The night had gone according to plan. Her hair and makeup was done to perfection. Her dress didn't have a rumple or wrinkle in sight. And her date was a right gentleman that could teach the Hogwarts boys a thing or two. Everything was perfect, just as she'd planned. Dancing the night away, she'd thought, "Yes. This is what it feels like to be a girl, to feel lovely and graceful." But when planning her perfect night, she'd never considered a possible catalyst: Ron Weasley.

Hermione sits on the stone steps leading up to the Gryffindor Tower and pulls her knees under her chin in defeat. She'd long ago abandoned her shoes on the lower step and ignores the cold of the stones seeping into her bare feet. Wiping at her damp face, she curses herself for ruining Ginny's hard work on her makeup. She glumly notes how her once perfectly structured hair has turned messy and flat, much like her night. Was a nice night too much to ask for? It's not that she expected a perfect night; she just for once wanted to have a night that worked in her favor. She'd actually been looking forward to the Yule Ball, contrary to what most believe. Though not one to spend much time on her looks, Hermione put a lot of time and effort into her appearance. Everyone seemed to approve, to her delight. Even Malfoy seemed speechless at the sight of her. Everyone looked at her in varying degrees of approval; everyone except Ron.

She feels another tear squeeze out of her eye and she brushes it away in anger. It had really started out perfect until he decided to butt in. God forbid a guy actually notice her for once without there being any backwards intentions involving Harry.

"Herm-own-ninny?" She lifts up her head in shock. Viktor stands in front of her, two drinks in hand, setting a confused look on her.

"Oh Viktor! I'm so sorry to have left you. I was just..." She trails off uncertainly. "Handling a few things."

He nods understandingly. "Ah. I haff drinks." He plops onto the step next to her and hands her a drink. They sit in a few minutes of silence as they sip from their glasses. When the silence gets to be too much, he asks, "Vhy haff you been crying?"

She swallows down the long rant she has at the ready and goes for a different approach. "Viktor...why did you ask me to the dance?"

She remembers how he approached her in the library without his entourage; it was the first time she'd ever seen him look nervous. He introduced himself, rather unnecessarily, and asked her to the ball in a sweet and humble manner. His nervousness only impaired his broken English further and surprisingly enough, this is what caused her to second guess her initial decision to decline his offer. She'd expected a pompous quidditch star and, she'll never admit it, but she was ashamed for stereotyping him the way others would do her.

He immediately responds to her question with, "You are very beautiful." Hermione blushes profusely under his piercing gaze. He sounds honest enough but she still finds it hard to believe someone actually having that opinion of her.

"But there are plenty of pretty girls you could've asked. Why pick me?"

He thinks for a moment, trying to think of the right words to use. He stares out in the direction of the Great Hall and speaks slowly, making sure to form the words correctly.

"You vere the first girl to see me for who I am. I vasn't the quidditch star to you. I vas just...Viktor Krum, the man."

Hermione considers this for a moment. "Is that something that's important to you?"

He again takes a minute to respond. "Vhen famous, it is difficult to be known for who you are rather than vhat you are. It is...something that's hard to come by. Someone like you is hard to come by."

She can't help but smile at the easy way he compliments her. The comments just slide right off his tongue, showing that he's not trying to be nice to her. He's just a natural gentleman through and through.

"If it's any consolation, I like Viktor Krum the man." He asks what consolation means and Hermione laughs as she explains the term. They remain on the steps for a while, teaching each other words in their own language.

She's never seen him so at ease before and she feels her bad mood being lifted. Of all people to find a kindred spirit in, she finds one in Viktor Krum. Like her, he just wants to be viewed as more than his image. Even she, who prides herself in being above such things, had him pegged as a holier-than-thou celebrity. Meanwhile, he'd seen her for who she truly is, and more. He'd seen her when no one else had.

He somehow ropes her into dancing with him in the now-abandoned hallway, with just the faintest of music leaking out from the Great Hall. The dance isn't graceful in the least, nothing like the dances they shared in Great Hall. Her heels are left on the steps, leaving her barefoot and an extra few inches shorter than Viktor. Her head barely reaches his shoulders and she has to crane her neck to see his contagious smile. He spins her round and round, sometimes stepping on her feet, sometimes vice versa.

It isn't perfect. Her dress is rumpled and wrinkled from the twirls and spins he throws her into. Her hair has completely fallen out at this point, hanging heavy on her back. Ginny's masterpiece of a makeup job has completely run off at this point.

It isn't perfect, and as Hermione swings off-kilter in Viktor's arms laughing, she realizes that's okay.

Viktor beams at her in a way that Ron never does, looks at her in a way that Ron never has. And later that night, when she's laying in bed with adrenaline still pumping through her and her lips still tingling from their goodbye kiss, she decides that maybe this is the kind of imperfection that she needs.

That maybe Viktor, with his two left feet and his awkward English, is just what she needs.

My first attempt at a Viktor/Hermione, please be kind!