Past Present

For the quarterfinals and semifinals, the games were a bit more informal. Dispensing with the full ceremony of national team mascots, the matches were over quicker, which was important when two or three matches had to really needed to be played in one day. Germany proved to be a cakewalk, relatively speaking. Vulchanov and Volkov repeatedly pummeled the bludgers into Germany's chasers, Daimler, Brock, and Rhein, and Ivanova was able to outmaneuver the keeper repeatedly. They were well up at 180 to 20 when Viktor caught the snitch, easily outflying the much slower German seeker, who seemed reluctant to trail Viktor too closely when he zoomed off after it.

"He has played against Viktor before," the Bulgarian Minister, who shared their viewing box, commented. He chuckled and noted, "Last time, it take them forty minutes to vake him up. He buried broom ten inches in ground."

Viktor ambled out of the locker room to join them shortly after the game, wearing a fresh set of robes. "You owe me a flying lesson, " he said to Hermione.

"Fair enough. Was that game as easy as it looked?"

"An hour-long scrimmage," Viktor said, matter-of-factly. "Schuller still remembers European Cup two years ago."

Harry finally blurted out the question he had been longing to ask all day. "Viktor... why didn't your parents come today?"

Viktor waved his hand dismissively. "They hate crowds. They promised to come for the championship game, though, maybe the semifinals. I do not think this time they will have the flu like Vorld Cup. Terrible luck if they do. They get too nervous, they say," Viktor finished, pressing his lips into a thin line.

Harry let it drop. "So, what now?" Ron asked.

"The rest of the quarterfinals, one day off, practice, if all the games are done by then, semifinals, practice, finals," Viktor intoned. "Vont to stay and votch the other games?"

They all decided they did. Before settling into his seat in the box, Viktor stretched his arms over his head, then braced his hands against his hips and twisted, cracking his back, loudly. After being mauled by the enthusiastic Bulgarian Minister offering congratulations, he first bent over, touching his knees with his nose for a moment, then he sprawled into his seat, and watched the next match begin. Throughout the game, he made little comments on plays, players, and coaches. It wasn't the excitable running commentary usually offered by Harry and Ron, but by Viktor standards, it was positively effusive. He seemed to enjoy the chance to sit back and watch someone else play.

"Viktor, do you see many games that you're not in?" He looked at her, a little surprised at the question.

"Depends. At school, many. At tournaments, you get to see games. In the professional league, not so many, until the European Cup. Vith the Vratsa Vultures, one season, I saw none of the games until the Cup."

"Who do you think you'll play tomorrow?"

Viktor didn't hesitate to answer, "Wales. They haff excellent chasers this year, and that new keeper, Smythe-Jones, I don't think England can handle him."

Ron gave Viktor a sour look, then sighed, "But Wales hasn't beaten England in five years! Sure, we're probably not going past the semifinals, but give us a chance! You're just afraid we'll be rooting for England if you have to play them." Viktor held his peace, almost as though Ron had said nothing, permitting himself only a sidelong glance at Ron and the barest of smiles.

"It vill be Ireland in the finals, no doubt. They are still good," Viktor murmured. Hermione and Harry exchanged looks. They both thought Viktor was trying to be conciliatory. Might as well pick the Chudley Cannons, if Aidan Lynch was still as loopy as everyone said.

After a ninety minute game, Viktor was proven right about Wales. Wales did indeed take England by surprise, laying a 350 to 40 pasting on them. As the day, and the matches wore on, Viktor's teammates filtered in and out of the box to chat, sometimes about the matches, sometimes about their families. Hermione noted that Viktor didn't volunteer much about his, but listened with interest as the others brought him up to date.

They were somewhat surprised to hear a voice behind them that bore no trace of a Bulgarian accent, during the last game of the day. They turned to look into the twinkling eyes of none other than Albus Dumbledore. "I had to come up here and say hello. A pity that England won't be competing against Bulgaria tomorrow, Mr. Krum. I daresay that would have made my rooting choices difficult, though. I do so enjoy watching you play. Considering the walloping Wales just put on England, I think I shall be very glad indeed to see Bulgaria put a proper pasting on them for us."

Viktor stood and shyly shook hands with Dumbledore. "Thank you. Professor Dumbledore, I had no idea you vere coming. If you had owled, I could haff gotten you a seat in this box..." He seemed almost intimidated by Dumbledore, though he stood quite a bit taller than the headmaster.

"Most generous of you, young man, but I really do enjoy watching from the stands. I've made quite a few friends down there, don't you know. You don't get all the crowd color in a box, and considering the way England just played, I could use a bit of color." He adjusted his glasses on his nose, studying them all for a brief moment before continuing. "You have plenty of expected guests to keep you busy. Severus, Minerva and Poppy will be missing me, it's our summer excursion, don't you know, so I'll be heading back now. Madame Hooch had just gone to get us some refreshments." Dumbledore paused and looked at Viktor significantly over his glasses. "I shall see you all at the beginning of the school year," he addressed the rest of the booth. He swept back out, waving to the group, Viktor still looking after him, his eyebrows drawn together, looking a little puzzled.

"Hmph. I didn't know Dumbledore was coming to the internationals either. But then, I have no idea what he does on his vacations. Of course, McGonagall is a Quidditch nut, look how she is about Gryffindor. Maybe she got to pick the place," Ron mused, as the crowd reacted to yet another goal by Transylvania. Soon after, the Transylvanian seeker caught the snitch, and the last match of the day was ended. By the time they portkeyed back to Pavlova, the moon was high and darkness covered the hills. They were glad to simply report the highlights of the day to Anya and Nikolas, then fall into their respective beds, exhausted but happy.