Past Present

By the time Harry and Ron and Hermione staggered downstairs, squinting in the early morning light, Viktor was dressed and standing at the kitchen table. He turned as they walked in, but didn't look up, still busy with his morning preparations. Hermione stopped short and stared. Viktor was already wearing most of his new national team dress uniform, which had changed a bit since the World Cup, rather than his usual robes or the Muggle clothing he sometimes wore. She looked over the black dragon hide boots that reminded her of riding boots, with their smooth, rounded toes and mostly flat soles with short blocky heels. The highly polished boots hugged his shins up to just below his knees, covering the bottom of the black dragon hide pants.

On top, he wore a loosely laced, draping white shirt, neatly tucked in to the pants. On his chair sat a small equipment bag containing the rest of his gear. His glossy black hair lay thick on his forehead, and he absently stuck out his bottom lip and blew it away from his eyes as he finished zipping the bag. For possibly the first time, she found herself struck by how completely handsome he looked in his uniform. No wonder some of those girls swooned at the sight of him.

They sat and ate, but Viktor mostly pushed the food around his plate, rearranging it in neat little piles all around the edges. As they tried to gather everyone at the back door to set out, Hermione nudged him and whispered, "You look nice. Weren't you hungry though?" Viktor simply shook his head. "Nervous?" He paused a moment, then shrugged and nodded subtly. "This can't be as many people as the World Cup."

Viktor looked at her for a long moment before saying, "But different from Vorld Cup. Different audience." Hermione thought a second, and remembered Viktor mentioning that his parents had been home ill with flu during his biggest game.

"Oh! Of course, your parents, they weren't at the World Cup!"

Viktor studied her silently for another space. "Them too," he finally added. The whole conversation was masked by the sounds of Ron and Harry racing around the house trying to make sure they had onmioculars and spending money, clomping up and down the stairs, and Anya and Nikolas exchanging notes in quick, loud bursts of Bulgarian as they scattered through the house, attending to last minute details.

Hermione realized with a start that Viktor had taken no one but his teammates to the World Cup. No family in the stands, presumably no one he had then considered his friends. Karkaroff, maybe, she didn't even know if Poliakoff had been there, the Bulgarian minister, definitely, and several thousand strangers in scarlet cheering him on. Truth be told, a lot of the Irish fans had been cheering him on, since he was the most exciting player in the game for either side. That's what he had taken to the World Cup, the adulation of a group of strangers. Attention he didn't necessarily want. That and six teammates.

Not that he didn't obviously enjoy his teammates for the most part, but he still was the outsider in that group. The tall one. The thin one. The seeker. The kid. The one they had made prove himself by doing something as mad as playing chicken with a couple of bludgers while doing his own beating at his first practice. The young one. The most famous one. The one with so many female fans swooning over him. Hermione reasoned that the cause of Viktor's nervousness was the fact that he was finally playing in a huge game in front of people who mattered to him. Else, why be nervous? She found herself oddly flattered by his nerves.

By the time they rounded everyone and everything up and arrived at the Quidditch pitch, there was about an hour until the match was set to begin. The Bulgarian Minister was already seated in the booth where Viktor had arranged for them to sit, along with the French Minister. After a short greeting and some polite conversation, Viktor turned his attention to unloading some of the things in his bag.

He doled out onmioculars to his parents, then rummaged to the bottom, laying a few things out to get to some small earplugs at the bottom of the bag. He gave two each to Harry and Ron.

"Wonder why Dumbledore didn't come up and say hello yesterday. What are these for?" Ron asked, studying them.

"For the veela. Veela are like sirens. If you can't hear their song, you vill not do anything silly like try to jump out of the box." Harry blushed when he remembered how he had been so hypnotized by the veela at the World Cup that he and Ron had tried to do that very thing.

"So we're just supposed to sit here with our ears plugged all match? We'll never know what's going on!" Ron complained.

"No." Viktor produced his wand from a pouch on the equipment bag. "Silencio veela!" he intoned over Ron's pair. "Now. You can hear everything else but the veela song."

Something occurred to Harry. "Viktor? How do you play, I mean, can't you hear the veela? And why just give them to us?" Viktor pursed his lips, considering his answer.

"Females are immune. So are most men who haff ... found contentment vith somevone already," he explained carefully.

"So that's why Dad wasn't about to take a leap out of the stands at the World Cup! That would make Mum happy, I suppose..." Ron mused.

"But, Viktor, that doesn't cover... everyone on the team, does it?"

Viktor considered a moment. "No. I haff not played vith ear plugs... ever. Veelas...they don't vork on those who look for more...do not find... that ... that sort of girl attractive..." It was obvious that Viktor was struggling to explain.

Hermione interjected, "You mean, all flash and no substance?"

Viktor puzzled a moment over her statement. "Vot?"

"You know, beauty that's only skin deep."

"Exactly! Vhen you know vhat they are like on the inside, the outside does not look so attractive. Pretty package, usually a nasty surprise inside. Some veela, like some people, are qvite nice, but..." he trailed off and Harry picked up the sentence.

"...most are ugly, shrieking, fireball-throwing, beaky-nosed bird-women on the inside when they get angry?"

Viktor nodded in reply, and said, "Not many men who are near angry veela more than vonce or twice have a problem turning them down after that. And most show their true colors easily. Still, to be safe." He prepared Harry's pair, gathered his Quidditch robe off the chair, grabbed his equipment bag and left the booth for the locker room.

They trolled the railing for a few minutes, just crowd watching and adjusting their onmioculars. Harry was watching a wizard complete a truly thunderous looking sneeze for the third time when he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. He turned to find Anya behind him, holding out a black pair of Quidditch gloves. Viktor had left them on the chair. "Take to him?" she asked.

"Sure. We'll all go," Harry replied.

Hermione hesitated before asking, "Would they let me in?"

"Awww, Hermione, if they're not all in their underpants..." Harry elbowed Ron sharply. "Hermione, surely they have someplace private to change if they have to strip down. Ivanova goes to the same locker room." The trio headed toward the locker room, and they bumped into Ivanova, in full Quidditch gear, just outside.

"Ahh, Viktor's friends! He is in there. Cannot find...oh, you haff them! Go in, go in!" She nudged them a little toward the door. They entered to find Viktor sitting on a bench, knee protectors in place over the boots, stripping off the white shirt, his Quidditch robe lying beside him. Even through the fabric he was pulling over his head, they could hear him muttering in what sounded like muffled but extremely irritated Bulgarian.

"Viktor, we brought your gloves," Harry called out. Viktor nearly ran over to Harry, grabbing the gloves and letting loose a heavy sigh of relief.

"I could not think vere I could haff put them!" He made a disgusted noise, something like a snort. "Scatterbrained. I did not pack my extra pair. Thought I vould have to summon some." He smiled weakly at them, indicating the wand in his hand, then started as he noticed the time. He darted back to the bench and grabbed his Quidditch robe, quickly pulling it over his head, a mumbled "Sorry" filtering out through the material as he dressed. "I haff to finish dressing. Must varm up, and the announcer vill be out there soon, so you had best get back to the box." He tucked his wand back into the equipment bag pocket.

Lacing the gloves on and adjusting the golden tasseled belt of his robe, Viktor tossed his equipment bag into his locker. Harry stared at the much fancier robe, embroidered with gold thread, cut shorter than most robes and showing the boots and pants to great effect and allowing for easier movement at the same time. "Wow!" Harry breathed, "Those are some fantastic uniforms. Gryffindor colors, on top, even. Could you let us know the name of your tailor?" They made Viktor look somehow taller and more imposing than ever, even his eyes flashed darker and his hair seemed blacker against the bright scarlet.

Viktor smiled more confidently now, tying his thick, dark hair back into a short ponytail with a black leather tie. "I vill make sure he outfits the whole team."

"I'll hold you to that. I have witnesses."

"Mum would want to give him a haircut, like Bill," Ron whispered to Harry.

"Go on, now. Shoo!" Viktor flapped his hands at them.

Hermione hung back, whispering, "Nervous now?" after Harry and Ron stepped through the door.

"Think ve vill vin?" he asked her in return.

"No. I know it."

"Then I am not nervous." He squeezed her hand, and she could feel the large, smooth calluses just below his fingers from where he gripped his broom, the rest of his hand surprisingly warm and soft. Then he held the door for her, sweeping out behind her to join his teammates, who were milling around outside. For once, he stood tall, shoulders back, his chin not buried in the neck of his robes as though he wished to crawl inside them. He busied his hands with picking a broom out of the rack, giving a little wave to the three Hogwarts students as they rounded the corner on the way back to the booth.