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strangeness & charm.
act one, are you satisfied?
chapter five, the man, the myth, the legend.

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VIKTOR KRUM
august 1994

THE WORLD HAD SPUN LIKE A CARNIVAL RIDE BEFORE NORA'S EYES.

      Yellows, blues, and greens had blurred past her as she bypassed continents. If she'd possessed the bandwidth to process the fact that she had likely stepped foot in New Zealand twice during her journey, surely her mind would have imploded. The older woman Nora had travelled with had landed with far more tact than she had, even with the fifty pounds of Irish flag paraphernalia the woman had been wearing. Nora had attempted a portkey only once previously, and it had resulted in her lying headfirst in a ditch.

      Two days prior, Nora had arrived at the Ministry of Magic to report for her last day of work. When she walked into her office, she'd been greeted with a vividly colored banner on the wall that had read, "See you, Bitch!", as well as a burnt (homemade, according to Bonnie) batch of snickerdoodle cookies on her desk. Emotions had been spared - in fact, Nora had noted that Bonnie seemed more than happy to now have the office all to herself.

     A mere two hours prior, Nora had been standing with her parents in a London train station exchanging tearful goodbyes - well, rather, her parents had expressed their tearful remarks, and she had embraced them. After she had assured them she would take care and keep them posted on the likes of the men and their balls (once again), she had boarded a train bound for Dublin.

      An important looking man had met her when she had disembarked in Dublin. Then, he had escorted her to a secluded alleyway and handed her a rusted key that had whisked her away within seconds. Bonnie Taylor would have smacked Nora upside the head if she ever found out that Nora had followed a strange man into a dark alley.

      Now, an hour after she had landed on her backside in a misty moor, Nora followed closely behind the red-headed woman who had fetched her following her Portkey arrival.

      The woman turned her head slightly towards Nora as she edged around a clumped group of Bulgarian fanatics - the nation's flag hand-painted across each one of their foreheads gave them away.

      "Still with me, Nora?" She asked humourly, a small smile gracing her lips.

      Nora chuckled. "Hardly."

       Ruthanne Balker ("Please, for the love of Merlin, call me Ruth. I'm really not quite sure what my parents were thinking," she had told Nora) was the Senior Manager of Statistic Analysis for the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team. Attempting to figure out what exactly that meant had caused Nora's brain to ache, so she had settled for simply nodding when Ruth had introduced herself.

       The sun sought its respite in orange and lilac hues that fell across the never-ending queue of match-goers who were packed in between the tents like sardines as they made their march towards the stadium. The crowd included Nora and Ruth, who had slowly but surely pushed their way through the traffic jam for the better part of fifteen minutes.

      The jumble of colors that traced the crowd was quite a sight to see - red, gold, silver, green, white, black, and a few more in between. A man bristled past Nora, and the loud clanging of voices filled her ears; he wore a deep red cloak lined with tennis ball-sized bells, each shouting a different phrase - "Mullet, sure to be the next star on the rise - Zograf, has he really recovered after last year's fall - Krum, will he do the feint?"

       The separation of Nora's senses was a forgone concept - with the clash of colors, sounds, and smells that surrounded her, she wasn't sure where her body ended and her environment began.

       As the women passed a tent with a poster of Viktor Krum tacked to its door, Nora's eyes were drawn to the piece of parchment. Deep auburn hair, sharp eyes, thick black eyebrows, and a surly expression; she'd know his face anywhere. The almost un-human-like quality in the moving photo caused a pit to settle in her stomach.

      "Krum! Viktor Krum, the Bugarian seeker!"

       The outburst came from a red-haired boy to Nora's right. She couldn't see his face, only his silhouette, as he stood in a group alongside a black-haired boy and a shorter girl with curly, brown hair.

      "He looks really grumpy," the girl said, and Nora bit her tongue to prevent a snort from leaving her nose.

      "Really grumpy? Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young, too. Only eighteen or something. He's a genius, you wait until later, you'll see," The redhead declared.

      The boy's words struck a chord in Nora's mind. She hadn't considered Krum's age before, but had only observed that he always seemed older and rough around the edges. Surely, she hadn't thought she was only one year his senior.

       At last, the sun found its interlude behind the tallest hill and stretched the tents' and match-goers' warm shadows beyond recognition. The pathway the group followed darkened in the light of dusk, and almost immediately, flames danced within the lanterns that littered the edges of the curved soil. Thousands of people shouted and laughed from all directions, and Nora found it nearly impossible to wipe the infectious grin from her lips.

      It must have been ten minutes further before Nora and Ruth finally breached the last hill, bringing the stadium into full view, and it stole Nora's breath from her lungs.

      The Quidditch stadium, handcrafted by wizards over the course of a year, could surely fit more than a few dozen King's Cross Stations in its breadth. The rows upon rows of boxes and seats were shielded by an immense golden wall on the outside of the stadium that shone in the last rays of sunset like a multicolored, molten star.

      "Holy Merlin," Nora muttered.

      "Seats a hundred thousand," Ruth said, observing Nora's shellshocked expression. "But, I'm sure you know that from working at the Ministry. You wouldn't believe the hurdles we've had to jump through to keep people away from it all day."

      Nora's eyebrows furrowed. "You're saying people have actually tried to hop the fence?"

      Ruth snorted. "Not only hop the fence - just this morning, an older bloke managed to put one fingertip on Zograf's shoulder when the team came in from workouts. You would've thought he'd won the lottery with the way he whooped and hollered when he was dragged off."

      "People," was all Nora managed to mutter in response.

      Ruth laughed. "Indeed."

       As they approached the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards, Nora's anxiety managed to spike by at least ten levels.

      "Stay close to me. Grab me if you need to," Ruth declared loudly. Nora nodded as she weaved in between people to keep in step with the woman.

      The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in a velvety, rich purple. Staircases branched from the main walkway in so many directions, Nora couldn't keep up with all of them. Nora and Ruth clambered upward through the main staircase with the rest of the crowd before Ruth exited onto another one abruptly, causing Nora's head to spin.

      The queue of matchgoers slimmed significantly as they continued to climb towards the clouds, and people slowly filtered through doorways to the left and right of them. As the pair passed one such doorway, Nora could just make out the vibrant, green grass that laid thousands of feet beneath them, and her heart nearly faltered. Her excitement was palpable, and she kicked herself internally for her inability to take a physical photo of the view.

      Just as Nora's knees had begun screaming at the constant climbing, Ruth halted just in front of an archway to the left of the staircase. The stairs were barren now, save for the security detail that guarded the door that the girls now stood in front of.

      With a flick of her wrist, Ruth flashed her identification card to one of the guards, and after he nodded, his gaze transferred to Nora.

      "She's with me. New hire."

      The guard simply nodded once more. Then, he and his partner stood to the side and allowed Ruth and Nora to pass through. Once they had entered the new space, Nora drank her surroundings in like fresh wine.

      She and Ruth had entered a spacious box, set at surely the highest point in the stadium and situated directly in between the two goal posts on either side of the field beneath them. At least thirty maroon, cushioned chairs stood in three elevated rows in front of the open window that gazed upon the arena; about half of them were filled with, who Nora assumed to be, Bulgarian National team officials.

      Hundreds of thousands of witches and wizards took their seats in the stadium beyond the open window. Centered above the field was a several-hundred-foot-long blackboard. Letters scrawled across its surface in real time to produce advertisements. The current one, an advert for Madam Malkin's Robe Shop in Diagon Alley, was erased as though wiped by an invisible hand, and a new advert was scribbled in its place.

      Nora's eyes were wrenched from the scene before her by the introduction of an unfamiliar voice.

      "Well, I see you've both arrived in one piece."

       A tall, important looking man had departed a group of officials gathered near the window and was now standing in front of Nora and Ruth with a knowing grin.

      "Hardly. Truly, Harlan, I need a drink," Ruth said lightly, and a laugh escaped the man as Ruth took her leave towards a long, rectangular table that sat against the back wall, its surface area covered completely in bottles and platters of all shapes and sizes.

      The scent of fresh Bulgarian delicacies wafted through the room.

      The man's eyes settled on Nora, and he stuck his hand out.

      "You must be Nora."

      Nora shook his hand shortly and smiled. "Pleasure to meet you."

      "The pleasure is all mine," He said as he smiled, his Icelandic accent thick. "Harlan Veryan, Senior Team Manager. Leanne told me a lot about you... in so many words."

      Nora allowed a soft laugh to escape her.

      "We're glad to have you on the team. The last few months have been incredibly difficult."

      There was a hint of sadness to his voice, and Nora was reminded that she was taking the place of a deceased employee.

      "My condolences," She offered softly, and Harlan nodded, his mouth tight.

      "I appreciate that." Then, he inhaled sharply as though renewing his train of thought, and the smile returned to his face. "Well, shall I introduce you?"

      "Please," Nora said warmly, and her gaze followed Harlan's arm as it swept towards an approaching figure.

      A man with thick, jet-black curls stopped just short of Harlan and Nora. His face was rather mousy in an endearing way, and though he was nearly three heads shorter than Harlan, he had a significant presence. Permanent scowl lines traced the edges of his mouth, and Nora couldn't help but observe that the scowl he donned now was likely a lasting fixture.

      His eyes observed Nora carefully, and she squirmed internally at the discomfort she felt beneath his quizzical gaze.

      "Nora Cleary, this is Alaric Kahale: my second in command as I like to call him," Harlan spoke, and then turned to Nora with a cheeky smile, "it gets on his nerves."

      Kahale stuck his hand out, almost reluctantly, and Nora shook it for a mere two seconds before he had recoiled it once more. He said nothing, and Nora's eyes flitted between him and Harlan awkwardly.

      "Nice to meet you," Kahale spoke at last in a tone that Nora couldn't quite read.

      Shoving her observations to the deepest part of her being, Nora smiled tightly. "You, as well."

      "Harlan tells me you used to work at the Ministry," Kahale said.

      Words, no matter their content, simply didn't sound natural as they flowed from his mouth.

      "I did," Nora said, keeping her tone as warm as possible, "in the Department of  Magical Games and Sports. I rather enjoyed it."

      Kahale released a soft snort. "So much so that you're here, now?"

      Harlan reached a hand behind Kahale, far from Nora's gaze, and lightly pinched his counterpart. Nora remained unfazed.

      "I enjoyed it in the time that I was there. I needed something different," She supplied with a tight-lipped smile.

      Kahale's eyes narrowed and his lips pursed in consideration. "I see."

      "Indeed," Harlan said rather loudly, and his eyes watched Kahale sharply. "You'll be working mainly with myself and Kahale, here. Ruth works with us some, but she stays in her department for the most part."

      Nora nodded and glanced back at Kahale. "Splendid."

      "You're welcome to take a seat on the first row," Harlan said with a glance to the watch on his wrist. "You'll meet the rest of our crew in time, but for now, the match will be starting soon."

      "Can I get you anything to eat or drink?" Kahale asked with a sickly sweet smile.

       His gaze unnerved Nora.

      "I'll take a glass of plain, old water if you have it," Nora offered, and her voice betrayed her as it wobbled slightly.

      Kahale nodded resolutely. Nora followed Harlan to the front row of chairs where they sat in between two groups. A man in the group to their left held a pair of Omniculars to his eyes; Nora could see the gears on the sides twisting by themselves as he gazed out upon the field. Two minutes had hardly passed before a glass had been shoved into her hand by Kahale, who took the only available seat (rather begrudgingly, she noted) on the other side of her.

      A voice boomed across the arena, shaking the stadium beneath Nora's feet. She could recognize that insecure voice anywhere; she'd heard it far too often during her time working for the Ministry.

      "Ladies and gentlemen..." Cornelius Fudge bellowed, "welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

      Every person in the box, and nearly every spectator in the stands, whooped and clapped loudly, and Nora flinched in surprise at the unexpected noise. Kahale's eyes found hers.

      "You know," He said loudly over the cheers, his voice scratching at Nora's nerve endings, "You do actually have to like Quidditch to work for a Quidditch team."

      Nora scoffed. "I like Quidditch.I wasn't aware the requirement to do so was to scream my head off after the Minister of Magic speaks but five words." 

      She kept a smile on her face as the words left her lips, and she watched as Kahale fought to keep his disgruntled expression at bay. It seemed as though he either couldn't find the words or chose not to say them, for he said nothing and turned his gaze back to the field.

      "And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce... the Bulgarian Natioal Team Mascots!" Fudge's voice bellowed across the arena.

      The box erupted into cheers once more, as did the right hand side of the stands, which were colored a vivid scarlet; this time, more fervently.

      "What are the mascots–" Nora's question to Harlan died before half of it had left her tongue.

      Her eyes widened as she took in the scene before her. Hundreds of Veela strode onto the field in graceful droves. Their skin, colored an opalescent silver, shone beneath the stadium lights like pure, liquid metal. Flowing, golden hair fanned effortlessly behind each one as their hips guided them to the center of the field. Then, they began to dance.

      Nora had never witnessed Veela firsthand, but she had heard stories of the way they affected men and women. Expectedly, several male and female officials in the box had stood in awe as the Veela danced on the velvety grass.

      Just as it had begun, the music stopped. Furious yells filled the stadium as the Veela halted their performance and glided to the right side of the field.

     "And now," Roared a new voice, "kindly put your wands in the air... for the Irish National Team mascots!"

      Nora didn't have to ask this time - even if her Irish heritage hadn't already told her, plain, common sense would have done so, anyway. Suddenly, what seemed to be a magnificent green-and-gold comet whizzed into the stadium before splitting into two separate comets. The two comets glided apart, forming a rainbow, before they burst like fireworks and rained down upon the field. In the ashes of the comet rose hundreds of miniature, bearded men sporting glittering, green vests - leprechauns.

      After bowing and somersaulting across the field, the leprechauns gravitated to the side of the field opposite of the Veela.

      "And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome – the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you – Dimitrov!"

      Nora's heart soared, and it dawned on her that this was the moment her parents had spoken of when she had visited them those weeks ago. As she, surrounded by the roar of Bulgarian officials and thousands of spectators, watched the scarlet-clad figure of Dimitrov race onto the pitch upon a broomstick, all she could ponder was the sheer magnitude of awe coursing through her veins. This was it, this feeling. This was what she wanted for the rest of her life.

      "Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaaand – Krum!"

      Viktor Krum, in the flesh, zoomed onto the pitch on the tail end of his team members. Nora could pinpoint his steely eyes from where she sat; they remained emotionless, and his expression hardened as his eyes already began to focus on the pitch like a cat with a laser. Nora observed his athletic abilities as he maneuvered across the field, and she still found it incredibly difficult to believe we was merely eighteen.

      "And now, please greet – the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting – Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaaand – Lynch!"

      Seven green blurs swept across the field. Nora couldn't differentiate any of the Irish team's faces; they were moving so quickly that she nearly got whiplash as she tried to follow their movements.

      "And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

      A tall, skinny wizard wearing robes of what appeared to be pure gold to match the stadium, strode onto the field. He carried a large, wooden crate beneath his right arm and grasped his broomstick in his left hand. Then, he placed the crate down and kicked it open, releasing the four balls into the air. With a sharp, ear-splitting blast of his whistle, Mostafa pushed from the ground and shot into the air on his broom.

      "Let the match begin!"

. . . . .

      Nora Cleary was livid.

      She was so livid that her hands trembled as fresh adrenaline coursed through her veins.

       The match had been a spectacle to behold; the Irish chasers were some of the best players Nora had ever witnessed. They had worked seamlessly as a team, defending their keeper and seeker against the Bulgarian onslaught of bludgers. Nora had tried to remain impartial, but she couldn't help but notice during the match that the Bulgarian beaters had approached the match with unnecessary brutality.

      The question of the night — will he, won't he — had been solved halfway through the match, when Krum had suddenly dove towards the ground in a Wronski Feint, influencing Ireland's seeker, Lynch, to do the same in hopes of catching the golden snitch. The move had resulted in Lynch crashing headfirst into the pitch after Krum had pulled up at the last minute. Krum's decision would have been a genius one, had the referee not decided to foul him for it.

      Nora had been awestruck as she'd observed Krum's flying throughout the game - she had heard about his revolutionary skills and had always admired them. Watching him perform live had established only confirmed her opinion of his talent in her mind. When Krum was on a broom, he looked like a bird of prey might as it stalked its dinner from astonishing heights. It had sent chills down her spine.

      In the end, Krum had caught the snitch, and the Bulgarian National box, Nora included, had erupted into deafening cheers before reality had dawned on the entire stadium – while Krum had caught the snitch, effectively ending the game, Ireland still led by ten points and had won the match. In a moment of pure shock and disbelief, Nora and Alaric Kahale had nearly hung out the edge of the stadium box together, their jaws dropped to the ground.

      The moment the game had ended, Harlan, Kahale, two team officials, and a few security guards had immediately ushered Nora from the box and down the staircase once more. Thus, Nora found herself beneath the stadium following closely behind Harlan as the convoy entered the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team's quarters.

      Despite her frustrations after the match's results, Nora couldn't ignore the unbridled exhilaration that rushed through her blood as though it belonged there.

      The corridors smelled of dampness and sweat. As the group passed what appeared to be the locker room, a crowd of shirtless men, sweat glistening upon their skin, brushed past Nora and ran towards the showers; she recognized the players, Volkov and Zograf, amongst them. A trail of dampness was left on Nora's sleeve, and she did her best to keep disgust from her face as she wiped the sweat from her blouse.

      The group walked for several minutes through the narrowing corridor, and Nora began to regret her choice in shoes – she would surely be sore tomorrow.  Finally, Harlan halted at a small, wooden door on the right side of the corridor and turned to meet Nora's eyes.

      "Give me one moment."

      Nora hardly had time to acknowledge his statement before he disappeared into the room. The door closed behind him with a soft thud. Silence.

      Time ticked like molasses dripping from a glacier. Nora's palms, clammy and speckled with a cold sweat, were clasped tightly behind her back. Knots twisted in the depths of her stomach and chest, and she felt as though they might burst right there, in the middle of the hallway, mere seconds away from meeting Viktor Krum. This couldn't be her reality.

      Her gaze drifted to Kahale, who stood beside her in silence. She had no idea whether it was out of apprehensiveness or a desire to fix whatever she had done to cause his indifference towards her, but she needed something to distract her.

      "I can't believe he caught the snitch and Ireland still won. I mean, that's almost cruel. Surely, there's a rule against that," Nora said softly, irritation entering her voice at the memory.

      Kahale cocked an eyebrow in her direction, but his expression remained otherwise neutral.

      "Is this supposed to be some failed attempt to convince me you actually like Quidditch? I thought we were past that, Cleary," His voice droned.

      Nora's face scrunched slightly as her brows drew together. "What—?"

      She couldn't have completed her sentence if she'd wanted to, for the door in front of the group swung wide open to reveal Harlan once again.

      "He's ready for you," Harlan said, a light smile gracing his features.

      Surely, there was a less mildly threatening way to deliver that sentence.

       Nora and Kahale laid their prior interaction to rest and allowed Harlan to usher them, as well as the officials and security detail, inside the room.

       The walls of the interior were colored a mottled shade of grey; low-lit lanterns dimly illuminated the space. The room they occupied appeared to be slightly above ground-level. Floor to ceiling windows blanketed the furthest wall —Nora had never seen glass so transparent. Just beyond the confines of the windows lay a thick, pine forest, and Nora could define a family of mule deer nestled distantly in the tree line.

      In front of the far right window laid a long, rectangular, wooden table. The piece occupied nearly the entire length of the right-most wall, with cushioned chairs lining its edges. One such chair stood out amongst the rest, as it was pushed away from the table by a few feet and was occupied by a sturdy figure.

      His was the only presence in the room excluding the group. With his back fully turned away from them as he gazed out the window, Viktor Krum made no move to acknowledge the newcomers - in fact, he was so unmoving that he almost appeared statuesque. Nora watched him intently. If she hadn't caught the slight rise and fall of his shoulders every few seconds, she wouldn't have known he was real.

      From Nora's left, Harlan cleared his throat loudly, formally alerting Viktor to their existence. Ever so slowly, the man turned his head. He paused for a moment with his eyes glued to the floor, but he made no attempt to stand.

       "Mr. Krum, this is Nora Cleary. Nora Cleary, meet Mr. Viktor Krum," Harlan said after a few seconds.

      As if awakened by Harlan's announcement, Viktor allowed his head to turn fully over his shoulder to take in the view behind him.

      Nora's gaze crashed into Viktor's like fire in water. Viktor's steely, silver eyes stared right through her. She was sure her heart had leaped so high in her chest that it had sprung from her body.

      The sound of the legs of his chair scraping against the wooden flooring sliced through the air and slowly, Viktor's stocky frame made its way down the steps on the platform the table rested on. His eyes never strayed from Nora's, but she found that rather than feeling uncomfortable and restless beneath his gaze like she did under so many others', she felt grounded and stable, and she held his eye with reciprocal integrity.

      Viktor stopped a few feet short of where Nora stood. His eyes contemplated her carefully from where he towered above her. Nora swallowed silently; she found that the air had somehow become so thick she could hardly think. At this distance, Viktor Krum looked like an entirely different person than the one she had become so familiar with.

      In a swift motion, Viktor's hand wordlessly protruded into the space between them. Nora's sight dropped to his hand, then snapped back to his eyes. She paused for a moment, then reached out and grasped his palm with her own. His hand was rough and firm; Nora was certain it couldn't have been poked through with a needle.

      "Mr. Krum. It's a pleasure to meet you," Nora spoke, suddenly finding her voice. Her throat cracked, and she cleared it quickly, fighting the blush that crept up her neck.

      Viktor watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. His eyes, which appeared sharp and exacting on the posters, were guarded and clever up close.

      "Likewise."

      She could hardly tell the word had come from his mouth — he spoke softly, yet with a certain authority, and it was then that Nora realized her hand was still within his grasp. When she released his hand from hers, a cool, emptiness spread across her palm upon the lack of contact.

      Viktor's eyes didn't waver from hers, and she was certain he could see the wall through her body, as though she wasn't even there.

      "The snitch wasn't intended to win us the game," He spoke at last, his Bulgarian accent thick, and he finally tore his eyes away from Nora to look at Harlan. His voice nearly sent Nora several feet into the air.

      Harlan nodded. "I know that. The press doesn't, though. We are going to have some speculation to answer to."

      Viktor shrugged his shoulders lightly. "Let them speculate."

      The ghost of a smile tugged at Nora's lips at his words.

      Harlan exhaled. "We'll discuss it later. For now, you need to rest. Kahale, have his room set up."

      Kahale nodded shortly, then disappeared through a doorway to the right of the rectangular table.

      Viktor's eyes fell back to Nora, almost in the way that two opposite ends of a magnet would meet.

      "I am glad we met, Nora," He said softly. The way her name rolled from his tongue sent shivers down her spine – she ignored the feeling as best she could.

      "Likewise," She said, repeating his previous words back to him with a small smile.

      He nearly smiled – Nora caught the slight twitch at the corners of his mouth.

      "Well, I suppose we'll leave you to it," Harlan spoke, and Viktor nodded at each member of the group; his eyes found their way back to Nora's in the end.

      Then, Viktor turned back towards the window and departed the group.

      The security detail ushered the officials, Harlan, and Nora from the room. They retraced their steps through the corridor and began their journey towards the staff quarters where they would stay until the morning.

      When Nora reached her assigned room in the staff tent, she nearly jumped into her bed fully clothed as exhaustion riddled her bones. Now, as she nestled into the mattress with the quilt pulled to her chin and shut her eyes (with pajamas on, this time around), she found that her heart refused to stop pounding.

      The face of Viktor Krum permeated her dreams, weaving in and out of her vision, until a terror-stricken scream awoke her.

      When her eyes snapped open, the world was burning.

author's note.
yep, the rumors are true. they did
in fact invent the meet cute.

also introducing the gif that birthed
this scene that I made for a gif
set forever ago 🤭

thank you for reading!