Authour's Note: This is a nice long chapter, to make up for the last short one, hope you like it, and thanks for the reviews!
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The Secret Diary of Seamus Finnigan
Today, the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons people arrived. The Beauxbatons people weren't all that interesting; they arrived in a massive flying carriage. However, the Durmstrang people…
Come to think of it, why should rising out of the lake in a ship be anymore interesting that landing in a flying carriage?
I was sitting with Dean, who, as usual, was trying to draw me. "Sit still, Seamus." He muttered. "Honestly, are you even capable?"
"You sound just like Hermione." I said helpfully, as all of a sudden, the perfectly still water of the lake became less perfectly still. "Look at the lake, Dean!" I cried, jumping up.
Dean threw down his sketchbook in frustration. Poor Deanie. Why doesn't he try and draw someone else?
Anyway, this massive, skeletal-looking ship rose out of the lake. First the mast poked out, then the rest of it poked out, only it wasn't really poking, mostly, coz the mast was the only really poky bit of the ship. I wonder how that ship got in the lake.
"Look Seamus," Dean poked me. "There're people getting off!" He was right. People were getting off the ship. I couldn't see them very well – it was dark – but they all seemed massive. That wasn't true. They were wearing fur cloaks. It's not fair: they have the coolest cloaks, and we have to go round in these boring black robes.
At this point, I figured out who our visitors were. "Dean," I said, "it's the students from Durmstrang."
He looked at me like I'd grown three heads. "Yeah Seamus," he said, "I knew that, like, from the beginning."
"It's not my fault!" I retorted indignantly. "You're the one always telling me Irishmen are stupid, aren't you? You're the one that always does bad jokes about Irishmen."
He nodded. "I s'pose… By the way, I heard this joke—" I hit Dean with his sketch book. As you can imagine, he didn't appreciate it. At this point, one of them – the headmaster, I suppose, coz he was too old to be at school – cried, "Dumbledore! How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"
Dumbledore made the weirdest-sounding response: "Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff."
As he came into the castle, Karkaroff looked up at it with a remember-the-old-times sort of smile on his face. "Dear old Hogwarts," he said with a sort of insincere joy. "How good it is to be here, how good…" He paused, then turned to one of the students. "Viktor, come along, into the warmth… you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold…"
And as Viktor came in, I looked at him, and he looked at me, just like he'd looked at me during the World Cup. I realised then the thus far indecipherable emotion in his eyes – Viktor Krum was in love with me.
I sat there feeling utterly stunned, listening to the awed voices around me. I heard Ron hissing, "Harry – it's Krum!" but I didn't take much notice. Viktor Krum is in love with me. In love with me. Krum was still staring at me. Just staring, with his eyes wide with awe. Like I was some kind of god. I felt so awkward.
What could he possibly see in me? What's so special about me that an international Quidditch star can look at me like that? Not that I've got low self-esteem, but, I'm just so normal, and he's so talented and, well, famous. Like, he could have anyone he likes and he picks me. Wow, that makes me feel really special. Maybe that's what's special about me. I feel special coz he loves me, and he loves me coz I'm special. Now hang on, firstly, that's really circular. That means he wouldn't have seen anything in me till after he already loves me. Also, I don't want famous Quidditch players in love with me, especially not Krum.
As we started towards the Great Hall, I heard a sixth-year mutter to her friend, "Oh, I don't believe it, I haven't got a single quill on me." She was looking intensely distressed as she searched her pockets. "D'you think he'd sign my hat in lipstick?"
"Really," Hermione sighed.
"I'm getting his autograph if I can," Ron retorted, "you haven't got a quill, have you, Harry?"
"Nope," Harry replied, "they're upstairs in my bag."
"Perhaps he'll sign your hat in lipstick," I suggested to Ron, who glared. "I assume you have some; I know you wear lipstick."
Ron didn't seem to think this was even worth answering. We sat down at the Gryffindor table. Ron was staring at Krum, who was staring at me; I chose to stare at Ron to finish the triangle. The Beauxbatons students sat at the Ravenclaw table. The Durmstrang students were still standing in the middle of the hall, unsure of where to sit. I could tell Krum wanted to sit beside me, but there was no space, and anyway, he was a Bulgarian Quidditch player. Maybe if it'd been one of the Irish ones I could've found room, or if Krum hadn't been looking at me with an expression of unashamed awe. But anyway, his friend muttered something to him and dragged him on, towards the Slytherin table, where the two of them settled themselves beside Draco Malfoy. Ron looked scornful as Malfoy leaned forward to talk to Krum. "Yeah, that's right, smarm up to him, Malfoy," Ron growled.
I snorted. It's not like Ron'd be doing much different if Krum was beside him.
The Secret Diary of Viktor Krum
We arrived at Hogwarts today. At first, it wasn't very enjoyable; I have a horrible cold and my head feels like it's been stuffed full of fairy floss. I hadn't been looking forward to spending the year at Hogwarts, not that it would have been any better at home, or at Durmstrang. It would have been taking valuable time away from my search for Him. And then, I saw Him… What's he doing here? I thought he was Irish, although, come to think of it, I have no proof he's Irish; there were probably English people supporting Ireland at the Cup. I hope he's not Irish: the Irish beat us, so I'm not sure if I can bring myself to love an Irishman. No matter, this is going to be the most wonderful year of my life, whether he's Irish or not. He's here, within my reach (well, almost: if I got up and walked over to his table, I could touch him). I felt much better after that.
I didn't get to sit next to my love. I wanted to ask him if I could, but there didn't seem to be any space. Well, that's a lie. I was just to shy to ask. There was plenty of space.
I tried to get up the courage to ask, but before I had the chance, my friend Dimitri Mendeleev dragged me off to another table and we sat down beside this blonde-haired kid who immediately leaned over to talk to me, as though he knew me personally.
I'm not paying much attention; I'm writing, and thinking about Him. I wonder what his name is? He's so beautiful…The epitome of perfection. I don't know what I can say about him. He's... Oh, I'm so glad he's here. Even in those black Hogwarts robes he's stunning…he's
Oh, Dimitri's reading over my shoulder. He's laughing. Oh, go away! Right. He can't see what I'm writing anymore. The blonde kid is trying to look, but I don't believe he can read Bulgarian. Maybe it's not such a good idea to write in your secret diary at a crowded table.
The food must be here soon; I'm starving. I'm probably looking longingly at the empty plates without realising. Look! The plates are made of gold! Alright, the food's here. I'll put this down.
The Secret Diary of Dimitri Mendeleev
We arrived at Hogwarts today. Their hall (it was massive and called – very imaginatively – the Great Hall) was impressive. Its ceiling was enchanted to look like the sky outside and also, they had gold plates. So what if it's an extravagant waste of money? It looks good and makes them appear ridiculously wealthy.
We stood around in the hall for a while, till I realised we were expected to sit down. Viktor was staring blankly towards one of the tables. I wondered absently what he was gawking at, but I didn't really care, and dragged him off to a random table.
Now, here's the shock. I was sitting inspecting the gold plates (fascinating. I wonder where you get pure gold plates; I wouldn't mind some), waiting for food and talking to the kid beside me when I decided I was excluding Viktor. He's kind of shy, and tends not to join in conversations of his own accord. I looked over at him and realised he was writing in his diary.What is with him and that diary? Does he always write in it?
So, that was alright; he didn't need including in the conversation. But then I accidentally caught the last few lines he'd written: Even in those black Hogwarts robes he's stunning.
And I thought, right, Viktor's in love and I laughed. But then, I thought, he's stunning! Viktor's in love with a he! I stopped laughing abruptly. Did I read that right? Is that really what it said? I tried to look again, but Vik had turned away and I didn't see anymore. Now I'm just left to contemplate this.
Maybe he wasn't serious. Maybe he just wrote it coz he caught me looking and wanted to shock me. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe he's not saying that coz he's in love. Maybe he's talking about what someone else said. Whatever, enough of the maybes. It can't be true. Viktor's not gay!
