Viktor was still thinking about her artless question several days later as he waited outside her house for their outing into town. He knew she would be taken aback by the birds at the emporium—none of them were owls—and had offered his services helping her choose one. She had readily agreed, and they decided to get the bird and have it delivered to her house while they went to Krum Manor.

Viktor, can I ask why you are being so kind to me?

What kind of life must Hermione have that simple kindness was confusing? He had seen behind her words and did not like their implications. His observations of her with the others showed a somewhat shy, uncertain girl who wanted badly to fit in but was unsure of her welcome. What was Hogwarts like if it was snuffing out such a bright flame? Were the English truly so close-minded to deny the brilliance and beauty housed inside her slight frame? And what about her muggle parents? Had they not fostered her intelligence and enabled her excel?

He had many questions, and he feared he would like none of the answers.

Idly, he looked at the flowers in the small front garden. They were so bright and alive, much like she was. Maika would like them. Perhaps one day he could get Hermione to cut some and he could give them to her? Yes, that would be good.

The door opened, and he looked up at Hermione, who was looking a little pale and nervous. "Mia?" he asked, concerned. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Nothing, nothing at all." Absently, she touched the space below her neck where a pendant would hang as if to grasp it for comfort, but nothing was there and her hand fell away a bare instant later. "I was just wishing there was more time, you see," she told them as they began the short walk to the Square, her speech getting progressively faster. "I wanted to read some about Pureblood etiquette so I could be prepared for the meeting, and I didn't have time because I was behind on reading, so I'm not ready at all, and what if she doesn't like me—"

He stopped in the middle of the road and took her by the shoulders, which caused her flurry of words to come to an abrupt halt. "You sound like I do before a game sometimes when my nerves make my brain turn to soup. Stop overthinking it. You will be fine. My mother was ecstatic about the visit and kissed me on the cheek twice. She hasn't done that since I told her I wanted to be a Weather Witch."

He didn't tell her that his mother's delight was a result of the fact she thought that he was dating her, but he didn't want to broach that mortifying subject. The humiliation of having to tell his mother multiple times that, no, mother, Hermione was just a friend and we are only friends, was sufficient embarrassment on that front.

Milena had not looked quite satisfied by his proclamations, and he could only hope she would not further compound his humiliation by doing something backhanded and sneaky in front of Hermione.

"It's only just that there are so many things I'm not good at," she said fretfully. "I'm okay with some things, like basic comportment, but other things…" She looked up at him. "I'm really just rubbish. Like dancing, for instance."

"Dancing?" he repeated incredulously.

She nodded. "I tend to overthink things too much, so by the time I figure out where I should be going my partner is aeons ahead of me. It really just…." she blew out a breath. "It really just doesn't go well for me. Ever."

Internally, he sighed. His mother would definitely make them work on that if Hermione were as truly terrible as she said she was. Casting a look at his feet, he resigned himself to some pain later on in the day and left it at that. There were much more interesting things to think about, such as her comment on being terrible at flying as well.

"It's a relief to know you're not good at everything," he teased, trying to bring some levity to the situation.

She threw her hands into the air, exasperated. "Of course I'm not perfect! Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Having seen your track record over the few months, I would say that you're fairly good at almost everything I've seen you try to do."

Dryly, she responded, "That's very kind of you, but it's completely untrue. I've got the social acumen of a goblin, the fashion sense of a toad, and the athletic ability of a rock."

Her harsh assessment of herself took him aback. "I wouldn't say you're all that bad socially, honestly. Fashion wise, I hardly ever see you out of work clothes, but you look very nice today."

Her dress was a flattering cut and color that brought out slightly auburn hints in her hair, which was loose from its usual braid. Although she had followed suit and kept her hair confined in a braid most days at work as Krasmira did, he found that her loose curl framed her face in a rather pretty way.

Realizing he had been staring at her rather for longer than was polite, he cleared his throat before continuing his previous train of thought. "I do find it rather hard to believe that you're not good at flying."

"I'm not. I'm really, really not."

"Any reason why?"

She paused, then confessed in a rush, "I'm extremely afraid of flying. My first time on a broom did not go well at all—I ended up out of control and Madam Hooch, the flying instructor at Hogwarts, had to come save me. Ever since then, I've been absolutely horrid at flying and freeze up the second I get on one." She tugged at the narrow belt of her dress in an effort to get it to lay flat, avoiding looking at him. "Honestly, Viktor. I'm just no good. Even Ron and Harry gave up on me about flying."

That did not bode well, but he mulishly persisted. "I'm not them. One day, you and I will go flying together, and I will help you become proficient."

She laughed. "That's a very kind offer, but you'd have to bribe me to get me on a broom." Shivering, she shook her head. "The last time didn't go well at all."

Sensing he was fighting a losing battle, he shelved the discussion to be revisited at a later time. It was preposterous that she was working for a professional quidditch team and couldn't fly respectably.

"Well," he said, determined, "we'll fix up your dancing first before moving on to your flying. I'm sure Maika will be glad to help."

More like gleeful, if he guessed her correctly.

"You make it sound so easy." Hermione sighed, disheartened. "I'm afraid it's not that cut and dry."

"I'm sure it's not as bad as you say. Enough of that subject: it's never fun to discuss our shortcomings. Instead, let's talk about the emporium and birds you are likely to encounter."

Predictably, she perked up. "In one of the books I purchased recently, there was a section on Bulgarian wildlife, but it wasn't particularly detailed about anything in particular. What kind of birds should I expect to see at the emporium? Will there be owls?"

"Typically in Bulgaria we favor predatory birds and swifts since there are more of them native to the country than owls. The last time I was at the emporium was to get my own Raya, which was several years ago now. I think you will enjoy the experience, and you'll certainly have the most exotic 'owl' when you return to Hogwarts!"

His distraction technique appearing to work, she gave him a rare, full smile, her eyes shining. "I would certainly say so. Ron and Harry will be fit to be tied!"

When they arrived at the Square, Hermione quickly purchased a trinket at one of the cart stalls to give Clara to show her thanks. Viktor thought it unnecessary but sweet, and Hermione seriously perused the stall at length to find the perfect item. At last, she settled on a thick set of burgundy ribbons— "so Clara can tie her braids with them," she explained—and they were off to the emporium.

Hermione's eyes instantly went round when they entered the spacious store, and she craned her neck to take in the birds freely flying around the glass-domed ceiling. "Oh, that's a booted eagle," she recognized, and frowned in concentration as she tried to pick out other breeds. "And that's a northern goshawk. Viktor, do I just pick one out?" she asked absently, tracking a beautiful tawny Saker Falcon as it glided on an air current.

"No," came a stern, low voice. They both turned around and came face to face with a sturdily built middle-aged man in simple robes. "The bird chooses you. Not the other way."

Nonplussed, Hermione stared at the wizard and waited for further instruction, but none was forthcoming.

"Well, then," she took a breath, "I suppose I shall just...er, go stand in the middle of things, hm?" Squaring her slim shoulders, she did just that, leaving the two men behind.

"An interesting bird you have brought, Viktor," his cousin, twice removed, said. "Did she choose you?"

Viktor sighed. If he had known bringing Mia to Dafo would result in questions being asked, he would have found another emporium to go to. However, Dafo's was the best, and he wanted the best for Mia. "No, bratovched, she did not 'choose me'."

At that moment, Hermione looked over at him excitedly as a red-winged kite circled her twice and began banking in front of her.

"Hold out your forearm," Dafo called out, demonstrating the bent elbow position that resulted in her arm being held out from her body and perpendicular to the floor.

"So you say," he murmured to Viktor, "but I find it very interesting that her bird is the same as yours. I would have thought a swift would be a better fit for her."

The red kite alighted on her arm, its talons gently gripping her skin so as not to scratch her. "You're for me?" Hermione asked, looking the intelligent hawk in the eye. The bird shifted up on her arm, wings fluttering, and began to preen her hair. She laughed and stroked a gentle finger down its tawny back. "I promise to take care of you," she told it before looking over at them. "Does she have a name?"

"His name is Svirep, which means fierce in English, I think? My English is not very good, I'm afraid." Dafo looked to Viktor for confirmation, and he nodded.

Although he had been working on his English extremely hard, he was much better at writing than speaking English, although that had not been a problem in the past since he was able to get by. He winced at the thought. It would very much be a problem when he was living in England, an English speaking country. Damn. Yet another thing to work on.

"Svirep," Hermione tried out, her mouth forming around the word a little hesitantly. "Maybe Vi for short? What do you think?" The bird made no protestation, merely cocking its head, and she stroked his head, her face alight. "A bird of my own. Wow. What kind is he?"

This time, Viktor answered. "He's a red kite. I have one as well, though his markings are different. He has golden wings rather than red brown, and his head is, hm, caramel-coloured I would say, whereas Vi's is white."

Dafo and Hermione quickly settled the bill and logistics of getting Vi back to her house. Dafo cautioned Hermione about treating Vi like an owl, telling her that hawks tended to be more temperamental and less accommodating to strangers trying to use them to send return letters. "Svirep will listen to you: if you tell him to respect the person you are sending letters to, he will unless they are grossly rude and disrespectful, in which case, well." He shrugged and left it at that.

Viktor watched her coo at Svirep, who was happily nesting under the nimbus of Mia's curls. He hadn't realized precisely how curly her hair was since she always had it tightly braided at work. It was rather long, down to her mid-back, which helped the curls to gain some shape due to gravity. Idly, he wondered what it looked like when it was shorter. It was probably completely wild. Even now, it was such a contrast to her oft-constrained personality, and he considered if she was more suited to her hair pulled back, or loose, or perhaps if she was a mix of the two.

"Ready to go?" he asked, and she nodded, telling Vi she would meet him at home. The bird watched them both go, and Hermione turned back to give him a wave right at the door.

Amused, Viktor murmured, "he's just a bird."

Hermione sniffed. "He may be 'just a bird,' Viktor, but now he's my bird, which means I will love him. I actually have a familiar, Crookshanks, but he's at home right now. I wasn't sure how he and Magellan would get along. I do miss him."

"I've only got Raya," he told her. "She is far enough for me."

When they reached a common apparition point, he placed his hand on her shoulder and she grabbed the opposite arm. "Ready?" he asked. "I know Apparating doesn't sit well with you. I'll take us to a place not too close to the house so you can get your bearings before I introduce you." He meant to be reassuring, but the slight paling of her face indicated he had done the opposite. Before she could overthink it anymore than she already had, he apparated them away to the small side garden with a crack.

True to form, Hermione was very green when they arrived, and he gave her a moment to compose herself. Luckily, she didn't need to vomit so they were able to avoid the inevitable clean up process that followed that. She clung to his arm for a few moments as she tried to regain her balance before straightening up.

"Are you alright?" he double checked with her to make sure.

She tugged her blouse into place and brushed at her hair. "Perhaps I should have braided it back," she said fretfully. "It's only that I never get to wear it loose any more…"

"If you're going to worry about inconsequential things like if my mother will dislike you because you didn't wear your hair in a braid, you're fine." He moved away from her, determined to keep going so the initial meeting that she so dreaded would be over and she could see for herself that Milena was not a fire-breathing dragon.

Next to him, Hermione took in a sharp breath as she got her first full glance of the manor. "Viktor," she choked out. "You didn't tell me you lived in a castle."

"It's not a castle," he said defensively. "It's just a large manor."

"'Just a large manor,'" she mimicked under her breath. "Whatever the terminology you'd like to stick with, the fact remains that you live in what I would quantify as a castle. There is a tower, a million windows, a courtyard, what I think are extensive gardens, and another giant building to the left behind the house."

He coughed. "That would be the Abraxan stables."

Hermione ran a hand over her face. "Right. The Abraxan stables. However could I have forgotten those?"

"I wouldn't really say that this is more than other well-established Pureblood families' houses that I've been to," he argued. "Really, it's not that grand."

Hermione glared at him. "Let's just be grateful that my mother is related to nobility and that this is not my first encounter with something like that. Otherwise, I likely would have done something dramatic by now."

Viktor had never really considered the grandeur of the house, but he supposed it was rather ostentatious when examined objectively. The building was sprawling, consisting of the main residence and two wings on either side. The cream colour and tiled roof were light and airy, emphasizing the exquisite architecture, especially the two rotundas and the second floor balconies that overlooked the courtyard, gardens, and fountain which sat in the middle of the circular drive.

When taken as a whole, he could see how it could be imposing. However, he had only ever seen it as his home, one that he had a mixture of lingering good and bad feelings about. Every time he returned, he felt a semblance of dread and relaxation, wondering who he would find there. They approached the drive on the left hand side and lightly stepped up the stairs. Just like always, Enzo opened the door before he could knock, the house elf immaculately dressed as always.

"Master Viktor and Miss Mia," the elf greeted formally. "Welcome."

Lightly gripping Hermione's elbow, he stepped through the wide door frame into the foyer. Underneath his touch, he felt Hermione's tension increase at the sight of his mother, clad in a casual summer gown of lawn and linen, moving towards them, her eyes light and her step swift.

"Mia, darling, welcome to our humble home," she greeted warmly, hands outstretched. Hermione took them instinctively, and Milena kissed her cheek. "I am so glad to have you here. And Vitya," she scolded, "why must you persist with that scowl?" Turning to Hermione, she explained in the same breath, "He always scowls terribly when he is anxious, although what he has to be anxious about now, I'm not sure."

"Maika," he protested. "I am sure Mia does not need an explanation about my facial expressions."

"Tch," his mother waved away his protest. "You are too serious by half and your face always shows it, sometimes even when you're not feeling that way. So, Mia," she switched subjects smoothly, "how are you finding your time in Bulgaria so far?"

As they migrated to the summer room and took tea, Viktor listened intently as Hermione responded to the easy questions his mother posed to her, which were designed to put her at ease. Curiously, Hermione was most relaxed about the questions surrounding work, which she seemed to thoroughly enjoy, but was far more reticent and cautious about her personal life.

"And your guardian?" Milena questioned. "How does he seem to be finding things? Hopefully as pleasant as your experience?"

Hermione shifted. "Um, well, as good as can be expected," she replied vaguely. "I don't see him very often considering my schedule and his. We often seem to diverge from each other."

Milena frowned slightly at that but left it alone. He also found that comment slightly strange but did not want to question her in front of his mother for fear that she would clam up. She was already on edge to begin with, and he didn't want to lose what trust he had built up with her by asking sensitive questions at the wrong time.

His mother seemed to sense the fraughtness of the topic and switched subjects completely. As Hermione nibbled on a biscuit, Milena set down her tea and saucer. "Vitya, honestly I'm not sure she needs much help with etiquette," she told him. Looking at a startled Hermione, she continued, "You have exquisite manners as far as I can tell. There are cultural things that you don't know, of course, but I can easily teach you that."

Hermione blushed. "Thank you," she murmured. "I had some training when I was younger so as not to embarass my mother and father when they took me out with them on outings. I'm quite surprised but rather pleased that I have remembered them so well."

It was the second time she had mentioned her muggle parents that day, which was twice more than she had mentioned them before, and he was continuing to mentally compile a list of questions about them that he was looking forward to getting answered.

"Did those lessons include dancing?" Milena inquired, leaning forward.

Hermione laughed, though her eyes were solemn. "I'm afraid not. That's something I would have done when I was a little older, but then we found out I was a witch and formal training mostly went out the window as I was at Hogwarts most of the year. They're hardly home during the summer as they travel extensively, so I think they mostly forgot about it."

Viktor exchanged a fleeting glance with his mother. It rather seemed to him that she hadn't particularly had any reliable authority figures, which could explain her self-sufficiency and self-reliance. She was almost eerily mature for her age in some aspects, while in others she acted more like the teenager she was.

"Well," his mother said easily, "that is something we can surely remedy. As with any skill, it will take time to master, but today we can create a good basis for you to improve on. I think it will be important for you to have some sort of passing fluency in at least a few of the dances by the time the Ball comes around. For some reason, it has a large focus on dancing. I've never quite understood why," Milena mused, "considering all the athletes are Quidditch players, not dancers."

"Competition," Viktor replied promptly. "There's an ongoing leaderboard about which team has the better skills." Pyotr, backed up by Zev, had informed him of this only a few weeks earlier. Even the taciturn and often temperamental Keeper had been insistent that Viktor sharpen his dancing skills.

His mother looked askance at the information while Hermione coughed, unsuccessfully trying to mask a laugh. "That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Milena said. "Truly?"

He nodded. "Truly."

Drawing herself up, she clapped her hands. "Well then!" she said brightly. "We must make doubly sure that you can represent the team in an admirable fashion."

Hermione's face dropped, and Viktor hid his own smile behind his cup of tea.

Shortly afterwards, they adjourned to the ballroom. His mother swept in ahead of them, saying the spell to light the room, and Viktor watched as Hermione looked at the grand windows and vaulted ceiling with an appraising face.

"This room is enormous," she said at last, turning to him. "It must be able to fit hundreds of people.

He nodded. "When I was little, the family used to host parties. All of society could fit in here comfortably, and it was a sight to behold."

She looked unaccountably nervous. "Viktor," she said hesitantly, voice low, "I don't belong in polite society, if that's what you all are calling Purebloods. I'm a muggleborn. Even in my own society, I'm kept on the fringes because I'm an—I'm an embarrassment to my parents." Her voice wobbled on the last.

Reflexively, he reached out a hand to comfort her. "Don't say that about yourself," he said fiercely. "Yes, it is true that in Bulgaria polite society is traditionally considered mostly limited to the Purebloods, but we are not so close-minded as that. There are multitudes of people who are accepted by virtue of their talents or their connections as well."

Flatly, she replied, "So the rich, the famous, the talented, and the Pureblooded?"

He resisted the urge to squirm like a little boy. Putting it that way made it clear how limited their 'polite society' really was. "Yes," he said reluctantly. "I suppose so."

She sighed, the severe line of her lips making her expression particularly displeased. "It's just like the muggle world, then. Wonderful. I'm hated in wizarding Britain for my blood and hated in Muggle Britain for all my other inadequacies, so what's one more place that will hate me for a combination of both? Wrong blood, wrong mannerisms, wrong skills...wrong, wrong wrong."

Her fatalistic acceptance of something that hadn't yet happened was completely out of character for her, and it made him mad. "Mia," he said commandingly. "Look at me."

At his tone, her head snapped up. Seeing that he had her attention, he continued, "What other people think of you does not matter. I am always thought of as some kind of mythical figure because I can fly well on a broom and catch a snitch. So what if I can? They do not know me, and still they deign to judge me. Their opinions don't matter to me because they can flip in moments due to some stupid article or a bad day on the pitch. What matters more is that I know who I am and who I want to be. So long as I am satisfied with myself, who cares what others think?"

"What that's all nice and good, that's easier said than done," she muttered rebelliously.

During his speech, Milena had drawn up beside him. Affectionately, she touched his arm. "It seems my little Vitya has grown up when I wasn't looking. I think they are wise words, but they may not be particularly helpful at this exact moment in time. Mia, darling, I know you're worried, but the Ball isn't something to be concerned about. There are people from all over the world attending, each with their own unique set of customs and experiences. Purebloods, muggleborns, half-bloods, rich, poor...they're all represented. Don't worry that you'll not be accepted. I guarantee you'll be just fine."

Almost timidly, Hermione looked at Viktor. "Do you truly think so?"

He nodded firmly. "I really do."

"So being myself will be enough?" The doubt in her tone made his heart twist. From what he was gathering, she truly had been found wanting everywhere she went. It was no surprise, then, that she seemed so anxious to prove herself. All she wanted was to be found sufficient. Not even excellent, but simply good enough that people accepted her.

"Mia. It's already enough. You are perfect the way you are."

Though he meant it, her expression was still unconvinced. "Thank you, Viktor. Now, shall we turn ourselves to the topic at hand? I really don't think that dancing will be a strong suit given that I am not athletically inclined in the slightest, but I would like to learn as much as possible so I can practice and get good enough not to make a complete fool out of myself."

"Have no worries, my dear," Milena reassured her. "I shan't let you out of this room before I'm satisfied you can work with the basics."

Several hours later, Viktor was wishing she hadn't made that promise because Hermione's prediction that she would not be a good dancer had borne fruit. If he were being completely honest, she was a truly atrocious dancer. She was unable to relax and she kept looking at her feet. Her body was a long line of tense muscle, and it made it hard to guide her. Multiple times, she had tripped over him and had stepped on his feet enough that he was no longer sure he was in possession of all of his toes.

Milena, however, was determined to see it through. "Eyes up!" she rapped out. "Back straight. Remember, after the turn you must return to his hold with the exact same arm placement you had before!" Her instructions were endless, and Hermione sagged underneath the weight of them all.

At one point, Viktor had called for a break and drawn Hermione towards the large patio attached to the back of the ballroom. As they walked, he placed her hand on the top of his wrist, explaining, "This is the traditional way to be escorted in a formal setting by your partner."

Her eyes darted down to where they connected before looking back up, curiosity making them gleam. "How interesting. Is there a reason why? I've always seen it where the lady had her hand tucked into the crook of the gentleman's arm."

"That's how it was taught to me," he said thoughtfully, trying to think of if he'd ever heard a reason for it. "I do know that our history had a rather violent period back in the 17th century where several factions fought over land. One of the bloodiest encounters occurred at a party where several wizards drew their wands and murdered many of the other party goers, who all happened to be landowners. The party is known as kŭrvava iznenada, or the Bloody Surprise.

It could be that the custom evolved as a result of that so that wizards were easily able to draw their wands at the slightest provocation."

"Fascinating," she breathed. "That could also explain the custom of clicking your heels together when bowing to someone else instead of reaching out to hold the lady's hand and kiss it."

He grinned, amused at the way her mind leapt to make connections. "No, that's something completely different, and the etiquette for when to kiss a lady's hand or not is convoluted enough that it would take all afternoon to explain. So — place your hand on top of my wrist like so." He demonstrated.

"Easy enough," she allowed. "What else is there?"

Hmmm. For the Ball, there truly wasn't much else that he thought she needed to know. Perhaps how to act in introductions and how to accept a dance gracefully?

Thankfully, he thought wryly, neither required much athletic capability.

As they rested their legs, Viktor briefly explained the things she should do in both scenarios. Introductions were incredibly complex, but he was able to explain the most basic ones easily. He felt obliged to tell her about the Bulgiarian customs since they were what he knew, though he warned her they would likely vary in Britain. "In fact, he said, "they vary all over the world. At international events, we all greet one another according to our customs and go along with all of them as best as we can. It makes for some interesting scenarios, but the world is a varied place and it wouldn't do to disrespect one culture over another."

She nodded. "That makes sense."

"All of this means that you should not be concerned in the slightest about your ability to mingle with others during the Ball. Moreover, our team as a whole has a tendency to stick close to each other, or so Pyotr told me, so you won't be on your own. You'll be fine."

Biting her lip, she looked away for a moment. "I'm sure I will be," she said, "but I just can't quite shake the fear of doing something that would somehow embarrass or—or—oh, I don't know, imperil the team somehow?"

At that, he couldn't help but laugh. "Mia, this is a party, not a battle. Stop worrying. Although," he glanced back at the ballroom, "I might worry a little about the dancing."

The smile he had been trying to hold back slipped at her gasp. "Is it really that bad?" She asked, woeful.

"Let's just say it isn't your strongest suit. But—" he held up a hand to forestall the forthcoming flood of worries she was sure to have, "I am certain between my mother, the enchanted floor, and myself we can get you into a passable form by the end of the day."

He said that with outward confidence but hoped he wasn't lying. The floor, he felt, was their best bet, considering the charms Milena had turned on were created to teach wizards and would correct them while they were dancing. Getting the basics down would be a reachable goal, he felt.

"If you really think that's possible," she said dubiously, "then I suppose we should get to it."

He smiled encouragingly at her even as his feet twinged. Bracingly, he reminded himself that if he could survive a quidditch match then he would most certainly survive this, too.

The thought of Hermione's stiff, clumsy form against him only a few minutes earlier flashed through his mind, and he paused, sending up a prayer to Lady Magic that his feet would survive the next few hours before following her in.

After all, it never hurt to be safe rather than sorry.

AN: I am having a significant amount of personal issues at the moment including medical mysteries that have popped up just this week and have required testing. Sorry for my tardiness. That being said, I still plan on updating once weekly with the exception of this coming week (29 June) and the week of 13 July.

For those of you who enjoy Bill/Hermione, I will be posting a fest fic soon for the Naked Weasley fest going on in Hermione's Nook on FB. Be on the lookout around 8 July!