A/N: Thanks to Jedi Boadicea for the ideas behind some of the key plot points in this chapter, and for betareading, and for being, apparently, the only one who loves me.

Chapter 5: Heart for a Pair of Wings

Viktor got to his feet and paced the clearing for the tenth time that morning.  Would she never arrive?  He knew he had arrived too early; he had been here for at least an hour, the sound of the wind in the trees his only companion.  He'd been unable to get there the day before, as he'd had to go to an earlier Quidditch practice.  At least, that was what he told himself.  But the truth was that he hadn't wanted to face her after reading about the latest attack in the local wizarding newspaper.  The attack near Byala the week before had been closer, but the picture of this one was ten times more disturbing.  It had been in an apartment building this time, and one whole section of the building had been blasted away, leaving a gaping hole on the middle of the third storey.  A small foot had stuck out from beneath a pile of rubble at the base of the building.  The witch who had lived in that apartment had been Muggle-born, the papers said; she had also been a friend of Lily Potter, Viktor's father had whispered to him, his eyes darting toward the kitchen where his mother sat, oblivious.  The other victim had been a neighbor Muggle child who, authorities thought, had simply gotten in the way.

It was too much, after reading something like that, to come here and pretend he knew nothing of magic or its effects, so he had stayed away.  But now he only wanted Rositza to appear through the trees, to know that she was safe.  He wondered if he had made her angry by not coming yesterday.  But there had been several times when she had not been here; afterwards she would always explain that her father had been nearby and that she had not been able to get away.  Surely she would understand.

A twig snapped in the distance, and Viktor turned toward the sound, at once relieved and on edge.  He began to reach into his robes for his wand, just in case – recent events had reminded him of Karkaroff's hard lessons about staying on his guard at all times – but relaxed as Rositza's dark hair came into view.  She stopped briefly when she saw him, and a genuine smile lit her face.  Then she rushed towards him, and Viktor panicked.  They had done nothing more than sit close to one another in the two weeks he had known her, and now she looked as if she was going to –

But she pulled up short just in front of him and looked up into his face.  "You're here," she said, hugging her notebook to her chest.

Viktor nodded.  He couldn't look away from her eyes, which were gazing at him as if his being here at this moment was the most important thing in the world.

Rositza shifted in a nervous sort of way and then swatted him lightly on the arm with her pencil.  "I missed you yesterday," she said.  Her tone was light, but there was something underneath it that warmed him; she expected him to be here, relied on him to be here.  Wanted him to be here.

"I…had to go to practice early.  I could not come.  I am sorry."

Rositza cocked her head to the side and studied him, frowning.  She could probably tell that he was lying.  Viktor knew that he had never been particularly convincing at it.  The wind blew a long curl into her face, and Viktor had an overwhelming desire to reach out and push her hair behind her ear for her.

"What is it?" he asked, to distract himself from this thought.

"You are…very different from other boys, aren't you?"  Rositza shook her head.  "Don't mind me."  She gave a little laugh and stepped away from him, sat down on the rock near the center of the clearing and absently riffled the edges of her sketchbook. 

Viktor watched her, irritated.  He wished she wouldn't do that – belittle her own feelings and perceptions the way she did.  He wished he could tell her how right she was, about so many things, and that her dreams and desires were far from stupid.  But he couldn't, for many reasons.

He sat down on the ground and leaned against the rock, just close enough so that his arm barely brushed the side of her leg.  "Have you any new drawings to show me?"

Rositza blushed slightly.  He knew that she was protective of her work, but he would have thought she would know by now how talented he thought she was.

"No," she said, looking down at her sketchbook.  "Nothing new."

Viktor looked up at her.  "What is wrong?" he asked.  She seemed…nervous today.  Different.

She squinted up at the sky, and Viktor followed her gaze.  A lone hawk circled high above and then moved out of sight.  Rositza sighed lightly.  "Nothing is wrong," she said, and the tone of her voice told him that she meant it.  She dropped her notebook to the ground, and then slid down to sit beside him.  Her arm pressed against his, and Viktor felt a little thrill shoot through him.  The rock behind him was digging into his lower back now, but he was not about to shift his position. 

Rositza kicked off her sandals and stretched her legs out before her.  Her feet were slender and white, and looked like they would be soft to the touch.

"Did you hear about that apartment fire in Smolyan?"  she asked.  "That poor little girl.  Didn't her parents teach her not to play with matches?"

Viktor gaped at her, about to ask what she was talking about, when he realized that the story would naturally have reached the Muggle press by now.  His own father had probably helped to fabricate the tale for the Muggle newspapers. 

"I…heard about it, yes."

"There have been so many fires recently," she went on.  "I don't understand it.  It hasn't been an especially dry summer."

Viktor shrugged.  He wasn't sure what to say, or if it was even safe to say anything.

"It's a pretty day," she said, looking up at the trees around them.  He nodded, watching the curve of her cheek and the way her curls bounced softly as she turned to face him.  "I am…glad that you are here," she said softly.  Her eyes caught his, and he forgot to breathe.  She dropped her gaze shyly and seemed to hesitate.  Then she leaned toward him and rested her head gently on his shoulder.

Viktor stared at her dark head, only inches from his eyes, from his mouth.  Her hair smelled fresh, clean, like flowers, like wind.  His heart pounded in his chest, and slowly he moved his left hand and closed it over hers.  Her hand was small and cool, and he suddenly felt very large and oafish.  But she responded immediately, turned her hand over and intertwined her fingers with his, and Viktor wondered exactly how many nerve endings his palm possessed anyway.  He moved his thumb over the back of her hand, and Rositza sighed contentedly.

This moment was something he would always hold in his memory, he thought.  The light filtering through the trees, the breeze swaying the branches, Rositza's hair tickling his neck, her hand soft in his…this was something he would look back on as an old man and remember with perfect clarity.

A gust of wind kicked up then, and Rositza's sketchbook blew open, its pages flipping open.  Viktor leaned forward to close it with his free hand, but something on one of the pages flipping by caught his eye.  He looked quickly at Rositza, then tugged his other hand out of hers and lifted the sketchbook into his lap.  He turned the pages until he found the one he had seen.  His own face looked out to the right of the page, the profile rugged and the crooked nose perfectly captured. 

"It isn't very good," said Rositza softly.  "I did it from memory, and the chin isn't right."

He stared at the drawing.  The chin was perhaps a little off, and the hair was longer than he wore it, but there was something about the eyes that made him wonder.  There was something deep, and almost wistful, in the way the eyes looked out to the side of the paper, as if there was more in them than could possibly be said in words.   Was this the way he looked at Rositza?

Was this the way she wanted him to look at her? 

"It is…very good," he said weakly, and looked up at her.  The expression on her face was doubtful, and he could tell by her eyes that his opinion of this was very important to her.  He cleared his throat.  "No one has ever drawn me like this before."  No one has ever really seen me like this before.

Rositza smiled shyly.  "Do you really like it?"

Viktor nodded.  "Very much."

"You can have it, if you like."

Viktor frowned.  Why were people always giving him pictures of himself?  As if it wasn't bad enough to look in the mirror every day, or see the awful pictures that wound up in the magazines.  "No," he said softly.  He took her hand in his.  "Draw me one of you."

Rositza smiled tenderly at him, and her eyes went soft.  Viktor was fairly certain that the expression in his own eyes now mirrored that of the drawing.  Nonetheless it came as a surprise when she leaned in and brushed her lips against his.  The sensation was like an Energy Charm, only much more pleasant and focused.

She pulled back slightly, something uncertain in her eyes.  She settled back against the rock, but kept her hand in his, and did not look at him. 

Viktor moved back to sit beside her, confused. 

"I'm sorry," said Rositza softly.  "Maybe I should not have – "

And then Viktor understood.  He tugged his hand out of hers and raised it to stroke her hair.  Rositza turned her face up to his.  She was breathing heavily – so was he, he realized with a jolt - and her eyes were darker than usual, full of something unspoken.  Whatever it was, Viktor only saw it for a moment before her eyes dropped close, and he lowered his lips to hers.  He kissed her instinctively; her lips were soft and yielding, and his heart was pounding, and the wind blew her hair into his face. 

When they pulled apart from the kiss, Rositza smiled at him, and Viktor knew the grin on his face probably looked silly, but he could not bring himself to care.  He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and Rositza snuggled into his chest.  "This feels like a dream," she murmured.  "This whole thing."  She raised her head and looked at him, then curled her head into the hollow of his shoulder.  "Ever since the first time I met you.  It feels like magic."

Viktor stared down at the top of her head, a deep dread rising in him.  Why did she have to remind him of that now, when things were so…right?

Rositza sighed contentedly.  "I want you to meet my parents," she said.  She looked up at him bashfully.  "I want them to meet you.  And my sister, though she'll probably tease you."  She smiled.  "Will you come to dinner one night?"

Viktor swallowed hard.  He knew that he could not say no to this, not if he wanted to continue to see her, though every part of him knew that it was a bad idea.  He nodded.  "When?" he said, trying to sound natural.

She beamed at him.  "Friday night.  I will tell my father that we met at Eliza's shop.  She won't give it away.  And anyway she wants to meet you, so we can go there before I take you to my house."

Viktor leaned back and regarded her.  "You told her about me?" he asked, not sure whether to be flattered or alarmed by the prospect. 

Rositza looked down at their joined hands, and her thumb moved along his knuckles.  "A little."  She looked up at him.  "Will you come?"

"Friday night," he said, nodding.  Rositza smiled and leaned in to kiss him again.  Viktor kissed her back, wondering how on earth he would manage this.

~**~

The front hall of his house was dark and cool when Viktor arrived home, later than usual.

"Viktor, is that you dear?" came his mother's voice from the kitchen.  "The post has arrived, and you have quite a few letters."

Viktor crossed the house to the kitchen and leaned his Baranof against the wall by the kitchen door.  His mother stood by the window, absently patting a grey owl's head with one hand and flipping through a pile of mail with the other.  "Conrad has forwarded the latest batch of fan letters.  They are on the table." 

Viktor looked at the enormous pile on the table and groaned. 

"Now, dear, don't complain," said his mother absently.  "I've noticed that pile sitting up on your desk hasn't exactly answered itself." She looked up at him.  "Viktor, are you all right?"

"What?  Yes, I am fine."

"You look flushed."  She came over to him and laid a hand on his forehead.  "You don't feel feverish."

"I am fine, Mother."

"All right then."  She gave him a doubtful look, but returned to flipping through the pile of mail.  "Have you had a good morning?"

"Yes, Mother."  Better than you could imagine.

"The weather has been beautiful this week," she said.  "I am thinking of putting in more of the butterfly trees on the south side of the house.  I know how much you like – oh, here is another letter for you, dear, from your friend Hermione.  You will want to read that, I am sure." 

She handed him the letter, and Viktor waited for the familiar thrill to race up his spine, but it didn't come.  He broke the seal and read the letter:

Dear Viktor –

How are you?  I hope that you and your parents are doing well.  I have been worried about you, with everything that is happening.  I went and looked up the geography of Bulgaria, and the attacks have been close to you, haven't they?  I have to admit, I think you might be right.  What you said before we left Hogwarts, I mean.  Do you remember?  I try not to think about it too much, but it worries me.  But I don't think that anyone is really safe, not now.

But I didn't mean to be so depressing.  I wanted to thank you for sending me that book.  You didn't have to do that - I could have bought it myself.  But thank you. 

Next week my parents and I are going to stay with my aunt's family in Brighton.  I used to look forward to it every summer, but now it will be difficult because I can't possibly take all the books I need to study for the O.W.L.s with me.  Sometimes I wish my parents were wizards, so that they could enchant my trunk for me!  But I suppose it will be all right.

Take care of yourself.

Hermione

"How is your friend?" asked his mother lightly.

Viktor shrugged.  He folded the letter and put it into the pocket of his robes. 

"I am sorry, Viktor," said his mother sadly.

He looked up at her in surprise.  "Why?"

"I know that things have not worked out as you had hoped…with her."

Viktor felt himself blush.  "Mother – "

"Sometimes feelings change, and this girl was very young, yes?"

Viktor shook his head.  "Mother, no," he said.  "Hermione is a friend."

His mother eyed him doubtfully.

"Truly."  He paused, looking down.  "And I have met someone else anyway."

"Have you?  Who?"

Trying to ignore the unveiled delight in his mother's voice, Viktor took a deep breath.  "Her name is Rositza.  She lives…not far from here."  This would be vague enough to satisfy her.  "Not far from here" could mean anywhere one could Apparate without passing a checkpoint. 

His mother dropped into a chair and looked up at him with shining eyes.  "Where did you meet this young lady?"

"On the mountain, a few weeks ago."

She nodded, a knowing smile forming on her face.  "That explains your devotion to your morning flying."  Viktor blushed.  "Does she play Quidditch?"

"No," said Viktor, his stomach heavy.  But he wasn't lying, not really.  "She likes to draw.  She likes dragons."

His mother nodded.  "I see.  And when were you going to tell me about her?"

"I am telling you now."

"Viktor."  His mother's voice was serious.  "Be careful.  I don't want you to get hurt again."

Something twisted in his stomach.  "I will be careful, Mother."  He paused.  "She wants me to go to her house for dinner on Friday.  To meet her parents."

His mother's eyes lit up.  "You must invite her here," she cried.  "Your father and I will want to meet her, of course."

"Of course," repeated Viktor mechanically.  "But not yet.  First I will go to her house."  He weighed his next words carefully.  "Her parents…are Muggles.  Will you help me find something to wear?"

His mother raised her eyebrows at him.  "Another Muggle-born?"  She shook her head affectionately. 

He didn't answer.  She smiled and drew him into a hug.  "Of course I will help you, Viktor.  I am so happy for you."

Guilt touched his heart, but Viktor hugged her back.  He would figure out a way to tell her the truth later, just as he would find a way to get through the dinner on Friday night.  But right now, the most important thing was to find a way to get through the rest of the day, when all he wanted to think about was kissing Rositza.