5A/N: A little background info - Paris Je T'aime is a French-language collective film that includes eighteen love stories (not necessarily romantic) in eighteen of the twenty-some Paris arrondissements. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it.
"Vot," he said, draining his goblet and getting to his feet again, "is the point of being an international Quidditch player if all the good-looking girls are taken?" - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
It was hard to quell his anger when confronted with such an ignorant, careless, inconsiderate man. Deathly Hallows, indeed. . .
Storming off to the far side of the magically expanded garden, Viktor Krum reflected on the status of tonight. For starters, it had been a pleasant wedding, and he had been delighted to receive Fleur's invitation. He had also been delighted to see Hermione again.
However, he had finally excepted that they were just friends. He had known the the redhead boy had liked her from the start, and judging from Hermione's letters, she liked him as well.
To add to his singular feeling, the rest of the females at the wedding who were close to his age seemed to be occupied with partners already. Even worse, he didn't know any of these people, and despite the fact that he was an international Quidditch player, he wasn't a superb conversationalist.
It wasn't as if he was asking for a lot of attention - on the contrary, he disliked the craze of fans and their over-enthusiasm. He just wanted one girl, one quietly pretty girl who he could understand and be attracted to, and vice versa. So far, he hadn't really found her.
His anger was fading into sullenness as he roamed the edges of the yard, mulling over his present status as a single man. Watching the festivities from afar, he breathed the summer air heavily.
He almost didn't notice how the music stopped and the dancers separated to make way for a luminous figure - what was it? A dog? Or a large cat? The thing he believed to be a Patronus of some sort spoke in a loud, booming voice that he could not understand from his stance on the farther side of the garden. All he knew was the sudden pandemonium that had broken out after the Patronus vanished.
The numerous guests began to Disapparate while some new figures appeared to Apparate in. Immediately, Viktor's sense of danger was sparked and he moved for his wand-
"Ah, no! I can't Apparate yet!" A girl of about his own age, English, shouted. Her chocolate brown curls flew from side to side as she looked about frantically.
Close by, he could see people arriving and leaving at the same time. Thinking on instinct, he ran, grabbed the unknown girl's hand, and Apparated out to the first safe place he could think of - his hotel. As they were sucked into that odd sensation, Viktor held onto her hand tightly, hoping that neither would get splinched on account of his hasty thinking or her clearly terrified emotional state.
When the whole swirl finally ended, and they were in the main room of the Leaky Cauldron, she gave out a short yelp.
"What - what-" she sputtered.
"You said you did not know how to Apparate," he told her simply.
"Viktor Krum!"
He cleared his throat uncomfortably as the girl's eyes widened. "Yes. And you are?"
"Penelope Clearwater, former Ravenclaw Hogwarts prefect. The TriWizard tournament was my eighth year. I stayed extra," she replied, a smile beginning to form on her face.
"Thank you for. . . Well, saving me. I've never been much good at Apparition."
Viktor's face was heating up a bit. "Uh, yes. You're velcome."
At that point, he didn't know what else to say. He was looking at her, wracking his brains for something interesting of something witty and engaging, but as usual, nothing.
"Er, well, d'you fancy a drink? I could do with one, after tonight."
Relieved, he told her with a smile, "I could do vith one as vell."
I didn't want to create an OC. And since, JKR did say that Percy and Penelope did not marry, I thought of this. Perhaps Penelope was invited to the wedding after Fleur befriended her sometime in GOF? And yes, I decided that Penelope would stay another year. Artistic liberty, people. Review if you dare. . .