Ludwig did not forget Gilbert so easily this time. The unusual adolescent weighed on Ludwig's mind throughout practice - of course, not enough to distract him from the task at hand. That was first and foremost, always.
Afterwards, however, as Ludwig put up his training robes, he realized something.
He was hungry.
"Hey," he said to his teammates. All six of them stopped and looked over at Ludwig, who was standing perfectly still against his locker, his head turned slightly.
"Let's get food."
Six sighs of relief. Whenever Ludwig was in a mood, sometimes he would stop and say something that nobody liked. Usually that was along the lines of 'Those passes were weak today; we need to go back and practice at least until sundown' or 'Next practice will begin at 4:30 in the morning. Be there five minutes early and get ready to run a few kilometers.' Ludwig called them 'surprises.' The rest of the team called it 'hell.'
Seven figures strode towards their favorite pub. They talked and chatted with civilians on the way, shaking a few hands and even signing an autograph or two. It was a bit of a walk, as one couldn't exactly put a Quidditch field in the middle of the city, but Ludwig enjoyed it. Sometimes they used floo powder, of course. And sometimes he made his team jog to the pub, just for a bit of extra training. It was another one of his 'surprises.'
When they were a block away, Ludwig saw a disturbance in the street up ahead of them. A crowd had gathered between the Big Bear Pub and the National Wizarding Bank. Probably some street scuffle, Ludwig thought dully, and was about to ignore it. However, his team wasn't quite above watching a good street fight and hurried past him to join the crowd. Feeling like a chaperone with a group of school children at the zoo, Ludwig grudgingly followed along.
Three adolescents towered above a white-haired boy clutching a busted-up broomstick-
Gilbert.
God damn it.
"What are you going to do, huh? Wave that useless broom at us? Sweep us to death?" The boys were taunting Gilbert. They had their wands out, but Gilbert did not.
"You want to see how fucking useless my broom is?" Gilbert spat. He flipped the broom so he held the base just above the fibers and the end pointed outward. In a second he took off, charging at them and brandishing his broom like it was a bat. The boys realized perhaps a second too late that Gilbert was choosing to battle without magic and preferred a more physical duel. One of them, the tallest, tried to move out of the way but too late; the end of Gilbert's broom collided with a sickening crack against his jaw. The boy stumbled off to the side into the crowd, who pushed him back in.
"Expelliarmus!" Another boy shouted and a bolt of red fired from his wand. Gilbert dove out of the way, protecting his broom close to his body as he went down. The crowd on the other end ducked out of the way to avoid getting hit by the blast, and fortunately the only thing disarmed was a hanging plant, which fell from its holder.
Ludwig knew that this had to end. Already a few people had come forward to attempt to put a stop to the battle, but with Ludwig's size and stature he easily strode through the crowd into the middle of the fray. The boys immediately backed off, knowing exactly who Ludwig was and that he was known for making a good career out of beating things with bats.
"We're done here. Get out," said Ludwig sharply.
The boys glanced at each other, hesitating, and it just took one more death glare from Ludwig before they scampered off.
Already the crowd was dispersing, content by the small show on the street, and Ludwig turned to look at Gilbert, who was slowly rising from the ground.
"I could have gotten them," the teen mumbled as he brushed himself off.
"I didn't do it to save your skin," Ludwig snapped. "What the hell are you doing, starting fights in the street?"
Gilbert shrugged. "They started it."
"You beat the kid in the jaw," Ludwig snapped. "You could have used your broom to get away. Use a disarming spell. You could have petrified him or something. You didn't have to beat him in the face." He sighed heavily and looked at his team. "I'll meet with you later."
Why oh why was he wasting his time with this kid? He had only spent a few hours with him, tops. And yet suddenly he was making himself a part of his life and Ludwig felt invested in his well being. For some reason. He was like a stray cat, or something, and unfortunately for him Ludwig had a soft spot for cats.
The team headed off and Ludwig and Gilbert were left staring at each other.
"Where were you going?" Ludwig asked, sighing.
"Home. Back to Berlin."
"I'll escort you there."
"You don't have to."
"That wasn't an invitation." Ludwig had to make sure that he didn't get into anymore trouble. And perhaps talk to his parents while he was at it; tell them to keep their son in check.
Slowly, Gilbert shuffled off and Ludwig followed. Together they went back to the Muggle world in perhaps the most awkward trip he could remember. Gilbert was avoiding eye contact, suddenly defensive and shut away - very different from the boy who demanded he teach him Quidditch just the week before. Ludwig wanted to say something but decided against it. He didn't mind the silence.
They had to walk through the city because Ludwig didn't have any Muggle money to buy a ticket for public transportation. It wasn't so bad, though. It was a nice day and he got to see some of the city. He hadn't really ventured into the Muggle world in a while, as his Captain duties had eaten up much of his time. But Gilbert seemed to know the city much better than he did.
They travelled to the East side of the city, a side that Ludwig hadn't explored too well, since for most of his life it had been a part of another country. It had only been about three or four years since East and West had become one city, and the stark differences between the two were easily noticeable to any pedestrian. It didn't help that the area that Gilbert was taking him to wasn't exactly the best on either side.
"Um, Gilbert..."
"We're almost there," the teen said.
At last, they arrived at Gilbert's home. Well. Sort of. They actually arrived at some kind of abandoned building, and Ludwig's first thought was how many fire hazards this building was breaking every single minute of the day.
They headed into the building, up some rickety stairs, and into a large back room. The room was generally empty except for one corner, which looked very well-lived in. A well-worn sofa faced a small television. Ludwig noticed an old game system and a VHS player next to the television. Along the wall were various VHS tapes just below a variety of posters. The television, he could see, was connected to a variety of extension wires that led out of the nearby window.
There were a number of posters and pictures on the walls. Some of them were familiar to him - posters from the wizarding world of various Quidditch teams and tournaments. Others were obviously from the Muggle world. Still images from classic films that Ludwig had only heard of - Star Wars, Casablanca, Aladdin, Reservoir Dogs, and E.T.
Stuffed in a corner were a few boxes of what looked like clothing and shoes, and a beat-up bookshelf served as a pantry for cheap food and several rows of books.
Please don't tell me he lives here, Ludwig thought. He opened his mouth and finally choked out, "I thought you were taking me to your home."
Gilbert just gave him a look before he rested his broomstick against the wall and flopped down on the couch. He then grabbed a book from under the cushion. "You've successfully escorted me home so you don't have to stay," he said blankly.
Ludwig sighed. He couldn't just leave this kid to live squatting in this abandoned place. He was afraid the floor might give in at any moment. "Where are your parents?" he finally asked.
The teen said nothing, simply turned the page of his book.
Ludwig went over and sat down on the couch next to him, taking a deep breath at how deep the seat sank and how little life was in the cushions. "Gilbert."
Red eyes flickered up to look at him. "I live here alone," he said.
"Why?"
"Why do you live in your home? Because I do," he said defensively with a scowl.
"Where are your parents?"
"I don't have to tell you."
Ludwig snatched the book from Gilbert's hands and grabbed his arm roughly. "You approached me in a bar and demanded I teach you Quidditch. You wait every morning for me to show up at the training field. You get offended and depressed when I don't have time for you. And suddenly, now that I give a damn about your life, you shut me out? Don't insult me by wasting my time, Gilbert. Now talk."
Gilbert was quiet for a moment before he sighed and closed his eyes. Then, he started to talk.
"...So, his dad got shot trying to go over the Berlin Wall with the broomstick." Ludwig relayed Gilbert's life over dinner that night to his teammates.
"Wait he tried to like, fly? Over the Wall?"
"Yeah. And he got shot, or something. Gilbert witnessed it, apparently. He said he was only eight or nine, I suppose? It happened in 1986. He said he had just enough time to grab the broom and run off before they got him, too. But after that his mother disappeared. Not surprising, of course, considering the times."
"Wait." Christian was their Keeper, a drafted player from Northern Ireland. "You mentioned earlier that Gilbert's father had no idea he was a wizard? But yet he flew a broomstick over the wall. Well, almost. How is that even possible?"
"All his father knew was that he had a weird flying broomstick. Gilbert said that his father told him that he found it in a dumpster."
Christian still looked confused. "But how can he...not know?"
Ludwig took a long drink of his beer before replying. "I guess it would make sense that you wouldn't know," he muttered. "After the Soviet Union overtook the East, they were afraid of the wizards and witches who could rise against them. Of course they wanted their own Soviet wizards, however that kind of power needed to be suppressed in the satellite nations. So it was outlawed. Wizarding schools and businesses were shut down and nearly the entire population either went into hiding or was bullied into assimilating into Muggle culture. You could be arrested for having your wand out."
"Imagine it." The Chaser, Frederick, grinned. "An entire army of angry East Germans, storming the government! 'Avada Kedavra' at everyone who crossed them. It would have been the stuff of legends. They would have never had to-"
"Thank you, Frederick," said Ludwig, giving him a pointed look. He then turned back to Christian. "Some parents raised their children, never teaching them about magic. Others did it in private, and some that did rebel...well, they were silenced. Of course, Muggle-born wizards never even knew that they were different, beyond the occasional magic manipulation they do unconsciously. They never got their letter and never learned magic. Gilbert said that his father was one of those. He never knew if his mother was a witch - either she was a Muggle, or she never talked about it, or she had no idea either."
"That's ridiculously depressing," Johann said with a sigh.
"Sadly, his is only one of far too many. I didn't ask enough about him, though. I don't know if he goes to school, or even has a wand. He clearly wanted me to leave, but I don't necessarily blame him. I wouldn't want people to know I'm some orphan squatter either."
"Wait." Christian took a drink as well. "You mentioned that his broom was an East German model. So they were obviously making brooms..."
"Of course," Johann spoke before Ludwig could. "The government would never turn down any opportunity to bring honor and glory to East Germany. Quidditch athletes were given a kind of pardon, so long as Quidditch was their only connection to magic. They made special brooms, too, but with the limited funds and magic available, they were terrible. It brought more shame to the country than anything."
Christian nodded slowly and leaned back, looking at Ludwig. "I see. So what are you going to do about him?"
Ludwig sighed. "I want to just forget about him. But he's squatting in a dangerous building in perhaps the worst part of town. I can't just... leave him."
Frederick patted his back. "Don't worry about him for right now. We need to focus on Quidditch. Next weekend is the National Finals, and we have a shot. If we win this, we could make it to the World Cup next year."
Ludwig nodded slowly. "Right. Of course." He had a feeling, however, that it wouldn't be that easy.
A/N: Gilbert's backstory revealed, woohoo! So, developing how the Soviet Union would have reacted to the Wizarding World within its nations has been perhaps one of the most fun things to do. I hope things make sense - and of course, more will be explored and explained as we go along.
By the way, this is right now set in 1993, just for reference.
