Harry Potter: Books and Boys: Viktor's Story (Hermione/Viktor)
Title: Books and Boys, Viktor's POV
Author: Lady Kes
Rating: G
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, which is probably a good thing. All rights are reserved to JK Rowling and her brigade of lawyers.
Summary: What was Viktor's perspective when he was asking Hermione to the Yule Ball?
A/N: You may notice that the dialogue is very slightly different between the two perspectives, since people remember conversations slightly differently sometimes. Oh, and thank you to staciey for her lovely review of the Hermione segment of this story.
Viktor Krum liked Quidditch. He was good at it, he understood it, and somehow his tendency to trip over the feet that seemed to have grown far faster than the rest of him was curtailed when he was on a broom.
Viktor Krum also liked girls. It was hard not to when you were a teenage male, after all, and since he had been selected as Bulgaria’s seeker he had had quite a few opportunities to get to know girls. He had noticed that the majority of the females around him seemed rather enamoured of his status rather than being interested in him as a person, which he did not like. It had only gotten worse since his selection as Champion, and now he had great difficulty doing anything without various girls following him around, giggling and fluttering their eyelashes as if they had something permanently stuck in their eyes. It looked rather painful, to be honest.
Karkaroff had informed him that he would need to find a partner for the Yule Ball and suggested a few of the more empty-headed but decorative girls around. Viktor had merely grunted and ignored his suggestions, determined to find someone with whom he could actually hold a conversation for more than five seconds. He had thought he might have found one in Harry Potter’s pretty brown-haired friend, but finding the courage to ask her was proving more elusive than a Snitch. Why was it that he could aim himself directly at the ground going full speed on a broom but could not actually ask a girl to a ball? Perhaps that was one of the mysteries of the universe, right behind why girls did that fluttering thing.
Well, he’d put it off enough. He was going to go to the library and ask Hermione Granger to the Yule Ball. He took a deep breath and opened the door. She was in her usual spot, studying...Arithmancy, if his ability to read upside-down and in another language hadn’t deserted him. He walked towards her as quietly as possible, but his overlarge feet betrayed him once more. She looked up, clearly having heard him, and sighed for some reason before gathering up her study materials and brushing past him. Now what had he done? He hadn’t even said anything and she’d left. Just then the library door opened and his usual band of groupies walked in. Ah. She didn’t want her studying to be interrupted by him and his unwanted entourage. Luckily he knew a way to discourage the groupies. He walked back out the library door and headed straight for the men’s bathroom, which caused all his groupies to giggle embarrassedly and disappear. Nifty trick, that.
He then reversed course away from the bathroom and headed in the direction Miss Granger had been going. Since she had a habit of walking and reading (which tended to slow her steps), he soon caught up to her. He knew she was aware of him, given the way her back stiffened and her wand slipped into her hand, but he didn’t expect her to turn so quickly that her Arithmancy book came flying towards him. He caught it just before it impacted his chest and held it back out to her.
“Thanks,” she said, a bit awkwardly.
“You’re velcome,” he said quietly. He was afraid to say more because of his accent, so instead he looked at her, all his courage having deserted him now that he was actually standing and talking with her...well, okay, not talking, more like staring like an idiot.
Finally she appeared to decide that the conversation depended on her and said, “Not to be rude, but are you following me?” and looked at him curiously.
He blushed, a trait he really disliked in himself, then decided he was going to blurt it out all at once and get it over with.
“Vantedtotalktoyouvitoutgirls” he managed to mumble, then stared at his feet again. Was that even intelligible? He wasn’t sure he had the courage to say it again if it wasn’t. And he hadn’t even mentioned the ball yet.
She appeared to have understood him, because she eventually said, “Why did you want to talk to me? I can’t tell you anything about the Tasks, you know.”
She thought he was trying to find out what her friend Harry Potter knew? Oh, that wasn’t right at all. He wouldn’t ask for information like that!
“No, no, not about Tournament. Vanted to talk to you about Ball,” he said, somewhat hopefully. There. He’d said it. She still seemed confused though. Was it possible she was as confused about him as he was about her?
“The Ball? What about the Ball? Haven’t they told you the details? I’m sure your Headmaster could answer questions better than me,” she said quickly, as if she didn’t really know why he was talking to her.
“He cannot answer dis qvestion, Herminee Granger,” he said. He’d mispronounced her name, he was sure of it, but some of his courage had returned at the idea that maybe she was nervous too. He didn’t like the idea of her being uncomfortable, but maybe teenage females were as confused as teenage males about this whole interaction thing.
“And what question would that be, Mr. Krum?” she asked him. Ugh, Mr. Krum, that was his father.
“Viktor,” he said, hoping she would interpret it as a request to call him by his first name.
“Viktor, then,” she said with a slight smile. The smile encouraged him.
“I...haff been vatching you. You study and you vish to learn things. I study and I vish to learn about you. Vill you go vit me to Ball?” he asked, looking at her hopefully. Not precisely the most suave invitation, but at least he’d said it.
She seemed slightly stunned; as if she wasn’t sure he’d asked her what she thought he had. That didn't make sense, though. She was smart and pretty, so why would she be startled at someone asking her to the ball?
“Well, yes, I suppose I’ll go. I should warn you that I am not exactly adept in the social graces, though,” she responded. He smiled, understanding. She apparently wasn’t quite sure she’d be a good dance partner, so he sought to reassure her.
“I haff big feet. Hard to dance vit big feet. I tink ve will be eqval,” he said, slightly teasingly and with a smile.
She smiled back, but then her eyes widened as she appeared to consider the time before she said, “I need to go up to the Common Room. Curfew’s coming and I don’t want to get in trouble. And you should go back to your ship.”
“Da.” He cringed mentally. Wrong language, Viktor! “Er, yes. But maybe, ve talk tomorrow?” he smiled at her, wondering how much longer the bathroom trick would work.
She smiled and said, “Yes, perhaps we should get better acquainted. Thank you for asking me to the Ball, Viktor. It’s most kind of you.”
He wasn’t doing it out of kindness or pity. Honestly, what were these English boys doing, treating someone like her in such a way that she thought she was someone to be asked out of pity?
“Not kind. Vant to go to Ball vit girl vit brains. Not fluff. Talking is more interesting if girl’s head not full of fluff,” he said firmly.
“Well, my hair’s rather fluffy, but I’ve certainly got more than fluff inside my head,” she responded with a laugh.
Maybe she understood what he meant then. “Tomorrow, I learn more of vhat is inside head,” he replied before holding his hand out. His mama had taught him that women liked being treated like ladies, and that meant doing things like kissing their hands. Apparently Hermione had not encountered that particular custom very often, though, because she held hers out as if to shake his hand. He gently turned her hand and raised it to his lips, being careful not to linger too much, slobber on her, or do anything else his mama would have scolded him for. He then smiled and turned, heading down the stairs and back to the ship. Karkaroff could say what he liked and it would not matter. He had asked a girl to the ball, and tomorrow he would talk to her again, with no eye fluttering or giggling involved. His mama would be proud.
Author: Lady Kes
Rating: G
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, which is probably a good thing. All rights are reserved to JK Rowling and her brigade of lawyers.
Summary: What was Viktor's perspective when he was asking Hermione to the Yule Ball?
A/N: You may notice that the dialogue is very slightly different between the two perspectives, since people remember conversations slightly differently sometimes. Oh, and thank you to staciey for her lovely review of the Hermione segment of this story.
Viktor Krum liked Quidditch. He was good at it, he understood it, and somehow his tendency to trip over the feet that seemed to have grown far faster than the rest of him was curtailed when he was on a broom.
Viktor Krum also liked girls. It was hard not to when you were a teenage male, after all, and since he had been selected as Bulgaria’s seeker he had had quite a few opportunities to get to know girls. He had noticed that the majority of the females around him seemed rather enamoured of his status rather than being interested in him as a person, which he did not like. It had only gotten worse since his selection as Champion, and now he had great difficulty doing anything without various girls following him around, giggling and fluttering their eyelashes as if they had something permanently stuck in their eyes. It looked rather painful, to be honest.
Karkaroff had informed him that he would need to find a partner for the Yule Ball and suggested a few of the more empty-headed but decorative girls around. Viktor had merely grunted and ignored his suggestions, determined to find someone with whom he could actually hold a conversation for more than five seconds. He had thought he might have found one in Harry Potter’s pretty brown-haired friend, but finding the courage to ask her was proving more elusive than a Snitch. Why was it that he could aim himself directly at the ground going full speed on a broom but could not actually ask a girl to a ball? Perhaps that was one of the mysteries of the universe, right behind why girls did that fluttering thing.
Well, he’d put it off enough. He was going to go to the library and ask Hermione Granger to the Yule Ball. He took a deep breath and opened the door. She was in her usual spot, studying...Arithmancy, if his ability to read upside-down and in another language hadn’t deserted him. He walked towards her as quietly as possible, but his overlarge feet betrayed him once more. She looked up, clearly having heard him, and sighed for some reason before gathering up her study materials and brushing past him. Now what had he done? He hadn’t even said anything and she’d left. Just then the library door opened and his usual band of groupies walked in. Ah. She didn’t want her studying to be interrupted by him and his unwanted entourage. Luckily he knew a way to discourage the groupies. He walked back out the library door and headed straight for the men’s bathroom, which caused all his groupies to giggle embarrassedly and disappear. Nifty trick, that.
He then reversed course away from the bathroom and headed in the direction Miss Granger had been going. Since she had a habit of walking and reading (which tended to slow her steps), he soon caught up to her. He knew she was aware of him, given the way her back stiffened and her wand slipped into her hand, but he didn’t expect her to turn so quickly that her Arithmancy book came flying towards him. He caught it just before it impacted his chest and held it back out to her.
“Thanks,” she said, a bit awkwardly.
“You’re velcome,” he said quietly. He was afraid to say more because of his accent, so instead he looked at her, all his courage having deserted him now that he was actually standing and talking with her...well, okay, not talking, more like staring like an idiot.
Finally she appeared to decide that the conversation depended on her and said, “Not to be rude, but are you following me?” and looked at him curiously.
He blushed, a trait he really disliked in himself, then decided he was going to blurt it out all at once and get it over with.
“Vantedtotalktoyouvitoutgirls” he managed to mumble, then stared at his feet again. Was that even intelligible? He wasn’t sure he had the courage to say it again if it wasn’t. And he hadn’t even mentioned the ball yet.
She appeared to have understood him, because she eventually said, “Why did you want to talk to me? I can’t tell you anything about the Tasks, you know.”
She thought he was trying to find out what her friend Harry Potter knew? Oh, that wasn’t right at all. He wouldn’t ask for information like that!
“No, no, not about Tournament. Vanted to talk to you about Ball,” he said, somewhat hopefully. There. He’d said it. She still seemed confused though. Was it possible she was as confused about him as he was about her?
“The Ball? What about the Ball? Haven’t they told you the details? I’m sure your Headmaster could answer questions better than me,” she said quickly, as if she didn’t really know why he was talking to her.
“He cannot answer dis qvestion, Herminee Granger,” he said. He’d mispronounced her name, he was sure of it, but some of his courage had returned at the idea that maybe she was nervous too. He didn’t like the idea of her being uncomfortable, but maybe teenage females were as confused as teenage males about this whole interaction thing.
“And what question would that be, Mr. Krum?” she asked him. Ugh, Mr. Krum, that was his father.
“Viktor,” he said, hoping she would interpret it as a request to call him by his first name.
“Viktor, then,” she said with a slight smile. The smile encouraged him.
“I...haff been vatching you. You study and you vish to learn things. I study and I vish to learn about you. Vill you go vit me to Ball?” he asked, looking at her hopefully. Not precisely the most suave invitation, but at least he’d said it.
She seemed slightly stunned; as if she wasn’t sure he’d asked her what she thought he had. That didn't make sense, though. She was smart and pretty, so why would she be startled at someone asking her to the ball?
“Well, yes, I suppose I’ll go. I should warn you that I am not exactly adept in the social graces, though,” she responded. He smiled, understanding. She apparently wasn’t quite sure she’d be a good dance partner, so he sought to reassure her.
“I haff big feet. Hard to dance vit big feet. I tink ve will be eqval,” he said, slightly teasingly and with a smile.
She smiled back, but then her eyes widened as she appeared to consider the time before she said, “I need to go up to the Common Room. Curfew’s coming and I don’t want to get in trouble. And you should go back to your ship.”
“Da.” He cringed mentally. Wrong language, Viktor! “Er, yes. But maybe, ve talk tomorrow?” he smiled at her, wondering how much longer the bathroom trick would work.
She smiled and said, “Yes, perhaps we should get better acquainted. Thank you for asking me to the Ball, Viktor. It’s most kind of you.”
He wasn’t doing it out of kindness or pity. Honestly, what were these English boys doing, treating someone like her in such a way that she thought she was someone to be asked out of pity?
“Not kind. Vant to go to Ball vit girl vit brains. Not fluff. Talking is more interesting if girl’s head not full of fluff,” he said firmly.
“Well, my hair’s rather fluffy, but I’ve certainly got more than fluff inside my head,” she responded with a laugh.
Maybe she understood what he meant then. “Tomorrow, I learn more of vhat is inside head,” he replied before holding his hand out. His mama had taught him that women liked being treated like ladies, and that meant doing things like kissing their hands. Apparently Hermione had not encountered that particular custom very often, though, because she held hers out as if to shake his hand. He gently turned her hand and raised it to his lips, being careful not to linger too much, slobber on her, or do anything else his mama would have scolded him for. He then smiled and turned, heading down the stairs and back to the ship. Karkaroff could say what he liked and it would not matter. He had asked a girl to the ball, and tomorrow he would talk to her again, with no eye fluttering or giggling involved. His mama would be proud.