Disclaimer: I don't own anything, and the three Goblet of Fire quotes aren't mine. I could cry :(
'He looks really grumpy.'
'Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable.'
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
Viktor Krum was soaring across the Quidditch pitch of the Vratsa Vultures' home stadium, the Golden Snitch which always seemed to be magically attracted to his hand, continuing to flutter out of his reach. No matter how much he pushed his Firebolt, he couldn't touch the Snitch; even when it darted over his shoulder, his arm didn't seem to want to move to take it.
And then Peter King, his Puddlemore United counterpart was catching up with him, shooting past Viktor as though he were a butterfly lazily floating around. King was within a foot of the Snitch. His arm was extended. His fingers were brushing its wings. And it was over. King had it.
Viktor felt his feet skim grass without being aware that he'd descended, and all around him his team mates were also landing, screaming at their prized Seeker in outrage. A great bear of a man was storming onto the pitch, with the Coach hurrying after him and twitching with nerves. The gigantic man was yelling at the eighteen year old with whom he shared so many physical characteristics; only the bigger man always seemed so much larger, so much more imposing.
Viktor was protesting, arguing that he couldn't catch the Snitch but no one seemed to hear him. Meanwhile, the crowd was muttering angrily, batting around words such as 'disgusting,' 'useless' and 'waste of money…'
Viktor awoke with a start and found himself drenched in an uncomfortable amount of sweat. It took him a moment to come to his senses and realise that he was not in the Vultures' stadium being shouted at by his father, but in a bed aboard the Durmstrang ship.
Yes, he was definitely on the ship, he reassured himself, as he felt the rocking of the waves beneath the vessel.
Also in the small cabin were three of his fellow seventh years and they were playing some Russian card game complete with a large bottle of vodka that was being passed round between them. None of them noticed him wake, or if they did they didn't show any acknowledgement of it.
Not that Viktor minded, in fact, on the whole he preferred most of his classmates when they were silent. When he had first been scouted for the Vultures last year, they had distinctively cooled towards him and never warmed up since. Of course his reception this year had been even more icy than usual; not only had he played in the World Cup Final, but he'd had the nerve to catch the Snitch and lose Bulgaria the game. Viktor still squirmed at the memory of his father's outrage after the match. Ending the match on his terms seemed the only thing he had been in control of that day.
Viktor glanced at his wristwatch and saw it was seven o clock in the morning; a perfectly reasonable time to get up but not an acceptable time to be drinking vodka. He supposed they hadn't even bothered going to bed and were taking advantage of the temporary absence of Karkaroff, whom it seemed impossible to avoid running into while breaking rules at Durmstrang.
Viktor swung his legs off the bed and got to his feet, not stumbling despite the rough wave movement. That was Seeker balance for you, he thought bitterly.
'Finally joining the big boys?' laughed one of the other seventh years, holding up the bottle of vodka and taking a swig.
Viktor remained silent but spared him one withering look; seriously, where did he get his sayings from?
He dressed quickly and headed out into the corridor, from where he could hear laughter and chattering from each room that led off of it. Clearly all the other Durmstrang seventh years were having a great time. It seemed to Viktor that he was the only miserable one on board.
No change there, then.
Unsure what else to do, Viktor climbed the short ladder at the end of the corridor and found himself on the deck of Durmstrang's prized ship, which was only actually used if there was an opportunity to show off to another magical school.
The morning air was crisp and a heavy breeze hit Viktor as he wandered over to the railings. He didn't mind this, however, because the deck was empty and he struggled to remember the last time he had been truly alone.
Only one year left, he thought to himself. One more year of Durmstrang and then he was supposed to be fully committing himself to the Vratsa Vultures and the national team.
His Quidditch career was something of a contradiction to Viktor. On one hand, flying was his favourite thing in the world to do. No, it was more than that. When he was in the air he felt untouchable, as though nothing or no one could hurt him. And that, in turn, was why he felt himself become more and more disillusioned with Quidditch each match he played. There was no doubt that he loved the challenge of catching the Snitch, yet playing in front of an expectant crowd felt so contained and entrapping- the exact opposite of why he loved flying.
'Good morning, Viktor,' came a booming voice that knocked him from his- admittedly slightly depressing- thoughts.
'Oh, good morning, headmaster,' said Viktor to Karkaroff who had just appeared on deck and was strolling over to him looking satisfied.
Karkaroff shook his hand, an annoying habit of his that did nothing to win Viktor the favour of his classmates, and then glanced out at the choppy sea.
'We'll be arriving early evening,' said Karkaroff, 'Planning on having the ship rise out of that lake in the Hogwarts grounds.'
'That sounds impressive,' said Viktor, unsure as to what else he was meant to say to that.
Karkaroff turned to him and gave him the smile which was so rarely cast upon any other student.
'I trust you to represent Durmstrang impeccably over the next few months, Viktor. I know you will make me and our institution proud.'
'Well, I haven't been picked by the goblet yet sir.'
Karkaroff waved this away, 'Details, Viktor, details. You will be picked. Who else would it pick?' his face screwed up unfairly as if thinking of how unsatisfactory every other student was.
Viktor was used to this kind of behaviour from Karkaroff, but it made him uncomfortable none the less. Academic wise he was no better than any other seventh year. It was true that he had good reflexes and a knack for knowing which spell to use when, but in Viktor's opinion that was mainly down to years of good natured duels with older brothers than anything else.
'You make Durmstrang proud,' nodded Karkaroff, resuming his satisfied look and gazing out to sea once more.
'Yes, sir.'
Durmstrang's ship actually arrived in Scotland early afternoon, but in true Karkaroff fashion, a grand entrance was required. So Viktor and his classmates had been stuck on the boat for a good six hours, waiting until nightfall so it could emerge dramatically from the lake to general applause.
Karkaroff got his way, and when they finally stepped onto dry land, hundreds of Hogwarts students and teachers were convening in front of the castle clapping enthusiastically.
Viktor was slightly taken aback when he saw the school, and judging by the many intakes of breaths beside him, so were most of his classmates. While Durmstrang was by no means a small place, Hogwarts castle was enormous, seemingly stretching on for miles. No wonder Karkaroff was employing his fake smile, thought Viktor amusingly, as he watched the headmaster greet his Hogwarts counterpart with a slightly resentful air about him.
Suddenly, he heard his own name being mentioned.
'Viktor, come along, into the warmth… you don't mind Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold…' (A/N: Quote from GoF, not mine!)
Oh dear God, thought Viktor, as Karkaroff beckoned him forward and he had no option but to follow his headmaster through the whispering crowds. Everyone seemed to recognise him immediately, despite Viktor's attempts to keep his head down.
They could at least be subtle about it, thought Viktor bitterly, as he passed a lanky ginger boy who hissed to his friend that Viktor Krum had just walked past them.
Karkaroff ushered Viktor inside the castle, into a large entrance hall, where they were soon followed by the other Durmstrang students, many of whom were still looking around in awe. There was a bit of an awkward gathering around the door to the dining hall, since none of them were sure where they were supposed to sit. This was resolved when Karkaroff gestured them to a long table bedecked with green and silver banners, and Viktor found himself sitting next to a pale boy with a remarkably pointed face and cold eyes that instantly reminded Viktor of his own father's.
'Hello,' said the boy immediately, extending his hand to Viktor and speaking in the stereotypical accent that all foreigners assumed English people spoke in.
'Hello,' replied Viktor, shaking the boy's hand, 'I'm Viktor Krum.'
The boy rolled his eyes- once again reminding Viktor of his father's reaction to anyone saying something he disagreed with, 'Yes, I know who you are. I'm Draco Malfoy.'
The name Malfoy rang with a sense of familiarity somewhere in Viktor's mind; he was sure he had heard Karkaroff refer to someone with that surname before.
'I saw you in the World Cup,' continued Draco, before Viktor could say anything else. Across the table from him, two large boys who resembled rocks more than they did people, nodded along stupidly.
'Er, that's great,' replied Viktor, unsure what else to say to this, 'What did you think of the match?'
'Oh it was brilliant! The way you did that Wronski Faint was amazing!'
'Wronski Feint,' corrected Viktor automatically.
Draco blushed slightly and took a swig of his drink rather than reply. Viktor took advantage of his temporary silence to glance around the hall. As he looked up, he noticed that the same lanky ginger boy from earlier was staring at him from across the room. Viktor avoided his gaze, and his eyes fell on the girl sitting next to the boy. She was…
'So, I suppose you're entering the tournament?' asked Draco, pulling Viktor's attention away from the unknown Hogwarts student.
'Yes,' said Viktor sullenly, irritated that Draco had chosen that moment to speak.
The mention of the Triwizard Tournament had also done nothing to improve his bad mood. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to enter the stupid thing, but as usual it hadn't been his decision. As soon as his father had heard it was being held, Viktor had had no option but to agree to submit his name.
Well, he supposed he could man up and stop letting his father walk all over him, but that last choice wasn't particularly realistic.
'I hope you get it,' said Draco excitedly, 'Imagine being an international Quidditch player and Triwizard champion!'
Viktor gave a weak smile and tried to ignore the rising feeling of nausea inside of him.
The following morning found the Durmstrang students queuing in the Entrance Hall to put their names into the Goblet of Fire. All of them were chattering excitedly and debating what on earth the tasks could be. Viktor had somehow found himself pushed to the front of the queue by Karkaroff, as if putting his name in first was a guarantee of being chosen.
I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this.
'Hurry up, Viktor!' boomed Karkaroff.
Viktor was half tempted to run straight out of the castle there and then. He could grab his broomstick and go anywhere he wanted to.
Except it would make no difference, because wherever he went people would know who he was.
Taking a deep breath, Viktor stepped over the age line Dumbledore had drawn, and approached the goblet. Flames were dancing and hissing inside it, as he raised his hand, a piece of parchment clasped in it.
'Hurry up!' complained the next person in the queue.
Quickly, so that he couldn't change his mind, Viktor uncurled his fingers and let the slip of paper drop into the goblet. The flames turned red for a moment and then went back to how they had looked before, as though nothing had happened.
He stepped back and let the next person get near; his heart was beating incredibly quickly. It didn't help that the hall was filled with Hogwarts students, all of whom were looking at him.
'Go and ask him!' one girl urged her friend.
'No!' her companion retorted, 'You're the one who wants the autograph!'
Viktor hastily turned away from them, and found himself face to face with the boy he'd sat next to the night before.
'Hello, Viktor,' said Draco, grinning smugly at his fellow classmates, who seemed to be in awe that he was on first name terms with Viktor Krum, 'Are you coming into breakfast?'
'Erm, no, I'm not,' said Viktor, even though his stomach rumbled at that very point, 'I need to get some work done, I'm going to the library.'
And leaving Draco Malfoy and the rest of the crowd in the Entrance Hall looking rather bewildered, Viktor dashed up the staircase before anyone could follow him.
He hadn't actually got any work to do, but now he thought about it, a library was the perfect place to hide from the fan club he seemed to be acquiring- plenty of bookshelves to duck behind.
It took him a while to find the place, and he was forced to ask for directions from a rather horrible looking ghost covered in silver blood stains, but he eventually found himself in the library. Even better, it was deserted except for one girl sitting alone at a table.
Viktor chose a book off the shelf at random, sat down across the room from the girl, and began to read. It was hard to concentrate, however, because the girl kept muttering to herself as she flicked through her books. He caught the words 'slave labour' a few times, but had no idea as to what she was talking about.
This continued for a while, but it wasn't until she actually slammed a copy of 'Hogwarts: A History' down in frustration, that Viktor looked up at her properly.
When he did so, he felt a strange sensation in his stomach that he'd never experienced before. It was something completely different to his feelings when he was chasing the Snitch or when his father was berating him for something.
It was the girl who'd sat next to the tall, red-haired boy at dinner.
Viktor looked at her and smiled to himself.
He'd definitely made the right decision in coming to the library.