A/N: This is a little oneshot I wrote on a whim. Even though he's Bulgarian, I'm making Krum German for the purpose of this story because I can't write anything in the Cyrillic alphabet. Based on the movie's interpretation of what Viktor looks like. Post-book 7. Beware, it's a bit moody and the syntax may be a bit disjointed.
Disclaimer: I don't own Viktor Krum, and I'd be nuts to say I owned Adolph Hitler or Mein Kampf
Eins, zwei, drei, vier…One set done. Eins, zwei, drei, vier. Two sets done. Feel the burn. Love the pain.
Thirty sets later, Viktor Krum dropped his dumbbells and flopped onto his bed, cracking open a Muggle book. Mein Kampf, it was called, written by the Muggles' version of Voldemort, Adolph Hitler. Every five words he opened up his dictionary. Despite having a limited knowledge of English, he was exceedingly eloquent in his native language. Hitler's twisted mind was repelling to Viktor, yet somehow captivating. He ran his hand over his closely-cut hair as his eyes scanned the description of the Aryan race, startled at how much Hitler's prejudices matched those of the Purebloods—only those who were perfect and pure should exist, according to them, and the rest were worse than dirt.
Viktor threw the book across the room. His anger poured out through his finely muscled arm, through his fist, and created a dent in one of Durmstrang's plaster walls. Stupid prejudices. Why couldn't everyone just get along?
This thought reminded Viktor of when he was under Karkaroff's control in the maze…how he struggled to repel Karkaroff's mind as it invaded his own. He couldn't believe he agreed to that. All for the sake of competition. He was glad that Karkaroff had killed himself once he heard of the death of the Dark Lord.
Viktor threw a heavy coat on, opened his wide window, got on his broom, and flew into the slowly darkening sky. His breath formed smoky-looking particles in the cold night air. He wished he could fly away from Bulgaria. Away from the grueling Quidditch practices. He wished that he could go to Hogwarts—to him it was an idyllic place, filled with everlasting love and tolerance and friendship. He recalled Herm…Herm…the pretty girl with the name he couldn't pronounce. He wondered how she was. And her ridiculous friend Weasley, and her valiant friend Potter.
Viktor's hawklike eyes spotted movement on the ground below, a tiny first-year Durmstranger running, perhaps to beat the eight o'clock curfew. He, being a famous Quidditch seeker, was exempt from many of Durmstrang's rules. It didn't matter much anymore…in a few months he would be rid of it. He veered back towards his dormitory. He sighed. Maybe if he left Durmstrang now and went to Hogwarts he would stop being other people's puppet. He would escape the clutches of his overbearing father who lived vicariously through him and his intelligent brother. He had never wanted Durmstrang, or the Bulgarian Quidditch team. He kept secret his love of being—just standing somewhere and being. Being aware of where one was, being a person, being more than a giant gorilla of a young man. He made up his mind.
Viktor Krum packed up all his things, shrank them, and stuffed them into a fairly large backpack. He wrote a letter for his roommate, in which he instructed him to tell the headmaster and his father that he had run off to a foreign country to work in their Ministry. He left the evil book lying on the floor of his room. Without even a look back, Viktor Krum sped off into the Bulgarian night sky, towards the west…towards Hogwarts, towards a new life.
A/N: I know that that was so totally random. Just felt like writing it. Review if you want, though it'd be nice. I've got an idea…how about you read my other stories? I think they're pretty good, myself…but what do you think?