Past Present

"Lupin said you had to think the happiest thought you can possibly think of. Concentrate on it. That's the trick," Harry said.

"Well that explains it then," Viktor said flatly.

"Explains what?" Harry asked.

"Why I could never do it before. Can you imagine Karkaroff twittering around like a hopped-up fairy on Fizzing Whizbees, telling you to think happy thoughts?" Harry was so tickled by the thought of Karkaroff flitting and mincing about, chirping about happy thoughts that he laughed out loud.

"Okay, I can't imagine Lupin doing that either, but you at least get the mist, and it's all kind of staying together now, so it can't be too much harder to get the real full blown thing. Come on, this can't be too much different than practicing with Alexei, can it?" Harry asked.

"Yes it is. You haff not already suggested we pack it in and go do something else. He would haff thirty minutes ago. Five minutes in," Viktor pointed out.

"Come on, try it again. But first, close your eyes and concentrate on something happy. Then we can go to the Quidditch pitch, already." He paused for several seconds while Viktor closed his eyes. "Got something?" Viktor nodded silently. "Going to do it sometime today?"

Viktor smiled and opened one eye. "Let me finish it up first. Give me a minute's peace. Okay. Expecto Patronum!" This time, a ghostlike and wispy silver hawk shot out of the end of the wand. "Well. That was not what I was expecting..." Viktor said.

"What did you expect?" Harry asked.

"I do not know. Dogs, I guess. Been around sheep too long, I suppose," Viktor replied, shrugging.

"What does it matter if it worked?" Harry asked. "And are you ready to go to the pitch?"

"Guess I am. Grab your broom. I owe you," Viktor said, rising and walking to the cupboard in his quarters.

"What did you think about?" Harry asked as Viktor reached in and set his Firebolt out.

"None of your business," Viktor said lightly.

"She never takes that ring off, you know. And she's not exactly big on jewelry, usually," Harry said slyly. Viktor only smiled in reply and whistled for the dogs. "Not gonna say a word are you?" Harry ribbed on the way down the steps.

"No. I do not hear you saying anything about whether or not you talked to Cho, either," he retorted.

Harry flushed, but did not reply. "Okay then. What's the secret to a really good Wronski Feint?" Harry asked, standing in the middle of the pitch.

"I take that as a 'no' on talking to Cho. Wronski Feint. Be fool enough to hurtle yourself toward the pitch as fast as you can go without killing yourself. And you are every bit as foolish about this as I am, so I think you haff it made. Just get on for right now. Let me shake a little of the dust off first, then we talk," Viktor laughed and took off. After some minutes of cruising around the pitch, Viktor skimmed the grass, then landed and waved Harry down beside him. Even after a few weeks off of a broom, he made it look so effortless that the broom was almost unnecessary. "Okay, now we get down to teaching you for a change. Get back on your broom, point yourself at that goalpost and work on getting as close to it as you can and going as fast as you can. First thing you need to work on is judging distance at a high rate of speed. Want me to show you first?" Harry nodded. Viktor streaked toward the goalpost, whipping around it so close that his cloak wrapped around it briefly as he circled it and banked to return. "You start an arm's length away. When you get good at that, halve it. Halve it again. Then try it pointed at the ground, but easy at first."

An hour later, they walked off the field, dogs in tow. "You can laugh, you know," Harry muttered.

"It is not funny," Viktor replied, pulling out his wand and murmuring "Oculo Reparo," and handing Harry his glasses back. "Not bad, you only came off completely five times."

"It was six," Harry said through clenched teeth.

"Count yourself lucky either way. You do not know how many times I came off," Viktor said in a conciliatory tone.

"I only tried it seven times going at the ground! And you were what, eleven?"

"I flew a long time before that. You are pushing yourself too hard. Give yourself time to get lower and faster. Do one at a time, even then. The ground does not give much when you hit it. Harry, you haff to learn something. "

"What's that?"

" Most of the time you came off because you could not decide whether to commit or not. If you are going to crash, you are not going to make it better by trying to decide when to pull out that close to the ground. You need to decide that before you dive. I am coming up out of this a foot off, or at the very last second, you tell yourself that before you start. If you do it properly, you are not going to crash. Either way, no point in doing it halfheartedly. If you are going to drown, do not try it in shallow water."

"Huh?" Harry replied.

"Old Bulgarian saying. Just more proof that I am an old Bulgarian, I guess. Means 'do nothing halfheartedly', even if it kills you. In this case, very applicable, because if you keep changing your mind, you are going to get yourself killed while you try to work out where to pull out. Work on it sometime when I am not around. Easier to commit when you know no one is going to see you made a fool of if you crash. Harry?"

"What, Viktor?"

"Not as bleedin' easy as it looks, is it?" he asked softly, trying not to laugh.

"Good grief, no. You make it look so effortless. Did you ever walk straight when you were learning this? Everything's sore. Even my eyelashes hurt," Harry said, running his fingers through his hair.

"Did not walk straight before, according to some people. Okay, I admit it was pretty funny when you got it right then almost clocked yourself on the goalpost that time. You should watch where you are going after you pull up instead of celebrating," Viktor advised.

"Oh, shut up. And don't tell Ron," Harry said good naturedly.

"My lips are sealed. At least I did not make you take on a couple of Bludgers by yourself. Or grease your broomstick. Or glue you to it. Or hex your gloves. Or..."

"You know far, far too many hazing rituals for my taste. What hasn't the Bulgarian national team done to rookies?"

"Oh they did not do all that. They usually just dare you to do something you would usually consider crazy and see if you will do it. If you do it, you are usually crazy enough to play Quidditch with them. No, the English team does all that. The Welsh did it to Cymry. I think they even stunned him once and buried him in the sand pit overnight. Forgive me if I do not feel too sympathetic toward him after our last meeting," Viktor laughed.