Marauders - Always - Part One

CCIII: Everybody Was Dragon Fighting (Krum's Version)

Viktor Krum stood at one end of the tent, Harry Potter at the other. Viktor's arms were crossed over his chest, his hand still worrying the St. George medallion through his fingers. Harry was staring at the tent door that Fleur has left out through, listening in silence as Bagman shouting his commentary, his face pale with worry.

Neither said a word to the other until the whistle blew the third time and Bagman's voice echoed through the air, "AND NOW THE CHAMPION OF DURMSTRANG - THE AWARDS-WINNING QUIDDITCH MVP, SEEKER OF THE BULGARIAN INTERNATIONAL TEAM, CATCHER OF THE GOLDEN SNITCH AT THE WORLD CUP - VIKTOR KRUMMMMMMMM!!!!"

The audience echoed the name, a low rumbling sound - "KRUMMMMMMMM!" - just as the crowd at the Cup had done.

He glanced once at Harry. "Good luck," he mumbled, and he stepped into the tunnel without waiting for a response.

His thumb continued to run along the face of the medal, not stopping, even as he walked briskly down the length of the tunnel. He paused just before stepping out into the open area beyond the tunnel.

"Leave our presence."

Oskar Krum had dismissed Viktor's trainer from the pitch during Viktor's final training session before the Task, just before Krum had come to the tent. Viktor was holding a push up, balanced on his hands and toes, for nearly a minute when Oskar walked onto the field, and as the trainer walked away, Viktor released the hold, dropping onto the grass with relief.

Oskar looked down at his son. "I did not tell you to relax. Start over."

"Father --"

"Start. Over. You will listen while I talk to you about this task."

Viktor had drawn a breath and pushed himself back into the plank position, his biceps burning already from the previous set. All the worse when Oskar aimed his wand and a weighted pressure came onto Viktor's shoulders, like he was being pushed down. He winced and grunted with the exertion.

Oskar's sighed, disappointed. "What has that fool been training you at? The things of children?"

Viktor could barely breathe.

"You will do good today Viktor - you will, or you will bring dishonor to our family. You are the best and so you must perform the best."

"I will try my hardest," Viktor grunted.

"Try your hardest!" Oskar snorted. "You will win or you may as not live through it. You have to win. Do you understand?"

Viktor wondered, as he stepped into the ring, how much it would hurt to be killed by a dragon? Would it be worse than those training sessions? Worse than the tone of hatred and judgment and disappointment in his father's voice? Worse than the distance between him and Aleksander? Worse than being Viktor Krum every day of his forsaken life?

Just a couple days ago, he'd been in the library, studying up on anything that could help him in the Task - buried, as usual, in stacks of books he'd used to create a wall for privacy - when Hermyown had looked up from her own book and asked, "If you hate it so much, being famous for playing quidditch well, then... why don't you quit?"

"I cannot quit," he said simply. "To quit you must have it in your blood to be willing for this to be what you are disgraced to be known as; a quitter. But it is not in my blood to be a quitter, Hermyown. I could not forgive myself to quit."

"Why?"

"I simply cannot."

Hermyown had been quiet for some moments before she asked, "If you were able to quit... What would you do?"