Notes: Hello again! It's so wonderful to be on vacation, I can get so much writing done! As always, I apologize for any and all spelling and/or grammar atrocities as they are solely mine. This chapter is a bit shorter than the last. I have a tendency to rush through things like plots and backstory, (I just want to get to the romance!) but I've attempted to slow myself down. Anyway, soon we'll be at Hogwarts and then things will truly be fun! Also, I've tried extremely hard to stay as true to canon as possible. If anyone sees any glaring errors, however, let me know and I'll fix them right up. Enough with my blathering, on with the fic!
Thirty-Seven Galleons, Fifteen Sickles, Three Knuts ~ Bulgaria
Chapter 2: The Potion Maker's Son
The days blurred by in a whirlwind of anticipation.
Karkaroff stopped by three days after the Quidditch World Cup bursting with news.
"They've reinstated the Triwizard cup!" He practically shouted at them once he, Mr. Krum, and Viktor were seated with steaming mugs of tea in the library.
Tihomir Krum, Viktor's father, looked skeptical and his son looked between the two, his expression stoic. Only his furrowed eyebrows revealed Viktor's confusion.
"But why now, Karkaroff? It has been many years since the tournament inacted. Before my father's time even."
"Yes, exactly," the professor's eyes were gleaming. "They believe they have created it to be more manageable this time. Rules have been enacted, an age limit set. It's all been kept very quiet, but I had to inform our champion of course." At this, Karkaroff looked at Viktor with pride. "You will win and bring honor to our school."
Finally Viktor spoke, "What is this tournament?"
Karkaroff inhaled as though to speak but his father began first, "It is a contest between the three schools, Beauxbatons, Hogwarts, and Durmstrang. From each school a champion is chosen-"
"That will be you," interrupted Karkaroff. "They compete through three tasks on which they are scored. And whichever witch or wizard gets the most points-"
"Or is left standing." It was Mr. Krum's turn to interject.
"Er, yes, the winner gains honor to for their school and a thousand galleons."
Mr. Krum had a look of deep concentration. "Aren't the champions selected by an impartial judge?" he asked Karkaroff, who waved him off.
"Certainly. But no one is better suited to the tournament than our Viktor."
Mr. Krum's expression was still intense, "Where is it being held?"
Karkaroff grimaced, "Hogwarts. I fought valiantly for Durmstrang of course, but Dumbledore has a way over the Minister."
Mr. Krum thought for a moment before turning his gaze on his son. He asked, "Viktor?"
Viktor nodded to his father and looked to his professor whose expression was already certain. "I will enter."
His father, having read much about the Triwizard tournament, returned home with a cauldron load of books the following evening. Each night, Mr. Krum would pull a different book from the stack and train Viktor on one specific spell.
The night before Viktor was to head back to Durmstrang they were focusing on a spell that caused an opponent's eyes to swell. Formally known as the Conjunctivitis Curse, his father called it the Pink Eye Curse, a joke that was lost on his son.
Viktor's dreams were now filled with every kind of test. A forest maze, the dark trees hiding every kind of formidable creature within its branches; a wizarding duel among all three competitors at once; a race on the back of hippogriffs, where spells were dropped like nets to ensnare the following opponents; and occasionally saving a dark-haired, bright-eyed girl from the clutches of a dragon.
His headmaster had given him book after book on the Triwizard Tournament and told him to prepare, and every past task gave his mind more fodder for his dreams.
Finally, the day for Viktor to return to school was upon him. He woke early to the pacing steps of his father in the study, no longer writing a dissertation on the thicknesses of cauldron bottoms, but still reading through the books the professor had given his son, trying to find every spell he would be wise to prepare Viktor with.
Viktor collected the last of his things, grabbing an extra pair of boots and pulling his uniform's fur cap from where it lay beneath his bed before tossing it into the pile. Satisfied with his load, he dragged the heavy trunk down the stairs to the kitchen. His father had already begun making breakfast, his many years of potion brewing had made a fine chef out of Mr. Krum. He poured a steaming bowl for his son and placed it beside a stack of five hefty books.
"Viktor, my boy! Good morning." Mr. Krum was a jolly man, thick and muscled like his son, but on a much larger scale. A thick black beard surrounded his smiling mouth and his rich, dark hair had a lone streak of silver.
"You will take these with you. They are the only ones you'll need." He went back to stirring the pot in from of him and Viktor, having heaved his trunk to the edge of the fireplace, sat heavily in front of his breakfast and pulled the topmost book towards him. His father had marked the pages that would be most helpful with small slips of paper, upon which he'd written some notes.
This one is good against trolls, one note said, his father's neat script clear beside the spell. Another stated, This must be spoken clearly. Practice, practice.
Viktor, thrilled to see that none of the books in his stack pertained to potions, closed the book and focused on eating his breakfast. He'd never been very skilled at brewing, much to his father's chagrin. Mr. Krum the elder had brewed potions for most of his life at the nearby St. Ana's Hospital for the Ill and Enchanted, though he was currently on sabbatical working on a number of articles for the Bulgarian Journal of Potion Making.
He heard quick light steps on the floor above and sure enough his mother burst into the room, a comb in her hand as she brushed her hair.
"Oh thank you darling." Mrs. Krum kissed her husband as she accepted a mug of tea from him. "I'm afraid I'll be late again tonight, my dear. I wish I could see you off to school my Viktor, but the Minister is in quite a mood. He's expecting me at once." She grabbed her son's face and pecked him on both cheeks, her eyes glistening as she pulled away. "I suppose we won't see you for Christmas this year, but I understand we can come to see your final task." She looked to her husband to confirm this and he nodded. "Well, good luck my son, I know you'll win!" With one more kiss on his forehead, Viktor's mother apparated to work.
Mr. Krum pouted, muttering that he hadn't gotten a goodbye kiss, "It's like she's married to that grouch." Mrs. Krum worked as undersecretary to the minister and kept odd hours as such.
Viktor ignored his father's griping, he knew that it was all for naught. Viktor had never seen purer love than that between his ridiculous parents, who often were far more reminiscent of teenagers than full-grown adults.
Viktor finished breakfast and collected his books to add them to his heavy trunk. He looked at his watch and realized it was time within the time frame to leave. His father walked over to the fireplace and clasped his son's shoulder.
"You will do well, my son. Write if you should need anything."
Viktor nodded and grabbed a handful of floo powder off the mantel.
"Goodbye father, I'll speak with you soon."
With one more pat, his father released him and Viktor grabbed one end of his trunk. Throwing his handful of powder into the fire, he said "Durmstrang" and disappeared in a swirl of green flames.