"One, two, three. One, two, three twirl."

Harry winced as she stepped on his foot again.

"We do not put our hands there, Mr. Weasley!" Professor McGonagall's face was a little red from exertion and her lips had entirely disappeared.

Fred Weasley, who'd just finished giving his partner Angelina a solid grope, waggled his eyebrows with a "so sorry, Professor" that he absolutely did not mean.

Angelina just laughed.

It was a week before the Yule Ball, and Professor McGonagall had scheduled nightly dance lessons for all Gryffindors attending. She'd insisted that she refused to be upstaged by the other houses, let alone the other schools. The Gryffindors, she'd pronounced, would be the perfect image of grace, poise, and refinement.

George had punctuated her announcement with a well-timed, gut-rattling belch.

It had earned him a detention, but neither he nor his brother were deterred from doing everything they could to liven up the dance lessons. They laughed loudly. They danced too fast. They twirled their partners so vigorously they were launched clear across the room. In short, they were every girl's dream partner. Even Hermione had enjoyed twirling around the dance floor with Fred, who moved her around so energetically she never even had the chance to tread on his toes.

Her near-constant partner, though, was Harry. He'd monopolized her dance card every night. When Ron had complained Harry had been hogging her, he'd stated simply that he needed to learn this and switching partners every time would only make things worse.

In reality, Hermione suspected that Harry was feeling shy and self-conscious. Every time the topic of opening the dance came up, he turned a funny shade of grey tinged with green, while his ears burned a bright red.

But, he'd also been a bit right. Having the same partner meant that they could both focus on learning the steps together. And neither had to feel too embarrassed at not knowing the steps, or even being aware that wizards had their own dances.

It had taken a lot of practice, but the two of them were very, very slowly improving.

A little.

Now Hermione only twirled the wrong way half the time and Harry only stumbled over his own feet every few minutes, instead of every few steps.

"Stand up straight, Mr. Potter. And do try to look confident." Professor McGonagall corrected as she made her rounds around the room.

"At least we don't have to learn from Snape," Harry muttered as he tried to stand up straight while still looking down at his own feet.

"Can you imagine what that dance lesson would look like?" Hermione giggled, trying to picture their dour Potions Master twirling one of the Slytherin seventh-years around the dungeons.

"They probably all know how to do this: I bet they all get lessons in this stupid stuff already." Harry muttered, lifting her with a grunt.

Hermione sighed. He was probably right. The Slytherins were almost exclusively purebloods. There was no doubt in her mind that they'd been raised with dance instructors and private tutors. As much as it pained her to admit, Professor McGonagall wasn't wrong to be worried Gryffindor house would be massively upstaged by the other houses: or at least by Slytherin.

Beauxbatons, which Fleur had informed her required art classes and dancing starting their first year, was certainly going to outshine them.

And then there was Durmstrang, the almost exclusively pureblood school that prided itself on tradition and athleticism. She wondered whether Durmstrang dances were the same as British ones or if there were regional differences. Would Viktor be a good dancer? She was sure he knew how, but he always looked awkward on the ground, as if his feet and limbs had grown overnight and he didn't know exactly where they were or how to move them. Perhaps they could stumble through the steps together.

"Ow. Watch it, Hermione," Harry yelped.

Oh no.

She was never going to get this.

"Merlin, Hermione. If you take any longer we'll be late. You didn't drown in there, did you?"

"Oh for god's sake, Ginny, hold your horses. I'll be out in just a minute."

Hermione gave herself one last glance in the mirror and patted her hair with a certain degree of smug self-satisfaction. It had taken over an hour—and four times the suggested amount of Sleekeazy's—to tame her curls and then arrange them atop her head. The effect was, she had to admit, delightful. Her hair, usually bushy and impossible to tame, had become manageable, with shiny and lustrous curls that fell nicely down her back instead of sticking out from her head in a giant, frizzy pyramid.

A part of her wanted to look like this sophisticated, put-together version of herself every day.

A bigger part of herself didn't want to bother ever doing this again, because wrestling the potion through her hair had been a long, painful process filled with a lot of knots and even more swearing.

She gave herself a smile in the mirror, practicing for a moment before scrunching up her nose at the sight of her over-large teeth. If only there was a quick, easy potion to shrink them down so they didn't take up her whole face and make her look like a beaver.

Oh well. She may be a beaver, but tonight she was a very pretty beaver in a beautiful dress who felt like a princess. And who was going to a literal ball with a handsome boy who liked her very much indeed.

With a sniff and a laugh, she turned from her reflection and started for the door, smoothing her hands first over her hair and then gently down the soft fabric of her dress, marveling at the smooth texture and gentle luster.

With a harsh tug, she managed to wrest open the drawer of her bedside table—it always, always stuck and no amount of magic ever seemed to fix it for long. She'd give anything for a small square of Muggle sandpaper. Reaching inside to grab her small beaded handbag, her fingers brushed a tiny vial she'd thought she'd hidden at the very back of the drawer. Glancing down, the blue potion vial rocked slightly back and forth; it seemed to wink at her, taunting her with its alluring blue-green swirls and her own neat handwritten label.

Should she bring it?

No.

That was a stupid idea, wasn't it?

Viktor would never expect their night to end like that.

Would he?

Of course not. They'd barely even kissed.

But would he?

No.

Did she want him to want that?

Perhaps.

Did she want that?

Doubtful.

"Hermione, I'm serious! We're going to be late!" From the hallway, Ginny pounded a fist on the door.

Startled, Hermione snatched up the vial and shoved it unceremoniously into the depths of her handbag before striding to the door and wrenching it open.

"Yes, yes, yes. Lord. I'm right here." She patted her hair again, worried she'd somehow messed it all up already.

"Finally. Let's go. I want to see my brother's face when you walk in on the arm of Viktor Krum."

Her cheeks flushed hotly and, she was sure, most unflatteringly. But it was a pleasant distraction from thoughts of potions and things.

Because tonight, Ronald Weasley, who had been purposefully embarrassing her for two weeks, could eat his bloody heart out.

She'd serve it up to him on a silver platter.

She'd watch him choke it down.

And smile while he did.

"You alright, Hermione?"

It was only then that she realized she'd been walking with a bit too much purpose down the stairs from Gryffindor tower. She paused, hand on the rough stone railing, and looked back up at Ginny in her blindingly pink dress robes. They didn't look very good on her, but they seemed to make Ginny happy so she'd bite her tongue until it bled if she had to in order to not ruin her friend's night. She was so excited to be going to the ball at all, let alone with someone nice like Neville, and Hermione was determined to play the supportive friend all night.

With an exaggerated huff and a grin, Ginny hopped down the last few steps, nearly tripping in her newly-acquired heels and letting out a squeak.

"Well then. What's got you in such a tizzy? I thought you'd be excited tonight!"

Was she in a tizzy?

She hadn't thought she was.

But then again…

"I was thinking about Ron," she finally admitted.

Ginny looked at her with an expression of horror.

"Merlin, don't tell me you're having second thoughts and want to go with my brother!?"

"Lord no!" Hermione tucked a curl behind her ear, suddenly a bit embarrassed to admit her train of thought. "I'd. Well, I'd rather hoped to make him upset, actually." She paused. "Does that make me a bad person?"

Ginny hooted with laughter, her head tilted all the way back and her belly shaking from the force of her guffaws. After several long moments and more than a few stares from passing Gryffindors, she straightened back up and wiped her eyes dry.

"This, right here? This is why we're friends, Hermione. We've all seen what a prat he's been to you this last week. I think you can count on every member of the Weasley clan to rib him about it at every turn."

"Oh. Good." Her grin might have been a little impish as she smoothed her hands down her dress before holding her arm out for her friend. "Shall we?"

"We. Shall." Ginny linked their arms together and escorted her the rest of the way to the entrance hall.

It was as they approached the last few steps that Hermione suddenly realized that she was nervous. Really nervous. Butterflies ricocheting in her belly kind of nervous.

Would Viktor think she was pretty?

Would he judge her for trying to dress like someone, something, she wasn't?

Would he judge her for not trying hard enough?

It was a blissful feeling when she caught sight of Viktor across the entrance hall, saw his wide smile and the twinkle in his eyes.

She watched as he walked towards her, never for one second even thinking that she should probably walk to meet him. That she was still standing on the second-to-last step.

All she could do was smile—beam, really—as he approached, gently taking her hand in his before bending into a deep bow, his heels clicking together smartly. The way he grinned up at her impishly while he kissed the back of her hand sent the butterflies in her belly back into a tizzy.

She was sure she was the color of a tomato and grinning like a buffoon, but she didn't care. Every student in the room could be staring at her and she wouldn't even notice, because Viktor was publicly treating her and looking at her like she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever laid eyes on.

"You look beautiful," Viktor murmured quietly, bending down so his lips were nearly even with her ear, his warm breath caressing the side of her face and making her shiver. He caught her gaze and smiled, offering his arm.

Grinning up at him, she happily drank him in. She hadn't registered much on his walk across the entrance hall, but now that her nerves had settled and he was right here in front of her, she relished in the enjoyment of taking a good long look at him. His bright red dress robes were belted across the chest, supporting a one-shouldered cape that emphasized his broad shoulders. His waistcoat was cut close, with a black belt around his waist that made him look trim and athletic rather than somewhat gangly. The black slacks he wore showed off his muscular quidditch thighs in a way she'd never dreamed of before.

With his straight-backed posture and small smile, Hermione realized, perhaps for the first time, that Viktor was a boy on the cusp of adulthood. In many ways—with his career and his NEWTS all passed—he was a grown man.

It made her feel excited and confused and scared and thrilled all at once.

But the Yule Ball would wait for no one, and before she could begin to sort through all the feelings her handsome date had stirred in her, they were being directed to form a line for their formal entrance into the ball.

She gave an excited wave to Harry when she spotted him in his bottle green robes. She even smiled at Daphne, beautifully bedecked in gold.

Ronald, in his frayed dress robes and a perpetual scowl, didn't even seem to recognize her. That shouldn't have made her happy, but it did. Oh it did.

When they finally walked into the Great Hall (first Fleur with a Ravenclaw she didn't know the name of, then her and Viktor, followed by Cedric and Cho, with Harry and Daphne taking up the rear), her first impression was the feeling of eyes. She could feel them all over her. She recognized, in a dreamy kind of way, that a lot of people were probably talking about her right now. The looks of sudden recognition were obvious. And yet, she found little need to pay attention to them. Instead, she smiled up at Viktor before tipping her head back to take in their surroundings.

The Great Hall was unrecognizable. Giant Christmas trees were hung with tinsel and bedecked with live pixies. Icicles hung from every surface, yet she didn't feel the least bit chilled. Everywhere seemed to be bedecked in shades of white and silver: sparkling like diamonds or ice or old-fashioned mirrors, the kind her grandmother used to keep on her dressing table.

Everything smelled of ice and punch and figgy pudding.

And it was perfect.

Even the flash-bang!-smoke of wizarding cameras couldn't dampen her spirits.

As they reached the front table and Viktor gallantly pulled out her chair, she accidentally looked up and caught the eye of Draco Malfoy. His mouth was hanging open and he had the most glorious, dumbstruck expression on his face. If only she could capture the moment on film. It would be certain to put a smile on her face even on the darkest of days.

"Hermione."

A familiar hand gently stroked her jawline, the thumb caressing her bottom lip before deftly guiding her to face her partner.

"There you are. Where were you?"

Letting out a soft laugh, Hermione tucked an errant curl behind her ear and angled herself more towards Viktor.

"Sorry. I was just drinking it all in. Isn't this fantastic?"

"Very."

The conversation between them stuttered to a halt. What was she supposed to say? She was so excited to be here with him, and he looked very pleased to be here with her. But what were they supposed to talk about as they sat up here on display in front of her entire school?

Determined to have a fabulous evening, she picked up the menu on her plate and gave it a good long look. It seemed to be broken into thirds. The first third was full of familiar dishes like roast beef with Yorkshire puddings; turkey with bread sauce, sprouts, and roasted potatoes; Christmas pudding and mince pies. The second at least included foods she recognized, even if she'd never had them: quail with chestnut and apple stuffing; braised rabbit with prunes; the classic Bûch de Noël.

The third part of the menu baffled her. Kapama, banitsa, sarmi, pelmeni, even something bafflingly translated as "herring under a fur coat." Unlike the French selection, she hadn't a clue what any of it was.

Seeing her furrowed brow, Viktor leaned over, placing his arm around her shoulders and resting his hand gently on the other side of her chair.

Was it hot in here?

Surely not.

"This part is from Durmstrang. Many different countries go to school there. These are most Russian and Bulgarian. Very traditional Christmas foods."

"I have to ask. What is 'herring under a fur coat'?"

Viktor tipped his head back and laughed. "Is very Russian. Is layers, yes, of many things: herring, carrots, eggs, potatoes. Covered in mayonnaise to look like cake."

"Oh. So it's a fish and veg cake? I can't say I've had anything like it."

Viktor leaned in closer to point at the menu. The heat of his body felt like a brand, and for a moment she felt self-conscious to be having such an intimate-looking moment in front of god and everybody. She shoved the thoughts out of her mind as quickly as possible and refocused on Viktor. Tonight, he was what was important.

"If you want good Durmstrang food, should eat Bulgarian, not Russian." The word Bulgarian came out dark and sinful, his voice dropping low and quiet. While she'd heard his voice descend into that wonderful baritone before, it hadn't ever felt intentional the way it did now. It made something inside her squirm. She crossed her legs, uncertain if the feeling was delightful or distressing.

Honestly, she was shocked to see him so open and talkative and playful when they were literally the center of attention for hundreds of people. He usually shied away from anyone and everyone, preferring to melt into the background. But here he was…flirting with her and paying obvious, romantic attention to her at the high table at school.

He glanced at her with a sly smile on his face before waggling his eyebrows. His eyes brightened, his smile growing wider, when he got the reaction he was looking for: Hermione flushed dark pink at the implication before shaking her head warmly, rolling her eyes, and playfully smacking his shoulder.

"Behave."

The dark, confusingly intimate moment shifted, the feeling broken as Viktor leaned back slightly with a rueful upwards flick of his head.

"What if I don't want behave? Am up here, with prettiest, smartest girl in school. All boys jealous of me."

She paused for a moment, contemplating the boy in front of her. Was this the person he was when he was relaxed? If she got to know him better than she did now, would he continue to be this lively, funny, wonderful, almost silly boy when he was with her?

She hoped so, with all her heart.

"You are ridiculous."

Eyebrows drawing down slightly, he caught her eyes, his gaze warm but suddenly serious. "No. Am telling you truth. Smartest. Prettiest. I am very proud to be with you here."

Her brain, so often buzzing with possibilities and probabilities, went quiet. In fact, it went so quiet that it didn't even tell her what a terrible idea it was to lean over and plant a very public, lingering kiss on the corner of Viktor's mouth.

Someone cleared their throat. Loudly.

Glancing up, she caught several people at the head table blatantly looking at them. Professor Dumbledore had raised his eyebrows in a look that clearly said "enough of that, young lady" but touched with a sort of grandfatherly bemusement at what young people were getting up to these days.

Professor McGonagall's lips had disappeared again, although there was a certain softness around her eyes.

Headmaster Karkaroff, on the other hand, wore an expression of deep disgust that quickly gave way to a simpering, obsequious kind of fawning as his eyes shifted from her to Viktor.

Viktor's hand tightened on the back of her chair so forcefully that she heard it groan. Chancing a glance at his face, she saw him give his own headmaster a look she could only describe as a warning.

"Viktor?"

Glancing down at her, he schooled his expression into strained smile.

"Viktor, what's going on?" she whispered.

"Not here. I will explain later." He pointed to her menu and suggested the kapama and banitsa, proclaiming both of them were hearty and delicious.

The disbelief and annoyance must have shown on her face, for he lowered his voice further still, acting as if he were describing the dishes on the menu.

"Karkaroff is not safe for you. You must not be alone with him, ok? I promise, I explain later. After ball."

Ice shivered down her back at his words.

The arrival of their food and a warm welcoming toast from Professor Dumbledore helped break the dark mood that had descended between Hermione and Viktor. The food was a wonderful distraction and provided ample conversation starters. Viktor lovingly described the food of his home country while she sampled the kapama (sausages cooked in cabbage with warm spices) and banitsa (a flaky layered pie made with cheese and yogurt). He talked longingly of the Bulgarian countryside, of his home on the outskirts of Sofia, of the mountains and waterfalls on his favorite hikes. Forgetting his embarrassment over their language barrier, he spoke at such great length and with such beautiful—if inelegant—language that she could almost see the mountains and plains and flowers of his home, could almost feel the wind on her face as he talked of learning to fly there, could almost hear the hushed sound of his favorite spot in Durmstrang's library when he snuck in after nightfall to sit in front of the roaring fire.

In return, she showed him to slather his very English turkey in bread sauce the way her grandmother had taught her. She told him about family vacations in France, about lazy afternoons spent reading in her favorite chair with Crookshanks curled up in her lap, about her recent foray into knitting little hats and socks in the hopes that one day the Hogwarts House Elves would want to be free.

In no time at all, she found her previous worries were left behind. At least for now. After all, with her belly pleasantly full and her cheeks feeling a bit warm from a very tall glass of butterbeer, how could she stay worried for long? Tonight was a night of fun and celebration, of the stirrings of affection and love and companionship. Tonight was a night for good things.

In fact, Hermione found herself so incandescently happy that she didn't even stop to worry about the ball's opening dance. Viktor twirled her around the dance floor with practiced ease, lifting her effortlessly and deftly maneuvering them around the other dancers. He'd guided her with such precision that she'd only managed to trod on his toes once, and even then all he'd done was laugh and lift her up into a practiced spin.

It was glorious. She was, for those few brief minutes, the belle of the ball, twirling around with the handsomest boy in the school. So what if she had big teeth and he had duck feet? Together, they were perfect.

If only it had stayed that way.

After what felt like hours of dancing, Viktor murmured an apology and asked if she'd mind if he did his duty and danced with the other Champions.

"I want to dance all night with you. But, must be polite. Is good manners to ask Fleur and Daphne and, uh, I forget her name."

"Cho," Hermione supplied, gently grasping his arm as he led her towards the table with Harry, Ron, and their dates.

"Cho," he repeated. "Is ok?"

"Of course it is. Do you mind if I dance with Harry? Although it looks like he might need a break." She smiled, glancing over at Harry, slumped in his chair with an expression of utter befuddlement and teenage awkwardness.

"Da. Of course. I see you soon, yes?" Viktor placed his hand atop hers and squeezed lightly, his eyes warm and inviting as he smiled at her.

"You better," she replied, wrinkling her nose in the way that always made him smile at her.

Collapsing next to Harry, she watched Viktor bow in front of Daphne and invite her for a dance. It was the first time Hermione could ever remember seeing Daphne look uncomfortable, but after a deep flush and a glance over at Hermione, she seemed to pull herself back together and accept with something almost akin to grace.

"This has been fun, hasn't it?" she exclaimed, sinking further into the chair, stretching her legs in front of her and crossing her ankles to relieve some of the pain in her feet.

Harry murmured something he probably intended to be agreement as he watched Viktor lead his partner onto the dance floor.

"You don't mind he's dancing with Daphne?" he asked.

"Of course not. He said he's just being polite. He plans to ask Fleur and Cho, too."

"Course he does," scoffed Ron from the other side of Harry.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're smart, I'm sure you can figure it out."

Hermione stared, wide-eyed and mouth slightly open, at Harry, who just shrugged and took a sip of his butterbeer.

"Old Vicky's just using you, you know." Ron leaned forward in his chair until she could see his face, red and spotty with irritation.

"Don't call him that," she interrupted.

Harry, sensing trouble, leaned back further in his chair, clearing a path for his two best friends to go at it without getting caught in the crossfire.

"Merlin, you're so thick, you know that?"

Hermione wasn't proud of the fact that she gaped like a fish, her mouth trying to form words as her brain stuttered from the sudden mood shift.

"Vicky wants to win. He's the enemy. He's using every opportunity to his advantage. And you are an opportunity."

"That's ridiculous. Viktor is not using me to win. And he's not the enemy."

If anyone was using her to get a leg up on the competition, it was Harry.

Ron, gathering steam, continued on like she'd said nothing. "He's obviously trying to get inside information on Harry."

"Like what?! His favorite color?"

Ron ignored her entirely. "What I don't understand is what you get out of it. He's rich, sure, but he's dumb as rocks. And ugly. And it's not like you're ever going to see him again."

Harry's eyes grew wider with every word Ron said until he finally tried to interrupt what was quickly becoming a tirade.

"Krum's ok. He's got plenty of opportunities to sabotage me, living in the same dorm and all. And he hasn't."

Ron scoffed. "You're just sayin' that because you think he's cool. Just like everyone else does."

"Oh, right. Because of course, out of all of us, Harry and I are the ones obsessed with Viktor Krum." Hermione's voice dripped with sarcasm. "We're not the ones who bought pictures of him and have a bloody action figure of him in our dorms!"

Ron's face, which was already bright red, darkened to an intense purple. His hands balled up at his sides and his chest heaved with every over-excited breath.

"So what'd he do, take one listen to your little lectures on house elves and decide you were the one, then?" Ron's mocking laugh made it clear exactly how unlikely she should find this scenario. The puggish glee in his face, his obvious derision at the idea that Viktor could possibly like her, that anyone could like her, was what broke her.

Her lips trembling with rage and embarrassment, she pushed back her chair as tears began to prick in her eyes.

"If you must know, he asked me to be his girlfriend when he took me flying." She was ashamed at how much her own voice quaked and shivered.

"Likely story. You're just too embarrassed to tell us the truth."

Harry's mouth opened as if to say something, but Hermione beat him to it.

"Believe whatever you want, Ronald Weasley. Viktor is a good man and I love him. And if you were actually my friend, you'd be happy for me."

And with that she fled.

She could hear her chair topple to the ground as she launched herself out of it, but she couldn't bring herself to care. So what if she was making a scene? After everything Ron had said to her, she'd earned the right to make a scene.

Pushing through the crowd of students, she let her feet take her where they wanted. First out of the Great Hall. Then through the enchanted rose garden, past couples snogging in the bushes, past the Professors looking for the students snogging in the bushes. Finally into the hedge maze until, at last, she collapsed in exhaustion upon one of the stone benches.

Out here, the lights and sounds of the Yule Ball were muted, barely filtering in through the thick foliage. The stars were bright overhead, the smell of roses lay thick in the air. She could almost—almost!–believe that this was any other night on the Hogwarts grounds.

Closing her eyes, she tried to slow her breathing and her thoughts.

Breathe in – 2 – 3. Out – 2 – 3.

It didn't matter what Ron thought.

She took another deep breath, letting the smell of icicles and roses fill her whole being.

It shouldn't matter what Ron thought.

Another deep breath, focusing on the cold wind, letting it cool her red cheeks and rob her of her overheated thoughts and feelings.

And yet, it did matter. To her.

Her eyes snapped open in frustration.

How dare he?!

How dare he?!

How dare he?!

She abruptly stood, ignoring the cold and the pain in her feet as she dashed off in a random direction, trying anything to cease the repetitive thoughts.

The hedge behind her rustled and for a moment she thought she saw a bright flash of red light near the bench she'd occupied.

'Must be some snogging students. Wonder who caught them?' she thought, slowing slightly. The thought that she'd sat so close to them and hadn't even noticed made her grimace.

Voices, closer than anything she'd yet heard out here, sounded from further in the hedge maze. They were too far off to hear any words, but one of them sounded a lot like Viktor.

Turning her head to listen better, she caught a familiar guttural accent. Not Viktor's, but Karkaroff's.

What was he doing out here? Who was he talking to?

Should she go forward and try to find out? Or should she turn back?

Viktor would want her to turn back. He'd said that Karkaroff wasn't safe for her.

But, much as she liked Viktor, he would be the first to admit he wasn't brave. He preferred to play things safe, to watch from a distance, wait until the right moment to make a move, and even then only if he needed to.

She wasn't Viktor.

She was Hermione Granger, Gryffindor and best friend of Harry Potter.

And she was going to find out what Karkaroff was doing out here.

As quietly as possible, of course.

Creeping forward, she did her best to stay in the dark shadows of the maze where she was less likely to be seen. This was the perfect moment for a disillusionment charm, but as was always the case, she'd found her bravery at the exact moment she was least prepared to use it. Her wand, after all, was sitting quietly on her bedside table in Gryffindor tower.

Nonetheless, luck seemed to be with her and she quickly found herself at the edge of a small clearing, what she assumed was the center of the maze. Karkaroff was pacing back and forth, rubbing his arm and gritting his teeth. He stalked the center of the maze like a wild animal trapped in a cage. If she felt fanciful, she'd say that she could almost see his tail flick in agitation.

He was muttering to himself, low words that switched in and out of English and something she thought might be Russian. Even straining her ears and leaning as close to the hedge opening as she dared, she could only make out a few words.

"Bastard…where is he?...already be here…blyat."

The last word she'd learned from a red-faced, embarrassed Viktor one Saturday afternoon. He'd muttered it once in frustration and absolutely refused to translate it for her, saying only that it was "very rude."

Behind her, a twig snapped.

Whipping around, her heel caught on a patch of leaves and sent her tumbling to the ground, her bag landing somewhere behind her with a soft rattle.

Karkaroff's muttering stopped.

In front of her, Mad-Eye Moody glared down at her, his wand in his hand. Beneath his wooden leg was a small twig, roughly snapped in half.

"YOU!?" Karkaroff screeched.

Whether he was referring to her or to Professor Moody, she couldn't tell.

It was as Professor Moody was stepping towards her—towards Karkaroff?—that a further commotion in the bushes drew everyone's attention. It seemed someone was running towards them.

Multiple someones.

One long moment later, two figures burst from the hedge opening opposite Hermione, revealing the unlikely figures of Viktor and Professor Snape, neither of whom seemed pleased to be in the other's presence. And yet, they had obviously arrived together.

Professor Snape was the first to recover.

"Ah. Alastor. I see you've already located our missing Gryffindor." Snape smoothed his hands down his frock coat, as if brushing off invisible dust, before beginning to stride purposefully into the clearing.

His movement seemed to break whatever spell had kept them all aghast and staring at each other.

Moody grunted and lowered his wand.

Karkaroff paled.

Viktor rushed towards her to help her to her feet.

"You're ok, yes?" he asked, his eyebrows drawn harshly down over his eyes as he ran his gaze over her, coming to rest on her scraped palms.

She nodded quickly and gratefully accepted the warm red cloak Viktor settled about her shoulders. It smelled of leather and wool, aftershave and salt. It soothed her frayed nerves in a way nothing else could.

"Best return to the castle, Ms. Granger. Mr. Krum." Snape had seemed to just appear behind them, startling Hermione and setting her heart to beating faster again.

He bent down to grab her bag.

If he'd been more comfortable grabbing a lady's handbag, it wouldn't have happened.

Instead, Professor Snape grasped her little beaded bag between his thumb and forefinger, gingerly, like it was a piece of trash. Like it could reach out and bite him if he got too strong a grip on it.

Consequently, it tipped, unbalanced, and spilled its contents everywhere.

She couldn't have cared less about the Muggle lipstick that fell out. Or the tissues. Or even the Muggle novel she'd brought in case she got bored.

No, she only had eyes for the little blue potion bottle that rolled across the grass, winking in the starlight and coming to stop directly against the black polished toe of Professor Snape's boot.

It was with horror that she watched him pick it up, his brow arched high in disdain and shock, as he turned to look between her and Viktor. She gripped the red cloak more tightly. She daren't look at Viktor's face, afraid to see recognition there.

After all, even if she hadn't labeled it, she was certain the Potion's Master knew exactly what was swirling around in that little vial. Her only hope was that no one else did.

Snape's lips thinned as he walked towards the two teenagers with long, graceful strides until he was standing directly in front of them. For the first time, she realized just how short the professor was, for Viktor stood several inches taller. But the professor's presence, his dark staring eyes and unreadable expression, made it feel like he took up the whole clearing.

His gaze flicked over her shoulder for a moment.

"Seems you've got it from here. I've got some things to speak to the Headmaster about," Moody said from behind her. He stomped into the clearing and made towards Karkaroff with a menacing look on his face, stopping only to take a swig from his flask.

"Yours, I believe?"

She snatched the bag and vial from Snape's outstretched hand, unable to look him in the eye. Oh, this was just too embarrassing.

"The ball is nearly over. Return to your dormitory, Ms. Granger. Mr. Krum will not accompany you inside it, am I understood?"

"Yes sir," she murmured, eyes still firmly fixed on her own feet.

Viktor gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders and began to lead her out of the maze.

The walk back was quiet. The maze was unpopular with the students and most people they saw seemed to be on their way back to the castle, too.

Finally, Hermione broke the silence.

"Thank you. For coming to get me." She paused, considering the strange evening further. "How did you know where I was?"

Viktor's arm tightened around her in a reassuring squeeze.

"Potter told me you had fight with red hair boy, that you ran away. That he made you cry."

"It's fine…"

"It's not," he interrupted, not meeting her gaze. His brows were still pulled low over his eyes, lending him a decidedly grumpy expression. She could only hope he wasn't grumpy at her.

Heaving a small sigh, he looked down at her and tried to smile. "I could not find you. Or Karkaroff. I was…worried."

"That he'd done something to me?"

The idea that Viktor thought so poorly of his own headmaster that he would expect him to hurt her made her throat tighten in fear. What had she walked into this evening? Who had he been waiting for? What had he been planning to do?

Viktor nodded roughly. "Could only find Snape. Told him what I feared. We came to find you."

"Oh."

"Am glad we found you."

Her shoulders shuddered a little as a chill went through her, starting at her neck and running all the way down to her toes.

"Come. Let us get you inside. Is too cold for little English flower."

And that's exactly what they did.

The ball was clearly almost over, so there would be no more dancing. No more butterbeer. No more laughter and giggling and quick stolen kisses. She couldn't help but feel momentary rage at what Ron had ruined for her that night.

When they reached the second floor, she fully expected him to say goodnight and return to the Champions dorm. But he had one last surprise in store for her. That night, Viktor walked her all the way up to Gryffindor tower before sweeping into a low bow right in front of the portrait hole and gallantly kissing her hand.

No less than four of her classmates saw them.

The Fat Lady and her friend loudly and drunkenly proclaimed Viktor "very dashing."

As she watched him go, one hand on the stone entrance, she decided that the she'd endeavor to remember only the good parts of the night.

And Viktor Krum was a very good part.

If Ron Weasley said anything about Hermione gliding through the Common Room wearing Viktor Krum's cloak and grinning to herself, she didn't hear him.

AN: Thanks for your patience waiting for this chapter! It's a long one, but I couldn't bring myself to break it up. As always, I can't wait to hear what you all think. See you soon!