LYOVA RASMUSSEN - A Durmstrang Quidditch Captain.

Chapter 3 - PARTNERS

OLIVER WOOD POV - GRYFFINDOR QUIDDITCH CAPTAIN

Oliver sat at breakfast, reading the daily prophet after Percy had finished the political articles. From time to time, he glanced up, looking at the Durmstrang quidditch team, who sat a few meters away on their table, having breakfast. Todays' article in the sports section was about the new rookie players of the professional Quidditch Teams, Viktor Krum being one of them.

Viktor Krum had started playing quidditch at the young age of five years. In Durmstrang, he'd immediately been scouted for the school Quidditch rookie team. When he'd first tried out for the Bulgarian national team, he'd been rejected. 'Too bulgy' had been their former captain's statement. It was true. Viktor Krum's physics more matched the one of a beater.

But this year, he'd tried out again, and the new Bulgarian captain had gladly taken him. The picture of Vasily Dimitrov, proudly clapping Krums back, covered almost the whole page.

Oliver shook his head and closed the newspaper. All summer, he'd spent getting ready for this year's quidditch season, analyzing the plays of the other three house teams, and their player's strengths and weaknesses. He entirely revamped his drills and tactics for his final year at Hogwarts, and now he had another team to deal with?

Yesterday's evening, he'd tried to snatch a look at the Durmstrang players. They all looked strong, but the two boys that must have been the team's beaters were broad-shouldered, and the boy who must be the keeper stood a head above the rest.

The girl who'd shaken Dumbledore's hand seemed to be the captain of the team. Unusual. In Hogwarts, they'd only had a few female captains so far. The two players who sat next to her while eating were tall but slim. Destined chasers.

Ron and Harry next to him were depth-in a conversation about Viktor Krum. No question. Since he'd been chosen for the Bulgarian team, no newspaper had hesitated endless printing interviews. Even 'The Quibbler' had written about him - and why they thought nargles haunted him.

"Hey Oliver," Percy nudged his elbow.

Oliver didn't respond, keeping his eyes on the Durmstrangs.

"Wood!" Angelina hissed.

"What?" he said finally, turning his head to his team.

"Stop staring. We don't need to be worried. The cup is ours this year," George said, stretching his arms behind his head, grinning.

Oliver swallowed. "You're right. Practice at three, lads. I have some new strategies for us to go over."

"And girls," Angelina added, pointing her fork at him. Oliver looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

"You, again, said lads. But I'm a girl," she stated, sighingly.

"And what a girl you are," Lee agreed, grinning.

"Ah, shut up, Jordan," she tried to keep a neutral face but grinned.

Meanwhile, the Gryffindor table was jam-packed. The teachers had made the breakfast mandatory so that they could pass out timetables.

"Mooooooorning," Fred appeared, sitting down next to George, who made space for him. He yawned, covering his mouth.

"Training's at three, tod--" Oliver started but was interrupted by Katie.

"Let him wake up, first. Otherwise, he won't remember," she grinned.

Fred grinned cheekily, pouring himself some tea. "A man needs his beauty sleep."

Then, as if he suddenly remembered something, Fred began rummaging in his pockets, fiddling out a scrunched letter.

"See, Wood. If it weren't for me to sleep in, you would have missed that." He passed Oliver the letter and grabbed a toast. Oliver turned the parchment in his fingers and immediately recognized Professor McGonagall's neat cursive.