Author's Note: Many many thanks to Zsenya, who insisted she knew "nothing about Russian or Hungarian weddings", yet somehow managed to come up with 3 pages of fun facts and details. She knows so much it's almost scary sometimes. Many thanks also go to Jedi Boadicea, the speedy, for betareading.
Chapter Eight: Hard Enough Life
Viktor didn't sleep well that night; he kept falling into dark half-dreams whose contents he forgot each time he jolted awake. The last time this happened, the first rays of the sun were peeking through his window, and he decided to give up trying to sleep and go out and fly. Maybe it would clear his head.
As he pulled on his robes, his thoughts turned to Rositza. She'd taken the news about the wizarding world better than he could have hoped – though he supposed that she must have been in shock. Viktor had never told a Muggle about magic before, and should not really have told Rositza, he knew. But something made him trust her, made him believe that she would not tell anyone else.
That is, assuming she even believes me, he thought bitterly. His disappointment at her rationalization of what had happened in her kitchen returned. But really, what had he expected? That she would reach a full acceptance and understanding of the wizarding world on her own, without being told? Whatever else she was, she was a Muggle, after all.
He wanted to give her something, to offer some sign of his feelings and how much he still wanted to be with her. Lacing up his boots, he went over several possibilities. Candy? Girls were supposed to like that, but he had a feeling it would not mean much to Rositza. He supposed he could buy her some sort of jewelry, but he had never seen her wear any jewelry except a small, mirrored pendant that her grandmother had given her. He supposed that flowers were safe, but that didn't seem right either.
None of those things will matter to her, he realized. He wished he knew where to purchase Muggle art supplies – she had confided to him several times that she had difficulty procuring new notebooks, because her father disapproved of her art. That would mean something to her.
And then it came to him. Viktor crossed his room and flung open his trunk. He rummaged around and found the little box at the bottom, tucked under the set of red Durmstrang robes that had been cleaned after the night of the Third Task, but which he had not been able to bring himself to wear again. He pulled off the box lid, and the tiny Chinese Fireball roared up at him, a mushroom of fire bursting from its miniscule nostrils. For a moment, the memories of the last year at Hogwarts overwhelmed him, and then he reached into the box and stroked the smooth scarlet scales, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Yes, she will like this.
~**~
The morning was dewy and slightly overcast, the intermittent sun occasionally warming his face. It was still far too early, he knew, when he headed toward the clearing. Rositza would most certainly not be there yet, but he wanted to be there when she arrived, to show her that it was all real. That he was real.
To his surprise, she was there, hunched over her sketchbook, drawing furiously. Her hair had been pulled back like the day before, but several strands had fallen out of the band and were hanging down around her face. Her shoes lay in the dewy grass, as though they had been kicked off.
Viktor walked into the clearing – he didn't know why he had bothered to land near the oaks and walk to their meeting place. Habit, he supposed. But it was odd enough not to be hiding his broomstick.
Not that it mattered; she didn't seem to notice his presence at all. Her pencil moved in broad strokes across the page. He couldn't see what she was drawing from where he stood, but he could tell that it must cover the entire page by the way she was moving the pencil.
He cleared his throat. "Rositza?"
Her pencil froze on the page. She didn't look up.
Viktor took a step closer, his heart beating nervously. "Are you…how are you?"
She took a deep, audible breath, her eyes still on her sketchbook. "You came to Eliza's shop yesterday, yes? And we had a conversation about – about…"
"Magic," said Viktor, slightly confused.
Rositza breathed out and looked up at him. She smiled nervously. "Just making sure I did not imagine it."
Viktor smiled back at her. This was promising.
Rositza's eyes shifted from Viktor's face to the broomstick he still held in his right hand. "Is that your magic broom?"
Viktor looked at it too. "My broomstick," he said. "A Baranof. It's a racing broom."
"You fly on it."
Viktor nodded.
"So whenever you want to go somewhere, you hop on your broomstick. Like a witch."
"Wizard," he corrected. "And flying on a broomstick is mostly for pleasure. And for playing Quidditch." He met her eyes. "That is a wizarding sport."
She gave a small laugh. "No football."
"No." He leaned his Baranof carefully against a tree. He could have set it hovering up near the branches, where it would be safer, but somehow that felt like showing off, to do the spell in front of Rositza.
"But when you want to go somewhere, you disappear, yes?"
"Disapparate. And then Apparate somewhere else."
"Very convenient," she said, in a musing sort of way. Viktor cringed at the reminder of the disaster with her father, but Rositza's eyes were studying him now with a slightly detached air, as though she really was cataloging the possible convenience of Apparition. As though the events of the previous week had already been forgiven.
Rositza straightened up and closed her notebook. "I brought your shoes," she said, gesturing toward the boots at the base of the rock in the center of the clearing.
"Thank you," said Viktor. He didn't know what else to say. He wasn't sure whether he was allowed to go any nearer to her or not.
Rositza looked down at her closed notebook in her lap. The silence stretched into an awkwardness that Viktor feared might drown them both. He had to say something.
He took a step forward. "I did not expect you to be here, so early." She looked up at him. "But I am glad you are here," he rushed to add.
Rositza smiled. "I could not sleep. I had too much to think about."
Viktor nodded, unsure how to respond. Rositza lifted up her sketchbook and laid it in the grass beside her, then lifted something else from her lap. It took a moment for Viktor to recognize it as the flower he had given her the day before. It was slightly wilted, and the edges of the blossom were starting to go rock-gray.
Rositza held it up and examined it. "Where did you learn to do that?"
He took another hesitant step toward her, but then she gestured impatiently for him to come sit beside her, so he did. But not too close; he didn't want to push things.
"At school," he said, taking the flower from her. Her fingers brushed his as he did so, and Viktor tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach and focus on the conversation.
"Magic school?"
He nodded, and Rositza laughed softly. He couldn't see what was so funny.
"I'm sorry," she said. "It is still very new to me, you see. If my father knew –"
"Your father did know," Viktor interrupted. "Some of it, at least."
Rositza's face grew grave, and she nodded.
"How is he?" Viktor asked softly.
Rositza shrugged. "He is fine. He has been more agreeable than I have ever known him to be. Mother thinks he must be ill." She smiled and reached over to touch the flower in Viktor's hand. It was a very intimate sort of touch, and Viktor half-fancied that the petals in his palm had somehow grown connected to his nerve endings; he could feel her fingers as though the touch was meant for him, and not for the flower at all.
"So that's it?" Rositza said. "Now it will be a flower forever and ever?"
Viktor shook his head. "It doesn't have to be," he said. He fumbled for his wand, and pointed it at the flower. "Finite Incantatum," he said, and the blue blossom morphed back into a stone.
Rositza took the stone thoughtfully and turned it over. Then she looked up at Viktor with a smile, her face inches from his. "I liked it better as a flower."
A wave of sudden relief washed over Viktor, and he leaned forward to kiss her without thinking. Her lips were still warm and soft as ever, but there was a new intensity in the way she kissed him back.
They broke apart a moment later, and Viktor just caught a glimpse of the suddenly shy expression on Rositza's face before she ducked her head and leaned against his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer, and bent his head and breathed in the fresh wind-scent of her hair.
"I have something for you," he said, after a long silence.
She raised her head and looked at him.
"It is not much." He reached into the pocket of his robes and brought out the little box. He offered it to her with an awkward motion; she gave him a puzzled look as she lifted the lid, and jumped when the tiny dragon shot a jet of flame in her direction.
"What…what is this?"
"A Chinese Fireball. Well, a model of one. But it is enchanted to move. I thought you would like it."
She reached into the box and lifted the tiny dragon into her palm, and then smiled up at him. "It is lovely. Did you make it?"
He shook his head. "I got it last year at…a tournament. The competitors had to face the real dragons."
Rositza's smile disappeared; she went completely motionless and stared at him. She didn't even seem to notice that the dragon figure was now nipping at her fingers.
"Rositza? What is it?" Viktor asked in alarm.
She took an audible breath. "What – " she said, apparently with some difficulty, "what are you saying?"
Viktor knit his eyebrows. "What do you mean?" He reached over and pried the Fireball figurine from her finger, and set it back inside the box.
"You said…real dragons?" Her voice was faint.
"Yes."
"Oh," she said weakly. She put her hands to her mouth, and her eyes were large and unseeing.
"Are you sure you are all right?"
Rositza let out a high-pitched laugh. "Yes." She removed her hands from her mouth, and Viktor could see that her expression was a happy one. Deliriously happy. She picked up the box and reached in a tentative finger to stroke the Fireball's scales. But a moment later she set it down in her lap again and turned to him. "So…they are real? The magic is real, and the dragons are too?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you say so before?"
Viktor stared at her, confused. "I thought you knew."
She gave him an incredulous look, and Viktor suspected he had just shown his ignorance of Muggles again. "But…dragons?"
"Yes." Viktor wondered if he should tell her about the first task, and the Conjunctivitis Curse he had used on the real Fireball. But he suspected that she wouldn't take too kindly to hearing about him harming a dragon. One day he would have to tell her about how dangerous dragons really were. But not today. Her eyes were shining now, and she was looking at him as if he had just made every one of her dreams come true.
"And you said that this was a – "
"Chinese Fireball."
"There are different kinds?"
He nodded. "Welsh Green, Hungarian Horntail, Swedish Short-Snout – that is a blue one. One of your drawings looks almost exactly like it."
She beamed at him. "And they are real," she said softly, almost to herself. Viktor nodded again. "What about other things? Unicorns, fairies? Gnomes?"
"They are all real too."
Rositza leaned back against the rock in a gesture of excited satisfaction. She closed her eyes and was silent for a long moment. Then she burst out, "Why keep it all secret, though?"
Viktor looked at her in confusion.
She sat up and addressed him now, her cheeks pink. He was reminded of Hermione on one of her house-elf tirades. "I mean, those things are wonderful. Why not share them with everyone? Why keep other people out, just because they are not born with…magic wands?"
"You have to buy magic wands."
She waved an impatient hand. "You know what I mean. Why is it all hidden?"
Truthfully, he could think of no good reason why the magical world should be hidden away from someone like her. For the first time, it occurred to him that some Muggles truly deserved to know what lay beyond their perception. That some of them actually yearned for it, never felt complete without knowing it, and yet never knew what they were missing. He wondered how many Muggles were like her, deep down. He didn't know - he'd never known any Muggles closely before her.
"Because," he said, "most Muggles think magic can solve anything. It can't." He knew he would have to tell her, eventually, about all of the problems in the wizarding world, problems that no magic could solve. But he couldn't bring himself to do it just yet.
Rositza looked doubtful at this answer. "So I am a… Muggle, then."
Viktor looked down and nodded.
"Is that why you didn't want me to meet your parents?"
The question took him by surprise, and his face must have shown his immediate reaction, because Rositza pursed her lips and looked away from him.
"I want them to meet you," he said quietly. "I have told them about you." It wasn't a complete lie – he had mentioned her to his mother. So what if he hadn't exactly been forthcoming with the details?
Rositza met his eyes, her face oddly vulnerable. "Really?"
"Yes." He reached out and stroked her hair. She smiled weakly, but her eyes were still troubled. "What is it?" he asked.
"There is so much I do not know…about your world." She didn't look at him as she said this, and Viktor realized with a jolt what lay under her words. I don't know if I fit into your world. She wanted to be a part of it, wanted to be with him…Viktor's heart thumped and he groped for her hand. Squeezed it. She looked up at him, her eyes soft, a softness that was for him alone, and the realization made goose bumps rise all along his arms.
He leaned forward and kissed her temple. "I will show it to you," he murmured into her hair, and she melted against him.
He cleared his throat. "Next week," he said softly. "Two of my friends are getting married. Would you like to come to the wedding with me?"
She looked up at him tentatively, and then smiled. "I would like that."
He smiled back. He knew it was a risk, but how bad could it be? Ivan was harmless, and so was Edina, and the guests would be too busy celebrating to notice anything odd.
"Only…" He paused. "You would have to pretend to be a witch. It might cause trouble, if people knew I told you about the wizarding world."
He expected her to object, but she only paused, looking intrigued. "Pretend to be magical? Do you think I could?"
He nodded. "You are a good liar."
Rositza raised her eyebrows. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
Viktor felt himself turn red. "Yes," he muttered. "I only meant, with your parents. You are very good at it."
She smiled. "I suppose so," she said lightly. She reached up and touched his cheek. "And you always show the truth, right on your face." She ran her fingers over his forehead and down the slope of his many-times-broken nose. It was odd; he didn't feel self-conscious with her. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to her feather-light touch.
"Viktor, can I ask you one more thing?"
He opened his eyes. "Yes, what is it?"
"Will you show me how you fly on your broom?"
He smiled and pulled her into a kiss. Her arms twined around his neck, and none of the rest of it mattered. Everything, he knew, would be fine.
~**~
The next week went by far too quickly. Viktor managed to get to the clearing nearly every day to see Rositza, and she was full of questions about the wizarding world. He thought now of the way she had never seemed to press for answers when he had first met her, and wondered. Perhaps she had simply not found him so interesting before. He wondered if she would have found his company so enjoyable if she had never found out about his wizarding blood.
But this, he knew, was unfair. She had wanted to be with him even before she had found out. And now she was getting to know the real him, and it was someone she still seemed to want to know. There were few enough people, even in the wizarding world, who had bothered. Viktor knew he should be grateful.
But it still made him uncomfortable, somehow, when she pelted him with questions each morning. If he commented on it, though, she simply gave him a shy smile and said that she needed to know as much as she could, if she was going to pretend properly at the wedding. He had already explained to her about dress robes, and she'd said she would come up with something appropriate, though she wouldn't elaborate.
Truthfully, Viktor was more worried about how the wizarding world would look to Rositza than how she would look to the wizarding world. He had confidence in her ability to dissemble at need – and though this confidence should perhaps have disturbed him, it did not. He hadn't told her much about Dark wizards, hadn't mentioned You-Know-Who or the Death Eaters…he couldn't bring himself to shatter her picture of the magical world. Besides, Ivan had told him that the wedding would be a small family affair; surely there would be no need to tell her those things just yet.
One problem that had not occurred to him before hit him when he Apparated outside the gates of Ivan's house for the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding. How would he get Rositza there? He could hardly fly her there on his broomstick, much as she had enjoyed hovering above the clearing the past week, and he knew that the Floo Network was less than reliable in this area.
Fortunately, Ivan answered this worry almost as soon as Viktor was inside the door. He pulled him aside and shoved something into his hand. "Before I forget," he said quietly. "A Portkey for tomorrow. It will put you down inside the gate. I would have set it for inside the house, but the wards…"
Viktor looked down at the Portkey and frowned. It was one of those ridiculous figures of himself that had been sold at the Quidditch World Cup last year.
Ivan laughed. "What, you don't like it?" He grinned and lifted his wand, muttering a transfiguration spell. Immediately the figure grew shorter and its dark hair turned to blonde. "Much better. Much more attractive."
Viktor rolled his eyes and shoved the figurine into his pocket. "There will be two of us coming," he said abruptly.
Ivan's eyes shone. "You're bringing her? Rositza?" Viktor nodded. Ivan punched him lightly on the shoulder. "It will be you getting married, next."
Viktor was saved from having to respond by Edina's appearance in the hallway, which, as usual, took all of Ivan's attention.
But the words came back to his mind the next afternoon, when he met Rositza at the edge of the village to go to the wedding. She looked…like a witch. It took him a moment to realize that the blue dress was the same one she had worn the night of the disastrous dinner at her parents' house; she had changed it somehow, lengthened the sleeves and added a drape of floaty material at the back that fell past her wrists. She looked beautiful.
When she saw him, she smoothed the front of her robes – dress – nervously and twirled around. "Will it do?" she asked.
He nodded mutely, but when he saw her face fall, he forced himself to speak. "It is...perfect."
She smiled and took his hand. "I am looking forward to meeting your friends."
"And I want them to meet you." He was somewhat shocked to realize that this was the truth. He was looking forward to this evening. Viktor took out his pocket watch and checked the time. "We only have a few minutes," he said. "We'd better move into the trees."
As they walked, he explained about the Portkey. He pulled it out and showed it to her once they were hidden in the trees.
"Who is that?" she asked, running a finger along the small figure's head.
"Ivan," replied Viktor moodily, irrationally jealous as he watched her touch the Portkey gently. She pulled her hand away. "No, you've got to have at least a finger on it at exactly four fifty-one," he said. She looked at him and grinned, and then twined her fingers through his so that only the tips of her fingers touched the figurine; the rest of her hand was curled around his, warm and soft.
He had warned her about what to expect, but she still looked slightly shaken when they landed on the green lawn in front of Ivan's house.
"Are you all right?"
She nodded. "Yes. Yes, I am fine. Is it always that…abrupt?"
"Usually. Apparating is better, but – "
"Is this a house?" Rositza was staring up at the stone walls of the house, and Viktor followed her gaze. It was a nice house, slightly smaller than his own, and a bit ornate for his taste – particularly the golden trim that surrounded the many windows.
A line of guests was making its way up the path from the gate. Viktor took Rositza's hand and guided her toward the path, but before he reached it, there was a flash, a cloud of purple smoke and a cry of "Viktor Krum! Look this way, please, Mr. Krum!" from his right.
A tall, forbidding-looking man in dark robes pushed the photographer back behind the gate, and Viktor quickly pulled Rositza toward the house. He knew now why Ivan had given him the Portkey to put him inside the gate, and was grateful to his friend for thinking of it.
"What was that?" she asked.
"Nothing," he muttered, feeling his face turn red. "I told you, I play Quidditch."
"But you didn't tell me you were famous!"
An old woman in front of them turned around and gave them a curious look. Viktor squeezed Rositza's hand meaningfully.
"Sorry," she mouthed, looking it.
It was a relief when they got inside the house. Guests were milling about in the high-ceilinged entryway, and no one paid the slightest bit of attention to them. Viktor craned his neck, looking for Ivan.
His sister found them first.
"Viktor Krum!" said a deliberately high-pitched voice from behind him, and before he knew what was happening, Ilana Pashnik had pulled him around and pinched his cheeks. Ivan's sister was fair-haired as Ivan was, but taller, with striking green eyes. "Look at you, all grown up. I go away for a few years, and see what happens?" She grinned, and then her eyes fell on Rositza. "Oh! You must be Rositza."
Rositza beamed at Viktor, and he felt slightly guilty as he introduced them. Ilana took Rositza's arm. "I will take good care of her, I promise. Come, Rositza, they're seating everyone now. Viktor, you had better go see to my brother. He is probably getting cold feet by now, and you must keep him from Apparating out before the wedding."
Rositza raised her eyebrows at him, her lips twisted into a smile, and Viktor's ears burned as he hurried away toward the door Ilana had indicated.
Viktor had heard that, as best man, he would have to help allay any pre-wedding jitters on Ivan's part. But Ivan was in his usual high spirits when Viktor found him in the small anteroom off the hall, talking to some of the guests. His eyes shone, and he looked more adult than Viktor had ever seen him in his robes of black and gold. He practically ran to the front of the large ballroom when it was time for the ceremony to start; it was clear that he could not wait to marry Edina.
The ceremony itself was brief. Edina was beautiful in long robes of sparkling white, with matching strands of white beads braided into her hair. When she and Ivan exchanged their vows, Viktor saw both of their mothers, and even Edina's father and a few of her brothers, wiping their eyes. Viktor had to admit that he was moved as well. Anyone could see how Ivan felt about Edina, of course, but Viktor had had never heard him voice it so openly, with so much honest intensity. Viktor found himself sniffling slightly; he felt eyes on him, and raised his head to see Rositza looking straight at him, her eyes shining.
When the ceremony was over, and Ivan and Edina had been presented as husband and wife, to much cheering, Ivan's father stood and officially welcomed everyone to his home. He was a tall, fair-haired man; Ilana had clearly gotten her height from him, while Ivan was built more like their sandy-haired mother. Mr. Pashnik asked the guests – about seventy or so in all – to stand at the sides of the room. Once they were all cleared out of the center, he raised his wand and the rows of chairs transformed into round tables, adorned with crystal dishes and silver clothes. Viktor watched Rositza as this happened; her eyes grew wide, and she looked at him. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.
There was no head table as at other weddings he had attended; Ivan had told him that he and Edina had decided that was much too formal for their taste. But there was a dance floor at the front of the room, and as the guests moved to find seats, the band mounted the platform in the corner and began to play. Ivan and Edina, who hadn't let go of each other's hands since the ceremony had ended, moved toward a table at the center, and Ivan nodded for Viktor to join them. Ilana and Rositza came over as well, followed by a burly man in dark blue robes. "Viktor, I don't think you have met my date, Daniel," said Ilana, as they sat down. "He never says much, but, well, you know." She flashed a conspiratorial grin at Rositza.
Rositza shot Viktor an amused look and he squeezed her hand under the table.
"So this must be Rositza," came Ivan's voice from behind him. Viktor introduce Rositza to Ivan and Edina, and Ivan actually disengaged his hand from Edina's long enough to come around the table and kiss Rositza's hand gallantly.
"Don't worry, Edina," said Ilana loudly as Ivan slid back into his seat, "you have nothing to worry about. If Viktor didn't kill him, I would." She smiled sweetly at her brother, who responded with a rude gesture.
Edina cleared her throat. "Let's eat, shall we?"
Viktor realized that he had forgotten to tell Rositza how the food worked – there were so many things he took for granted – and leaned over and muttered instructions into her ear. She nodded, and a moment later had smoothly placed her order with her plate, as though she had been doing it all her life.
If he had worried about his friends asking Rositza too many questions, he needn't have. Ivan and Edina were so wrapped up in each other that they barely paid attention to anyone else, and Rositza had already learned to deflect any of Ilana's questions by asking about her work with the apothecary. Ivan's parents were drinking merrily at the next table, and the other guests were talking and laughing loudly, many of them grouped around a long bar that had appeared at the other end of the room. By the time he and Rositza had finished eating, Edina's uncle and Ivan's cousin were engaged in a drinking contest at the table by the window, the Hungarian drinking Palinka and the Russian drinking vodka.
The band, Kelpies in the Well, was not bad; after the meal they played several slow songs, and Viktor was glad for the chance to put his arms around Rositza and shut the rest of the world out. She sighed and rested her head against his chest contentedly.
"How am I doing?" she murmured.
He kissed the top of her head. "Amazing," he said. "Much better than I did, with your family."
She raised her head and grinned at him. "You are not a good liar, like me," she said.
He looked into her eyes, and allowed himself to fully believe, for the first time, that it all might work out. She was amazing. He wanted to kiss her, but not in front of all those people, so he contented himself with pulling her close again.
The next song was a fast one, and Rositza wanted to stay out on the dance floor. Viktor sat down at the table again and watched her. Ilana danced up next to her, and the two of them laughed at they tried to work out coordinated dance moves. He was surprised that Rositza seemed to get along so well with Ivan's sister. But then, Ilana could charm just about anyone, and Rositza was…
"She's a pretty one, Viktor," said Ivan, dropping into a chair next to him. Edina was with him, but she remained standing and twined her arms around Ivan's neck.
"She seems really nice," said Edina with a smile. "I am glad that you decided to bring her." She and Ivan exchanged a look, and Viktor thought he could guess what they were really thinking. Thank goodness he gave up on Hermione.
Viktor was struck suddenly by how long it had been since he had had more than a passing thought about Hermione Granger. He smiled to himself. Yes, he supposed he had come a long way.
Rositza and Ilana came over to the table then, laughing and out of breath. "I need something to drink," said Rositza. "Do any of you want anything?"
"I'll come with you," said Ilana, and the two of them began to push their way through the crowd toward the bar.
Viktor watched Rositza's dark curls disappear into the crowd.
Ivan gave a low whistle behind him. "Edina, dear, we've lost him. He's gone."
Viktor turned to see Ivan and Edina watching him with identical knowing grins on their faces. He supposed they were right. But he didn't care, and for once he was not even embarrassed by it.
Edina settled into a chair on Ivan's other side and put her feet up in his lap. "So how did you two meet, Viktor?"
"She lives near me," said Viktor. "I met her one day while I was out flying."
"What are the odds, eh?" said Ivan with a grin. "Means it was meant to be."
Viktor hesitated. He had told Rositza that he would at least tell his friends the truth, and he wanted to, but it was still awkward. "Actually," he said, "she lives in the Muggle village, on the other side of the mountain."
Ivan looked puzzled. "The one you showed me? So…she is Muggle-born?" He and Edina shared a concerned look.
Viktor took a deep breath. "No," he said.
Ivan still looked confused, but Edina sat up, her face registering a horrified comprehension that took Viktor by surprise. He never would have expected her to share in that kind of bigotry. "She's a Muggle," Edina said softly. "Isn't she?"
Viktor nodded.
Ivan's eye grew wide. "Viktor, why didn't you tell me?"
Edina leaned forward over the table, and her voice was soft and urgent. "Viktor, you have to get her out of here. Now."
Viktor stared at her. It was not disgust in her tone, as he had expected, but concern. Panic.
"What?"
"You heard her," said Ivan weakly. Viktor looked at him; his face had taken on a slightly grey tone. "Viktor, my father…"
Edina reached over and squeezed Ivan's arm. "Viktor, find her now," she said. "Take her home. Before – "
She didn't finish her sentence, but it didn't matter, because Viktor had already bolted out of his seat and started pushing his way toward the bar. He looked around frantically for a head of dark curls, and didn't see it anywhere. He stood by the bar, at a loss, surrounded by the talk and laughter of drunk and happy people.
And then a low voice reached his ears. "Impedimenta!" Loud, course laughter followed the voice – it was coming from just outside the room.
A sick feeling in his stomach, Viktor ran through the doorway. In the hallway outside, a group of middle-aged wizards was gathered in a loose circle, and a figure stood rigid in the center.
A dark-haired figure in a blue dress.
