Viktor Krum stared out the window of the room, watching as Cedric Diggory and Oliver Kent walked across the grounds toward the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch, a couple of Cedric's friends following them. His hands had balled into fists and he leaned against them on the stone window sill, his jaw clenched.

There was a throat clear behind him and he turned to see Declan Alectric still lingering in the room. His photographer and the other reporter and her photographer had all left, too, and now it was just the pair of them. Krum had been so distracted watching Oliver Kent and the Diggory boy that he'd not even noticed when the others had cleared off.

"So how is Viktor Krum doing these days?" Declan asked, arms crossed, ankles crossed, leaning against the wall, staring at Krum with one eyebrow raised. Is everything still coming up gold?" There had been a rather gratuitous article in the Daily Prophet when Krum had been signed to the Bulgarian Quidditch team by the title, written by none other than Declan himself. The title had been derived from the color of the snitch and the quick rise to fame that hadn't been seen since Oliver Kent.

Viktor knew what was expected of him. "I have done exceptional since our last talk, it is true," he said evenly. "Even being chosen as a Champion."

"Yes and congratulations are certainly in order for that, aren't they?" Declan teased. "You seem so excited about the opportunity."

Krum wasn't sure if Declan's voice actually was laced with sarcasm or if he simply just talked like that. Declan was a bit of an enigma. One that didn't always translate well. But overall, Krum knew that he was good. Mainly because Oliver Kent had spoken of him in their talks.

Krum could still remember several times they had sat on their broom sticks, far out of earshot of any other person, in the clouds, and truth had come tumbling from Viktor's mouth. He'd told Oliver Kent things he had never been brave enough to tell any other person before - things about himself and about his feelings toward Aleksander, and his dreams, his desire to travel, and his interest in magical history and in horses, and about the pressure from his father.

Oliver had listened, patiently and thoroughly, and, when he could, offered advice or told stories of his own experiences. Wally Grant and Declan Alectric were the two names that had come up in Oliver's stories frequently - the two great loves of Oliver Kent's life. And honestly, from Krum's point of view, and the stories that Oliver had told, he felt Alectric was likely the greater of the two... whatever it seemed Oliver thought.

Krum, therefore, stared at Declan now with slight hesitation, and then asked, "Can we speak off the record?"

Declan looked around, "I see no recorders."

"What I say is not to leave this room, then?"

Declan drew an X over his chest with his fingers. "Hope to die," he said the second part of the rhyme.

Krum shoved his hands into his pockets and slouched closer to where Declan leaned so he could lower his voice and lessen the odds of anyone overhearing him speaking. His heart beat faster than normal. "I am filled with... with anger."

"Yeah?" Declan asked. His eyes flicked to Viktor's balled fists. "You don't say?"

Viktor released his fists and stretched his fingers, shaking them out, and looked at Declan, his normally stoic, stony expression melting until his eyes were pleading. It was like watching a stone statue crumble. Krumbling, Declan thought. "I miss him. I miss his guidance. He was like a brother to me. Why did Oliver quit me like this? Surely you know."

"Well, for starts, your daddy fired him rather viciously and unceremoniously - you must've heard of it in the papers, if not from the source," Declan said. "You read them, don't you?"

"Yes of course I can read!" Viktor snapped, defensive. "Just because I am strong and good at physical activity --"

"Whoa now, slow down. Before you go yeeting me out the bloody window, take a breather and --"

"What is this yeeting?"

"Tossing, chucking, throwing. You know. Basically treating me like a quaffle." Declan mimed being thrown with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Ah. Why is this called yeeting?"

"I've not a clue, honestly, but it is. But anyway, I wasn't questioning your literacy, only whether you do read them. I write for them and I don't even read them half the time. Only what I have to say is worth reading in them anyway, honestly, half the time. The other half of the time it's Skeeter's dribble." Declan studied Viktor for a long moment. "So why do you think your father would fire Oliver out of the blue like he did?"

Viktor's eyes cast downward.

"Viktor?" Declan pressed.

"He thinks falsely that it is Mr. Kent who has influenced me to be --" Viktor stopped mid-sentence.

Declan's face lit with understanding. "Well darling if it helps any, Kent had a bit of influence with me figuring out I'm a bit queer, too, once." He paused, looking Krum over, and said, "Honestly, it's the hair - especially when the wind blows it back when he's playing. I mean... Gods alive thats hot. Yeah?"

Krum flushed.

Declan smiled, "Don't worry. I don't care how you feel about him, one way or the other..."

"He is your boyfriend. Or was," Krum said.

"Was," Declan replied. "Briefly. Maybe. He let me care for him at any rate."

"Why do you stay around him?" Krum asked.

Declan shrugged.

Krum thought of Aleksander and wondered if bllbAleksander would shrug if he were asked that same question in reference to Viktor. A shrug seemed full of possibility.

"Besides, I know too much about certain things to just... leave," Declan said. "He still needs me and I want to be there for him when no one else was."

Krum looked confused.

"Never-mind, Vikky."

Viktor frowned. "Alright. It is not Oliver Kent who I am having feelings for, mostly, though. I see him as my mentor."

"You have a crush."

Viktor diverted his eyes. "Much more than a crush, but I cannot do anything about it. My father would forever disown me."

Declan said, "He's not a good father if he would disown you. You're of age, Viktor. It's hard - life, love, growing up - but you have choices to make that will shape who you are."

"Will it ever get easier, Mr. Alectric?"

"Which part?" Declan asked with a laugh. He studied Krum, then pushed off from the wall and reached into his shirt pocket. He held out one of his business cards, which was precisely the color of his hair on one side, with a small icon with his initials and a bolt of electricity.  Krum snorted at the puns on the back as his eyes scanned the small paragraph of text. "Give it a flip if you ever need someone to -- well, give a flip. Therapy sessions are free of charge."

Viktor pocketed it.

"And for the record, no. Nothing gets easier. But love is worth the hard stuff. Love is worth fighting for.  Love is worth the time it takes."

Viktor nodded, then murmured, "I am supposed to be sick, this is what I told my trainer earlier. I must go."

Declan watched Viktor slouch across the room and out the door. He sighed and shook his head. "Poor bloke," he murmured.

Ducking out of the classroom where the weighing of the wands had taken place, Declan walked down the corridor to the Trophy Room. He stood looking at the trophies. There were two in the room for Oliver Kent, side by side on a shelf on the Quidditch wall. Just a few rows away from the one with James Potter's name on it.

He pulled the hem of his sleeve down his wrist and gave all three name plates a quick polish, then ducked into the passageway.

The alcove was a bit of a mess, thanks to Sirius's stay there the year before. Hannah was standing in the midst of it, looking at the various notes and photos spellotaped all over the room. She was jotting stuff down in that notebook she always carried.

"Anything interesting?" he asked.

"I never knew anything about Minnie's generation before," Hannah said.

"Yeah, she's an iconic queen for sure."

"Yes for sure," Hannah answered.

Declan looked at the wall and spotted one polaroid that the Marauders had hung up - a photo of the four of them together - which Remus Lupin must have missed when he collected all the pictures from the passageway the year before. Declan reached over Hannah's shoulder and plucked the photo from the wall, staring at it for a long moment.

Hannah looked at him. "You okay?"

Declan nodded and slipped the photo into his pocket without showing it to her.