Marauders - Always - Part One

CLXXX: Krumbling

Viktor Krum stared out the window of the room, watching as Cedric Diggory and Oliver Kent walked across the grounds toward the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch, a couple of Cedric's friends following them. His hands had balled into fists and he leaned against them on the stone window sill, his jaw clenched.

There was a throat clear behind him and he turned to see Declan Alectric still lingering in the room. His photographer and the other reporter and her photographer had all left, too, and now it was just the pair of them. Krum had been so distracted watching Oliver Kent and the Diggory boy that he'd not even noticed when the others had cleared off.

"So how is Viktor Krum doing these days?" Declan asked, arms crossed, ankles crossed, leaning against the wall, staring at Krum with one eyebrow raised. Is everything still coming up gold?" There had been a rather gratuitous article in the Daily Prophet when Krum had been signed to the Bulgarian Quidditch team by the title, written by none other than Declan himself. The title had been derived from the color of the snitch and the quick rise to fame that hadn't been seen since Oliver Kent.

Viktor knew what was expected of him. "I have done exceptional since our last talk, it is true," he said evenly. "Even being chosen as a Champion."

"Yes and congratulations are certainly in order for that, aren't they?" Declan teased. "You seem so excited about the opportunity."

Krum wasn't sure if Declan's voice actually was laced with sarcasm or if he simply just talked like that. Declan was a bit of an enigma. One that didn't always translate well. But overall, Krum knew that he was good. Mainly because Oliver Kent had spoken of him in their talks.

Krum could still remember several times they had sat on their broom sticks, far out of earshot of any other person, in the clouds, and truth had come tumbling from Viktor's mouth. He'd told Oliver Kent things he had never been brave enough to tell any other person before - things about himself and about his feelings toward Aleksander, and his dreams, his desire to travel, and his interest in magical history and in horses, and about the pressure from his father.

Oliver had listened, patiently and thoroughly, and, when he could, offered advice or told stories of his own experiences. Wally Grant and Declan Alectric were the two names that had come up in Oliver's stories frequently - the two great loves of Oliver Kent's life. And honestly, from Krum's point of view, and the stories that Oliver had told, he felt Alectric was likely the greater of the two... whatever it seemed Oliver thought.

Krum, therefore, stared at Declan now with slight hesitation, and then asked, "Can we speak off the record?"

Declan looked around, "I see no recorders."

"What I say is not to leave this room, then?"

Declan drew an X over his chest with his fingers. "Hope to die," he said the second part of the rhyme.

Krum shoved his hands into his pockets and slouched closer to where Declan leaned so he could lower his voice and lessen the odds of anyone overhearing him speaking. His heart beat faster than normal. "I am filled with... with anger."

"Yeah?" Declan asked. His eyes flicked to Viktor's balled fists. "You don't say?"

Viktor released his fists and stretched his fingers, shaking them out, and looked at Declan, his normally stoic, stony expression melting until his eyes were pleading. It was like watching a stone statue crumble. Krumbling, Declan thought. "I miss him. I miss his guidance. He was like a brother to me. Why did Oliver quit me like this? Surely you know."

"Well, for starts, your daddy fired him rather viciously and unceremoniously - you must've heard of it in the papers, if not from the source," Declan said. "You read them, don't you?"