The Ball had been a dizzying whirl of anxiety, awe, and fun all at once. She had been a mess of nerves even before she had gotten here, tied up in a tangle about her appearance, her lack of faith in her social aptitude, and her guilt about her letter to her parents and their response.

Dear Mother, she had written, then stopped for a very, very long while with her quill hovering over the parchment as she tried to figure out what to say. Finally, she settled on

I hope this letter finds you both well. I have been hard at work learning the basic tenets of becoming a Healer (a magical doctor) under Mistress Lazarov, who is one of the foremost experts in her field. As I mentioned in some of my earlier letters, we work directly with one of the best sporting teams in the magical world to help them stay in prime shape as they prepare for the equivalent of the World Finals. I am writing to you today to tell you I feel that I cannot leave them at such a critical time in the qualification process—they have made it to the semi-finals—so I will be unable to meet you in France.

However, I would not want you to think I have forgotten my duties or my obligations. I am attending a Ball in the next coming days and I hope to practice all the social etiquette I have learned at Bainbridge. There will be many celebrities and Purebloods (they are the magical world's equivalent to nobility) there, so it will be excellent practice for the next time I accompany you and Daddy. In preparation for this event, I have also obtained a custom-made dress and learned some spells to improve my appearance. I do hope to be able to send you a photo if possible so that you can tell me if the dress and hair-charm is adequate enough for me to use when I next go out in society with you.

I am sending you all my love and hope you enjoy your time in France.

Your loving daughter,

Hermione

When Daddy had replied with a few pithy lines and a cheerful farewell, she had known Mother was mad since she couldn't even be fussed to reply. That had made Hermione spiral into a morass of guilt for not going once more, but her decision had been made and she had to stick to it. So she moved forward, her spirits low, and prepared for the Ball.

Thankfully, Hermione had had Clara to help her. The older witch had taken Hermione under her wing with alacrity after Hermione had approached her after practice one day, her stomach knotted and her fingers twisted tightly behind her back as she inquired if the Chaser would be available to help her with a hair charm.

"Will I help you with a hair charm?" the witch had repeated with a look of dawning delight. "My dear, dear Mia, I will do so much more than that."

Hermione had been hard pressed not to be alarmed as Clara started spouting things like come at noon and if my mother taught me anything, it's how to be a well-dressed witch and I have an entire section of the loo dedicated to cosmetics, so if you don't have any, you don't have to worry one bit, but she nonetheless showed up at the time dictated and gamely presented herself to be preened and primped.

Honestly, she would be lying if she said she hadn't enjoyed it. Clara had chattered away about inconsequential things as she showed Hermione how to do things like apply eye colour with a wand and to strategically charm her hair to shine just so in the light. It had been...strange...doing something like this, considering she had never given much credence to the entire idea of getting ready since the canvas, so to speak, wasn't much to begin with. But with Clara's ministrations, and their easy conversation, Hermione could begin to understand, just a little, why Lavender and Parvati enjoyed doing it, especially when she ended up looking like she did: a beautiful, sophisticated version of herself that she hardly recognized.

She looked like someone her parents would be proud of.

Sirius's eyebrows had winged up when he met her and Clara in the foyer by the bank of portkey points. "Wow, Hermione. You look…"

"Less like a troll?"

He had leveled her with a look, those cornflower blue eyes of Magellan's glinting with disapproval. "No. I was going to say 'like a beautiful young lady'."

"Which you already are," Clara had added, frowning at Hermione. "A troll. Honestly. Do you ever look at yourself in the mirror?"

Yes, and she never liked what she saw. "It doesn't matter," she had dismissed before changing the subject. "Where's Mistress Lazarov?"

Clara had pursed her mouth, knowing exactly what Hermione was doing, but had it drop for the meantime. "I'm not sure. She should be here around now. It's not like we agreed to meet up before we went in, but she's typically extremely punctual so I would expect her to arrive any moment."

They hadn't had to wait long, and as soon as Krasmira had shown up they had swept off into the ballroom proper, Hermione squarely in the middle of the group. It had felt indescribably good to know that she wasn't some afterthought but was rather part of the party itself. Although she knew she couldn't hold a candle to Krasmira in her daring red dress or Clara in her classic evening gown, she felt like she could at least hold her own.

She had laughed and talked and enjoyed herself as the team came up to talk to her in twos and threes. They all complimented her and they talked about inconsequential things she knew enough about to talk comfortably about, like favorite places she had traveled and most exotic locations they had been to or what teams they all were on when the World Cup was not in session. As time passed and she failed to offend anyone with her comments (as she so easily seemed to do at Hogwarts), she felt her spine straighten and her confidence grow.

The evening had been full of unexpected events, such as the conversation with the Malfoys who had somehow gotten an invitation. Although, she considered wryly, she really should have expected to see them here. After all, it was an exclusive, international event. That alone screamed Malfoy, and adding in what she knew about Draco's obsession with quidditch should've made their attendance a foregone conclusion.

What she would never have expected was to have Mr Malfoy come up, a strangely sullen and quiet Draco in tow, and make the kind of tediously polite conversation that one made with acquaintances they were trying to cultivate a stronger relationship with. Thankfully, that absolutely shocking conversation lasted all of five minutes before it was over, leaving her confused and wondering at what the Malfoys, who were such avowed blood purists, could want with her.

It was a relief, really, to have such a strange event followed up by Viktor's expedient arrival. Truly, she didn't deserve such a loyal friend as the dark-haired wizard, who had come and danced with her afterwards in order to make certain she was all right. Her heart warmed as she thought of his eyes, so intent on her as he first tried to ascertain if the Malfoys had upset her and then as he carefully guided her around the floor.

Poor Sirius had come to get her shortly thereafter for a dance, giving a flamboyant bow as he extended his hand. "A dance, milady? Just one," he reassured her, "though I'm sure that it won't measure up to a dance with any of your famous boyfriends."

Rolling her eyes, she allowed him to pull her onto the floor. "Me? With one of them? Don't be ridiculous. That's almost laughable."

A hank of golden hair flopped down over one of his eyes as he smiled. Cryptically, he replied, "I wouldn't go that far," but left it at that, probably because she had accidentally elbowed him as she tried to turn in the wrong direction. His resulting yelp was quite undignified, and most of the dance was spent in pointed concentration so she didn't accidentally injure him any further.

It was as they came off the floor that an absolutely stunning woman with hair the color of sunbeams and lips the color of blood approached her and Sirius, her arm clasped around a man that looked distinctly similar to Viktor. Perhaps this was Viktor's brother and his wife?

"Hello, dear," the woman said, lips parting in a smile that did not convey an iota of warmth. "I saw you across the floor and I decided I simply had to meet you. I've heard so much about you, you see."

Politely, Hermione returned her smile, though one of her hands fisted in the folds of her dress. Something about the woman made her feel on edge. Uncomfortable. "It's a pleasure to meet you, madam," she replied, inclining her head.

"I'm Svetlana Krum, Kosta's wife," she returned, her head tilted and her eyes fixed on Hermione. "So you're the little muggleborn girl apprenticing with Madam Lazarov, hm? Are you enjoying your time with the team? You've been spending an awfully lot of time with my Viktor, haven't you?"

Bristling, but unsure what to make of the insinuations, Hermione nodded. "Yes, that's correct. I've been spending a lot of time with the entire team, you see. They all tend to get hurt, so I have to patch them up and send them back out."

The man beside Madam Krum shifted before speaking for the first time. "Both Krasmira and Viktor speak highly of your healing skills. They say you helped heal Levski when he fell from his broom during the match with the Moroccans, and then Dimitrov during that scrimmage a few days ago?"

"Yes, I did. It was very rewarding to be trusted to assist in healing them. I have certainly learned a lot in the process," she murmured.

Svetlana threw her head back and laughed, the action baring the long line of her perfectly tanned throat. "Isn't she just precious?" she purred, looking at Sirius.

Next to her, Sirius remained relaxed, his tone even bordering on bored. "Indeed she is. She's helped me a time or two myself."

Svetlana arched a perfectly manicured brow. "And why on earth would you need Healing?" she asked, although her tone indicated that she knew exactly why and that it was some kind of joke to even ask the question. "Have you been up to dangerous things, Mr Quickfoot?"

Hermione looked between the two of them, perplexed. Did they know each other as well as it sounded like they did? How were they even familiar with each other in the first place? Or perhaps she was just misreading things...

"Stop making it sound so questionable," Sirius responded, growing even more relaxed. He shifted his weight and slipped his hand into his pocket, the very picture of indolence. "I work with rare and dangerous artefacts," he explained to Kosta. "Sometimes they get the best of me."

If that was all that got the best of him, Hermione would eat her cloak. She'd healed his injuries, and most of them were inflicted by humans. It was too bad he didn't trust her enough to tell her the truth, she thought bitterly, but at least it was some small consolation that he gave the same lie to others.

Svetlana gave another practiced, tinkling laugh. "It sounds dangerous, Magellan. Have you always been such a thrill seeker?"

The distinctly flirtatious tone made Hermione shoot a look at Kosta, but he seemed indifferent to his wife. Well, that was all well and good then, she supposed, but it made her the only uncomfortable one in this conversation. She managed to murmur somewhat inarticulately about needing to refill her drink before slipping away from the group. Behind her, Svetlana archly commented about how innocent she was, and Sirius's reply was lost as she left earshot.

"Miss Granger," a voice called behind her, and she turned, seeing with surprise that it was Kosta, Viktor's brother, who had called after her. "Please," he said, "let me accompany you to the refreshments table."

Uncertain as to why he would be interested in talking to her in the first place but willing to spend some time with the man who was Viktor's brother, Hermione nodded. "Of course," she replied, and smiled a bit as he gallantly raised his arm for her to take. She neatly looped their arms and they set off across the room to a table laden with drinks.

"So," he said a moment later, once she had a glass of pumpkin juice and he a flute of champagne, "how have you been finding the last few months? I have heard all about your time with the team, but have you had a chance to enjoy Bulgaria proper?"

Had she? She thought for a moment. "Honestly, I have been so busy working with the team that I haven't had a lot of time to really explore, though I will say I've enjoyed going to the Square by myself and with different friends, like Clara or even Viktor. Besides that, I haven't had much of a chance to get out and explore, though Viktor did invite me to the Manor, if that counts."

"And the Festival," Kosta noted.

Hermione flushed, thinking of the misunderstanding that had occurred there. "Yes, that too." She paused, chewing on her lip as she thought furiously, and then looked up at him earnestly. "I wouldn't want—I don't want—you see, Mr Krum—"

"Please, call me Kosta."

"Kosta, then," she amended. "I certainly didn't mean for any misunderstandings to occur there. People just assumed—I don't want you to think I was trying to make anything happen—"

His face warmed, and he touched her arm. "Miss Granger," he said gently, "I wouldn't assume that of you at all. I know how the gossip rags work. The world of the upper echelons of society can be a dirty, false place where innocents are often slandered, and things are often taken out of context." He chuckled. "It's probably because nobody says what they mean, but you wouldn't know about that, would you?"

She frowned down at her pumpkin juice. "What do you mean by that?"

"Miss Granger—may I call you Mia, as my brother does? Mia, then. Mia, you are one of the most transparent people I have encountered in quite some time. It is quite refreshing, if I may say so, to see how you react and feel to everything that is occurring around you. Take, for example, your feelings regarding my wife, Svetlana."

The blood drained from her face as he gestured towards the statuesque woman. Mortified that she had been so transparent, she stammered, "I—I—I don't—"

"Relax, Mia," he soothed. "If I may be frank with you, I don't particularly like her much either. I find her rather vapid and vain, not to mention inconstant. Her only goal in life is to further herself and her position in society."

"Then, if you don't mind me asking, why did you marry her?"

Kosta took a sip of his champagne. "Politics. You see, her father is the head of one of the most prestigious herbology companies in Europe. He controls access to the freshest ingredients, and one of our family's largest companies is a potions company. In order to secure the best products to make our own, we agreed upon a merger. We get the ingredients, and they get to attach themselves to the Krum name."

That was rather mercenary. "That's...good, I suppose?"

"That's Pureblood business, my dear. Now, Vitya…Viktor has followed his own path, as he ever does."

Both envy and….wistfulness? warred in Kosta's expression as he turned to look at her directly. "As the second son, he is more free to do as he pleases and marry whomever he wishes—within reason, of course, and provided that our father has not secured some kind of betrothal contract to strengthen the family. Furthermore, he is, and will be, the steward of our not inconsiderable property, and with that comes the attendant responsibilities."

"So I've seen." She thought back on the way the people had interacted with and viewed Viktor almost reverently and how he had responded in kind. It was clear that he had felt an immense responsibility to all the people that made their lives on the Krum estate, from the people who lived there to the people who worked in the fields and in the towns.

It had been humbling to see him in that setting, so serious as he carried out his duties while being so loved and beloved. "He takes it very seriously."

Kosta smiled. Though his face was a bit narrower and longer than Viktor's and his hair was pulled back into a queue, the way his lips curled at the edges were all Viktor. The sight of it made her instinctively smile back.

"I know he does," he replied. "My brother and I used to be very close, but as we've grown older, other…responsibilities and beliefs have drawn us apart. It is unfortunate that our relationship resembles very little what it used to." His mouth pulled down at a corner as he watched Viktor talking animatedly with a few players from different teams, gesturing as the others nodded.

Hermione was intimately acquainted with the feeling of wanting to be closer to those she loved but being separated by an insurmountable distance that couldn't be bridged. Your mother was quite disappointed to receive your letter, ma cher, but I think you should enjoy yourself while you still can.

"You could always reach out to him?" she ventured cautiously, her father's words fresh in her mind. "I...struggle to connect with my muggle parents, who are, hm, rather like Purebloods themselves. They are far too important and busy to spend time with me because of their responsibilities, and it doesn't help that I am now involved in a world that they can't access. But I love them all the same, though our obligations seem to be keeping us apart rather than drawing us closer together."

Kosta turned more fully towards her, his eyes inquisitive. "It is interesting how you can speak so familiarly to a situation such as mine when you are muggleborn. You mentioned your parents are like Purebloods but I fail to see how that is possible, unless they are of some superior rank or class themselves?"

Hermione flushed. A faux pas and on a subject she had been so careful to conceal for so many reasons, especially in Britain. If word got out she was her parents' daughter, not just a regular, middle class muggleborn like all the others, she'd be even more ostracized by others for 'giving off airs' or thinking herself 'superior' because of her birth. She'd been through that before when she'd been in under prep, and she had never wished to go through it again.

But this was a Bulgarian Pureblood, and this was Kosta, Viktor's brother. Surely, if she told just him, it would be okay.

"Would you...keep this between us?" she asked, lowering her voice.

Leaning in, Kosta nodded solemnly. "My word as a Krum, my dear. I won't tell a soul outside of the family."

Her heart picked up speed and she fisted her hand in the fold of her dress for a moment. "Well, you see," she took a deep breath and confessed, "my family...we're nobility."

Her apprehension at how Kosta would react was cut off at the knees as he barely blinked at her pronouncement. "How intriguing, though I suppose it explains your pristine manners." At her look of surprise, he said offhandedly, "Mother told me about you."

She did? Why would Milena have done something like that?

Also food for thought, but at a later time. Forging on ahead, she said, "Regardless, I thought telling you that might show you that I can understand the dynamics, perhaps just a little bit, within the family that result from the roles you all have to play. However, I don't have a sibling, and I wish I did. Truly, Kosta, you're incredibly lucky to have Viktor. He always tries his hardest to fulfill his duties and obligations, whatever those may be. I've seen it myself this summer at the Festival of Blessings."

Kosta nodded. "I heard you went."

"Yes," she said simply, "I did, and I watched him drain himself to the point that he needed help getting back home. He has an intense sense of duty to the family and to the people whose livelihoods depend on your lands and even your magic." She paused, considering, then added, "It's inspiring to me, watching him. I wish things were as straightforward for me as they seem to be for him."

Her feelings were a tangled, jumbled mess, all tied around her parents and years of loneliness coupled with expectations she never quite seemed to reach.

"You seem to admire him."

Simply, she said, "I do. I admire a lot of things about him, and I think if you took the time to talk to him that you would also find there is a lot to admire. Did you know he wants to be a Weather Wizard?"

Viktor's brother looked first surprised and then thoughtful. "Does he?"

She nodded. "Yes. He thinks he can better help the estate if he has that knowledge. And while he does love Quidditch—loves it very much—I think if you listened hard and looked deep that you would find he loves the family and the land more."

He looked a bit shaken, his eyes narrowed yet thoughtful. Slowly, he told her, "I thank you for the insight and for sharing your own familial history. You have given me a lot to think on. Perhaps it is time I should shift my priorities a bit. I fear my father has had a rather large influence on me, and he is the most mercenary of us all."

Hermione thought of her own mother and how she had been willing to do almost anything to satisfy Helen Granger and felt a keen sense of empathy for Kosta.

"Like Viktor," Kosta continued, "I feel the burden of obligation and responsibility to maintain our family's reputation, standing, and prosperity. My arena is simply different than his, and my, hm, playbook, let's say, is correspondingly different."

"Have you ever just talked to him about it? I've found Viktor to be quite a good listener if given the chance. Most people discount him as some kind of moronic quidditch player with nothing between his ears, but he really is so much more than that."

He paused in the middle of taking a sip of his champagne and really seemed to see her for the first time. "Mother was right," he murmured, sighing. "She always is."

Wait. Right about what, exactly?

Kosta set down his glass on a nearby table and looked over at Viktor, who was listening intently to a woman in a bright tangerine dress that made her dark skin glow. "Would you mind excusing me, Mia? I think that I would like to go talk to my brother."

Biting her lip so as not to break into a wide grin, she nodded. "Of course! Not at all. By all means, please."

He bowed slightly before cutting through the crowd like one of her scalpels cut through potions ingredients. She watched with bated breath as he approached Viktor but then exhaled as he was waylaid by an elegant witch wearing a plum-coloured sari edged with gold. At the woman's intense look and accompanying words, Kosta nodded. Moments later, the two of them migrated out of the main ballroom, heads bent in a rather serious discussion.

"Well," she muttered, disappointment spearing her heart, "there went that."

It was frustrating to see that the intense and rather emotionally involved conversation they had just had was so easily derailed, but she had to hope that Kosta had learned something from their discussion. If the two of them would just communicate, they might be able to mend, or at the very least improve, their relationship.

Unfortunately, she didn't think her situation with her parents was so easily solved. These days, they seemed worlds apart—both literally and figuratively—with barriers between them that grew increasingly insurmountable.

Speaking of her parents, Hermione thought as she looked out over the elegantly appointed crowd, they would be better suited to a party like this than she was. The two of them would be able to mingle easily and dance beautifully. She had watched it her whole life from a distance when she had been brought along, content to watch as they dominated the scene effortlessly.

She was not as lucky to have such acumen as them. Just as she did at muggle gatherings, she observed the rest of the party from the sidelines, content to stand by a wall and observe the comings and goings of people from all over the world as drinks were consumed and the party got progressively louder as the night wore on. Slowly, people were shedding the layers of formality, in some cases literally. Jackets were coming off, high heels were being discarded, and the formal band had been replaced by a much livelier modern band that had people doing all sorts of strange things on the floor that she had not ever quite seen before. Some of them—she blanched—some of them were things she did not particularly wish to see. Ever.

On that thought, she grabbed a new glass of pumpkin juice and set out for the outside terrace, which opened up to the beach. It was quite nice outside, the breeze not too cool but light and refreshing. Not many people were out there, and her shoulders unwound as she listened to the sound of the waves coming in.

The evening had been such a whirlwind. She had talked to so many people, experienced so many things...the chances of her making a misstep were so much higher now that she had the opportunity to trip up.

"Mia?" She started in surprise as Pyotr came up beside her, his hands shoved in his pockets and an unusually subdued expression on his face. "Fancy seeing you here. Enjoying the evening?"

She paused for a moment, searching through the tangle of her feelings. Finally, she settled on saying, "It's certainly been a night unlike any other one I've ever had."

Pyotr cast a sidelong look at her, the light from the ballroom inside partially casting his face into shadow. "I suppose that's one way to put it. It's beginning to grow a bit lively in there. I do think the competitive spirit is out in full force now that the Nicaraguans challenged the Koreans so baldly." He looked thoughtful. "I never knew they would be so...enthusiastic."

If there was one thing she would never understand this summer, it would be the Quidditch teams' strange obsession with the dance competition.

Casting about for something to say, she offered, "I suppose it makes sense given how competitive you all are. It's just another kind of match."

Pyotr waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, it's not that. It's just...the Koreans? I never knew they had it in them!"

She shrugged, unsure what to say, and tried to think of another conversational topic that they could both enjoy. "Everyone looks very nice tonight, don't they? I think Clara in particular looks rather lovely, doesn't she?"

Pyotr, who had been looking out over the dark water, looked at her askance before groaning and lifting a hand to cover his face. "You as well?"

She giggled. "I saw how you looked at her when we came down the stairs. You really like her, don't you?" Only once the words had escaped did she realize what she'd said, and she winced. She hadn't meant to say that last bit.

Pyotr blanched and then sagged, his shoulders slumping. "Is it so obvious that even you can see it? Clara…" He shook his head. "She's amazing. You see it too. I know you do. There's something about her that draws people, something...bright. Something pure. Something special."

His expression, normally so animated, softened and stilled as he continued, "I have loved her for a long, long time. Years, actually, since I went head over arse for her when we were on our first team together." He sighed, the sound resigned. "She won't have anything to do with me. Says we're better off as friends. We've even argued about it, most recently before the last game."

She hesitated, biting her lip. Clara had always seemed friendly with Pyotr, but she was often the same way with most everyone else. However, with Pyotr, she lit up in a way she didn't with others. There was something different about her when she was with him and he was with her, some extra element Hermione couldn't define. They made each other better. Made each other more in some undefinable way.

"I know it's not my place," she began haltingly, "but it could be, that, well...she may think she would become another one of your, erm...lady friends."

Her cheeks darkened even at the thought of mentioning Pyotr's many well-documented dalliances, but she forged ahead. "There's this boy in my school, you see. His name is Anthony Goldstein. He's wicked smart and very handsome, but he knows it and he uses it. If I were best friends with him and he told me he wanted to go to Hosgemeade—to go on a date," she corrected herself as she realized Pyotr wouldn't know what that meant, "I would be very hesitant because I wouldn't be sure of his motivations."

"Even though you're best friends?" Pyotr asked, brows uncharacteristically furrowed. "Shouldn't you know him well enough to know that he wouldn't do something like that?"

"I think…." She thought for a moment, chewing on her lip, "I think that I would see his actions as more indicative of what he truly means. If he was serious about me, I would have expected him to stop messing around with other girls and to make it clear that he wanted me and only me. I mean, hypothetically of course!" she rushed to add. "I really hardly know Anthony, and my two real best friends, Harry and Ron? They're like my brothers."

She grimaced at the thought of dating either of them. She loved them dearly, but they weren't exactly her idea of the ideal boyfriend. Suddenly, an image of warm dark eyes and short black hair flashed through her mind, and she frowned before pushing it away.

Pyotr crossed his arms, mulling over her words. "You know," he said at last, "I would never have thought that I would be taking advice from a teenage girl, let alone any woman, but I think that actually has merit." Quick as a flash he reached over and tugged on her hair, something all the players had taken to doing as some kind of good luck charm. "Thanks, Mia."

"You're welcome," she said tetchily as she neatened her hair, "although I would appreciate if you all would stop messing with my hair!"

He laughed. "Not a chance, sweetheart. Not a chance. Oh, and Mia?"

"Yes?"

"About that scenario with you dating one of your best friends...would it be so bad, if one of them asked?"

Bewildered, she frowned. "Harry and Ron are like brothers, just like I said."

He shook his head. "Another best friend. I think—" He cut himself off and smiled ruefully. "It's not my place. Never mind."

Her eyebrows furrowed, she replied, "If you say so."

Pyotr shrugged and extended his arm so that she could take it. "Enough talk. Would you care for another dance so we can give a good showing? I think this time we could get through it with you only injuring me once!"

The comment stung at first as she thought he was slyly commenting on her lack of grace, but as she searched his expression, it became clear he was only joking. Besides, it was only Pyotr. He had never, not once, been cruel.

"Hm," she said doubtfully, trying to match his light tone, "those are awfully high expectations, but I'll see what I can do. After all, we must do it for Bulgaria." She mimicked Islov's militant style at the end, and Pyotr barked a laugh.

"Ah, Mia," he told her fondly, "I'm so glad you've joined us this summer."

"Me too," she replied thoughtlessly, her heart soaring as Vasily, Alexei, and Clara gave them encouraging thumbs up across the ballroom as they took their place on the floor. "Me too."

I wanted to thank you all for your comments! They make my day and encourage me to keep writing :)

As a heads up, I will not be posting next Friday as usual due to the fact that is Christmas day. I will likely post either earlier or later in the week.