Past Present

The next morning, they trooped out into the bright sunshine to portkey to the practice field. They were all wearing Quidditch practice robes with the exception of Hermione. One old holey hat later, they found themselves in front of a practice facility, surrounded on either side by mountains. "Charmed so that if anyone comes close, all they see is a box canyon," Viktor noted. They walked inside, to find several of Viktor's teammates milling around on the grass already.

Viktor walked to a rack and pulled out a broom, twisting the handle in his hands as though weighing the suitability of a baseball bat. He judged it fit, and tucked it under his arm. "Pick vone," he called back to Ron and Harry, who were hanging back several feet. "Any vone you like. It is all practice eqvitment," he added. While they timidly rummaged around in the equipment, Dimitrov, whom they recognized from the World Cup strode over to Viktor.

"Krum!" he greeted Viktor pleasantly, clapping him on the shoulder. Though Viktor was several inches taller than Dimitrov, Dimitrov was far more broad, with huge biceps and shoulders. Harry still found it hard to believe sometimes that Viktor was only eighteen, nearly nineteen, with his height and solid frame, despite his slenderness. "I svear you've grown two inches at least! Levski and Zograf, they said you vere bringing guest. I know who young lady is, but not their names." He waved his fingers at Harry and Ron questioningly.

"Dimitrov, Harry Potter, Ron Veasley. They vill be flying. Harry is a seeker, too."

"Anyvare near as goot?" Dimitrov grinned widely.

Viktor's mouth curled up at the right side, slightly. "In his own vay. He vonce caught the snitch in his mouth during a game, somevone told me." Dimitrov looked down at Harry, who was fighting the urge to gulp while being studied so intensely by this famous Quidditch player. Funny, he didn't think of Viktor that way, anymore.

"You haff to find out how to do that if ve need to come up vith new dare for you. You can play vith hands behind back. And you?" Dimitrov indicated Ron.

"Who, me? Oh, I'm nobody. I mean, I don't play for a team! Just at home, with my brothers."

"Everyvone start somevhere," Dimitrov answered. "Varm up. Ve scrimmage later," he nodded at Viktor and walked away, back to the other end of the pitch.

"Wow! Dimitrov! You think he would let me have his autograph?" Ron exclaimed.

"I'm sure he vould. Ask after practice," Viktor replied.

"He's right you know," Hermione said.

"About vot?"

She walked up to him, measuring herself against him, "You have grown two or three inches. At the Yule Ball, I was just two inches shy of your chin. Now I'm barely chest high on you."

Viktor studied the handle of his broom for a moment. "Sure you von't fly a little?"

"I think not. I'm pitiful on a broom. I'll just watch." Viktor drew himself up to full height, throwing his shoulders back instead of his usual slouch.

He looked even taller then, Harry thought. He remembered the night he was chosen as the fourth Triwizard Champion, he had been intimidated by how very tall Fleur and Viktor and Cedric had seemed. Viktor had even been imposing hunched and brooding against the mantle, in front of the fire. He wondered if Viktor ever thought of Cedric Diggory.

"Ve vin first game, you haff to take a flying lesson."

Hermione crossed her arms. "Oh, a bet huh? Oh, all right. But I warn you, trying to teach me to fly is taking your life into your own hands."

Viktor shrugged and turned to Harry and Ron. "Ready?" he asked.

"Ummm, you go ahead, I think we'll just watch for a few minutes," Harry said, as evenly as he could.

"Okay." Viktor had barely finished the word before he had swung his right leg over the broom and zoomed off, barreling upwards at a rate of speed that made Harry dizzy, just watching. His stomach fell almost as fast, just thinking of being out there with the team. As he reached the point where Ron and Harry had to squint and shield their eyes in order to see him as a speck in the distance, he turned and dived toward the ground.

"Wronski Feint..." Ron breathed. Viktor continued straight down, and Harry began to worry. He was coming in even faster than he had in the World Cup.

"Is he nuts!?!" Harry exclaimed.

"Yes, but you haff to be to be goot at Wronski Feint. He's very goot at it," called a voice behind them. They turned to face Zograf, Bulgaria's keeper. Like Dimitrov, his accent was noticeably thicker than Viktor's, as was his torso. He inclined his head toward the streak that was Viktor on his broom. "Better look. Rare treat. Not often chance to see vone this close."

Harry began to cringe as Viktor got closer and closer to the ground. Hermione, by now standing beside him, did the same. "He's going to crash!" Hermione squeaked. Ron just gaped. At the last possible moment, Viktor leveled off and shot by them, over the grass. He was so low that the toes of his boots audibly whipped blades of grass as he neared them, and he put down a hand, letting his fingers trail through the grass as well. When he rocketed by, the wind off of his passing sucked at their robes and pulled at their ears with a soft "whoosh", trailing bits of grass that settled on them in the wake. He pulled up at the other end of the stadium and began circling the goal lazily.

"He is better at that than Wronski." Zograf smirked, folding his arms across his chest proudly.

"I thought he was going to run himself into the ground!" Ron yelled excitedly.

"Made mistake vonce years ago. Never again," Zograf said matter-of-factly. "In game. Played vith broken arm rest of match. Did not tell until after game. Still caught snitch. Third game vith Vultures." Here Zograf visibly swelled with pride. "Just vhen I think he cannot get faster or lower, he does." He waved his hand at Viktor, motioning him back down.

Viktor hopped off the broom a little downfield and strolled over to Zograf. Viktor introduced Ron, Harry, and Hermione again. Zograf raised his eyebrows in ill-concealed surprise upon hearing both Harry and Hermione's names, but did not comment. "Bludgers. Tventy minutes, then scrimmage. Okay?" he said to Viktor.

"Okay. Ve vill be there., Viktor replied, looking out of the corner of his eye at Ron and Harry. "I vill be right back. Tventy minutes playing dodge vith two bludgers. Then the scrimmage. You can fill in for Volkov on first sqvad, Ron. Beater." Viktor rummaged through the rack and came up with a beater's club. He headed back toward the broom, still carrying it and was soon back in the air.

"Jeepers. No wonder his nose looks perpetually broken," Ron said, as soon as he was out of earshot.

"Ron! That's not nice!" Hermione scolded, smacking him on the shoulder with the flat of her palm.

"Ow! I meant the game of chicken with the bludgers. I mean, how crazy would you have to... oh, you know what I meant! That's bloody dedication. Or certifiable," Ron grumbled. Viktor was up in the air, near the goal, pummeling the bludgers as they hurtled toward him after Zograf had released them from their case. He barrel rolled, he ducked, he dodged, Harry held his breath as he watched how effortlessly Viktor evaded the bludgers, though sometimes the margin was narrow. Once the two bludgers collided just over his head and ricocheted in opposite directions.

Dimitrov walked back over to them, shading his eyes. "Ve dare him to do that after he join, start to practice with national team. Bet him he vill not. He did. He varms up alvays like that now."

"Dared him? Why would you have him do something so dangerous? He was only, what, twelve, thirteen?" Hermione demanded.

Dimitrov looked a little amused. "Quidditch is dangerous. He vos kid. He vont to play vith men and vomen, he haff to prove scouts right. Afraid of bludgers alone, how can he face bludgers, beaters on other team, seekers who might be older, bigger, try to run him into ground? How can he trust our beaters to keep him on broom? Ivanova could not be nursemaid." He waved his hands at the brassy haired female chaser near the equipment rack and paused. "Neither could ve. Haff to make sure he is not needing nursemaid," Dimitrov explained as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Hermione clucked her tongue, but otherwise held her silence. "Do not vorry. Not so tough in scrimmage. Unless you are seeking against Viktor," he said as he shook Harry by the shoulder and laughed uproariously. "I vouldn't dive vith him, if I vere you. He drive us all into ground at least vonce. Volkov crazy enough to try him tvice. Saw double for veeks last time. He more than make up for us making him hit bludgers. Ve let him be challenge for new rookies now. Not many take it. Too scared. Especially since Vorld Cup. Aidan Lynch still a little..." he rolled his eyes and twirled his finger near his temple as he trailed off.

"Time for scrimmage now," Dimitrov yelled as he waved his hand at Viktor, blowing a whistle dangling around his neck. Viktor paused, hovering a moment, circled, then smacked one of the bludgers, which was rocketing toward him full steam, at Dimitrov's midsection. He trapped it with a soft "oof" and shoved it back into the box after some struggle. He blew a second time, and Viktor repeated the act, though he had to spiral several times to avoid the bludger hitting him full in the back of the head. He finally ducked sideways, then followed through with a solid smack.

"Ve take it easy today. Game tomorrow," Dimitrov ordered. The rest of the practice was fairly uneventful, though Harry and Ron struggled to keep up with the pace. They scrimmaged on half of the field, some of the reserves filling in the other positions, even occasionally switching off with others on the sidelines. Harry could tell that Viktor was taking it easy on him, not feinting, not cutting him off from looking for the snitch, not body checking outright, but that didn't stop Viktor from giving him a subtle nudge with his hip and stretching out to easily reach the snitch a bare inch before Harry with his much longer arms.

The scrimmage had lasted forty minutes. As they packed up to go home, Ron babbled on and on about playing with the Bulgarian team, recounting the plays excitedly, blow by blow to Hermione, who was insisting she really had kept her eyes open for the whole thing, thank you very much. He waved the piece of paper with the team autographs under her nose and went right on recalling the practice. Harry thought the team as a whole had improved greatly since the World Cup. Ireland would find themselves in for a nasty shock if they were to meet up a second time.

While Harry stood beside him at the equipment rack, tossing equipment back into the jumble, Viktor laid a hand on his shoulder. "Good game," he said quietly.

"Quite a compliment from someone who was in the pros by my age. You all go so fast, hit so hard. If you hadn't gone easy on me, I would be somewhere in Russia by now because of those hip checks or lying flat on the ground. How did you ever manage?" Harry murmured back.

"Practice. And being stubborn and overgrown..." Viktor began, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Zograf interrupted by leaning between them. "Goot!" he patted them both on their shoulders. "Viktor said you vere goot, you are. The skill is there, it just need time. Not everyvone start flying crazy at seven like national treasure here!" He grasped Harry's hand and shook it. "Honor to meet Boy Who Lived," he said casually. He poked Viktor in the ribs with a thick finger and then jabbed it in Hermione's direction. Thankfully, she had her back turned, still listening to Ron. "And girl vorth talking about. He never even glance at veela, this one. He never talk before about anything. Besides Quidditch. Little about Quidditch," Zograf confided to Harry in a low voice, then walked off as Viktor ducked his head, hiding the redness in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat and exertion.

Viktor emitted a small derisive snort, muttering "National treasure" in a disbelieving tone under his breath. Harry almost laughed, Viktor seemed so insulted. They portkeyed back to Pavlova soon after, going for a swim and tempting frostbite in the lake before supper. Harry sat on a large, flat rock and studied Viktor as he kicked smoothly to the shallows near the opposite shore, where Hermione and Ron were splashing water at one another. Funny how someone so graceful and athletic on a broom or in the water could look so ill at ease when doing as common a thing as walking. But then, Harry had gotten rather used to Viktor's unusual gait by now.

He supposed Viktor could never quite fit in comfortably anywhere, except on a broom, really. Skilled at a young age, record breaker by fifteen, world famous by eighteen, far younger than his teammates, always forced to prove himself to them, talented but awkward at the same time, set apart by his fame among his peers at school. Still, it was apparent that Viktor had the respect of his teammates. After watching him at practice today, Harry could see why.

He found himself sharing an odd kinship with Viktor. Viktor had many of the same problems he did, Harry thought. Not being sure when people really knew you or just thought they knew you. The feeling that people wanted something from you, and you could never be sure what. Those giggling packs of girls and Colin Creevy with his camera, not so different, really. He had even lost a family member to Death Eaters, because of Voldemort. They turned in early, so they would be well rested for the first game tomorrow. Bulgaria and Germany. Should be no contest, Harry thought. Volkov and Vulchanov could knock bludgers at Germany all day. Viktor could outseek anyone, Harry was convinced, even with both hands tied behind his back.