Krum

I tried so. damn. hard. to make sure this story wasn't mushy. And I totally failed. *sigh* But anyway, Igor Karkaroff is kind of annoying. And so is Viktor Krum. Needless to say, I'm not uber pleased with this story. I knew where I wanted to go with it, and I just feel like that didn't happen, even after editing and spending way too much time writing the first draft. I was never really that into either of their characters (Igor was always quite wimpy in my eyes, plus Viktor…ugh. I just don't get the dude), which made this harder. Do me a favor and let me know what you think?

Dear Headmaster Karkaroff,

In an effort to encourage and promote a greater sense of unity amidst a period of discord, the British Ministry of Magic has decided to prose the reinstatement of the Triwizard Tournament. After serious consideration, we have sent letters of intent to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Beauxbatons Academy, and your institution. We ask you to consider allowing your students to participate in what promises to be an enjoyable endeavor to bring together our children in a challenging yet safe environment.

Further information will be provided upon your acceptance.

Cordially yours,

Bartemius Crouch Sr.

Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation

British Ministry of Magic

Igor still had that first letter, tucked away amidst random bits of parchment littering a drawer of his ancient desk. Discussion over the approaching Tournament began nearly a year before, and he felt no surer of any of it now than he did then. He experienced no desire to encourage unity; he was more than happy to remain amongst the Durmstrang students, tucked away in the mountains where he could do his job and avoid getting into any further trouble for the remainder of his life. He desperately needed to forestall any unnecessary interactions with his fellow Death Eaters; though the Dark Lord had been gone for years, there were a few still dedicated to the cause out there, and he sincerely disliked the prospect of facing them amidst his now rather firm belief that he'd like to stay out of the business, thanks very much. Joining to begin with was dangerous – wanting out afterwards was even worse.

There stood but one reason behind his acceptance in allowing Durmstrang to participate in the Triwizard Tournament, and he currently rode several hundred feet above Igor's head. Viktor Krum. Durmstrang seventh year. International Quidditch sensation. And, if all went according to plan, Triwizard Champion.

Krum was the key to Igor's success. Through him, Durmstrang (and, through association, its headmaster) had grown in respect and prestige. Nearly vanished was the dark persona of a school that favored the dark arts, replaced by a shining young seeker whose skills were comparitable to the Quidditch greats. Following along with the British Ministry's idiotic plan for creating unity would only help further this change of viewpoint. Krum would be the reason Igor was remembered, particularly if the boy won.

From the grass below, the headmaster beckoned his prize student downward after momentarily catching the seeker's swift eyes. The boy landed smoothly and approached, broom causally slouched across his shoulder while his expression turned slightly bemused. Igor clapped the boy on the back, leading him down toward the lake where the ship awaited them.

"Come, Viktor, this is no time to practice. We are due at Hogwarts tomorrow."

Viktor frowned slightly, gripping the broomstick tighter. "I see no reason to go. It is pointless, this Tournament."

"Nonsense, my boy, no need to be so pessimistic," Igor scolded, though he wholeheartedly agreed. If his compatriots expected anything worthwhile to come of this farce of a venture, they were more than likely to be disappointed. He had appearances to keep, however, and the students expected him to follow along with the Ministry as a submissive, enthusiastic supporter. "Besides, it may become worth your time."

"How, sir?" he demanded, scoffing irritably. "If I become a Champion? If I win? I am in no need of more celebrity."

But I am, Igor thought, guiding Viktor to the ship's galley. A few stray students sat talking quietly at one of the tables, but they quickly scurried away at their headmaster's approach. They knew he had no time for them. "It would be an honor to represent Durmstrang Institute, Viktor," Igor sternly replied, attempting to use his most authoritative tone. "In the end, it is for us, our school and all those who attend it, that we play for in this game. It is not about you, child – it is about what we represent."

"It is always about me," the insufferable lad shot back with a wicked grin, causing Igor to bite back his growl of fury. Success went so easily to the head, particularly when the individual in question was an up starting teenage boy with a knack for Europe's most popular sport. He quickly trained his face into a disapproving glare, though the seeker barely reacted. They chose a table and sat across from each other, neither really considering his actions before acting on them. Before long, the ship gave a great lurch as the students set it into motion. Igor wondered briefly if they would remain thus stoically the entirety of the trip when Viktor shifted uncomfortably.

"What will it be like – the Tournament?" he asked, attempting to mask the fear in his voice with curiosity. The very human emotion startled the older wizard, but he realized it shouldn't have surprised him – for all his pomp and glory, Krum was still a child, prone to uncertainty just like the rest. Igor let out a low breath before replying.

"It will be difficult, certainly," he said, summoning himself a tankard. If he was forced to reassure the boy, he at least deserved some hard liquor. "Long, requiring all of your skills. The Beauxbatons Champion will be easy, but the Hogwarts one? It is on their grounds, in their country. They will not allow you to win easily. But you must…for all of us."

"I know I should, but I'd rather not," the boy muttered, head slightly bent so Igor couldn't see his face. He was struck by how eerily familiar this was – forced into participating in something he'd rather avoid, feeling the overwhelming sense of obligation, terrified of the consequences if he failed. He loathed the very thought of the comparison, but quite suddenly he'd become the Voldemort to Krum's Karkaroff. And he was incredibly displeased with all of it.

"I will not force you, Viktor," he said softly, surprising them both. The lad lifted his head, expression inquiring. "To keep appearances, you must attend. But if you truly do not wish it…" Igor tensed, closing his eyes at the rush of complete disappointment and betrayal. "I will not make you enter."

His only response initially was to stare at him dumbfounded. Slowly, nearly imperceptibly, he gave a single nod.

"I will do it."