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Viktoria wasn't beautiful, not really. Not when she was on the ground, at least; in the air, she flew like a sparrowhawk, all sharp angles and the arch of her body a perfect, straight line as she swept after the snitch like a kingfisher after a prized insect. The Bulgarians called her балерина, their Ballerina, likening her to a Russian prodigy, and Hermione couldn’t help but agree. When Viktoria tumbled and twirled through the air, the whole world held its breath to watch. In the air, she was art itself. Hermione didn’t care overly much for Quidditch as a whole, but she could appreciate that, at least.
On the ground, though, she was nothing at all you’d expect of a famous athlete. On the ground, she was quiet and clumsy, introverted. Her hair fell in a dark tumble like a bramble bush that she liked to keep in twin braids down her back, and her nose was too big for her face and slightly crooked from catching one too many bludgers over the years, and she stumbled over broken English with flustered nervousness whenever they ran across each other in the library. She couldn’t say Hermione, so she called her My-nee, and she sat very still and very stiff in the seat beside her as she listened to Hermione give an impassioned rant about the pay gap between male and female Quidditch players.
“It’s not fair,” Hermione said, between big gulps of air, and Viktoria’s eyes kept falling to her hands; the more impassioned Hermione became, the more she spoke in gestures and waves and clenched fists, and it brought a slow and creeping smile to Viktoria’s crooked face. “Gwenog Jones wrote this brilliant article and got it published in the Prophet about how Saoirse Fitzpatrick on the Irish team got paid less than half of what her male teammates received, and it’s so utterly vile! They couldn’t have won without her stopping all those goals!”
“Na,” Viktoria agreed, “Fitzpatrick is excellent flier.” She drew out the word excellent, pronounced it egks-sell-ant, awkward and clumsy through her teeth. She was smiling around the shape of it anyway as she leaned in toward Hermione, their knees knocking. “She deserved оправят. Better.”
Hermione nodded emphatically. “It’s hideously unfair what the athletic world does to female athletes. I used to think that the Magic world must be so advanced, but they’re really just as backwards as muggles in most ways. And don’t get me started about how muggleborns are treated.” Hermione glanced at the clock and blushed suddenly. “Oh no. I’ve been talking for hours, haven’t I?”
“Da,” Viktoria laughed, and tucked her braided hair over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, embarrassed. “No one ever wants to listen to me talk about this stuff. I think I got carried away.”
“My-nee. Красива. I could listen to you talk for дните. For days.” Viktoria’s face blushed in splotchy red patches, and Hermione noticed that her front teeth were perfectly square, just like hers became after Pomfrey fixed them. She’d probably had them fixed with magic half a hundred times, playing Quidditch. Her hands were big, and some of her fingers were crooked. She looked like all the rugby players that Hermione’s mum told her to stay away from during summer hols.
Hermione cleared her throat, suddenly aware that she was staring. Even though Viktoria didn’t seem to mind at all. “Thank you,” she said, her face burning.
The Bulgarian girl smiled at her. “Da,” she said, and brushed their knees together again. “Go on, My-nee.”
Hermione's face tingled. "Right," she said, and smothered a laugh in the back of her throat. "Right. Well, I don't know how muggleborns are treated in Bulgaria - remind me to come back to that topic, will you? I would love to hear about your experience at Durmstrang, it must have the most fascinating history - but I was aghast when I first came to Hogwarts and found out how many people saw me, and..."
Viktoria wasn't beautiful, not really. But Hermione couldn't stop looking at her anyway. When Viktoria stuttered and stumbled over inviting her to the Yule Ball, Hermione didn’t even take one moment to spare a thought to what anyone might think about them showing up together before telling Viktoria yes. It earned her the widest and most crooked smile yet, and Hermione wondered if the butterflies in her belly were anything like what Quidditch players felt when they flew.