From the Diary of Viktor Krum
By: Chaos and Raven
I suspect Harry Potter wants me. My best friend Tatiana laughs at me in her letters when I write her about Harry. I think she's just jealous. When I said that, she told me she already has a famous stalker. I think I should probably be offended by that insinuation.
I feel Harry looking at me again. He never bothers to hide it. If I look up, I'm certain Harry will be eating his lunch and staring across the hall. At first I thought it was simply because I'm a famous quidditch star. Who wouldn't want to stare? But recently, I've begun to suspect there's more to it.
Even more annoying, the papers have linked Harry with Herm-- Well. I can't really pronounce her name. But the girl that Harry's always with. This is unacceptable.
I stand abruptly and nearly tip over the bench as well as the other students sitting near me.
Being on the ground is such a nuisance.
I walk out to the ship with minimal mishaps. If Tatiana were here, she would disperse these unruly fans with a well-placed kick to the ass. My contract says I can't do things like that any more. Bad publicity or something. It's very tedious. I don't get it. Sure, I'm famous, but I'm not attractive. I have a big nose and can't walk a straight line to save my life. Girls are incomprehensible.
Back on deck, Mischa graciously allows me to bum a cigarette after I threaten to feed him to the thing in the lake. In regard for Mischa's kindness, I don't take the whole pack. Nicotine withdrawal is only the least of my worries.
At least I'm able to drink as much coffee as I want. I threatened Karkaroff with disembowelment if he cut off the caffeine. Karkaroff is such an odious little toad. I would like to kick him in the shins. Sadly, that too would violate the terms of my contract.
Once the cigarette is out of the way, I head below deck. I feel better in my room and sitting down. The rocking is a bit unnerving from the top deck. There are enough problems knocking things over when the floor doesn't shift every other second. I scan the room, my eyes deftly skipping over textbooks to land on the quidditch playbook. Studying can come later; they haven't even announced the third task yet. I follow complex diagrams of x's and o's until I can't keep my eyes open any longer.
Karkaroff tells me that we find out about the third task this evening. Thank God. Even keeping track of Harry Potter has lost its excitement. I've spent so much time in the library recently, that horrid librarian seems to be growing fond of me. How disgusting.
I receive another letter from Tatiana at lunch which is always good for brightening my otherwise dull existence; the quidditch season can't start soon enough. She sent me a pack of cigarettes and a dirty magazine. For today, Tatiana is my favorite person.
I wait with that annoying Bagman and the snotty French girl for Harry Potter to show up. They've ruined a perfectly good quidditch pitch for this contest. There's no logic behind that.
When he arrives, Harry looks, as always, as though he just climbed out of a trash heap. His hair is askew, his clothing rumpled. It's appalling that he is attractive like that.
"I imagine you can guess what this is?" Bagman asks.
Everyone else has a vaguely stoned expression on their face. "Maze," I mumble. How they've made it this far, I can't imagine.
The Bag-idiot drones on a bit more but I stop listening. Now is my moment. This is where I will confront Harry about Herm-what's-her-face. Yes. I poke the boy sharply on the shoulder.
"I vould haff a vord vith you." God, English is such an awful sounding language.
Harry turns, surprised. "Yeah, all right."
I lead him over towards the equipment shed where we are unlikely to be overheard, stopping short of the little shack. The figures of Bagman, Fleur, and Cedric fade vaguely into the dim light. They're moving away.
I cross my arms across my chest and glare just over Harry's shoulder towards the pitch. "I vant to know," I say with a growl, "vot there is between you and Hermy-own-ninny."
Harry stares at me in shock or amazement. "Nothing," he says with a stutter. I lean forward, towering over him; a move that usually gets good results. "We're friends," he elaborates. "She's not my girlfriend and she never has been. It's just that Skeeter woman making things up."
"You haff never... you haff not..." This is remarkably embarrassing, though I think I manage not to make a complete ass of myself. So annoying.
"No," says Harry very firmly.
That's a relief and one I wasn't expecting. I stare at Harry for a few seconds, then say, "You fly very vell. I vos vatching at the first task."
Harry shakes his head at me, an incredulous expression on his face. "That's all this was? Just to find out about Hermione?"
I hedge, pulling out a cigarette. "You haff been vatching me too, da?"
Harry says, "I don't know what you're talking about." He doesn't meet my eyes.
I take a deep drag and look at him mildly. It's a hard look to pull off with my face.
"Look, you're the one who keeps chasing me around the school. I don't know what your problem is," Harry snaps defensively.
I wasn't expecting that. "Me? I haff many better things to be doing," I sputter, glaring at him.
He looks less sure of himself now, which pleases me. "I was only looking. That's not a crime is it?"
My cigarette is almost done now. I take a long final drag from it before turning back to him. "Vot good is looking if you vere not thinking more?"
I watch his cheeks flush faintly. He's not too embarrassed by my insinuations. Why Mr. Potter, who would have guessed? In what I can only hope is a graceful move, I flick the smoldering end of my cigarette to the ground and crush it beneath my heel as I step forward. Of course, when I bring my other foot forward I nearly step on myself. Annoying.
Harry stutters, "I didn't think..."
"Surprise," I say dryly. My hand reaches out and grips him by the chin. "Now you are thinking?"
"Someone might see," he says hesitantly.
I frown at him. "Shy? There is..."
Harry takes my hand and I stumble -- fortunately he's not looking -- after him. With the deft application of an unlocking charm, we step into the shed. Inside it smells only marginally better than a locker room. There are rows of neatly stacked brooms as well as extra pads and gear. Harry drags me over to the bench along the far wall and pushes me down on it. He's only fractionally taller than me this way.
He stands there stupidly, wiping his palms on his thighs. I watch him expectantly as he nervously twists his hands. I can see the exact moment he comes to a decision. His brows crease and his mouth briefly narrows to a straight line.
"I've never," he whispers to me as he leans in.
I touch my hand to his face and watch him tremble. "I know."
I draw his face to mine as gently as I can and push our lips together. It's awful, of course. Bumping noses, clashing teeth. I curse my ox-like coordination for the thousandth time. Harry draws back with an annoyed expression only to come at me again in determination. His head tips to the side just a fraction more and his mouth parts carefully. It's not fireworks but it comes damn close.
I'm uncomfortably aware of the smell of sweat, leather, and broom polish. Harry curls himself into my embrace, between my legs, his fingers tugging at my hair. My hands, clumsy and awful as they are, wrap around his little hips as he crawls over me. He's like a China doll with his porcelain skin and small, pink mouth.
"What are you... Oh!"
"Haresva li ti?"
I stroke his back as he shudders and writhes against me. His mouth slips from mine and he breathes wet trails across my cheek. Harry flexes his hips, jerking them flush against mine. I can't help but respond in kind.
"What... what does that mean?"
"I ask only if you like it. Dobre, da? It's good?"
I thrust up and he moans helplessly. He's so pretty, his face lit with sweat and lust. He has no control; you never do at that age. I stroke his face with one hand and hold him steady with the other. He isn't willing to wait for me to do the work and so he writhes and sobs and groans. Ach, even with my clumsy help, it would not be so awkward.
"Slow down, hm? Kolko si hubav. You are so pretty."
That stops his mad thrusting. He turns his face to look at me. Oh, his eyes are so wild and his mouth stained and red from kissing. So pretty. My hands, which can sometimes be clever, slip into his clothing and find his dick. The noises he makes are beautiful, so helpless yet so demanding. I've given barely a thought to my own need, hard and wanting as it is. All for you, pretty.
"You can't," Harry moans. "It's so good."
"Dai celuvka, Harry."
He gasps and shudders, rolling his hips in time with my hand. "Oh, that's nice. I love to hear you... Oh!"
"I say to give me a kiss, Harry."
I can see his tremors increase as he strives to maintain any little piece of control. No, I won't have that. I kiss him hard, fucking his mouth with my tongue. Precious boy, he only melts into me, submitting to his treatment with pleasure.
My hand speeds up and he falls apart on my shoulder, crying out his release. I splash little kisses across his cheeks while he gasps for breath. Minutes, hours later he comes back to himself. His smile is sleepy and self-satisfied. The kisses he gives are sweet, flavored with satiation.
"That was bloody brill," he murmurs. "God, I'm going to be completely mad for you after this. I suspect it'll be embarrassing as hell."
I smile, as much as I can. "You haff made good choice of me."
"You... That was a joke, wasn't it?" Harry asks with delighted outrage.
"People are saying always that I am vonderful, now you too," I tease.
His eyes darken. "You are wonderful."
"Da. You also." I grimace slightly. "The time is gone fast. You should be going."
Harry stands and shakes out his robes. After our tryst, the dank, slightly smelly shed comes back into focus. A little sordid for the first time but it can only get better, I think. As if following my thoughts, Harry touches a broom and laughs.
"I'll never look at this place the same way again." He snorts. "I'll prolly get stiff every time I smell broom polish from now on."
I suspect that he may be proud of that fact. As am I.
"Ella tyk." I gesture him close, reaching up to touch his face. "Sometimes I forget vich language to speak. You vant again sometimes?"
Harry nods shyly. "I... yes. I want again many times."
We kiss one last time, a wet lingering good-bye kiss though I will see him in the morning. I wait near the quidditch pitch until he disappears. My last thought as he walks away is that Tatiana will never believe me.