This story is written for the position of a team member of mine. She is our second Beater and that position had to include a certain Line of Dialogue into their stories, hers being somebody who's not a ferret saying "I'm going to tell my father about this."

Prompts:

(word) pancakes

(setting) Durmstrang

Enjoy reading :D

Victorious

Viktor huddled deeper into his fur coat as a rather brutal gust of wind hit him straight in the face. The temperature had dropped drastically in the last week and he could feel it. Even though the school had made sure the uniform was thick enough, in rare cases even the most stubborn weather would get through it. The soft fur caressed his cheeks as he pressed his nose further into it. The coat was as fluffy as the pancakes his mother always made for breakfast. He had to chuckle at the thought.

Today was the day of the final decision regarding the Triwizard Tournament. Headmaster Karkaroff had told the school two weeks ago what that tournament was about and how Durmstrang had the immense honour of participating. His school would be one of the three European magical schools chosen to write history. The British and French schools, as well as Durmstrang, were to send a group of previously selected students and potential participants to the chosen school, which would host the event. He didn't have a clue which school would be the lucky one, but he for sure hoped it was Durmstrang.

Hurrying past the cages that held the magical creatures for the fourth years, he jogged up to the entrance of the majestic building in front of him. The Durmstrang Institute was build on top of a mountain, surrounded by a thick forest. Its ancient structures were laced with magic, offering its students the best protection possible.

The only downside was the temperature. During his first year, he had been astounded, to put it lightly, at how cold Scandinavia could be. Even during the summer months it was possible for the air to turn freezing cold. Back home in Bulgaria, he was used to flying around on his broom, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and, if he was feeling a bit chilly, a thin vest. If he were to try it here... He was sure he'd probably freeze to death within five minutes. And it wouldn't do for a national Quidditch player to die on a broom, but not because of crashing but instead of wearing the wrong attire.

He hurried past the big gate, throwing a watchful eye in its direction and sped up until he had reached the insides of the cold castle. Ever since he had first set foot in his temporary home, he had been afraid that the heavy iron gate would one day just lose its hold, crash down and smash him underneath it. That was, of course, a very stupid and childish fear, regarding the fact that magic was what secured the gate about ten metres above the ground.

His friends were already assembled in front of the big chair that was usually occupied by Headmaster Karkaroff. Today a younger witch, maybe aged around forty years, was waiting for everyone above the age of seventeen to arrive. It was the day of the decision of who would be chosen to have a chance to take part in the Triwizard Tournament. Of course, as Professor Karkaroff had said, the final decision would be made by a magical goblet called The Goblet of Fire, but Victor had to agree that it wouldn't be a bad thing to give the goblet a selection of the bravest, most capable and determined students the school had to offer.

The witch raised her wand arm and the heavy doors of the Gathering Hall closed on their own.

"Welcome," Lea Olsson said in a clear voice, grabbing the attention of the roughly thirty people in the room. "You have expressed the wish to be part of the tournament and that is the reason why I am here today."

She cleared her throat and started walking to and fro, her arms crossed behind her back.

"Just to make it clear, it has not been me that has made the decision of who is allowed to have a chance to become a Champion, but the Headmaster himself. It will not be of any use to start arguing if your name will not be read out."

Viktor glanced at his classmates, who all wore serious expressions on their faces. The only exception was his best, and only, friend Marcel, who was trying his best not to grin and start jumping up and down. Viktor suppressed a chuckle and shook his head.

Marcel was Norwegian, had blond hair, blue eyes... Well, he was basically your stereotypical Scandinavian guy. Tall, light, incredibly nice. He had no wish to really take part in the tournament. He, unlike Viktor, didn't want to become the Champion, but he really wanted to be in the ranks of those selected few.

"The Tournament will not take place in Durmstrang," the witch continued and was immediately interrupted by annoyed and disappointed moans and mutters. She ignored them. "Instead, you will travel to the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the north of Britain. Once there, you will represent this school, and, coming with that, you will represent our country. The Ministry and Headmaster Karkaroff are asking you to act accordingly."

She swept a stern gaze over the assembled students, glaring at every single one directly, to make sure everyone got the message.

"I will start to read out the chosen names now."

Several names were being listed, being read out loud according to the alphabet. When the strict looking Ministry witch said "Viktor Krum", he was not surprised at all. It would have confused him if Headmaster Karkaroff had not chosen his star student to boast with at a foreign wizarding school. He didn't particularly like the way his headmaster was dealing with his fame, but it wasn't as if he could do anything about it, so he didn't see a point in complaining. It had its advantages, so why not use them?

Marcel really started jumping up and down as he hurt Viktor's name being announced along with the rest of those, who had the luck of travelling to Great Britain. He nearly missed his named being called out, with all the excited squeals and rambling that was going on in the hall.

"I'm going to tell my father about this! I can't believe we both made it into the group of chosen ones!" He grinned from ear to ear as he started rummaging through his satchel, looking for a piece of parchment and a self-inking quill.

"I can't believe our luck! Oh! Imagine how amazing it would be if the goblet actually chose you! I would be at the sidelines cheering you on and Viktor!"

He grabbed my arm and looked me straight into the eye; blue meeting brown.

"You could write history! You could be a legend by the end of this school year! Oh, what am I saying? You already are a legend..."

Viktor tuned out his hyperactive friend and allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. He got what he wanted and, if he was completely honest with himself, he was glad. No, he was happy.

He would go to Great Britain, he would have a chance to compete against the bravest wizards and witches there were and he would have a real chance to win this thing.

Having grown up in relatively simple circumstances, he had never even dreamt about any of this to happen. His parents had never been rich, they had never been famous. But he had managed to make his name be known and he had the chance to make it one of the most famous ones there were.

He, the little boy, who had helped his father harvest crops back in the day.

He had a real chance!

He – Viktor!

I am now officially dead. I wrote two stories within four hours. How is that even humanly possible? I didn't know it was possible. Anyway, the other story will get uploaded either tomorrow or on Monday.

I am also adamant about reading Visitation again, so that I can finally continue with it xD I am so sorry that it is taking me decades to write this story. I truly am sorry!

I hope you enjoyed this little one-shot. If you did, please leave a comment! I love reading and answering them!

Word count: 1282

Until next time - see ya!