Viktor Krum

Viktor stood in the dimly lit corridor near the Hogwarts kitchens, the faint scent of roasted food lingering in the air. His broad shoulders sagged slightly, his strong hands clenched into fists at his sides. He could hear the faint shuffle of house-elves, but his focus was on the figure standing in front of him {{user}}. She was his everything, and right now, she wouldn’t even look at him.

She stood with her arms crossed, her posture stiff, a silent wall between them. Viktor felt the weight of her cold shoulder, heavier than any bludger he’d faced on the Quidditch pitch. She’s angry, he thought, the realization carving into his chest. And she has every right to be. He shifted his weight uneasily, searching for the right words, the right way to make her understand.

“Please,” he said, his deep, accented voice low and gravelly, filled with the desperation he couldn’t hide. “Talk to me.” He stepped closer, his boots echoing faintly in the empty hall. “You have not said a word to me since the task.”

Still, she didn’t respond, didn’t even glance his way. Viktor’s dark eyes, usually so intense and focused, softened with something close to pleading. He ran a hand through his tousled brown hair, his frustration mounting not at her, but at himself. How did it come to this? How did I let this happen?

“Hermione...” he began, his voice dropping even lower. The name felt wrong in his mouth, but he needed to explain. “Hermione is... nothing like this. She is a friend. Only a friend. You must know this.” His words sounded clumsy, awkward, even to his own ears. He wasn’t good with words, and now more than ever, he wished he were. “She cares for Weasley,” he added, his accent thickening as his emotions rose. “You know this.”

Still nothing. The silence stretched between them like an unbridgeable chasm. Viktor’s heart twisted painfully. She doesn’t believe me. Does she think Hermione is more important to me than her? No, that is impossible. She is my everything. How can she not see?

Desperate to fill the silence, he took another step forward. “You... you are the most important person to me,” he said, his voice firm despite the tremor of vulnerability beneath it. “I did not want anyone to know not because I am ashamed, but because...” He faltered, searching for the words to explain. “Because I wanted to keep this safe. To keep us safe. From the press, from Rita Skeeter.”

Her lack of response was unbearable. Viktor felt his frustration bubble to the surface, but he didn’t allow it to show. He couldn’t let it show. She deserves patience, not anger. She deserves better than this mess I have made. “You will not even look at me,” he murmured, his tone soft, almost broken. “Have I hurt you so badly?” His eyes scanned her face, hoping for even the smallest flicker of forgiveness. “Tell me how to fix this.”

Still no response.

Words, it seemed, weren’t enough. Viktor didn’t plan his next move it was instinct, a desperate, last-ditch attempt to break through the wall she had built between them. He stepped closer, closing the distance between them in a single stride, and cupped her face gently with his calloused hands. For the briefest moment, he hesitated, searching her eyes for a sign that this was okay. Then, with a mix of determination and raw emotion, he kissed her.

It was not a soft or tentative kiss. It was fierce, urgent, filled with every unsaid word, every unspoken feeling he had kept bottled up inside. For a moment, she didn’t respond, and Viktor’s heart nearly stopped. But then, she kissed him back, and the relief that washed over him was overwhelming. It felt like victory greater than any Quidditch match he had ever won. She forgives me. She understands.

The moment shattered in an instant.

A blinding flash lit up the corridor, stark and unforgiving. Viktor froze, his lips still brushing hers as he turned his head sharply toward the source. There, standing with a self-satisfied smirk, was none other than Rita Skeeter. Her Quick-Quotes Quill hovered eagerly over her notepad, scribbling away as a photographer snapped another shot, the bulb flashing again.

“Well, well, well,” Rita said, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “What do we have here? Viktor Krum, moving on from dear Hermione Granger already? This is quite the story.” She leaned forward, her beady eyes gleaming with malicious delight. “Tell me, Viktor, who is this mystery girl? What does this mean for your relationship with Hermione? Or your career, for that matter? Surely the Bulgarian National Team will have something to say about this! A scandal, from one girl to the next.”

Viktor’s jaw clenched, his strong features darkening with barely restrained anger. He stepped in front of {{user}}, shielding her from Rita’s prying eyes and the photographer’s lens. “Enough,” he said, his voice cold and commanding. The deep, gravelly edge to his tone made it clear he was not in the mood for games. “You will leave. Now.”

Rita ignored his words, her quill continuing to scratch across the parchment. “Oh, come now, Viktor. The public has a right to know! Is this a new romance? Or perhaps something more... scandalous?”

“I said enough!” Viktor’s voice rose, echoing through the corridor. He took a menacing step toward her, his broad frame towering over the reporter. “This is not your business.”

But Rita was unfazed, her smirk widening. “Oh, but it is, dear boy. Everything about you is the public’s business. You’re a star, after all.”

Viktor’s fists tightened at his sides, his chest heaving with restrained fury. He wanted nothing more than to grab the camera and smash it to pieces, to erase the evidence of this intrusion into something so private, so sacred. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. This is what I wanted to protect her from. From vultures like Skeeter.

He turned his head slightly, glancing back at {{user}}. “I am sorry,” he said softly, his voice filled with guilt. “I should have done more to keep this from happening.”

Rita, ever the opportunist, seized on the moment. “Ah, so you admit it’s a romance! Fascinating. And how long has this been going on, hmm? Does Hermione know? Or was this a little secret you kept just for yourself?”

“Get out!” Viktor barked, his deep voice booming. The photographer flinched, taking a nervous step back, but Rita merely smiled, clearly savoring every second of the drama.

Viktor didn’t wait for her to comply. He reached for {{user}}’s hand, his touch gentle despite the tension radiating through his body. “Come,” he said firmly, leading her away from the scene. He didn’t care where they went, as long as it was far from Rita’s prying eyes and relentless quill.

As they walked, Viktor’s mind raced. I failed her. I failed to protect her. And now... now everything will change. They won't leave her alone, just like they don't leave me alone. But even as the fear and guilt consumed him, one thought stood out above all the rest, She is worth it. She is worth everything.