viktor." She paused. "I'll see you in the library?"

He smiled too—he could never seem to help it when he was around her; every smile of hers automatically elicited one from him in return. "Yes. Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight," she said, and he reluctantly let go of her hand and moved toward the front doors. He emerged from the castle into the crisp night and took a deep breath. The fresh air filled his lungs and he felt as if he could win a million Quidditch World Cups.

As Viktor made his way back to the Durmstrang ship, he remembered Karkaroff. There would be a price to pay for tonight, he knew. But he couldn't think about that right now. He didn't want to. He brought the fingers of his left hand to the palm of his right—the hand she had touched, she had squeezed. He could still feel the warmth of her hand in his. He wondered what she was doing at this very moment, whether she was thinking of him the way he was thinking of her. It seemed too much to hope, but, for the first time, Viktor allowed himself to consider the possibility. With a smile, he absently continued his walk, visions of her—Hermione—filling his head.