Probably not taking prompts anymore but can we tall about Victor Krum who was famous the world over for flying a broom and who ended that game on hos terms but got pushed into more glory by the cup who saw more in him than a wronski feint, who wanted to be known for more. Who fell for Hermione when he could have anyone, who saw her way before Ron did, and still lost her to him, watched her apparate away and waited for news and heard nothing until after it was all over. Sorry. But yeah. Krum.
Let’s talk about Krum, who danced with a young Ginny at her brother’s wedding, the beginning (I like to think) of a long friendship between two souls who come from dark places and love to fly; Krum, who finally connects with Ron not over loving Hermione or respecting Harry or over their mirrored war stories, but because as children they both went to bed hungry.
After Bill and Fleur’s wedding, when the war really started, I like to think he stayed. Krum was a message runner. He was a smuggler, flying beyond the enemy lines, with quick wit and eyes that can spot a Snitch from hundreds of feet in the air. He risked his life and what he got for it was hard stares.
In the war, in the little resistance movements listening to Fred/George/Lee Jordan radio around blue-bottle fires, they looked at Krum the way they looked at Lupin the night before full moons (and, honestly, all the other nights too). They looked at him the way they would have looked at Ginny if anyone had ever thought about exactly what she had been through and what exactly had lived in her bones.
They looked at Lupin with pity, with fear, with disgust and, on bad days, with a little bit of hate. Krum got all those parts, too, everything but the pity: suspicious looks in the hallways from people who were fighting the same war he was, from people who didn’t understand that this stocky frame with his accent and his careful speech saw more than anyone they would ever meet.
Let’s talk about how he and Lupin would have gotten along well: both quieter, both kind, both a bit outcast with their unasked-for darknesses hanging over their heads. They both understood what it was like to be the kind of people who have to hold their worth bright in their own chest, because everyone else will lie to them about it, or not see it at all.
Because this was a story about sight, isn’t it? Krum was the Seeker, the best eyes and the swiftest flight. People saw the stocky frame, the fame, but he saw the bright center of the bushy haired girl in the library, and she looked back. Quidditch wasn’t Hermione’s game, but she could see the strength of flight (by broomstick, by thought, by strength of character) in those heavy bones.
It was about words, too, though, accents and care, names pronounced slowly— Her-my-oh-knee. Did they say Viktor right? All those announcers, all those people who wanted his name scrawled on their playing cards but not to listen to him stumblingly speak?
Yes, let’s talk about Krum, who expected nothing from Hermione or Harry or anyone else, who flew and lived and loved on his own terms. Let’s talk about Krum, about names, about how English was his second language, and how he fell in love with a girl in love with words.
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