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FROSTBITE
ft. Viktor Krum
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If there was one thing that Viktor hated about Quidditch, it was the weather. Cold weather, specifically. He could out-fly hot weather just fine — 150 kilometer an hour winds were no joke — but cold weather? Cold weather made everything unbearable.
It was worse when it was wet.
The number of times Viktor had nearly given himself frostbite, flying hundreds of meters in the air in freezing, wet, air? He'd honestly lost count. It was a high enough number that he'd started feeling more than a little anxiety when fall weather came in every time he stepped out onto the Quidditch pitch he'd see murky gray clouds hovering in the sky.
Fall and winter were the worst.
His Quidditch gear, designed as it was to keep him warm and safe, didn't always do its job. His gloves were the worst offenders — the charms on them slipped and failed all too frequently — but every time he'd try to get a new pair, they never fit or worked quite right. So he stuck with his old worn pair, stitching up any holes himself and stonewalling his many captains who had complained about it.
He wasn't about to have the one time he played with new gloves be the time he fumbled the snitch and lost his team their win… so he didn't get new gloves. His friends swore up and down that the time would come where he'd freeze his fingers completely off but it hadn't happened yet, so Viktor just… wouldn't worry about it.
(Of course, if he ever did get frostbite, it would be too late for Viktor to worry about it… but for now he wouldn't care.)