A/N: I don't exactly ship them. This fic was done for a let's-pick-names-out-of-a-hat challenge. Yes we actually picked names out of a hat. And, yes, this is what I got.

It could've been worse. My friend got Fred and George....

Why did this always happen to him? He'd meet a nice girl, they'd start out fine, even date for a bit, but eventually, she'd leave for someone else. And he'd tried so hard too. He was a famous Quiddich player, his mom kept telling him, why could he find a steady girlfriend? Worse than his mother was his grandmother, who, apparently, wanted him to get married more than anything else. He turned from Hermoine, who was sobbing into another girl's shoulder on the steps, looking like a flower after a rainstorm. She had made it quite clear, even with his poor English, that she already belonged to someone else.

Not that she told him, of course. He'd watched their little scene, and even though he couldn't quite understand the words that were spoken in rage or half-drowned out be tears, he didn't need to. That red-headed boy – was it Ron? - had won. Viktor ran his hands through his hair, trying to look as casual as possible. Durmstrang had taught him that composure was everything. He made his way through the thinning crowd and headed for the punchbowl. Pouring himself a glass of the nasty stuff, he walked straight out, into the adjacent hallway, mostly to distract his mind from the last few hours. He'd almost tripped over a smaller form curled up next to the doorway.

"S-sorry." it mumbled

Viktor looked down at what turned out to be a boy wearing fairly average dress robes and a very sad expression. Perhaps his date ran off too...

Viktor sat down next to him and handed him the punch.

"Here, it will take your mind off things."

"Thanks."

The other boy drank down the whole glass and cringed.

"Too damn sweet."

They sat like this, staring at the wall opposite, for a while, before:

"I had a date to this Ball, you know. Mandy Brocklehurst. She's quite a pretty girl. But me, I'm just a boring ol' Hufflepuff. No one pays attention to us...except for Diggory of course."

He stretched out his legs before him. Viktor just lowered his head. So he was in the same situation...

"Wait. You – you're Viktor Krum! Didn't you come here with Hermoine Granger?"

"Yes. But she belongs to another."

Viktor closed his eyes.

"Harry Potter?"

"No. The other one. Ron I think."

"Ah."

The boy nodded and they sat there, just listening to the music seeping through the doorway. Then, suddenly:

"Come on, let's go."

The boy had gotten up and was now pulling his wrist. Not that he could ever lift Viktor up, but he was trying nonetheless. Viktor looked up in mild confusion.

"Let's go dance."

Seeing as he had nothing better to do, Viktor go up and followed the boy. Only couples were left on the dance floor, spinning to the pace of the song. Viktor was pulled somewhere towards the back, until the other boy stopped, turned around and put his other hand on his shoulder.

"Let's dance," he smiled

Almost instinctually, the two began spinning along with the rest of the couples. Soon both were smiling contentedly, blissfully unaware of the eyes of Igor Karkaroff and McGonagall. A small group of girls had formed near the dance floor. Some pointed, confused. Other giggled in approval. All whispered excitedly amongst themselves, forgetting who was Hogwarts, who Beauxbatons, who Durmstrang. And the two boys just danced.

"What's your name?"

"Justin. Justin Finch-Fletchley."

Perhaps I'm not so hopeless after all.