Author's Note:  Thanks, as always, go to Jedi Boadicea and Zsenya for their encouragement, knowledge, and attentive betareading.

Chapter Nine: Sorrow and Shame

Mr. Pashnik was pacing slowly in front of Rositza, his wand held loosely in his fingers, and Viktor could see her frightened eyes following his movements.  He remembered when he himself had used the Impediment Curse on her in the clearing, just before he had put that Memory Charm on her, and felt as though he might throw up.

What had he done?  Why had he brought her here? 

"Let me give you a piece of advice," Mr. Pashnik said to Rositza, his voice full of greasy charm; he might have been advising a colleague on removing a Bundimun from under the floorboards.  "When one is in a wizarding house, trying to pass as a witch, ordering Muggle soft drinks at the bar is to be avoided."  The men around him laughed loudly, a harsh sound – they'd all had far too much to drink.

A hot surge of anger filled Viktor's chest, and he reached for his wand.  At that moment, however, Ivan and Edina came up behind him.  Ivan muttered something harsh, but Edina pushed past him and hissed at Viktor, "Be ready."

"There you are," Edina said in a loud, sweet voice to Mr. Pashnik.  "I have been looking everywhere for you.  You must dance with me.  Ivan is going to dance with my mother now.  Come, come."  She grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the room, flashing Viktor an urgent look.

Ivan had his wand out and was quietly casting Memory Charms on the other wizards nearby.

"Finite incantatum," Viktor said softly, and he saw Rositza sag and nearly fall.  He grabbed her arm and turned to Ivan.  "We need to get out of here," he said urgently.

Ivan nodded, his face still pale.  "Downstairs, in the kitchen.  The fireplace.  Viktor, if I had known…." 

"It was not your fault."

Ivan still looked stricken, but he nodded.  He glanced at the group of wizards, who were looking around, bewildered.  "I will take care of them.  Go."

Viktor nodded once more, and then hurried Rositza down the hallway.  She didn't make a sound.  He glanced at her face once, and wished he hadn't.  She looked dazed, but her eyes were watery, as though she wanted to cry but was too shocked to do so.

Viktor didn't let himself think about the expression on her face, or the way Mr. Pashnik had looked at her, or what might have happened if – no, he couldn't think about it.  It was enough to hurry her down the stairs without making her trip on her long dress, enough to find the long kitchen on the lower level and steady her with one arm while he lit the fire and threw in the Floo powder with the other.

It wasn't safe to double up when traveling by Floo powder, but he had no choice.  And he had to transfer through three different connections before he found a pub that connected to the Bulgarian Floo Network.  But through it all Rositza was absolutely silent – frighteningly silent – and he clutched her close so that she wouldn't get hurt.  He wouldn't let that happen.

It was perhaps three-quarters of an hour later by the time they reached the Krums' kitchen.  Viktor stumbled as he stepped out of the fireplace, but he caught himself and lowered Rositza into a chair at the table.  She closed her eyes; her face was pale and covered with soot.

"Your dress," Viktor croaked.  It too was covered in soot, and the long piece of floaty material at the back had been ripped, probably while in the Floo Network.  He reached up and tried to brush some of the soot off her sleeve, but she only opened her eyes and stared at his hand on her arm.

"Rositza," he said, touching her cheek.  "I am so sorry.  I did not know that – "

And then she looked up and met his eyes, and words failed him.  There was…betrayal in her face, and she looked at him as though he was one of them.

"Viktor, are you back so early?"  His mother was at the door.  She checked on the threshold at stared at him, at Rositza, at their soot-stained clothing.

Viktor stood up.  "Mother."

His mother took a single step into the room.  "What is going on?"

"We came back early.  There was…trouble."  Viktor glanced at Rositza as he said this, but she turned her head away from him.  "Mother, this is Rositza."

His mother glanced at Rositza, and her eyes grew wider.  She took two long strides forward and grabbed Viktor's sleeve, pulling him across the kitchen.  "You took a Muggle-born into that place?  What is wrong with you?" she hissed.

Viktor stared at her as the pieces fell into place.  "You knew," he said.  "You knew about Ivan's father.  Why didn't you tell me?"

His mother raised her head indignantly.  "Well, you did not tell me you were planning to take her, did you?"

Viktor was fed up with secrets.  There were many things he wanted to say to his mother just then, but he glanced over at Rositza and saw that she had now buried her face in her hands.  He had to get her home.

He turned on his mother.  "Get me some of your Dreamless Sleep Potion," he barked.

She looked offended.  "I do not have – "

"Mother."  He gave her a long, hard look.  No one in his family talked openly about the way his mother had disregarded reality lately, but he knew that she took the potion almost every night.

She pursed her lips and met his gaze for a long moment, then looked away.  She turned and marched silently out of the kitchen.

Viktor went back to Rositza.  He took her hands and pulled them away from her face; her cheeks were tear-streaked now, but she wasn't sobbing as he would have expected.  Instead, there was a hard anger in her eyes, and her jaw was set.  "Take me home," she said, so softly that he almost didn't hear it.

"I will, in a moment.  My mother is getting something that will help you sleep."  He reached up and pushed her hair back from her face, and tried not to let it show how much it hurt when she flinched at his touch.

His mother came back a moment later and thumped a small purple bottle down on the table.  "There is not much left, but it should be enough for her tonight," she said, her voice subdued. 

"Thank you," replied Viktor curtly.  "Now stay with her a moment, please, while I get my broomstick."

He ran up to get the Baranof, and then with some difficulty got Rositza to her feet and led her outside.  She had been on his broomstick before, but never so high or so far, or in her current state.  But he managed to get her over the crest of the mountain and fairly close to the village on the other side.  It was a dark, starless night, or he never would have dared to go so close, right up to the stand of trees where they had Portkeyed out only a few hours before.  

Viktor left his broomstick there and they walked through the village to her house.  Rositza hadn't said a word since they had left his house, and she wouldn't look at him.  Viktor wanted to say something, but he knew that nothing he said would be enough.  He should have warned her.  He shouldn't have taken her to that place at all.

He should have known better.

The village was darker than he had expected it be; it seemed forbidding, unwelcoming to him now.  But once they reached the road, Rositza began to walk more quickly, and Viktor hurried to keep up with her.  She'd seemed confused, back at his house, and he hadn't been entirely certain that she had comprehended the instructions he had given her as they had been mounting his broomstick, but now, as she got closer to her own house, her shoulders were straightening and her head was high.

She stopped at the gate outside her house and began to swipe at her clothing, causing soot to rise in clouds.  Viktor fumbled for his wand and lit it, so that she could see better.  She paused when he uttered the spell, her face turned away from him, but then she went on tidying her dress.  "Thank you," she murmured, but there was something icy in her tone, and Viktor was afraid to respond.

She stood up straight at last and shook out her curls, running her fingers through them. The wandlight fell on her face and Viktor was surprised to see that, though the soot and tearstains remained, her eyes were dry, her expression composed.  She noticed him looking, and rubbed at her face self-consciously.

"I could…"  Viktor waved his wand slightly.

Rositza looked at his wand warily, and then up at his face.  It hurt him to see how guarded her eyes were.  But a moment later she glanced at the house and frowned.

"Go ahead," she said, her voice low and toneless.

He swept his wand over her.  Rositza closed her eyes.  "Purgare," he said, and the soot vanished. 

Viktor reached behind her and held out the fabric of her dress that had been ripped.  "I can fix this too, if you want."

Her eyes were still closed, her face tense, but she nodded.  He performed the spell quickly and stepped back, and Rositza relaxed slightly as he moved away from her.

A heavy weight settled itself into Viktor's stomach.  He didn't know how to fix this; it was so much worse than Disapparating from her kitchen.  But it could have been far, far worse, said a nasty, persistent voice in the back of his head.  She was only frightened. She could have been really hurt or - 

The thought was far from comforting.

"I am going to go inside now," said Rositza in a surprisingly clear, measured voice.

Viktor's heart dropped, but he nodded.  He pulled the potion bottle out of his pocket and held it out to her.  It seemed a feeble offering.

Rositza looked at the bottle, and then at him, and seemed to come to a decision.  "My room is there, at the corner of the house," she said, pointing to one of the windows on the second floor.  "When you see the light come on, wait five minutes and then," she hesitated for a split second, "Apparate in."

Viktor stared at her, but she had already turned away and starting walking briskly up the path to the front door.  She squared her shoulders before pushing the door open, and did not look back at him. 

There were lights on downstairs, and he could see people moving inside.  Viktor extinguished his wand and crept closer, and he could hear low voices coming from inside the house – Rositza and her mother, and a deeper voice that had to be her father's - but he couldn't make out what they were saying.  And then, incredibly, he heard Rositza laugh, the sound as clear and untroubled as if the night's events had never happened.

Viktor was so startled by this that he almost didn't notice when the light came on in Rositza's bedroom a few minutes later.  He waited, heart thumping – surely it had been at least five minutes?  He wasn't sure; time had seemed to lose all meaning ever since he had bolted from his seat to find Rositza in the crowd.  He forced himself to wait longer, and then, finally, stood up straight and pulled out his wand.

He wasn't exactly sure what he expected to find when he Apparated into Rositza's bedroom, but it wasn't heaps of clothing strewn across the floor, or haphazard stacks of books in the corners.  He felt himself flush with embarrassment as he saw a few girls' underthings on the floor in front of him, but he froze when he saw Rositza.

She was sitting up straight on the bed, still wearing her blue dress, and her hands were clenched tightly in her lap.  She didn't move; she didn't even seem to have noticed him appear in front of her. 

Viktor's heart plummeted.  She looked as if she was too angry for words, as if she was about to tell him off.  But why had she told him to come up here, if that was the case?

Viktor looked around nervously; he had never been in a girl's bedroom before, let alone one belonging to a Muggle.  He opened his mouth to apologize to her again, as if that would help, but before he could say anything, a low sound from Rositza made him whip his head around.

She was sobbing.  Her shoulders shook, and her breath was coming in huge shuddering gasps. 

Viktor stared at her, completely taken aback.  She had just been laughing – he had heard her – and now tears were coursing down her face and dripping onto the soft blue fabric of her dress.  She seemed to grow smaller; her shoulders stooped, as if she wanted to curl into a ball.  Viktor took a tentative step toward the bed, wondering if he was allowed to touch her, wondering if she just wanted him to leave.

But she let out another sob, and Viktor's heart twisted.  He moved to sit beside her, patting her back awkwardly.  She looked up at him, eyes swimming, and covered her mouth with one hand, clearly trying to stay quiet.

At least he could help with that.  Viktor lifted his wand and pointed it at the door, muttering a Silencing Charm.  "It is all right," he said softly.  "They can't hear you now."

Rositza's chest hitched, and she began to sob again, this time leaning into Viktor's chest.  He put his arms around her, whispering into her hair, though he was sure she couldn't hear him over her own ragged breathing.   He had never seen her so small, so helpless; he realized with a jolt that he had come to see her as smart and capable, even if she was a Muggle.  It unsettled him now to see her unhinged like this.  To see her needing someone else so much.

To see her needing him.

Her sobs began to trail off, and her breathing grew more even.  At last she raised her head and looked at him.

"I am so, so sorry," he whispered.  "I should have told you.  I should never have let you go there."

She closed her eyes, an expression of pain flitting over her face, and shook her head.  "Don't," she said weakly.  She sat up and pulled away from him, wiping at her tear-stained face with her hands.  Her face was streaked with soot again, where she had leaned against his robes.

"Your face," he said, raising his wand.  "Do you want me to – "

She shook her head.  "I am so tired.  I just want to sleep."  She reached down into a pile of garments on the floor and pulled out a yellow nightgown.  She looked up at Viktor shyly.  "I need you to turn around," she said, her voice still shaky.

Viktor leapt up from the bed and stood facing the wall.  He heard the bed shift behind him, heard a swish of fabric, and then –

"All right," said Rositza, and her voice sounded miles away.  He turned around to find her already in bed with the patterned quilt pulled up over her.  Her eyes were red, but her face was pale under the streaks of soot.

Viktor pulled the potion bottle out of his pocket and went to the side of the bed.  "This will help you sleep," he said.  "It won't hurt you."

She gave him a painful smile as he pulled the stopper off the bottle – he wished he had a goblet, but he could hardly go traipsing around her parents' house to find one.  He paused on the point of handing the bottle to her.

"I could…if you want," he said, unable to meet her eyes, "I could…make you forget it.  It might be easier."

She met his eyes, and shook her head wearily.  "You said yourself that you can't fix everything through magic.  And you promised you wouldn't do that to me again."

He nodded.  He had suspected she would say that, but it tore him up that he could take away her anguish in five seconds, and yet he was not allowed to.

Rositza drank the contents of the bottle in one gulp, and her hand was already going limp as she handed the empty bottle back to Viktor.  "Stay here a little while, until I fall asleep," she said, almost in a whisper.  "Please?"

Viktor swallowed hard as tears of guilt pricked the corners of his eyes.  Of course he would stay, as long as she wanted him to.

He put the empty bottle on her bedside table, and as he did so something burned his hand.  He shook it out and looked down, and found the model of the Chinese Fireball curled up at the base of the lamp, staring up at him with what he imagined was an expression of satisfaction in its protuberant eyes.

Viktor lifted his wand and savagely shot a Freezing Charm at the figurine, feeling ridiculously content when its movement was arrested, its ugly face frozen in an expression of surprise.  That was what he should have done to those wizards tonight. 

No, something worse.  Something much worse.

For the first time, he allowed a tendril of the shame he had been suppressing all evening come to the surface.  He should have done something, should have attacked them all, if that was what it took, but instead he had just stood there frozen, until Edina had spurred him into action.  What could have happened to Rositza, in those few moments he had hesitated?  What had they said to her, before he found her, to leave her like this?

Rositza turned over and made a low, sleepy sound, drawing Viktor's thoughts out of himself.  It didn't matter what had happened; he had to take care of her now.  He sat on the edge of the bed and took Rositza's hand.  It was cold, but he held it in his until it began to feel warm, and stayed and watched over her until the tense lines in her forehead smoothed away and her breathing took on the deep, even sounds of dreamless sleep.

~**~

When Viktor got back home, his mother was sitting in the kitchen in her dressing gown.  He wasn't surprised; he had expected this, and had purposely taken his time retrieving his broomstick and flying home, to give himself time to think about what he would say to her.

But he hadn't expected to find her pale and stony-faced, clutching a mug of tea.  And he wasn't prepared for the coldness in her voice when she spoke.

"You got her home, then?"

"Yes," replied Viktor quietly.  He leaned his broomstick against the wall and slumped into a chair; it was not yet midnight, but he felt tired and drained all of a sudden.  "Father is not home yet?"

"No.  He had to…work late."  She looked away as she said this, and Viktor's blood ran cold.  He had forgotten, in the midst of this evening's chaos, that there was more out there, more horrible things in the world than the ones that affected his life. 

And he knew of at least one group of middle-aged, drunken men who would be frustrated tonight, having been denied their bit of Muggle-torture.  Who would they attack now?  Who would catch their eyes next, now that he had snatched Rositza out of their midst?  Not for the first time that evening, Viktor thought he might throw up.

And he felt only slightly guilty that he didn't care who it was – as long as they stayed away from Rositza.

"You did a very stupid thing tonight, Viktor," said his mother in a low, tense voice.  It had been a long time since he had heard that tone from her; in recent weeks, her forced cheerfulness had overtaken it.

But hearing it only made him angry.  "Me?" he said abruptly.  "You could have told me.  You could have warned me."

His mother whipped her head around to face him, eyes blazing.  "You know what's going on out there.  You should know better."

This was too much for Viktor.  "So you are acknowledging it now, are you?" he said harshly.  He had never spoken to his mother this way, except perhaps the day after the third task, when she had wanted him to leave Hogwarts early.

"This has nothing to do with me," his mother snapped.  "You know how dangerous it is to consort with Muggle-borns, and yet there you are, going to balls with them, flaunting it so that even your own mother has to read about it in the magazines!  Is wizarding blood not exotic enough for you, or is it just the danger that makes it attractive?"  Her nostrils flared angrily.

Viktor stared at her.  He had not yet told her what Rositza really was, and knew, with a sick feeling in his heart, that now he probably never would.  He pushed himself up out of his chair and turned to leave the kitchen without a word.

"Viktor," said his mother, her voice softer now.  "I just want you to be safe.  You must be careful who you – "  She broke off.

Be careful about whom you trust.  Professor Dumbledore's words rang in his head again, and Viktor almost laughed.  How often would he hear that?

Viktor turned around.  "Mother, these things are out there.  It happens whether we are careful or not.  And if it happens to be a…Muggle-born that I – "  He broke off, unsure of how to finish that sentence.  He took a deep breath and started again.  "I told you, You-Know-Who is back.  Pretending it is different won't change things."

He met his mother's eyes, and saw her face crumple.  She turned her head and her shoulders hitched once, violently.

"Mother?"

"I know it," she said quietly.  "Of course I know it.  Only a fool could fail to see it, but it is not – "  She took a deep breath and turned and faced him, her eyes surprisingly cold and clear.  "You never asked," she went on, in a carefully measured voice, "how I knew that Ivan's father is…what he is."

He hadn't, he realized.  It hadn't even occurred to him to ask this.  Viktor shifted slightly, apprehension rising in his throat.

"Fedor Pashnik was four years ahead of me in school, in the same class as my cousin Tereza."  She put a slight emphasis on Tereza's name, and she glanced up at Viktor.  "I did not know him well, but Tereza did, and she often talked about his charm and wit.  Ivan is very much like him, in that regard."  She smiled faintly.

Viktor's stomach clenched.  His mother always avoided talking about Tereza, and Viktor knew only that she had died, violently, during You-Know-Who's last reign of terror.  "Did he kill her?" he forced himself to ask.

His mother raised her head, and the expression in her eyes was unbearably sad.  "No," she said softly.  "An Auror did that."

Viktor stared at her uncomprehendingly for a long moment, and then it sank in.

"But he recruited her.  Brainwashed her, I thought then.  She couldn't stop talking about the 'noble deeds" she was taking part in, couldn't wait to show off the place on her arm where – "  She looked down at her hands, which were clenched together so tightly on the table that her knuckles were white.  "I thought then that she had totally changed, but now I wonder if it was not there inside her all along."

Viktor remained silent.  He had no idea how to respond.

His mother took a deep breath and looked up at him.  "Your friend Ivan is smart.  He and Edina are planning to move far away from his parents' home.  I thought it was odd when Edina first told me that, but when I learned who his father was…they are staying away from trouble.  As you should, Viktor."

He didn't answer.  He wished that it was that simple.

His mother sighed and stood up.  "I want you to be happy, Viktor.  But I would rather you be safe."  She crossed to him and stroked his hair, as she had done when he'd been a child.  "I do not think you can have both, not now."  She stepped back and drew her bathrobe more tightly around her.  "Get some sleep, Viktor.  We will not tell your father about all this.  He has…enough on his mind."

It didn't matter if they told him or not, Viktor reflected as his mother kissed him goodnight and left the kitchen.  He was likely to find out anyway, especially if there had been more attacks tonight.

Viktor leaned his elbows on the table, pressing his forehead against his hands, understanding for the first time just how powerless he was to stop the things that had been set in motion around him.