The Aletrick Company, "sparking" public relations for the known Witch or Wizard since 1979. Just a tap of your wand will summon all the "energy" you need to spin "watt" is happening in your direction! (Between the hours of 8 & 17 most days; 2x "charge" applies on holidays)

The electric blue business card lived in Oliver Kent's wallet.

He kept thinking about it as he walked with Ludo Bagman and Bartemius Crouch toward the World Cup pitch to visit with Viktor Krum. Ludo kept mentioning the fact that Oliver had cancelled his luncheon - it seemed this had been a prime social interaction that he'd been long planning to partake in, and had greatly devastated his time to connect with many of his more important and well-funded gamblers. "You've greatly effected the odds on any one outcome, my boy!" Ludo chuckled, patting Oliver on the shoulder as though they were long time mates. "What is it, exactly, that kept you from holding the luncheon? Nothing terrible, I hope? I did hear your portkey arrived without you this morning."

"Oh nothing bad, just something that came up is all," Oliver answered, "Ran myself a bit late."

"Perhaps we should start setting bets on what it was you were up to!" Ludo chuckled, and his eyes sparkled in a challenging manner.

"Oh, no," Oliver said, "Nothing that would be worth setting odds to."

But Ludo didn't seem to much fancy the idea of simply letting the matter drop, which was what had Oliver thinking about Declan Aletrick.

"People don't trust celebrity figures that keep things hush-hush, you know," Declan had once told him. He'd chuckled, "I've seen more than one wizard torn to bits having kept their lives too guarded from their adoring public. The times are changing in the world of public relations - once upon a time nobody wanted to know the details about their favorite public figures, but these days... Aha, these days, Ollie, they want to know every gory detail."

"Well what if I don't want every gory detail out there?" Oliver had asked nervously.

Declan had laughed heartily, "You haven't got a choice, boy. You're already in far too deep. You should've thought of that before you put yourself into a position of being in the public eye. Once you've gotten into a life like this, you've given yourself up to your adoring fans, haven't you? Everything about you is up for their analysis, and they'll want to know everything there is to know about you. What's your pet's name? What's your favorite colour? What color are your pants?" Declan smirked, wagging his eyebrows and his electric blue hair bounced as he eyed Oliver head to foot. "Yes, they'll definitely want to know all about what's in those. You've got the build for Broomsticks, don't you?"

Oliver had flushed. "My mum would kill me dead. Not to mention what my --" he'd stumbled here, thinking of Wally, "-- what - what my friends would have to say."

Declan's eyes had flashed knowingly. "Oh you've got a Wally. I see. Yes, you'll definitely be wanting to get ahead of that, then, won't you?"

Now Oliver ran his hands over his jumper as they came up to the pitch and security line blocked by several wizards guarding the entrance. Oliver waved to them as he approached, pulling his team identification card out, though they hardly needed it - everyone knew him and they waved him right through without so much as a pause. Even Ludo Bagman and Bartemius Crouch had to slow until Oliver said, "Oh come now, they're with me - don't you recognize Bagman? Of the Wimbourne Wasps? And Mr. Crouch here organized this whole bleedin' operation!"

They entered into the red tent to find the entire Bulgarian Quidditch team crowded about in various stages of dress, getting their number jumpers on and equipment prepped for the match that evening, trimming their broomsticks and polishing the beater bats and such. One bloke was restringing his keeper's shin guards with great concentration. Oliver led them past all the other guys, a couple of which looked up and muttered low words of greeting in Bulgarian, "Zdravey."

"Zdravey," replied Oliver as he nodded to them, "Kak si?"

"Dobar!"

Even Crouch looked impressed by these exchanges as Oliver walked through the locker rooms, and Ludo Bagman chuckled and shouted boisterous hellos and made remarks on various things that seemed to confuse or annoy the players as a few of them followed his progress past with darkened brows. Finally, they got to the far end of the tent, where there was a small partition for privacy, which the other players weren't afforded. Oliver had pushed for the partition for Krum because of his age compared to the other players, who were all over age, and Krum was only just.

"Viktor?" Oliver called, mock-knocking on the cloth and the cloth was pulled back and there was Viktor Krum, staring 'round the curtain, strong and square-built, his facial hair perfectly manicured and his hair a bit longer than it usually was kept by his militant father, Oskar, who Oliver actually detested deeply and passionately.

"Zdravey," Viktor said and he stepped back, holding the curtain for Oliver to pass through. He looked warily on Ludo Bagman and Bartemius Crouch as they followed Oliver into the private corner set up specifically for Viktor.

He had his own couch, which looked suspiciously similar to the one Oliver had in his own tent, and the walls of his tent likewise had been set with pictures, though his were of his idols - other quidditch players, including Oliver Kent, and a huge horse dressed in traditional decoration, prepared for racing - the horse, Oliver knew, was Krum's own, and was named Varvara. She had a beautifully embroidered bridle and a blanket hung over her high back. She was dappled grey and black with a beautiful white mark on her muzzle that looked a bit like the symbol of protection.

Krum sat down heavily on the couch. He was already dressed in his uniform, the jumper tight in the shoulders where he was broad and across his back as well. He stared at Oliver with an expression of admiration and expectation.

"Well hullo Viktor!" Ludo Bagman said rather loudly, his palm patting Viktor on the shoulder. Viktor eyed his hand as it came down on him and looked up at Ludo without much emotion. "You likely know who I am -" Bagman chuckled boisterously, but when Viktor shook his head a bit, his chuckle melted into a more nervous sound, and he cleared his throat, "Ludo Bagman. Played for the Wimbourne Wasps in my day."

"You played quidditch?" Krum asked, accent thick.

Ludo laughed, though he was clearly slightly let down by this. His hand slid away from Krum's shoulder.

"Not everyone knows the entire history of the sport, Bagman," Crouch said crisply, and he offered his hand to Krum, "I'm the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

"Yes, I know you, Mr. Crouch, you helped arrange my port key," Viktor nodded.

This deeply displeased Ludo Bagman who looked downright upset now.

Oliver said, "Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman wanted to meet the greatest Seeker in the world, Viktor."

"They've already done if they've met you, Mr. Kent," Viktor replied.

Oliver laughed and waved the compliment off, "I meant you, Viktor."

"Well, it is very nice to meet you, Mr. Bagman, Mr. Crouch," Krum said regally. He bowed his head, but stayed sitting on the couch.

"I will be rooting for the Irish myself - got to stay loyal, after all, and I've a good many friends on the team," Bagman said, clearly wanting a bit of revenge for Krum's ignorance on his identity, but he added, "I've got a good many wagers in your favor, though! Amazing how many Irish fans are out there saying you'll catch the Snitch and willing to put their hard earned galleons on it."

"I did not know betting was allowed on the match."

"It isn't, technically," muttered Mr. Crouch.

"Ah, relax, Barty!" Ludo laughed boisterously. "Surely, if even the head of the Department of Games and Sports and the head of the Magical Gambling Committee can partake, you can as well..." He turned back to Krum. "You're quite the popular player, Viktor - drawn quite the crowd... quite the crowd indeed! Everyone wants to see you play. Especially with the younger witches... eh?" Ludo winked.

"That is very good," Viktor said stoically, "For your pockets, at very least."

Suddenly the curtain was tugged back and a tall, very terrifying, bearded man stepped into the private area, wearing a full length wool coat despite the warmth of the summer afternoon, he was followed closely by a second man, only slightly less imposing than the first, dressed fully in black. Seeing him, both Ludo Bagman and Bartemius Crouch had a bit of a response that was less than savory. Bagman's eyes widened with discomfort and Crouch's already uptight expression hardened even further. 

Viktor leaped up to his feet the moment the man entered the room and gave a half-bow of respect, nodding his head. "Father." He turned to the second man, "Headmaster Karkaroff."

"Mister Kent," said Oskar Krum, seeing Oliver. "You made it to the match after all. Many did not think you would come. They say you missed your port key this morning."

"Yes, something came up, but I did make it in nonetheless," Oliver said.

Karkaroff seemed to be having the same negative reaction to seeing Bagman and Crouch, as he stared down his nose rather distastefully in the direction of the two Ministry officials. "What do we owe your visit to the Bulgarian tent to, sirs?" he asked lowly. His eyes travelled over Bagman's Wasps number jumper.

"I was just making an introduction," Oliver offered. "There was also a matter of another extension charm on the top box that Mr. Crouch was needing resolved, and we thought a stop by the tent for a quick hello before practice would be in check." He glanced at the watch on his wrist - it was a very, very nice watch, which he had bought for himself when he'd made the Cannons, replacing the old one he'd had before which he very much wish he could have back - "Speaking of which. Viktor, do you want to get some time on the pitch before the match to warm up a bit?"

"Yes, very much," Viktor replied, and he turned and opened the long, skinny case that housed his international level Firebolt broomstick, freshly trimmed and re-twigged, with his Bulgarian Team brass plate affixed to the handle.

"Be careful none of the Irish are spying on the pitch," growled Oskar Krum. "No stunt flying, Viktor. And do not do any practice of the plays that we have been working on. Just in case."

"Yes sir."

Oliver nodded goodbye to Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman, and he waved for Viktor to follow him. As they left, he heard Ludo start talking to Karkaroff in hushed tones. "I'm glad to see you've signed the agreement for the Institute to join in all of the fun this year..."

"Yes, we were highly encouraged by - the parents - of the students at Durmstrang," murmured Karkaroff, glancing at Oskar.

"My Viktor was made for an event like this --" Oskar began, but they'd stepped beyond the curtain and there was some sort of soundproofing charm on the privacy curtain, for as soon as they were past it, the conversation inside died away.

Viktor followed Oliver through the back of the tent and onto the pitch. The Irish were just packing up, finishing their own practice, and Aiden Lynch saw Oliver and gave a wave. Oliver gave one back, though neither seemed really interested in more, even as they passed one another. Viktor's shoulders slumped the moment they were alone, as though tension had been cut out of the back of him and he let out a long breath of relief.

"Alright, Viktor?" Oliver asked, seeing the change in Viktor's stature. 

"Yes, I am alright," Viktor answered.

"How have things been?" Oliver asked, "It's been a little bit since I've seen you. We've both been so busy. Did Varvara win the race you were taking her to?"

"My father did not let me compete after all," Viktor replied. "He was worried that I would be hurt and ruin my chance at playing this match. He has spoke of nothing but this match since I was appointed to the Bulgarian International team."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Oliver said, "I know you were looking forward to racing her."

"Yes, she was in top shape as well, we had good chance to win. But Quidditch must come first, Father says."

Oliver sighed. Then, gently, "And things with Aleksander?"

Viktor glanced back toward the way they'd come from the tent uneasily. "That has ended."

"Ended?" Oliver asked. "Oh no, what happened?"

"Things got too much," Viktor said flatly. "And school ended."

"You could write one another, send owls --"

"It is ended."

"Alright." Oliver shifted uneasily. "You've been practicing all the stuff we went over last time, yeah?"

"Every night for multiple hours, until Father says we have done enough."

"What about the Feint?"

"Yes, whenever I can. Father does not often allow me to practice without his supervision, but I have managed to do the Feint."

"Excellent. Aiden Lynch never fails to go for it with the Feint. You'll be well served with it tonight."

"I thank you for teaching it to me."

"Of course." Oliver smiled, then, "Alright, go on - go warm up. I'll give you a few minutes and release the practice snitch for you."

"Yes sir," Viktor replied, and he got on his broomstick and kicked off, whizzing away as quick as light across the pitch, zooming in a low arch before shooting nearly straight up over height of even the very top-most box and into the clouds. Oliver watched him as he looped about lazily, the wind moving his hair as he flew.

He wondered if Viktor Krum felt the same rush of freedom he felt whenever he got onto a broom and shot into the sky that high or if, for Viktor, the broomstick was as much a cage as he was when he was on the ground? Perhaps Viktor felt that rush when he was astride Varvara more than his Firebolt.

Oliver turned his attention from Viktor, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing his wallet. He pulled out the electric blue card, reading it over. He hesitated, then glanced about, and drew his wand, tapping the card smartly.

There was a few moments' pause, then a CRACK! and standing before him, electric blue hair to match his business card and just as narrow in shape as Oliver remembered him from the last time he'd summoned his publicist, Declan Aletrick appeared beside him. 

Declan looked up at Viktor Krum in the sky and let out a low whistle. "I never know where you're going to summon me to, Oliver, but I must say you do me a favor this time. Just have a gander at him!"

"He's far too young for you, Dec, so you might as well give that up now. Only just turned seventeen."

"Pity," murmured Declan. He stayed staring up for several moments, then turned to look at Oliver with a grin. His eyes went from Oliver's shining golden hair, over his shoulders and torso, leaned back to have a peek at his bum, and then leaned forward again. "And how are you?"

"I need your help out," Oliver said, "I missed my portkey this morning coming in."

"I heard," Declan nodded. He clucked his tongue and smirked at Oliver. "Rondezvous with a certain handsome Irishman?" he wagged his eyebrows.

"You know you made that up."

"Did I? That was a juicy one."

"Yeah, Aiden loved it." Oliver's voice was flat.

Declan smirked. "I wish I could say I was sorry, but I got months of fun out of that one and the bonus of not having to see the pair of you gadding about like sexy little fireflies." 

"Well, without reigniting any old pseudo-flames, I need you to make the rumors go away. People are prying into where I was and what I was doing and what was so important I cancelled my luncheon for and I'm tired of the questions and certainly don't want the truth coming up."

"Anything to do with the rumor I heard that you and Walter Grant were seen down by the merch booth together? Talking to one another?"

Oliver stared at Declan.

"Got it. Make it go away. My specialty."

"Thank you," Oliver said, taking a deep breath.

Declan paused, looked up at Viktor and around the stands, then leaned close. "Maybe we can, you know, talk about this later?"

Oliver shook his head, "Not tonight, Dec."

Declan looked disappointed.

"Sorry," Oliver murmured.

"It's alright. You know I'm too much of a sucker to give you up." He leaned in quickly and before Oliver could say more, he'd pressed a kiss to his mouth.

Oliver couldn't resist...

The kiss lasted a few heart-stopping moments, and Oliver felt his guts churning. Then, just as quickly as he'd leaned in, Declan backed out, smirked, and said, "Looks like you're a bit of a sucker for me, too, eh?"

And with a CRACK he was gone.