Rating:
PG-13
House:
Astronomy Tower
Characters:
Hermione Granger Viktor Krum
Genres:
General Romance
Era:
Multiple Eras
Stats:
Published: 06/09/2003
Updated: 11/20/2003
Words: 224,686
Chapters: 100
Hits: 71,003

Past Present

Miss Yetigoosecreature

Story Summary:
Hermione, Harry, and Ron visit Viktor Krum in Bulgaria and discover there's a lot more to Viktor's past than they could have imagined.

Chapter 14

Chapter Summary:
Cup presentations, snitch passing, mother hugging, waltzing, Viktor gives a snooty girl her comeuppance, we finally talk to Poliakoff, and a cute little moppet. More insight into Viktor. (Well, who else? Spiro Agnew?) Also, some Russian-flavored snoggage. And fireworks.
Posted:
06/15/2003
Hits:
887
Author's Note:
Uploading...uploading... lots of uploading. Thought I would knock of formatting and chaptering several at once.

Hauling the cup into the box, the officials gathered for the presentation to the winners. The Bulgarian Minister was hopping around excitedly, rubbing the cross French Minister completely the wrong way. As the Bulgarian team filed in, Viktor last, he made eye contact with Hermione and mouthed, "One minute", before slipping past his teammates and giving his somewhat startled mother a squeeze that was neither awkward nor stiff.

Then there was a proud handshake and shoulder squeeze between himself and his father. Hermione could tell they were both surprised yet gratified that Viktor had bothered to come to them first. As he snuck back to the end of the line, he reached out to grasp Hermione's hand, which was resting on the back of her chair, folding the snitch into her fingers and curling them shut as he shot her a quick wink. She could have poked Ron with a fork when he leaned and whispered, "Why are you sniveling like that? They won already!"

"Oh, Ron! Honestly! You think I'm bawling over a stupid Quidditch game?" Ron almost told her that the internationals were certainly not a stupid Quidditch game, but he thought better of it. She pocketed the snitch, still warm from his hands.

By the time the presentation was over, they had very nearly clapped their hands clean off their wrists. Viktor finally broke away from his teammates and back to the trio, after bidding his parents goodbye. They were headed back to Pavlova. "Party," he said simply, a subtle curve to his lips that they had come to recognize as a smile. "As soon as the crowd leaves, the pitch is ours. Ve vill go put these in my locker," he added, taking the onmioculars from Hermione and steering her toward the door with a hand on the arm. With Harry, Ron, and the rest of the team close behind, they made their way to the locker room. Viktor stowed the pairs of onmioculars into the large pocket, then stripped off his gloves and knee protectors, preparing to stuff them in the equipment bag. He paused with the gloves in hand, frowning down into the side pocket for a long moment. He pursed his lips as though in deep thought, clucked his tongue, and shook his head as though clearing it.

"Viktor? Something wrong?" Hermione asked. He shook his head slowly, pressing his lips together in a thin line. Tucking the gloves into the bag, pulling his wand from it and zipping it up, he tossed the entire thing back into the locker.

"Let's go," he said with some enthusiasm, swiftly tucking his wand into his right robe pocket. Odd, Hermione thought, she would have sworn he had looked both puzzled and disturbed when staring into that pocket. Must have been taking inventory again and thought he misplaced something else, she supposed.

Viktor led them to a back door in the locker room. "You two can change in here, Hermione, you can use the back room."

"What about you?" she asked.

"Me? I am not changing. Even Ivanova goes to these things in her uniform. It is the beauty of a dress uniform, you do not fall in the sand pit or take a bludger in the face, you do not haff to change for the Ministry officials," Viktor shrugged.

"Actually, I'm kind of glad you're not changing. Frankly, you look pretty incredible in that uniform," she confided in a low voice. Viktor flushed, but regained his composure quickly.

"If you look half as beautiful as you did at the Yule Ball in this dress, I vill need to take along a very large stick," he warned, pointing toward an equipment rack.

"You do realize all the girls at Hogwarts are going to want to boil me in oil after hearing about this, don't you? Bad enough when I 'stole' you in the library last year!"

"Let them stew over it. Go on and change. I for vone am starving." He lightly steered her through the door by the shoulder.

Viktor milled around the locker room, while the boys changed, looking at the closed door from time to time. Hermione stepped out shortly, her hair pulled up into a ponytail, cascading down, a simple sleeveless robe, in hunter green draped over her. Viktor let out a low, appreciative whistle, offering his arm to escort her out. "Am I to take it you approve even without the hair potion?" she asked.

"Absolutely. They should have the tent up by now."

"Tent?" Harry asked.

"They set up a tent, there's food, and there should be music and dancing, too. Ve answer a few questions from reporters, then spend the rest of the night avoiding them and eating. Not so hard, because they are usually eating too." He opened the door and they stepped out onto the pitch, which had changed greatly since they had entered the locker room. Indeed, there was a behemoth of a white tent set up near one end of the pitch, with multiple buffet tables and what looked to be fairy lights strung up around the sides. On closer inspection, they proved to be great clumps of fireflies. There also seemed to be landscaping around the tent. "Is a bit more formal, like most of the dances at Durmstrang. No Weird Sisters, I am thinking," Viktor commented.

"So what do we dance to?" Ron asked.

Viktor's mouth curled slightly, "Oh, something more along the line of a valtz."

"Waltzing!?! Good grief, I can't waltz for beans!" Ron hissed loudly.

"Is simple. My mother taught me. Even my father knows how, and he claims to be the most socially graceless vizard Durmstrang ever produced. It is the vone social grace she could make sure I had. She could not teach me to like batting eyelashes and small talk," Viktor tossed back over his shoulder at Ron.

"Like you needed anything else to make the girls swoon!" came an incredulous voice thick with a Russian accent behind them. "They never vould haff gotten de girls pried off of you if you had talked to them too, Viktor! They vere alvays three deep even though you hiss and spit at them like some sore-tailed Chinese Fireball!"

Viktor cocked his head without even turning around and began in an exasperated, reproving voice, "Alexei... you vould never haff gotten a date, either."

Alexei Poliakoff jogged up abreast of them, and he and Viktor shook hands. "Vhy did you not owl me you vere coming?" Viktor asked.

"Father came vith the Russian Ministry, he had extra seats. It vos very last minute. And I could not deny my loffly Katrina here the chance to meet my friend from school, now could I?" he asked with a wink, as Katrina, a very pretty and dainty blonde glided up beside him. "She is ready for her sixth year at Durmstrang, but she has never gotten chance to meet you in person," Alexei finished, presenting the two to one another with a sweeping arm.

"Oh, you vere vonderful, so brave, so strong, so fast! My best friend Liesl vos absolutely heartbroken vhen she heard you vould be going to nasty old Hogvarts for most of the year last year. She votches you practice all the time. She vos planning on asking you to one of the balls. She already had a dress picked out to match your eyes if she could get at you for the Midwinter Ball or the Spring Ball. Vill ve haff the pleasure of your presence this year, shall I get in line now?" she fluttered her eyes prettily, laying a delicate hand possessively on Viktor's forearm, just above the wrist.

Hermione thought she might gag, and as she watched Viktor's impassive face, she presumed he felt just about as enthusiastic about this full frontal female assault. He allowed himself a subtle eye roll in Alexei's direction, grasped Katrina's hand, and held it rather formally, balanced on his fingertips, as though he were greeting royalty. He touched as little as possible of it, treating it rather like a dead fish.

"Charmed, Katrina," he said, with a slight nod and curt bow toward her. Hermione nearly laughed out loud when she noticed the bow allowed him to make an exasperated face at the ground without offending Katrina. "I cannot say at this moment vhere I vill be by the time two of those balls roll around. I vould hope to say, no matter how many it disappoints," here he gave a pointed look to Alexei again, "I vould already haff a full dance card for the opening ball." He released Katrina's hand and reached for Hermione's , threading his large fingers loosely between hers. "May I present Miss Hermione Granger?" he asked warmly. Katrina's face fell into a petulant pout as she recognized the name, and Hermione noted the stilted pronunciation he had used with Katrina, "Her-my-oh-knee", emphasizing the last two syllables which were so difficult to the native speaker of a Slavic language.

"She vos an admirable partner at the Yule Ball at nasty old Hogvarts, and I vould hope she vould consider coming to Durmstrang for the opening ball. And this is Mr. Ronald Veasley, and Mr. Harry Potter, also attendees of nasty old Hogvarts, vhere I had a lovely time, thank you for inquiring. I hope they vould let me extend the same hospitality to them at Durmstrang, and I am sure Mr. Veasley or Mr. Potter vould be happy to dance vith you at the opening ball," Viktor said airily, the sarcasm barely detectable to the casual observer. Katrina probably didn't realize the full import of the insult she had just received, but she realized she had been rebuffed as a potential date.

She lifted her chin proudly at Alexei as she said, "Too bad. I must go powder my nose, Alexei, I vill catch up in the tent." She turned on her heel and flounced prettily toward the stadium door.

She had barely gotten out of earshot when Viktor dissolved into raucous laughter, deep and hearty, propping himself up against Alexei's shoulder with his free hand, while Alexei snickered as well. Finally, Viktor had to wipe the tears from the corner of his eyes and pant for breath. "Vell I see you haff not improved your chatting skills, Viktor, so the girls at Durmstrang vill be after you just as hot and heavy vhile you are there. You get any nastier to them, you vill haff to check the cupboards, sweep under your bed before you go to sleep at night and beat them off vith a stick just to get to breakfast! Vot vould you do vithout me to protect you?" Alexei tapped Hermione on the arm in a friendly manner, "Vot haff you done to him? I haff not been able to make him laugh like that in two years, at least!"

"And I see your taste in vomen has not improved, either, Alexei," Viktor scolded, looking at the door where Katrina had disappeared.

"Bah! She is nothing more than pretty girl to take to game. Is vone advantage of knowing you, I can alvays get date. Just haff to promise they meet you and they are all atwitter," Alexei grinned back mischievously. "Then you promptly dash their girlish hopes and stomp on their hearts vith your brooding and I find out if they might like me to comfort them instead. Although, usually you do not mention other girl. Or any hint you vill valtz vith somevone else." Alexei eyed Hermione, appraising her.

"Alexei, I think you vould do better to find a girl who likes you for you, not your friend," Viktor replied.

"Not yet. Someday. Not so smart as you , yet. I vill keep pretty Miss Granger company vhile you get the reporters out of your hair, no? And I promise to behave. Viktor vould snap me like a twig if I step out of line vith you," he waggled his eyebrows at Hermione. Viktor had mocked him perfectly, she thought.

Viktor let go a great sigh. "She vill snap you like a twig, you mean. Overly sveet and bubbly, but harmless, I assure you," he jabbed a finger at Alexei. "Might as vell get it over," he started trudging toward the tent, his fingers still curled between Hermione's.

Inside the tent, it looked like a very formal reception, and Hermione found herself glad that she had picked something to wear that rivaled her Yule Ball gown. The strains of a string quartet wafted over the groups of people clustered inside, sipping what looked to be cider, looking very elegant and tall and proper. Viktor was seized by his teammates the instant he stepped inside. "Come, come, team picture, reporters, then you can eat all the chocolate covered strawberries you can hold and valtz all you like and Alexei can pick up the rest of the admiring crumbs from your table," Ivanova declared, practically hauling him off by the wrist as he looked back at Hermione with a very funny , wide-eyed 'help me' sort of look. She laughed in spite of herself at his obvious distress.

Harry let out a low whistle, "Wow, this looks like something straight out of the old aristocracy."

"Might as vell say it is," Alexei murmured, "Durmstrang is just full of old European bloodlines and old European money. People who summer in Paris and vinter in Rome and own artvork and patronize the arts. Some of them patronize each other, too, more vays than one. Most of them end up in these ministry jobs, diplomats, that sort of thing. Maybe that vhy I like Viktor so much, he thinks it is just as silly as I do, caring who your great-great-grandmother married and how skilled she vos at the tango and bothering to talk about it at parties."

"Of course, Viktor does not haff to vorry, the girls like him regardless of who his great-great-grandmama marry way back vhen, big, strapping, high earning, handsome sports star that he is. I told him being so shy and naive and snarling and bashing his nose vould not vork. Girls just like that more." Alexei adopted a mincing posture and a prissy voice, not far from Katrina's tone earlier. "So sveet and shy, the qviet type, so dark and brooding, bet I can draw him out! I hear he haff Romany blood, that is probably vhy he is so mysterious. Oh, he must be so brave to take a bludger right in the face and still catch the snitch! His face vould be too perfect vith a straight nose, that crook, it's cute, it gives him character!" He dropped his flailing wrist and paused a moment before continuing, "You must have good effect on him. He looks much better now." Alexei seemed to have tacked the last statement on somewhat abruptly while studying Viktor across the tent.

"Better?" Hermione asked.

"Better. Healthier. Most of last year, he look ill to me, sallow, even thinner than usual, and that is saying a lot vith Viktor. I alvays say Viktor vos the biggest skinny boy I know. Solid as a brick, but nearly concave in places. Sometimes I vonder how he keep his trousers up. But he is vasting avay most of last two years, he hardly eat anything at school. Sick. He even get a head cold vhen ve leave for Tournament last year. He never get sick before. I began to really vorry about him. Probably Karkaroff's breath or looking at those teeth up close every time ve eat, I tell him. Maybe it vos the idea of being chased by girls from three schools at the Trivizard Tournament. I think he vork too hard, vorry too much about his parents, missing exams last year, vot he going to do this year about Durmstrang, being avay from Vratsa, Karkaroff alvays on his back, that tournament, being ill, that head cold he haff vhen ve get to England, alvays the vorrier. Then Diggory..." Alexei shook his head slowly.

"Nobody does guilt like Viktor Krum, even vhen is not his fault. I thought he vould curl up and die over it vhen they told him vot happened in the maze until Dumbledore told him it vos not his fault, defended him. Beats himself up over lost games bad enough, Diggory, I think, a hundred times vorse. Anyvone who know Viktor at all know he vould sooner cut his arm off than hurt anyvone, unless in defense of somevone, and there all those idiots vere, claiming he had done it on his own! Poke fun at his nose, his Quidditch, that odd valk of his all you like, never a grunt from him. Look cross eyed at one of his teammates, insult his mother, pick on somevone who is defenseless, he vill probably send you home breathing through your ears!"

"Very protective, Viktor. He vonce put school bully three years older and a foot taller in rubbish bin for making vone of the first year students cry in his fourth year. He nearly pinned back that Malfoy boy's ears last year vhen he say something nasty. Luckily, most of the people at Durmstrang vere too afraid his bite vos like his bark to try him too much. Rest afraid of it might get back to Karkaroff. Part of vot makes Viktor such a good player, he finds and exploits veakness. Turns it against his opponent. He dislikes showoffs. Bullies. He can usually hurt them more than they could imagine, if they blink in a standoff. Viktor is intimidating enough, everyvone blink sooner or later."

Alexei barely paused for breath before starting up again, " Vorry! Hah! He spend a lot of nights on that Firebolt at midnight, over that lake of yours, me hanging over the rail of the Durmstrang ship making sure he did not kill himself by running into tree in dark vhile doing Campos Spiral or falling in and drowning vhile upside down. I thought he vould be vorse after Karkaroff left us there alone, but I think he vos relieved. At least after Dumbledore made that farevell speech and did not tar and feather us all for daring to haff him as a headmaster. Viktor vos our bloody captain on that ship anyvay, not Karkaroff. Too much responsible, Viktor, even vhen he need not be. Every loss his fault. Never any blame on the rest of the team. He need to rebel, I tell him, spend some of his own money, haff some fun. Little did I suspect he vould blow Karkaroff's temper so vell, though. I thought I vos only vone vith that kind of talent," Alexei's dimples reappeared.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione demanded.

"Vhy, you," Alexei said simply, a little surprised. "Taking you to ball. He vont to send Viktor vith Elena, who come vith us. I think Karkaroff bring her just for that reason. He think Viktor and Elena make a good couple, both tall, her vith her milky vhite skin and pretty pink lips and dark hair and eyes, like Viktor's. Most of the boys in Durmstrang dream about Elena at night. I vould not be surprised if Karkaroff dreamed about her at night. Viktor vould not hear of it, say he haff own date, refused to tell anyvone who. I guessed, because I see him going to library every day on your schedule, not his own like at Durmstrang. He alvays read late at night at Durmstrang. Madame Durshenkova take a liking to him, even leave library open later at night, give him a key sometimes, so he could study."

"I vos not only vone who guess, since somebody tell Karkaroff the day of the ball. I cannot imagine who, probably somevone jealous of Viktor, for being chosen champion. I guess it vos you he asked, but even then he vould not even shake his head yes or no vhen I ask. Still, somevone else must guess too, since Karkaroff tried to convince him othervise for hours before he leave. I think Karkaroff vould have beaten anyvone else who had pulled that. Refusing to tell, then planning on showing up vith girl from rival school, best friend of one of your competitors, that vos enough." Alexei inclined his head toward Harry as he spoke, then turned back to Hermione. "Vhen he found out you vere ah, ah, ah...." She could see the expression on his face change as he realized he had taken a turn down the wrong conversational path.

While Alexei backpedaled, Hermione coolly crossed her arms, "Mudblood? Muggle-born? Not a European aristocrat?" she asked, her eyebrows arching, heat rising in her face.

"Yes. Vhen he found that out, I think his head vos about to explode, he vould have killed anyvone else, but he knows better vith Viktor. Viktor gets something in his head, no shifting it. Stubborn is not the vord for it. Could haff broken both his legs, arms, all his fingers, he still vould haff gone vith you if he had to crawl there. Karkaroff knew that, why waste his energy?" Hermione felt herself shiver at the nonchalant way Alexei indicated that Karkaroff would have resorted to violence if it had done any good. "Only person I haff seen more stubborn than Karkaroff. Viktor inherited that trait from Papa Nikolas along vith the nose, to hear some of the longtime professors tell it. Viktor vos Karkaroff's best and vorst student for same reason, stubborn vork ethic. Dogged vhen he vonted vot Karkaroff vonted, ornery and immovable vhen he did not. In early years, that vos just for Viktor to be a great seeker, they could agree on that. I alvays get feeling there vos battle of the vills between them. Do not vorry. Not all purebloods are such ... how you English say it? Gits... like Karkaroff. Last few years, especially, more contact vith outsiders. I hear rumors the 'pureblood' requirement vill probably be dropped by the new headmaster. Some of the old stalvarts vill probably flap a bit, but it vill pass."

"Yes, Viktor vould move heaven and earth if he cares for you. I should know. He vos more than villing to growl at Malfoy and threaten those two great lumps that follow him around vhen he say something nasty about you. I do not think... Crabbe and Goyle, vos it? I do not think those two vere used to being stood up to, they looked scared out of their vits, if they had any. I haff seen it before, vith his parents, vith me. Karkaroff vos Dark Arts teacher vhen ve first haff him. Viktor told him off pretty smart vhen he pick on me in class. Before that, I vonder if he speak at all. Viktor could get avay vith it, everybody loves a vinner, especially Karkaroff. Viktor vos already a vinner. Practicing vith Vratsa by then. Viktor probably vould haff done it anyvay, get away with it or not. Maybe Karkaroff just jealous of Viktor's affections, that vhy he not so thrilled about you and me. Viktor protect me from Karkaroff, I protect him from mobs of girls. I think I get better deal," Alexei said thoughtfully, watching Viktor hold what seemed like an uncomfortable conversation with a reporter across the room at the far end of the tent.

"So, you probably know Viktor the best of anyone at Durmstrang, hmm?" Hermione said politely. She was beginning to see a possible reason why Viktor wasn't used to talking much. You couldn't get a word in edgewise around Alexei. She wasn't sure if being adopted as a friend by Alexei was a blessing or a curse, if you like peace and quiet at all.

Alexei snorted incredulously, rather like Viktor often did. "Know Viktor? I do not think anyvone really knows Viktor there. I haff more dirt on him than most, I know his mama vos hurt badly years ago, how or vhy, he still has not told me. He does not vont reporters hounding his parents, making his mama and papa relive whatever it vos. Rita Skeeter vould haff field day. I know he send some money home because of it, so that probably vhy he is not big spender and show off, vhy he vork so hard. I know he vould rather giggly girls leave him alone, and he vos not overly fond of Karkaroff and a few other teachers, but I still do not know the truth behind that, either. Most students vould haff eaten Karkaroff's favoritism up, not risked it by balking vhen it did not suit and taking up with us 'undesirables'. I spent a nice veek vith him at his home vonce, I haff nodding acquaintance vith his parents from school events and some Quidditch matches they attend. But close friends? More of a mutual protection society."

"I suspect he has said more of substance to you in the time you haff known him than he ever has to me in six years. Even his letters are closed off and distant sometimes. I think that vhy he does not get rid of me earlier, run me off like he does everyvone else. I do not ask questions, just take him as he is and do not push him for more. I guess I should feel honored he share that much vith me. More than he share vith anyvone else there. He could function just fine vithout me. He does not miss me much when I go off vith girls. It is just quieter for him. I used to even be able to make him laugh occasionally, back before that last push for the Vorld Cup. Back before... votever it vos happen to him. Back before Karkaroff took over completely, I suppose."

Katrina came back, and Hermione could both see and feel her eyes traveling up and down the length of her dress, the cascade of bushy, curly hair gathered in a ponytail, disapprovingly. Katrina was probably looking daggers at her, Hermione thought, but the thought was interrupted by Viktor's return. "Valtz?" he asked with a smile and bow, putting his hand out.

"I'm afraid I'm in the same boat with Ron, I can't waltz for beans, either, Viktor. Hopping around at a school dance to the Weird Sisters was one thing. Swaying a little while revolving to the slow songs, that isn't waltzing."

"Me, three," Harry added meekly.

"Outside! All three of you!" Viktor ordered with mock sternness, as though he couldn't believe they didn't know how to do as simple a thing as waltz.

"I can valtz perfectly, Viktor. I vould like to dance," Katrina piped up.

"So can Alexei. He is a vonderful dancer, or so he keeps telling me. You two can dance vhile ve are outside," he responded innocently, still steering Hermione toward the tent flap. Katrina followed them with her eyes, glaring at Hermione in particular when Viktor didn't pay "the lovely Katrina" any mind.

Just outside the opening of the tent, he beckoned to Ron and Harry to watch, took up Hermione's right hand, held it aloft, captured her left hand, planted it on his right shoulder, then tucked his big right hand into the small of her back, his long tapered fingers lightly braced against her. She could feel the heat of his skin through her thin gown, and was shocked to realize that his hand covered so much of the expanse of her back. He lifted his chin wordlessly and began to waltz in the space before her with small steps as she stood still. "Now, you do the same, only mirror things. Back, two, three, up, two, three. I haff the hard job, leading, all you haff to do is let me lead," he said as she stiffly followed. For a bit, the steps were halting, but then, she found herself melting into the flow of the dance, and no longer counting in her head.

"Good, good, now closer, you cannot valtz a mile avay," he said as he stepped up, so close that his legs were nestled in the folds of her robes, her nose was close to his chest, and she could smell him. Like at the Yule Ball. She recognized the pleasant, clean, sharp, and slightly spicy smell that somehow reminded her of sandalwood and winter and wood fires with cedar chips. It was crisp somehow, like mountain air.

"But I'll probably step on your foot. You should know I'm not the best dancer. Too klutzy," she protested.

"You're fine. It's easier not to step on anything ven you are closer. And if you step on my foot, that is my fault for not leading," he said, starting her off again. It was easier with him standing closer. She could feel his muscles tense before he stepped, tell where he was going, where he was preparing to steer her, much easier than before. Combined with the cues he was giving her with his hands, a slight tilt of his fingers this way or that, she found it easy to follow along. He paused and paired her off with Harry, then Ron, critiquing them gently, and they soon had a basic grasp on how to waltz.

Going back in, Viktor turned to Ron and Harry, "I made Ivanova promise to give you each at least one dance. She is a good instructor, if you mind your manners." Viktor led Hermione around the perimeter of the wooden dance floor, over to the lone ancient wizard "conducting" the unmanned string quartet and the woodwinds with his wand. "Emperor Waltz, Strauss, please," Viktor requested, standing beside him, addressing his shoulder. Hermione noted that he had, with some effort, pronounced "waltz" with only a faint trace of his soft Bulgarian accent on the second word.

Without looking around the old man said, "Sonny, that's nearly a ten minute piece, if everyone else here doesn't want to waltz for nine minutes plus, it's going to get me some angry looks."

Viktor grinned back at Hermione, and as the current piece came to an end, the old man turned to Viktor. "Oh! Mr. Krum! I had no idea...of course I'll play what you want..."

"I'll make it vorth your vhile," Viktor smiled back, cupping a large handful of coins from his pocket and placing them in the conductor's hands. The wizened old man looked at the coins, then pocketed them.

"Thank you. The money wasn't necessary, Mr. Krum, request anything you want all night. Emperor Waltz fourteen times in a row if you like," he said grandly.

"Just the vonce for now," Viktor replied graciously. "And thank you." He cupped Hermione's elbow and led her back off the dais. "Now I haff ten minutes to think vot else ve can dance to. I am still not used to being able to do that."

"Do what exactly?"

"Ask for things and just...get them, haffing the money to make things happen vhen fame vill not do it. Not that I did not haff money before, I bought nice enough things before, but now... My parents stashed avay enough for me to buy a house," he said, an edge of wonder in his voice. He sounded a bit disturbed by the thought.

Behind them, the low, slow strains of the Emperor Waltz started up, and by the time they had assumed their positions at the edge of the dance floor that had been conjured up earlier and covered the entire inside of the tent, it had started in earnest, he pulled her toward him and they had spun into the crowd that was beginning to form before she could really worry about which foot to begin with. Nine minutes plus, as the conductor had put it, never flew by so fast. It was a lively song for the most part, with slow, easy interludes that allowed them to slow and catch their breath, then whirl off madly again when it picked up. She felt almost stately, courtly, she thought, and she occasionally caught glimpses of Alexei and Katrina, Ron and Ivanova, Harry and a girl who looked a year or two younger, with black hair. "Ministry official's daughter," Viktor explained when Hermione asked who she was.

"Vone more?" he inquired, when the music came to a stop. She nodded breathlessly. He sprinted back up the dais, which wasn't far, and she heard him request with precise pronunciation, "Tchaikovsky, Nutcracker Suite, Waltz of the Flowers."

As he took up her hand again, Hermione looked at him curiously, "First of all, where's that accent of yours going? Second, how do you know so much Muggle classical music?"

"Practice, practice, practice. Some sounds are so... foreign, it takes practice to get your mouth used to them. Actually hearing lots of people who vere raised speaking English for a few months helped. Second, who said they vere all Muggles? You think Beethoven vos not a little magic?" he teased. "My mother loves music. She used to play classical all the time on the vireless. She heard it first at the museum. My father, he is very, very keen on Tchaikovsky. He took me to see Nutcracker ballet in St. Petersburg every year I can remember before I vent to Durmstrang, Russian National Ballet Company," he explained. "Most years since, too."

She was concentrating so hard on the rare unguarded smile lighting up his face that she nearly forgot she was dancing. Suddenly it seemed effortless. Though they weren't attempting quite the spectacular dance floor theatrics that Alexei and Katrina were getting up to, they were doing a fair job at being regal. Well, Viktor was doing a great job at being regal, almost military in his bearing and that uniform, she was just along for the ride, inelegant bushy hair, sweaty palms and all. She wondered how his hand could be so warm and dry cupped around her fingers, his thumb occasionally stroking the back of her hand lightly. She noted that Ron and Harry had switched partners for this dance. "Hey, look, I'm waltzing!" Ron called as he and the Ministry official's daughter twirled by.

"Viktor!" Ron's dance partner called over his shoulder.

"Hello, Charlotte!" he called back. Outside of Ivanova, his mother, and herself, it was the first female he had ever seen Viktor greet somewhat cheerily.

"Ivanova isn't a bad instructor!" Ron called again before the flow of the floor took them further apart.

On and on it went, Viktor requesting between each song, some she didn't recognize by title, like "Il Gardinello, Flute Concerto, Vivaldi", and "Waltz from The Serenade For Strings, Tchaikovsky", but she recognized them once they began. Some of his choices were unexpected, like "Arabian Dance, Grieg, Peer Gynt Suite", but the heavy drums and brass that the conductor conjured proved particularly good for the new steps he put her through. After the "Minute Waltz", she pleaded exhaustion and hunger, so he asked her what she would like to hear while they ate. She blurted the first thing she could think of, "Rhapsody in Blue", Viktor looked at her a bit oddly. "George Gershwin, errr, modern Muggle jazz, I suppose. Piano."

Viktor buttonholed the conductor and explained the request, and soon there was a phantom piano, pounding away at the pile driver chords of Gershwin. "I like it," Viktor said after a few lines.

"You should hear John Coltrane, or Jelly Roll Morton," she responded.

They loaded their plates with things from the buffet, and Viktor fetched some cider for them both. As he sat the glasses down, a high pitched childish voice came from somewhere directly behind him. "Viktor! Viktor! Mama and Papa say I can come over for a few minutes! Then I haff to go back vith Papa vhen you get tired of me!" Viktor laughed, turned and bent, addressing someone apparently around the height of his knees,

"Ahhh, now you know I could never get tired of you. Come meet somevone." Viktor turned back to Hermione, and a small pair of dark eyes nearly hidden under some equally dark hair appeared, peeking around Viktor's leg shyly. Viktor put his hand on the mass of dark hair and gently nudged a little boy of about four or five from behind him.

The little boy continued to cling to Viktor's left leg, right arm firmly wrapped around his knee, clutching a fold of Viktor's pants tightly in his fingers, the other pudgy thumb in his mouth as he solemnly studied Hermione. "This is Hermione, Petyr. This is Petyr. Mama and Papa are Ivanova and her husband, Anton Gregoryev. Can you say 'Hermione'?" Hermione noticed the stilted, careful pronunciation Viktor had used again when prompting, and smiled encouragingly at Petyr.

"Herrrrmmm-own-ninny," he mumbled around his thumb, and Hermione couldn't help laughing out loud as he butchered her name in much the same way Viktor once had.

Petyr started at the sound, then shyly buried his face against Viktor's leg again, looking as though he wanted to cry.

Viktor laughed, "Don't vorry Petyr, I had the same problem vonce. Alexei tells me girls have such difficult names just to make boys feel like fools when they get them wrong. Girls with hard to pronounce names are alvays pretty. Or maybe being so pretty makes their names hard to pronounce. And I was not even dealing with a thumb in my mouth when I did it. You already speak English better than I did when I was twice your age," he cajoled, deftly prying Petyr off his leg and swinging him up into his arms.

"Really?" Petyr asked after a bit, wide eyes daring to peek up from Viktor's neck, where he had tucked his small head.

"Absolutely, I barely knew any. Ten words, maybe. I started too late, Petyr. Mama was smart to make you learn young. Come on now, quit hiding your face, you are too hard to talk to if you keep ducking your head into my neck. And those eyelashes of yours tickle," Viktor sat in his chair and rearranged Petyr on his lap.

Petyr studied Viktor long and hard, "Your English is different," he said accusingly.

"Yes, it is. I am trying to get my 'w' not to be so lazy, when I remember. After conquering Hermione's name, I think I can do anything," Viktor grinned.

"Your Russian is still better," Petyr declared.

Viktor laughed again, "Yes, I suppose it is, sladko momche, I suppose it is, although I do not know how you could tell, since you know al of fifteen words of Russian,"

But Petyr interrupted to protest "Sixteen! I learned a new vone!"

Viktor raised his eyebrows and continued, "Good! But I haff been speaking Russian since I was smaller than you. I got Russian lullabies, nursery rhymes, and fairy tales." Petyr looked Viktor slowly up and down, as though he doubted Viktor had ever been so small as to need lullabies, but he held his peace and slid his dark eyes back to Hermione, studying her warily.

"Who is she?" he demanded finally, jerking the thumb in his mouth at Hermione.

"Miss Hermione Granger. I met her last year at Hogwarts, you remember me talking about going there for the Triwizard Tournament? She was nice enough to come visit me with her friends and be my waltz partner," Viktor explained patiently. "And it is not polite to ask about someone like they are not at the table," he corrected gently, "You can talk to Hermione too. She does not bite." Petyr looked doubtful, eyeing Hermione with about as much distrust as Hermione would have shown for one of Hagrid's skrewts, but considered this for a moment,

"Like Mama and Papa alvays valtz together? Does that mean she is going to be at every dance?" Whew, in his own way, Petyr was a tougher interviewer than Rita Skeeter, Hermione thought.

As Viktor stammered for an answer, she reached out and patted Petyr's hand. "Not exactly. But maybe someday, we will always waltz together like your mama and papa," she whispered. Viktor smiled at the top of Petyr's dark head resting against his chest, but didn't look up.

Once more the sharp little voice piped up, "Are you the girl he talked about all summer?" Viktor looked up at Hermione and nodded.

"Yes, I guess I am, then," Hermione told him.

"The vone he go to see in Linden even though he haff practice?" She hadn't known he had to skip practice to come.

"Yes, Viktor came to see me in London," she replied. "Viktor vos right. You haff pretty hair, and he said you like books," Petyr said approvingly, like some pint sized matchmaker summing up her worthiness for his client. "Mama tell Papa you vere good for him, maybe he not be so sad anymore. But Viktor is never sad around me, I tell her," he finished, nodding emphatically, as though the very notion of Viktor ever being sad was ridiculous.

Hermione smiled. "I don't think anyone could be too sad around you, Petyr. Little pitchers have big ears," she said, pointing at Petyr and laughing.

Viktor sighed and shook Petyr playfully, "And your mama haff a big mouth, you tell her for me. If she spent as much energy on improving her shot as she did on trying to fix my love life, ve vould haff won the World Cup easily."

"Broken before? Your love life?" Hermione asked lightly, wondering just how many waltz partners Viktor might have had before her.

"More like non-existant," Viktor replied, pursing his lips. "How many times have I waltzed with a girl at these things, Petyr?"

"Never! He alvays sit vith me, unless Papa get tired and Mama make him dance vith her instead of Papa. Vonce vith Charlotte, vhen she cry because no boy her age vill dance vith her. She never haff trouble finding partners now." Petyr had leaned out and studied Viktor's face at the mention of the World Cup. He finally planted a small finger lightly on the bridge of Viktor's nose. "Does it still hurt?" he asked.

Viktor laughed softly, "No, no, noses mend. It quit hurting a long time ago, when those fantastic black eyes went away. I think you would be better off asking if it is still crooked, or big, or hooked."

"Is it?" Petyr asked innocently.

Viktor laughed again. "Still all three, I am afraid. Still big, crooked, and hooked. Promise me you will not let your nose get that way, Petyr."

Petyr touched his own nose and promised in all seriousness, "I von't."

Viktor glanced across the tent, then leaned over Petyr, "I think your Papa wants you back. I see him waving."

Viktor pointed to a large, dark man, of whom Petyr seemed to be a miniaturized version, waving at their table. Viktor stood, gave Petyr a squeeze and a pat on the back, then stood him on the floor. "Walk you back?" Viktor asked.

"No, I can go by myself. Can I hug Hermowninny 'bye?"

"You vill...will haff to ask her," Viktor grinned. Hermione knelt and gave Petyr a hug, and he gave her a squeeze around the neck accompanied by a charming little peck on the cheek, then toddled off with a wave. "He vill be worse than Alexei someday," Viktor mused, shaking his head. "Mischief and women both."

"What makes you say that?" she asked, as she turned back to the table.

"Five minutes, and he has already kissed my date, right in front of me, when I haff not. And if I am not mistaken, he had at least one frog in his pocket, which I vould not be surprised to see turn up in the punch bowl, if Anton turns his back," Viktor replied with mock irritation and a shake of his head.

They had barely touched their chairs when Dimitrov came over and draped his hand on Viktor's shoulder. "Just thought you vould vont to know... that awful Skeeter voman vos trying to get in to see you. Ve try explaining that this is a private reception, you vere busy, but she does not take hints. So Vulchanov and Volkov, they offered to store their clubs in a very interesting place if she did not leave. Ve knew you did not vont to have her disturb your friends," he said, raising his eyebrows at Hermione, then flicking his dark eyes across the room to where Ron and Harry were admiring Zograf's broom.

"Thank you," Viktor breathed, visibly relaxing, "I do not know vhy she bothers coming, she writes vot she vonts anyvay."

"Well, you can eat your strawberries in peace now," Dmitrov commented. "I vos beginning to think you had given up eating altogether last year, Viktor, even those chocolate covered strawberries of yours. Vhen he first joined the Vratsa team as a practice reserve, ve could bribe him to do almost anything with those things, he loved them so. He ate so much anyvay that ve figured the owner vos paying him more in food than in his pay envelope. Ve used to vonder if he had a hollow leg. No vonder he shot up so tall. If he outgrows his Papa much more, all the other seekers vill quit until he retires. Good to see him vith a full plate again, though. Enjoy the rest of the reception," he added, nodding at both of them, patting Viktor on the back, and taking his leave as Viktor flushed slightly from the compliment and stared at his plate.

"Was something really wrong last year, Viktor? Poliakoff just made the remark, well, among lots and lots of remarks that he made, that you didn't eat much last year, that you actually lost weight..." Hermione began, concern in her voice.

"It vos nothing. I just...vos not very hungry last year for some reason and I vos ill twice, vonce vith terrible flu, I spent veeks in bed," he protested weakly, as though even he didn't believe what he was saying, not looking at her. She let it drop, seeing that she wasn't going to get much else out of him on the subject of how his eating habits had differed over the last couple of years. They ate mostly in silence for a few minutes, Viktor making comments on some of the guests, pointing out some of the more important attendees, who occasionally drifted over to congratulate him. Then Poliakoff and Katrina joined them, and talk became unnecessary as Alexei chattered on at all three of them indiscriminately. Katrina grabbed the chair closest to Viktor, and was still glaring at Hermione at every opportunity.

"You haff a very interesting hairstyle. You haff such... curly hair, how do you ever manage? I just could not wrestle my hair into a ponytail if I had such bushy hair vithout bottles of hair potion. You did not bother vith hair potion I see, did you?" Katrina asked sweetly, the smirk on her face and mockery in her voice apparent as she tossed her smooth shimmering curtain of blond hair fetchingly around her bare shoulders.

She had managed to work this comment into a small pause in Alexei's raucous stories about his summer, some of which Viktor was familiar with and laughed at before Alexei had even begun to wind up, others he hadn't had time to work into his letters. "Oh, I manage just fine. I've had special martial arts training and I lift weights," Hermione snapped back a little irritably, tired of Katrina's catty comments and scrutiny.

Viktor hid his grin from Katrina behind his napkin for a moment before composing his face again and lowering it. "All those weights you lift must be vhy you have such big... muscles," Katrina said, dismissing Hermione with a toss of her head, then leaning back toward Viktor.

"I like it," he reached out and twirled a spiral of hair around the length of his index finger, examining it before gently smoothing it back into the massive fall of hair and combing through it lightly with his fingertips, trailing them down Hermione's back an inch or two below her ponytail. Then he brushed one of the short, stray ringlets back from her temple.

"I find her hair every bit as fascinating as the freckles on her nose and the fact that she already knew there vos a Bulgarian khan vith my name in the 800s," he said firmly, as though he weren't about to brook any argument to the contrary. Hermione felt the heat rise in her face. She hadn't realized that Viktor had even spotted the tiny freckles on her nose. Or that he had taken note of any of the historical facts interspersed throughout her nervous babbling in the library the first few times they had talked. At least they all hadn't been from Hogwarts: A History, or about Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, she thought to herself. She still blushed when she thought of how she had excitedly informed him that huge fur robes were part of the official uniform at Durmstrang, when his was draped across the back of his library chair. She had wanted to crawl under the table the moment it left her mouth.

Katrina, not to be outdone, giggled and batted her eyes seductively at Viktor, wiggling her shoulders. Knowing Viktor as she did, Hermione knew that Katrina had just done exactly the wrong thing. Strike one, she was playing up her girlishness, not being herself. "That is fascinating. Vhy, you must be related to royalty." Empty flattery, strike two. Even if Viktor were current crown prince, he wouldn't see that as anything he earned on his own merit. He had once written in one of his letters to her that he would rather be earnestly complimented for digging a good ditch than for his bloodline, which he had nothing to do with.

"Maybe, maybe not. Records do not go back that far. And I fail to see vot it vould benefit me if I were or why I should be proud of it," Viktor said blandly. She gets any closer, she'll have to crawl of her chair and sit on his lap, Hermione thought, raising her cider glass to her lips to hide her displeasure.

"Personally, I find it fascinating she did not bother to fix herself up so much for the reception like the other girls. I vish I could be brave enough to go out vithout fixing my hair or makeup to perfection," Katrina purred, angling for some praise for her perfect outfit and expertly fixed face. Strike three, she thought, insulting his chosen date.

Viktor stiffened in his seat, suddenly wide eyed, his brows arched in surprise, "Vhy? Is the real you so hideous as all that?" he asked, absolutely serious, all innocence and no hint of guile. He reminded Hermione of Petyr earlier.

As Katrina sputtered, Hermione had to blot some of the cider she had nearly spewed across the table from her lips and cover her laughter with a polite cough. "Vould you like to step out and get some air? It is getting very hot in here," Viktor asked Hermione as she finished wiping her mouth with her napkin. He had made it fairly clear that the "you" in his sentence included no one at the table but Hermione.

"Yes, there is a lot of hot air building up in this tent. I wouldn't mind going outside," she said as she took Viktor's proffered left hand.

"I have to be talking to a friend of Father's anyvay, like I promised," Alexei grinned. "I vill be seeing you at Durmstrang at the beginning of the year, at least. Ve vill haff plenty of time to talk then. Uninterrupted," he slid his eyes over toward Katrina, smirking, amusement plain in his face.

"Katrina, you simply must bring your pretty self vith me to meet Father's friend. He has just gotten back from Abu Dhabi, he has a son about to start Durmstrang, and I promised Father I vould answer some questions about the school. Then I vill probably be going. Goodbye, Viktor," Alexei said warmly, as they shook hands and parted. It seemed even Alexei wasn't too fond of his date this evening. And his date was becoming less and less enamored of Viktor as he continued to combat her charms. Katrina muttered under her breath as they turned and walked toward the tent flap, away from Katrina and Alexei.

"What did she say?" Hermione asked, once they stepped outside and put a few feet between them and the tent. She noticed that there was quite elaborate landscaping around the tent, huge bushes and hedges, flowers growing wild on them, honeysuckle, she thought from the scent.

"Oh, she called me a very rude name in Russian. I cannot imagine what would possess her to do such a thing. It is not very becoming," Viktor enunciated carefully, then chuckled under his breath.

"You sure she wasn't talking about me?" Hermione asked.

"No. It was definitely a very male thing to be called, though I will not repeat it in present company," he said as he laughed harder.

"You're getting good at that," Hermione said as she laughed with him.

"Which? Running girls off in a huff or pronouncing things properly?"

"Both, actually."

"I haff been lazy with my mouth until now. I never had a reason to vont to be very good at English. There vere... were only journalists to talk to in English before. Not being so good at it was a good way to get them to leave me alone. Let the coach talk for me. I was always good at running individual girls off in a huff. It is the packs that are hard to get rid of. Just like volves...wolves," he corrected himself carefully.

"Nonsense. I couldn't get Russian or Bulgarian down as well as you have English down in that short a while. You do quite well, considering English is a terrible language to learn. I don't think you're lazy about anything you set your mind to, Viktor."

He stood quiet for a moment beside her, his profile backlit by the moonlight. She scanned her eyes over the shadow of his distinctive features. "Did you really mean what you said, about the ball? Or was that just something you said to get up Katrina's nose?" Hermione asked after studying him.

"Oh. I meant it. That was not the way I planned to ask you. If you would like to come. The three of you. I am sure I could arrange it. The ball is always on a Saturday, so you would not haff to miss classes. Portkey in close to the grounds, portkey back, it would be quite easy to arrange. Durmstrang has some nice guest rooms," he replied, weighing the words gingerly in his mouth, continuing to look across the pitch toward the team bleachers.

"I can't speak for Harry and Ron, but I would love to come." He turned toward her and stepped close, as he had when they danced. He gathered up her hands in his, gently cupping them and running his thumbs over the backs of her hands, holding them near his chest. She could see his face more clearly now, as he caught more of the light filtered through the tent sides and that from the lanterns stationed at intervals around the tent. He studied her intently with his dark eyes, then leaned down slightly, toward her upturned face. She panicked, oh, oh, oh, he's going to kiss me and I have no idea what to do or whether to close my eyes or how to react or even what the protocol is, and where do the noses go and what do I do, what do I do, what do I do?

"May I?" he asked quietly. She willed herself to nod, to move, to do anything affirmative. She supposed she must have finally nodded, because he moved in slightly closer. He was a bare inch from her when he suddenly jerked back up as though he had been burned. She was confused. What could she have done already to make that look of absolute rage pass over his face, when he hadn't even touched her ?

"Come out! I know you're in there, and if you do not come out this instant, so help me, I vill hex every one of those bushes on fire and burn you out!" he growled, drawing his wand from his pocket.

There was a loud rustle in the bush a few feet from them, and a figure crawled out from between the vines. Hermione recognized her when she stood up and brushed herself off. "Rita Skeeter!" Hermione gasped.

"Now, now, young lovers, don't pay me any mind...." Viktor closed the gap between them in two long, brisk strides, Hermione had to lift her skirt and sprint to keep at his side. He was actually baring his teeth, more menacing than he had been even in the game with Wales.

The lower his voice dropped, the more force there seemed to be behind it, the more anger, and it dropped by the syllable. "You...get...out....now...or you vill be lucky if I just let Vulchanov and Volkov make good on their offer earlier! After last year you are lucky I did not hunt you down in the first place and take you apart vith my bare hands! I should haff, all that rubbish you printed!"

"Now, Viktor, darling, you're a public figure and the public has a right to know who you're..." He interrupted her defense by getting, if possible, even closer, towering over her. His knuckles were completely white, he was gripping his wand so tightly.

"You haff no right to intrude on my life! No one has any right to know anything I do not vont to tell them! You haff a choice. Leave now, say nothing, print nothing, or Hermione and I vill turn you in for being unregistered. If I feel generous. If I do not feel generous, I vill make you spit up slugs for the next week, set your hair on fire, let my teammates at you near the equipment rack, and complain so loudly to the international commission and your publisher that you vill not be able to set foot or beetle ving near an event of any kind in the vizard vorld for the rest of your life, and still turn you in! For a start before I hire the lawyer! Right now I am not feeling generous!"

"Lister, sugar, you can't do half what you just said, you two are still students..." she began confidently studying her long, manicured nails.

"You forget something. I am of age. I have been eighteen for nearly a year. I am not at school. Tonight I am not an enrolled student anyvere. I can use my vand here. Any place. And right now I vould take great joy in doing any vone of those things to you. Vould probably make me more popular. Fame cuts both vays, you mudslingers forget. Vont to grab the blade and find out?" He poked the end of his wand at her face.

"Okay, okay. So I'll go. And I won't print that you very nearly kissed Miss Granger there or asked her to a ball at Durmstrang. You don't seem to be in the mood for an interview tonight."

Viktor literally snarled at her, but his voice was better modulated. "If your publisher ever vonts to have me speak to any of his reporters, he had better not send you within six miles of anything I am involved in. Just to make sure... Obliviate! No interviews tonight. Haff a nice evening, Miss Skeeter, do not let the door hit you on your way out."

Rita got a pleasant, slightly blank look on her face, thanked Viktor, and walked toward the stadium exit. "Think she'll stick to it?" Hermione asked as soon as she shut the door.

"She vill haff to. She vill not remember it, even you being here. Or her being here. I made sure of it. As far as she knows in the morning, she took a nap and overslept, never making it here," Viktor replied, slipping his wand back into his pocket.

"Being with a wizard allowed to do off campus magic has its advantages. What I don't understand is, how did you know she was there?"

Viktor started, then blinked at her a couple of times. "I ... don't know. I just... knew. I guess I felt like we were being watched, maybe I heard something in the bushes. Rita Skeeter being what she is, I just figured it was her. I cannot believe she had the gall to do that after you found her out. After you wrote me about her. Dimitrov warned me...earlier..." he trailed off.

"No matter," she said, laying a hand on his arm. "Let's walk a little. I think we both need to clear our heads and work off some steam. I think my face is on fire."

They joined hands and strolled briskly up the pitch, toward the far end, in silence. They stood in the moonlight under the goal, near the sand pit, each just basking in the other's company for several minutes. Far behind, people began to stream out of the tent, gathering in little clumps and looking at the sky. Figures were also dragging large tubular objects on carts around the tent. "What's going on?" Hermione asked, tapping Viktor and pointing back down the pitch.

"Oh, the best part of the evening. They always do fireworks to music, a big finale for the evening. I cheated. I asked the conductor earlier what they would be doing. Tchaikovsky. 1812 Overture. Oddly appropriate, as it involves the French. And it explains the cannons," he smiled and dropped his head.

The first thin, silvery fireworks began to explode over the tent as the overture struck up in earnest, building to a crescendo that would soon bring in the cannons. "Beautiful," Hermione breathed. Beside her Viktor's profile tilted up at the stars, the fireworks. "My permission still stands, you know, and unless someone is buried in that sand pit breathing through a straw, we're alone," she ventured hopefully. He turned to her again, leaning in cautiously, even more hesitantly than before.

An inch from her face, he slowly tilted his face to his right, then gently pressed his warm, dry lips softly against hers. All she could feel for that moment was his lips on hers. His eyes closed, dark lashes fanning out over his tanned skin, and she watched through half closed lids as he pulled back a bit, parting their mouths, but still so close she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. She couldn't believe how soft his mouth was, how pliable his lips were when just a few minutes ago he had seemed so hard, solid, immovable. He neared again, kissing her once more, soft and slow, deeper, but still a model of decorum. This time she closed her eyes and noticed the odd, new, but not unpleasant sensation of his nose brushing against the side of hers lightly, the tip pressing warm against her cheek.

There was the slight tickle of the tip of his nose as he shifted his mouth over to the corner of her own, trailing over her face, planting a kiss there, off center. She heard the sharp, deep inhale of his breath through his nose, as though he were preparing to dive underwater for a long time, was dimly aware of bright red and blue fireworks were exploding over them, the cannons firing, trumpets blaring, kettle drums pounding. He pulled back and straightened a little, cupping her face lightly in his hands. He dropped a chaste kiss onto her forehead, among the escaping tendrils of hair. He trailed the fingers of his right hand back, combing them into her ponytail.

His eyes nearly closed, lips parted slightly, fingertips still entwined in her hair, he sighed and breathed a single word in an awed tone under his breath, so softly she was almost convinced she had imagined it at first. "Sokrovishte."

Her heart squeezed in her chest when she realized what he had said. Sokrovishte. Treasure. She searched his face for a second, then found herself answering without really willing it, in like manner, "I love you too, Viktor." And it felt perfectly right in her mouth.