A/N: Zsenya ROX in so many ways, including but not limited to betareading and offering extensive Slavic knowledge for this chapter.  Thought you ought to know.

Moody Slavic Man 2: Bright in an Azure Sky

Chapter 6: Wanting and Wondering Why

"Are you nervous about tonight?"  Rositza turned her head toward Viktor and leaned back against his chest.

Viktor unconsciously tightened his grip on her hand.  It was the first thing she had really said since she had arrived in the clearing ten minutes earlier.  Even though he'd been allowed to kiss her for five whole days now, he still couldn't stop thinking about it.  Rositza seemed to feel the same way; when she'd arrived, she'd immediately curled up against him and raised her lips to his.

Somewhere beneath the warmth this gave him, he noted that she had not bothered to bring her notebook today.  The lack of pretense was somehow frightening.

Viktor made a low, noncommittal grunt.  This often worked with reporters.

Rositza lifted her head up and looked at him.  "Does that mean yes?"

Viktor shrugged.  She was still looking at him expectantly.  "A bit, I suppose," he finally answered.

Rositza smiled.  "It will be fine, you will see.  My mother will love you.  And you mustn't mind Manuella, she will be horrible no matter what.  And my father…"  Her face clouded briefly.  "I should warn you about my father.  He can be…irritable, sometimes.  You must not mention my drawings, he doesn't like – "  She broke off and looked away.

Viktor squeezed her hand.  "It will be fine.  I will be careful."  I am good at keeping secrets, he thought bitterly.

She turned back to face him, and he could see the worry behind her smile.  "I do not want you to think he is an ogre.  He just…wants the best for me."

Viktor squeezed her hand.  Then we will have something in common, he wanted to say, but it was too much, and he couldn't.

"I suppose I am just being silly," she said with a little laugh.

"No, you're not.  Do not say that," Viktor said, with more force than he had intended.

She glanced up at him, looking surprised, and then gave him a warm smile.  She settled back against his chest once more.  Viktor bent his head and kissed the top of her head, and felt her sigh against him.  He wrapped both of his arms around her and intertwined his fingers with hers.  He wished they could just stay like this, and never leave this perfect little haven.

"What are your parents like?" Rositza asked.  "You don't talk about them much."

The tone of her voice was carefully neutral, but Viktor knew what lay beyond the question.  He knew what he had to say, knew that she had been hurt he had not said it sooner.  And he had wanted to…why did everything have to be so complicated?

"They are…parents," Viktor replied.  "They want the best for me, too."  Rositza nodded slightly; Viktor couldn't see her face but he could feel the tension in her body, as if she was waiting for something more.  He sighed inwardly.  He could not avoid this, and moreover, he did not want to.  "They want to meet you."

Rositza relaxed in her arms, leaning against him more fully.  "You have told them about me?"

"Yes."  Viktor tried to push down the feeling of dread that was rising in his stomach.  He couldn't help thinking about the last time he had invited a girl to meet his parents, and how disastrously that had gone.  But Rositza is different, said his brain stubbornly.  Yes, he told it, and that is part of the problem.

He cleared his throat.  "Perhaps next week."

Rositza twisted around and kissed his cheek.  "I would like that," she whispered, and he shivered slightly at the sensation of her breath on his skin.  He turned his head and met her lips.  It didn't matter, he realized – whatever he had to say, whatever he had to do, she was worth it, and he would keep her.

~**~

Viktor was less certain of that as he made his way down the path to the village that evening, feeling ridiculous in Muggle trousers and a shapeless jacket that his mother had found somewhere.  He felt awkward and naked, without robes, and his wand, which had been thrust into the jacket's inner pocket, kept poking him in the side. 

But then he saw Rositza, standing under the enormous oak tree where they had agreed to meet.  She wore a long dress of dark blue, almost the exact color of her eyes, and her hair was pulled back in two clips.  Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes shone.

She took a few nervous steps forward when she saw him.  Her eyes swept over his clothing, and a look of relief passed over her face.  She smiled and caught his hands in hers.

He squeezed her hands, suddenly feeling very awkward.  He didn't know what the rules were, outside of their clearing on the mountaintop.  Was he allowed to kiss her here?

She leaned forward and kissed him briefly on the lips.  "I am glad you came."

Viktor frowned.  "Did you think that I would not?"

Rositza laughed.  "Yes, you know, you might have used your magical ghostly powers and disappeared, and then I would have woken up and found it all to be a dream."

She laughed again and turned to lead him toward the village.  Viktor did not laugh; that hadn't been funny.

Rositza glanced at him.  "Are you all right?"

Viktor nodded.

"Do not be nervous.  Everything will be fine.  We will visit Eliza first.  She will adore you."

She led him down the dirt road to the village.  It was strange to see the buildings up close – they had always seemed so small and crowded when he looked down from the mountaintop.  The buildings were mostly low and scattered, and they passed a small church and a few shops.  There were few people outside, but as they passed two old women outside a shop, Rositza called a greeting to them.

"Eliza's shop is just down here," said Rositza, leading him off the main road.  She stopped at a grungy-looking wooden building.  "It doesn't look like much from out here," said Rositza apologetically.  "Eliza always says that it is what is on the inside that matters."

Viktor followed her up a short flight of steps and through the door.

"Eliza?" Rositza called.  Viktor looked around the shop.  Inside, it was dim and dusty, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.  When they did, he became aware of the rows of vases and pots lining the walls, ranging from thick clay pots on the bottom shelves to delicately thrown vases on the upper shelves.

"Just a moment," came a dry, dusty voice from the back of the shop; it seemed to fit this place perfectly. 

A vase on a corner shelf caught Viktor's eye, and he dropped Rositza's hand and went over to look at it more closely.  The vase itself was bone-white, but the impression of a dragon had been made on the front of it.  The dragon was lined in blue, and its wings stood out from the sides of the vase.

"Yes, our Rositza designed that one," said a voice right behind him, and Viktor turned to see a tiny old woman who could only be Eliza.  Her personality seemed to fill the tiny shop, despite her small stature, just the way Rositza had described.  "You must be Viktor," she said, her eyes twinkling.  She extended one gnarled hand, which he shook; the other rested on a wooden cane beside her.  Viktor marveled that such old crooked hands could have created the many beautiful things around this shop.  Perhaps there was a kind of magic in the things Muggles did after all.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," said Viktor.

Eliza raised her eyebrows at Rositza.  "He is polite," she said approvingly.  She turned back to Viktor.  "But you must call me Eliza."

Viktor nodded.  "Your work is beautiful, just as Rositza described it," he said.  He looked at Rositza.  "You never told me that you designed some of them."

Rositza shrugged.  Eliza laughed, and the sound was surprisingly melodious considering how dusty her voice sounded.  "She does not like to brag.  She is very modest, you know."  She looked fondly at Rositza.  "But she will be a famous artist one day.  She has so much talent."

Rositza was blushing furiously now, but she looked extremely pleased.  Viktor felt pride swell within him.  "Yes, she is," he said quietly. 

Eliza gave him an approving look. 

"Stop it, both of you," said Rositza unconvincingly.  Eliza grinned at Viktor.

"Don't listen to her," she said.  "Come along, I will give you the grand tour."  She slipped her arm into his, and showed him around the shop, stopping to point out vases and pots that Rositza had designed, or had done detail work on.  And she showed him the large blue pot at the back of the shop that held Rositza's "University Fund".

"She will have her chance, no matter what that father of hers says," Eliza said conspiratorially.  "Just you wait.  Our girl has talent."

Our girl.  The words hit him, and Viktor realized that they had not been chosen lightly.  He glanced up at Rositza, who was standing near the front of the shop.  She gave him a beautiful smile.

He was beginning to think that this part of the evening was the more important, that no matter what her family thought of him, it would be Eliza's approval that mattered. Well, it seemed he had passed.

"Eliza," called Rositza, "we must go now.  My family is waiting."

"All right, all right."  The old woman led Viktor to the front of the shop and relinquished his arm.  She stepped close to Rositza.  "He is very handsome," she said in a loud whisper.  "I like a strong nose on a man."

It was Viktor's turn to blush now.  But Rositza only laughed and took his hand, and he mumbled an awkward goodbye to Eliza before they left the shop.

They walked down the narrow street in silence for a few minutes.

"She liked you," Rositza said quietly.

"She seems very nice," said Viktor.  He wasn't sure why, but he had immediately liked the old woman.  Perhaps it was her laughing eyes, or perhaps it was the way she had looked at Rositza, as though she saw how special she was.

"Eliza is wonderful," said Rositza warmly.  She swung their joined hands back and forth.  "I hope you like my parents."

I hope they like me, thought Viktor.  He felt his palms grow sweaty with nerves, and he wiped his free hand on his jacket. 

Rositza's house was not far from the shop, around a bend in the dirt road. There were a handful of small houses scattered in the shadow of the trees on the slopes above, each surrounded by a wooden fence.  Rositza opened the gate in front of a narrow brown house and gave him a shy look.  "This is my house," she said.

It seemed small, to Viktor's eyes, but it fit Rositza somehow.  The shuttered windows and vegetable plots scattering the yard seemed ordinary enough, but there was an air of something quiet and special underneath.  Perhaps it only seemed that way, because he knew Rositza lived there.

He followed her to the door, and when they got inside, she slipped off her shoes and stepped into a pair of blue slippers.  "Those are for you," she said, indicating another pair of slippers lined up against the wall.  Viktor was confused for a moment, but then he saw the dirt and dust on the mat, and realized that of course Muggles wouldn't have Scouring Charms to take care of that sort of thing.  He bent down and removed his shoes and put on the slippers.

Rositza gave him a nervous smile and squeezed his hand.  "Mother!  Father!" she called.  "We are here."

She led him toward the back of the house, but before they had gone very far, a small figure darted out of a side room, nearly tripping him.

"Manuella!" Rositza scolded.  "Be careful."

The little girl, who looked about eight or nine years old, stopped and looked up at Viktor. She had the same dark hair as Rositza, but her eyes were darker and her chin more pointed.  She looked pointedly at Rositza and Viktor's joined hands, and her face split into a smug grin.  "Mama!" she called loudly.  "Rositza's brought her boyfriend."

Rositza flushed.  "I warned you," she muttered to Viktor.

Viktor sympathized with her, but he was suddenly very glad that he had no brothers and sisters.

The door at the end of the hallway opened, and Viktor caught a glimpse of the kitchen behind it before a woman emerged.  She was tall and moved with a quiet grace; that, combined with her dark hair and deep blue eyes, made Viktor feel as though he was looking at a future version of Rositza.

Rositza dropped his hand and stepped forward.  "Mother, this is Viktor Krum."

Rositza's mother took his hand.  "It is a pleasure to meet you, Viktor.  We are so glad you could come tonight."  It was still satisfying, somehow, the complete lack of recognition shown at his name.

"Thank you for having me," replied Viktor politely.

The kitchen door swung open again, and a man stepped out.  He was slightly shorter than Rositza's mother, with thinning dark hair and small, close-set dark eyes. 

"Papa, this is Viktor."

Viktor held his breath as the man swept his eyes over his Muggle clothes; he sensed that he was being judged, and he was not at all sure that he would pass this time.

Finally Rositza's father nodded and thrust out a hand.  "Pleased to meet you," he said, but Viktor had the feeling that this greeting was begrudgingly given, and had only been offered because of Rositza's expectant eyes upon her father. 

"And you have already met Manuella," said Rositza quickly, turning to Viktor.  "Mother, is the food ready?"

"Yes, yes, let's sit down," said Rositza's mother.  "Manuella, come help me carry dishes."

Manuella did not look at all pleased with this, and she began to complain as she followed her mother, but her voice was lost as the kitchen door swung shut behind her.

Rositza's father turned without a word and went into another room.  Rositza threw Viktor an apologetic look as she took his arm and began to follow.  They crossed through a small sitting area to a cluttered dining room.  Rositza's father was already seated at the head of the table. 

"Sit here," said Rositza softly, indicating a chair near the other end of the table.  He did, and was relieved when she sat down next to him.

There was an awkward silence in the room.  Viktor had the strong feeling that Rositza's father had already decided to dislike him, and that nothing he said would make a difference.  He struggled to find something to say, but could think of nothing.  This was definitely not his strength.  If only Pashnik were here – he would know how to break this strange silence, to turn it into laughter.

Rositza's mother came in then, carrying a large platter of stuffed cabbage.  Manuella followed with a bowl of tarator, still looking pouty.  The air of the room seemed to grow lighter, friendlier.

"I hope you like Sarmi, Viktor," said Rositza's mother.

"Very much," replied Viktor.  It happened to be true, but his mother had told him to say this no matter what they served.

"I asked Rositza what your favorite dish was, but she said she didn't know."

"We only really see each other in Eliza's shop, Mother," said Rositza quickly.  Viktor was amazed at the way she raised her head and said this so calmly, as if it were absolute truth.  She could lie well, when she wanted to.  He did not know whether to be impressed or disturbed by that fact.  "I have never seen him eat before.  You do eat, don't you?" She turned to Viktor with an amused twinkle in her eye.  He wondered how she could joke so, with her father glaring down the table in their direction.  She too had a secret here.  Though not as dangerous as mine.

Rositza's mother laughed as she finished serving the food, and then her father said the blessing.  It grew quiet as they began to eat.  The food was quite good, but Viktor felt he could not enjoy it; he was too much on edge.  Manuella sat across from him, and she kept looking up at him as though cataloging him for items with which to tease Rositza later. 

"I have not seen you in the village before," said Rositza's father, his deep voice cutting through the silence.

Viktor glanced at Rositza.  "My home is on the other side of the mountain."

Rositza's father gave him a hard, penetrating look.  "That's a long walk."

"I suppose."

"Viktor's mother is fond of Eliza's pottery," Rositza cut in smoothly.  "You know how far people come to buy it, Papa."

Her father gave a slight shrug and went back to his meal.  Viktor gave Rositza a grateful look. 

"What do your parents do, Viktor?"  asked Rositza's mother.

Viktor felt a bubble of panic rising in him.  He had no idea how to answer that question in a way that would seem normal to Muggles.  He wished fervently that he had told his mother the truth about where he was going tonight - he was not prepared for this.  He glanced at Rositza, hoping for some help, but she was looking at him, as if interested in the answer herself.

"My mother does not work," he said.  "And my father – "  He struggled for an answer, racked his brain for anything he had ever read about Muggle occupations.  The only thing that came out, however, was the truth.  "My father works for the Ministry."

There was a long silence, which was broken by a snort from Rositza's father.  "Government," he said derisively, as if that explained something.

The meal continued in the same vein, Rositza's mother asking polite questions and Viktor struggling to find acceptable responses.  When she asked him about his football team, he stumbled through a made-up explanation, but felt certain he had stumbled when he referred to multiple balls.  But Rositza's mother graciously moved the conversation along, while her father's glares made Viktor ever more uncomfortable.

"Where is your house, exactly?" asked Rositza's father, at a pause in her mother's questions.

Viktor shifted uncomfortably. "On the other side of the mountain, as I said."

"In the valley?"

Viktor glanced at Rositza, wondering if he should lie.  He was not nearly as good at it as she was.  "No," he said.  "On the mountainside, about halfway up.  My mother liked the view there."

Rositza's father narrowed his eyes, but it was Manuella's voice that spoke next.  "In the forest?" she asked, her eyes wide.  "With the ghosts?"  She looked truly impressed.

"There are no ghosts there," Viktor replied.  That much, at least, was entirely true.  He'd once seen a stray Pogrebin up there, but that was all. 

"No," said Rositza's father in a musing sort of way.  "No ghosts."  His eyes were locked on Viktor.

Rositza's mother cleared her throat.  "Are you ready for dessert, Viktor?  We have some lovely chocolate cake."

"I'll get it, dear," said Rositza's father immediately.  "You stay here."  He picked up Rositza's and Manuella's empty plates and stacked them on top of his.  "Viktor will help me."

Viktor hesitated, then took Rositza's mother's plate and his own and followed him toward the kitchen.  Rositza flashed him a brilliant smile, as if this was proof that her father liked him after all, but he was too nervous to smile back.

The kitchen door swung shut behind him, and Viktor put the plates down on the counter.  Before he could turn around, however, Rositza's father had grabbed the front of his shirt.

"What exactly do you plan to do with my daughter?" he hissed, his face inches from Viktor's.

"I – I don't know what you are talking about," stammered Viktor.  Were all Muggle parents this protective of their daughters?

"You know damn well what I'm talking about.  I know what you are.  I know about you mountain people and your rituals.  If you think Rositza is going to be some kind of sacrifice, you can think again.  I'll kill you with my bare hands first."

"I – what?"

Rositza's father laughed, and there was a slightly hysterical edge to the sound.  "You think it's all secret, what you do up there, do you?  You think you've fooled us all down here.  Simple village folk, you think we are.  Well, I've see it, and none of your mind tricks will change that."

"What…what did you see?"

Rositza's father shoved him backwards and gave him a disgusted look.  "I was only a child then.  A child, making up stories, they said.  They told me I was crazy, so I stopped talking about it, and then they left me alone.  But I know what I saw.  That girl, the one they said was mauled by wild wolves, it was you people who did it.  I saw it.  I don't what kind of magic tricks you people used on her, but I saw the green light and then she was dead.  But I got away.  That's it, isn't it?  I got away, and now you people want to punish me by hurting Rositza.  Well, I won't allow it.  I know what you are."

Viktor stared at the man's flashing eyes.  He means it, he thought.  He would readily kill Viktor where he stood.  And he knew—somehow, inexplicably, he knew about the wizarding world.  The Ministry had never gotten to him, to a small boy who had escaped a Memory Charm.  And what had he seen?  Death Eaters, no doubt.  He would never believe that wizards could be good, after seeing that.

Viktor's eyes darted to the door.  Rositza was right on the other side of it, and if her father told her…

He had to get to his wand. 

Bracing his legs against the counter behind him, Viktor shoved himself forward, breaking the other man's grip on his shirt.  Rositza's father fell backward into a chair with a clatter.  In one smooth motion, Viktor pulled his wand from the inner pocket of his jacket.  "Obliviate," he said quietly.

Rositza's father sat up and shook his head, looking confused.  It had worked.

"Viktor, is everything –"

Rositza was there in the doorway.  Her gaze traveled over the overturned chair, her father sitting in a heap on the floor, and then to Viktor, who still held his wand.   

Viktor froze, paralyzed by the hurt and confusion in her eyes.  His brain had stopped working, and panic took over.

He twisted his wand and Disapparated.