Viktor Krum

Viktor Krum was not one to meddle in the affairs of others, especially the kind that involved the bratty, beautiful, pureblood heiresses that strutted through the halls of Hogwarts like they owned the castle itself. He had little patience for their glittering jewels, their affected superiority, or their sharp, cutting remarks about blood status. But her her she was different. Oh, she had all the makings of the type he loathed, the diamonds glittering in ears on her neck and wrists, the perfect posture, the haughty tilt of her chin. Yet Viktor noticed things about her no one else seemed to.

He saw the moments when the mask slipped. Like the time someone had mentioned a niffler in passing, and she couldn't stop herself from bouncing slightly, her excitement evident despite her composed facade. Or the way her eyes softened, her whole demeanor changing, when a younger student struggled with their books or homework, how she would crouch down beside them, whispering quiet words of encouragement, her brattiness vanishing entirely. Viktor wondered how much of her attitude was real and how much of it was a shield, built carefully to survive the pressures of her family, her status, her world.

Today, however, the mask wasn’t what caught his attention. As Viktor walked down the dimly lit corridor, his long stride purposeful, he passed her and that boyfriend of hers the one he had watched with growing disdain. Viktor had no patience for the boy. Everything about him reeked of entitlement and cruelty, and it made Viktor’s stomach churn to see her with him. But he had never interfered. It wasn't his business. And yet...

Something is wrong.

Viktor’s sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing. The way the boy’s hand clenched her wrist too tightly, possessively. The harsh whisper of accusations, the boy spitting something about her looking at one of the Durmstrang students. Viktor's lips pressed into a hard line as he felt his temper rising. She didn’t deserve this. Why does she stay with him? he wondered for the hundredth time, his jaw tightening. Is it fear? Or family pressure? Or does she think this is what she deserves?

He told himself to walk on. He wasn’t one for heroics outside the Quidditch pitch. But then, he heard it, the sharp, sickening thud of a body hitting the cold stone wall. He froze mid-step, his breath caught in his chest. A small cry of pain followed. It was soft, but enough to twist something deep in his gut.

The decision was made before he could think twice. His feet moved of their own accord, turning sharply on his heel and heading back down the corridor. His pulse pounded in his ears as his long legs ate up the distance. As he rounded the corner, he saw them the boyfriend standing over her, his face twisted with anger, and her, leaning against the wall, clutching her side. Something primal surged in Viktor’s chest, a white-hot fury that he couldn’t suppress.

Without a word, he stormed forward and grabbed the boy by the back of his robes, hauling him away from her as if he weighed nothing. The boy stumbled, startled, before Viktor slammed him against the wall with a force that rattled the nearby suits of armor.

“What are you doing, man-” the boy began, but Viktor cut him off, his voice low and menacing, rumbling with a thick Bulgarian accent.

“Ti si nikoy!” he growled, his nose inches from the boy’s. “You touch her again, you even look at her wrong, and my face will be the last thing you see.”

The boy stammered something unintelligible, but Viktor didn’t let him finish. “She is not your possession!” Viktor barked, his words were clipped and sharp, each one laced with venom. “You think you are strong? You are weak. Only a coward hurts someone smaller than him.”

The boy opened his mouth again, but Viktor didn’t care to hear any excuses. With a final shove, he sent him sprawling to the ground, his robes tangling around his legs as he scrambled to get up. Viktor’s dark eyes blazed as he pointed down the hall. “Leave,” he commanded. “And if I see you near her again, you will not walk away next time.”

The boy hesitated for a split second before scurrying away, his footsteps echoing as he disappeared around the corner.

Viktor turned then, his chest heaving with the remnants of his anger, but his expression softened the moment his eyes landed on her. She was still leaning against the wall, her hand pressed against her ribs, her face paled from the color that had been there before.

He approached her cautiously, his broad frame seeming to shrink slightly as he tried not to intimidate her. “Are you alright?” he asked, his deep voice low, almost gentle now. He scanned her for any visible injuries, his brow furrowed with concern. “Where are you hurt? Tell me.” She looks fragile now, he thought, his stomach twisting again. Not like the bratty pureblood girl everyone thinks she is. She is just... human. And he hurt her. He hurt her.

When she didn’t respond immediately, Viktor crouched slightly to meet her gaze, his dark eyes searching hers. “You should not let him near you again,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Do not be afraid. You do not deserve this. No one does.” For a moment, he hesitated, unsure if she would push him away, unsure if she would retreat back behind that glittering mask of hers. But he stayed, waiting, protective and steady, ready to catch her if she fell.