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Ron hated the poster.
It was tacked up to the little stretch of wall between his bed and the window, at the just the position for him to wake up in the middle of the night from dreaming and find him staring at him from the poster's glossy surface.
He'd bought it at the World Cup last summer, before Bulgaria had lost to the Irish, before the terrifying madness with the Dark Mark, and before this awful tournament. It starred Viktor Krum, who at the time had been his hero, but who now ranked somewhere between corned beef sandwiches and Eloise Midgen.
And now, partially because Harry would ask questions and partially because he had taped the poster up with Spellotape, which was nearly impossible to remove, Ron kept the poster up even though just watching Krum perform the same dive for the Snitch on the same hideously green Quidditch field, which was the complete opposite of Hogwarts' snow covered one, made him want to throw a punch at something.
It had only gotten worse after the Yule Ball, after seeing Krum dancing in the Great Hall, wearing dress robes that made Ron's seem even shabbier and hopelessly out of style than they already were, with her on his arm.
Not, of course, that he cared.
But, he promised himself as he watched Krum and Hermione walk arm in arm a few steps ahead of him in the hallway, I will take down that poster.
