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Viktor Krum took the piece of parchment Headmaster Dumbledore offered and lowered his hand, letting it hang nonchalantly at his side. He left the Great Hall with long, even strides that stole everyone’s undivided attention.
He sighed inwardly. He hated attention—no, he abhorred it. But he needed this cover to do his job properly. Let the Magical World think him the big, brainless fool whose only worth was his talent with a broom.
His mask perfectly in place, he opened the door, his eyes roaming instinctively over the room. Lowering his guard even for a second was out of the question. He was a Vor and the more likely Heir to the Bratva throne if his uncle Antonin remained unmarried—which was a given considering the Pakhan had lost his Soulmate years ago. He was taught better than to trust blindly.
He held a bleak expression as he nodded to Mr Bagman and stood in a corner with his back to the wall. Honestly, he was already sick of this Tournament. The annoying High Master Karkaroff was driving him insane since the moment they touched British soil. He understood that the man held a bone-deep grudge against the people who had ostracized him and almost ruined his future. He was itching to exact revenge and show them the real mettle of Durmstrang’s students.
Viktor took neither pleasure nor pain from delivering punishment. It just was. Frigid, unfeeling, swift and deadly.
A Vor knew better than to let emotions cloud his judgement and pursue fatuous things such as revenge for an inconsequential cause. All that mattered was family. The Bratva.
He stood completely still when the door opened and Mademoiselle Fleur Delacour joined them.
“Bravo Miss Delacour!” Bagman boomed. “Your friends must be proud of you.”
The French Veela showed open indifference as she executed a formal curtsy and stood two feet away. Viktor inclined his head and stifled the need to snort. He would bet his Firebolt that her schoolmates were burning with jealousy at the moment. They had so grossly underestimated her.
Mademoiselle Delacour’s ethereal beauty was but a glossy veneer that hid a fierce witch underneath. And now, they had to cope with the smile of smug self-congratulation on her face for the remainder of the year.
He waited patiently and wasn’t disappointed when cheers and joyous shouts filled the Great Hall. A moment later, Mr Cedric Diggory stepped awkwardly into the room. He did his utmost to mask his high spirits but his gray eyes sparkled with merriment.
“Diggory!” Bagman laughed heartily. “Merlin’s Beard, we have to send a message to Amos at once.”
“Thank you, Mr Bagman,” Hogwarts Champion grinned. He looked rumpled under his costly school robes. No wonder by courtesy of his Housemates’ enthusiasm.
“Krum,” Mr Diggory said playfully. “I guess we’ll have to compete against each other.”
“It seems we have no choice,” he elaborated. “Maybe we’ll have that Quidditch match later.”
“I can’t wait.”
Viktor’s attention went back to the door as the competing schools’ Headmasters joined them.
Madame Maxime entered first, her chin held high. She congratulated her Champion and whispered words of encouragement in French.
High Master Karkaroff was next. He placed his hands on his shoulders, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Браво, Vitya!” His lips twisted. “I will send a word to the Pakhan as soon as we get back to the ship.”
“Thank you, High Master,” Viktor said flatly, resisting as Karkaroff pulled him forcibly closer. “I’d appreciate that.” Even though he was used to the High Master’s antics, they still bored him to tears. His uncle’s favour could never be bought. As it happened, Pakhan Antonin Dolohov had no respect for those who regarded him with spaniel eyes.
“It’s the least I can do for our esteemed Champion,” Karkaroff laughed with gusto. “Let’s show these weaklings why we are the best school in the Magical World.”
Viktor cocked a brow up. Judging others incorrectly was a fatal mistake. Sadly, it seemed Karkaroff learnt nothing from his past predicament.
Hogwarts, as a matter of fact, was overflowing with young talent. One name came to mind when he thought of raw power: Aster Potter.
The first night the Durmstrang Delegation had stepped into the Great Hall, he scanned the crowd as usual, looking for hidden threats and potential allies. He was rendered speechless when his magic brushed against that of Miss Potter. Her core was brimming with pure Dark Magic.
For an uncanny reason, the revelation brought him unalloyed delight. Since that day, he watched her from the shadows. Wizarding Britain's Saviour was woefully kind and innocent. She was oblivious most of the time which frustrated him excessively. Whenever their paths crossed, his mind went overdrive at the prospect of leaving her unprotected. Which was absurd. She was not his to protect.
His fingers went instinctively to the Mark he carried on his left wrist. It was haunting that he had yet to find his Soulmate even though he’d celebrated his seventeenth birthday months ago.
He frowned when shouts and jeers filled the Great Hall.
“What’s going on?” High Master Karkaroff hissed. “I hope Dumbledore isn’t plotting something.”
“Mr Karkaroff….” Bagman started. His words, however, trailed off when the door opened slowly.
Aster Potter stood at the threshold, head bent, fingers tugging fervently at the sleeve of her robes.
“Miss Potter?” Bagman seemed surprised as well. "How can I help you?"
Mademoiselle Delacour tilted her head to the side and asked. “What is it?” she said. “Do they want us back in the Hall?”
Aster Potter froze in place like a deer in an archer’s sight. “I—I didn’t….” Her lips quivered. She met his gaze furtively with a burning sincerity in her eyes.
Something in that look almost cracked his cool façade. His heart began a rapid rhythm that sent the blood in a dizzying rush through his veins when he saw the unshed tears swirling in the green depths.
It bothered him immensely to see her so small and helpless.
There was a sound of scurrying feet behind. Dumbledore entered the room followed by Mr Crouch, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape.
“Aster?” Dumbledore said firmly. “Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire?”
“What!” Karkaroff bellowed. “I had a bad feeling about this tournament and once again, you proved me right, Dumbledore. Your Age Line was a farce.”
“C’est hors question,” Madame Maxime pursed her lips in blatant displeasure. “Every school must have one Champion.”
“I—I swear I didn’t!” she met the judges’ accusatory eyes with fear-filled ones.
“Spare us the dramatics Potter,” Professor Snape sneered. “You’ve been crossing the line since you stepped into this school. Everyone knows how much you crave attention. Just like your father.”
In one swift movement, Aster spun around meeting the Professor’s malevolent eyes. "My father didn’t crave attention and nor did I. I—“
Headmaster Dumbledore showed no sign of hearing Snape’s words. His face turned blank as he put his hand on Aster’s neck and tightened his hold as if to drive a point home. “Aster, answer the question. Did you ask an older student to put your name into the Goblet of Fire for you?”
At first, astonishment crept through him, but then, it was replaced by an acute sense of rage.
“N-No!” she looked cornered as she tried and failed to meet the Headmaster’s piercing eyes.
And just like that, something inside Viktor’s core snapped.
He liked to believe he was a practical person who overthought before acting. As the future Pakhan, the fate of the Bratva depended on his decisions. There was no room for mistakes.
Unfortunately, there were times when he acted out of pure impulse, not considering the possible ramifications, circumstances, or people’s reactions. Of course, those times had earned him lengthy lectures from his father and uncle.
It seemed this was one of those times.
Foreign emotions ripped his chest apart when she started shivering. Rage. Hatred. Revulsion. However, instead of fighting the impulse in what would be a losing battle, he chose to embrace it.
“Move your hand. You are hurting her.” The unforgiving harshness in his voice pinned everyone in place. He slid his dark gaze to Dumbledore’s hand, eyes tapering with wrath.
“V-Viktor?” High Master Karkaroff licked his lips, sweating lightly.
Viktor ignored him like he ignored Mademoiselle Delacour’s calculating eyes and Mr Diggory’s feeble attempts to placate him.
“This is a Hogwarts matter,” Professor Snape managed through gritted teeth. “I advise you to learn how to respect your—“
But Viktor was done listening to utter nonsense. He might let it slide. For now. Snape, after all, hadn’t seen him in action to understand how highly efficient and cold-blooded he was. It wasn’t a coincidence that he had excelled at his Vory tests.
Aster trembled as he coaxed Dumbledore’s fingers with steely purpose. The Headmaster blinked but complied. Even begrudgingly.
Aster lifted her head and stared at him in bewilderment. The moment his thumb accidentally touched her bare skin, a searing pain burned his wrist. His heart thumped with an unrivalled force that he could barely think clearly.
Could this be…?
Protective instincts flared to life, demanding he protected her. The person that mattered most. His Soulmate.
The revelation was both staggering and welcome for it explained the curious interest he had in Aster Potter.
“Aster,” he rasped, his mask shattered. A brilliant bloom of hope warmed him to the marrow when she stared at him with wide, yearning eyes.
Even though she wasn’t seventeen yet, she could feel the connection now that they had shared skin privileges. His broad hands nearly enclosed hers completely as he drew her closer, and he found with surprise that there were calluses on her fingers. These were the hands of a Quidditch player.
He took her into his arms and she buried her head in his chest, her heart pounding hard against his.
“Viktor what are you—“ Karkaroff stared at him curiously. No wonder working out what was taking place.
“Mr Krum.” Something changed in Dumbledore's voice and though subtle, he could hear the threat. “What do you think you are doing?”
Viktor met his eyes, deliberately baring his wrist. Dumbledore's eyes widened in a most unflattering way as if the notion was outside the bounds of reason.
“I’m doing what I must to protect my Soulmate, Sir.” There was a note of amusement in his voice as he stood like a sturdy wall between his Soulmate and the people who wanted to hurt her. “From this moment on, Aster Potter is mine to protect. Also, you can forget about the Tournament. She is not participating.”