Fic: Good Old Vicky
Title: Good Old Vicky
Author:
that_september
Rating: PGish.
Characters/Pairings: Ron, Viktor Krum. R/Hr.
Disclaimer: It's J.K. Rowling's sandbox.
Summary: Ron owes Krum a favor he can never repay. Oneshot, written pre-DH in October 2006, but could actually be compatible.
Ron Weasley had never been so pleased with anybody in his entire life. Viktor-Viktor Krum-thank Merlin the kid had been brilliant enough to be Champion. Thank God he had asked Hermione to that damned ball! Yes, if Ron had ever owed anyone a favor, it was good old Vicky-of this he was sure. He was determined to pay back this favor; Ron wasn’t one to let debts go unattended to. But first, he had to find him.
“Yes, I’m trying to get hold of Viktor Krum,” Ron explained to the irritable looking witch sitting behind the circulation desk of London’s Bulgarian Quidditch United headquarters. “It’s terribly important.”
“Viktor Krum,” she reaffirmed, eyeing Ron beadily. “Viktor Krum?”
“Yes!” Ron said exasperatedly for the fourth time. “V-I-K-T-O-R. Krum. You know, the youngest bloke on the Bulgarian Quidditch team? Competed in the Tri-Wizard Tournament? Has a nose like a great bloody hawk and walks like a duck?”
“Sir,” the woman said even more irritably than before, “as I’m sure you’re well aware of, Mr. Krum is an extremely busy person. He has interviews to attend, Quidditch matches to fly in, and training to do. He does not have time to sign autographs.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, I’ve already got one,” Ron said dismissively. “I don’t need another one; that’s not the problem. I know Vicky-er, Mr. Krum-from way back when. I went to Hogwarts.” When the woman failed to look impressed, Ron elaborated with, “During the Tri-Wizard tournament, you know. I was fourth year, so I couldn’t compete, but he took my best friend to the Yule Ball.” The woman now looked puzzled. “She’s a girl, of course,” Ron assured her. “Though I do have another best friend who’s, y’know, a bloke. Harry Potter-maybe you’ve heard of him?”
“Ok, listen, kid,” the woman said, finally snapping. “Not only does Viktor Krum not have time for you, I don’t have time for you! Next thing you’ll be telling me that your name is Ronald Weasley and you were fighting alongside Harry bloody Potter to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! I’ve had enough of your nonsense! Get out of here, and go bother someone else!” She pointed a bony finger towards the door.
“Actually,” Ron told her, tapping an unopened copy of The Daily Prophet on her desk, “perhaps you’d like to have a good look at the photo on the cover of that right there.” The woman’s face went red (with fury, Ron presumed) and she angrily snapped the newspaper open, eyes scanning the front page. Ron watched in amusement as her face drained of all color and her gaze flew from the cover of the Prophet and then back to Ron with an incredulity not uncommon to what Ron himself had felt when the twins had briefed him on exactly how babies were made.
“But-but-” the poor woman spluttered.
“Now, ma’am, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind letting me in on where Viktor is, would you?” Ron asked pleasantly. “It’s imperative I speak with him. Top secret business, you understand.”
“Of…of course, Mr. Weasley,” the woman said fumblingly. “I-I’m sure I can’t express how sorry…I…” She drew a breath. “Mr. Krum is actually in London at the moment. He’s staying at the Leaky Cauldron; the best room, naturally. Would you like me to arrange an appointment?’
“Yes…er…” For the first time, Ron squinted at the woman’s badge. “…Edwina.” Well, no wonder she had been grumpy. “That would be lovely.”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Weasley. Is there anything else I can do to assist you today?”
“Nope, that’d be it.”
“Certainly, Mr. Weasley.” Edwina reached for quill and parchment, scribbling hastily and calling for a nearby owl. Within seconds, she’d had the message swooped away by a tawny barn owl, and just minutes after that, she’d received her reply. “Mr. Krum would be delighted to see you,” she told Ron happily. “He’ll meet you in the pub of the Leaky Cauldron right away, he says.”
“Very good,” Ron said, winking at Edwina. “Really. I can’t thank you enough for your professional, cooperative handling of all of this.” And he left, before she could think whether to be insulted or not. He had a bit of a bounce in his step as he sauntered off towards the Leaky Cauldron. It had been ages since he’d felt this good-and since he’d used so many big words in one conversation. As Ron approached the Leaky Cauldron, though, he couldn’t help feeling just a bit anxious. This was Viktor Krum, after all, and Ron couldn’t quite remember exactly how he’d treated the bloke when they’d had the privilege of meeting. For all he knew, Krum might have some sort of secret agenda (his note had come awfully quick, hadn’t it? Almost…too quickly?). Ah, well, though. Once he saw what Ron’s intentions were, he wouldn’t want to kill him. In fact, he’d probably be too busy being pleased with himself to worry about performing any Unforgivables.
“Mr. Weasley!” Tom, the old bartender, cried. “So delighted to see you again! Where is Mr. Potter? Miss Granger?”
“Resting,” Ron said, grinning. “Been a tiring year, eh?”
“Oh, definitely, sir,” the toothless old bloke agreed. “Most definitely. Now, Mr. Weasley, the usual?”
“Oh, no. I’m here to meet Viktor Krum.”
“Ah, certainly. Why-he’s right over there!” Tom pointed, and Ron grinned.
“Hey, thanks, Tom. Fire whiskey, please.” The bartender nodded and hurried off to fill the order. Ron eyed Viktor from a fair distance off. He’d gotten, if possible, scarier-a few more scars here, another obvious broken nose there-Merlin, professional Quidditch was brutal. Krum was scowling out the window, looking like he wouldn’t mind thrashing the first old archenemy he saw. Ron gulped. Maybe he should’ve left well enough alone…oh, bugger. Vicky was looking his way.
“Ron!” the Bulgarian hollered, leaping to his feet in delight. “Ron, it ‘as been far too long!”
“Er…hi, Viktor,” Ron said, smiling warily and moving to shake the famous Seeker’s hand. “How’ve you been?”
“Oh, I ‘ave been vundervol, of course,” Viktor said, nodding pleasantly and taking his seat once more; Ron did the same. “It ‘as been an interesting year. You and Her-my-oh-ninny ‘ave ‘elped Potter, yes? I ‘ave been reading it in the papers.”
“Yeah, yeah we did,” Ron said, grinning at Viktor brightly. “It was hell there for a while, though.”
“I am sure.” Viktor nodded gravely. “And Her-my-oh-ninny…she is…well?”
“Very well,” Ron said, unable to keep the joy from his voice. Viktor eyed him appraisingly.
“I see,” he said, and then glared at Ron for the three remaining minutes it took Tom to bring over the Fire Whiskey.
“Um, Viktor,” Ron said after he’d thanked Tom and had taken the first tentative sip of alcohol, “there is a reason I, y’know, went to the trouble to meet with you today.”
“It is lucky I am ‘ere for the Quidditch, yes?” Victor said dryly, still looking at Ron strangely.
“Yeah, yeah it is. Well, the thing is Vicky-um, Viktor, I mean-” Ron mentally cursed himself for getting into the habit of calling the bloke that mentally (and loudly, to Hermione, at least). “-I wanted to…thank you.”
“Thank me,” Krum repeated, seeming unconcerned with Ron’s little nickname for him, and not at all surprised that Ron was being pleasant. “Well, I ‘ave been waiting. Let’s ‘ear it.”
“Of cou-wait a moment, hold the bloody hell on! You’ve been waiting for me to come thank you?” Ron’s ears turned red in irritation. Ok, now he remembered why he’d disliked Krum to begin with…well, at least part of why he’d disliked him.
“Certainly,” Viktor said, taking a sip of his drink. “I did you a favor a long time back when, yes?” Ron took a moment to think over Krum’s muddled sentence, then agreed.
“Yes-but how do you know that?”
“Well, I was the one who was giving the favor, no?” Viktor shrugged. “But ‘ere, I will let you do your thanking the way you meant to. Please be forgiving me.”
“Well…” Ron said, not without some suspicion, “I wanted to tell you that if it hadn’t been for you, it’s possible I (being the thickheaded git that I am) never would have figured out I was in love with Hermione.”
“Oh!” Viktor said, looking surprised. “But I thought you ‘ad already known that.”
“Well, perhaps I did, somewhere in the back of my mind,” Ron said, shrugging. “But I ignored it. Well, I ignored it up until you asked her to that damn ball.”
“Ah, the ball. You were most unpleasant that night, if I do remember it correctly.”
“Well, yeah,” Ron said, a bit apologetically. “Sorry for that, by the way.”
“I am not taking the offense.”
“Eh…well, good, then. Look, Viktor, the thing is, I owe you a favor, I do. See, Hermione and I are getting married, and it’s all thanks to you.”
“You ‘ave proposed?” Viktor looked faintly pleased; it was almost strange to see him smile, his face was so gnarled.
“Yep, and like I say, I owe you one, mate.”
“But you did that on your own,” Viktor assured Ron. “You were falling in love with Hermione when you were young, and I made you jealous because I too was thinking ‘er most wonderful, but you won in the end because she only ever really wanted you. Was not my doing, Ron.”
“But that’s the thing, Vicky. It was.” Ron grinned. “See, Hermione and I have been…erm, dating a bit, I suppose you’d say. And I had bought the ring, but I’d thought maybe the time wasn’t right, or something. I’d been planning to postpone for at least another few months, maybe even a year. Of course, I still had the ring in my pocket and stuff. So I’m about to hide it, right, but Hermione stalks into the room (she and Harry and I are sharing a flat), and goes, ‘Ron, have you seen my letters from Viktor?’” Viktor himself grimaced.
“Ah, I am sensing that this was becoming a fighting match quite quick, yes?”
“Yes,” Ron sighed. “So I say to Hermione, ‘What, you save that prick’s letters?’ Er, no offense again, mate. No offense meant at all.”
“And again, I am not taking any.”
“Right. Well, Hermione gets all huffy and says irritably, ‘Don’t call him a prick, Ron! Honestly, I’d think you’d have gotten over such childish jealousy.’ I scowl at her and cry, ‘Jealousy! Jealousy! I am not jealous of Viktor Krum, Hermione. I just…erm, you know, want to know why you’ve saved his letters!’”
“Understandable,” Viktor put in.
“See, I knew you’d get it!” Ron shook his head. “Women.”
“Women,” Viktor agreed.
“So anyways, we had a bit of a row about you and your letters and whether or not I had been a immature git over you and why on earth I hadn’t asked her to the ball if I’d wanted to take her so bloody much and such like. It was a very old row, and it got me to thinking, and I started smiling at Hermione. So she says, ‘What? What are you making fun of now?” And I tell her, ‘It’s just that when we fought the night of the ball, just like we are now, that’s the first time I can ever remember thinking I wanted to marry you.’ I don’t know what made me say it, but her eyes got big. You know how her eyes get big like that? It was really nice.”
“Yes,” Viktor nodded. “I would expect.” Ron was beginning to like talking to Krum; he was a man of few words. It made him a very patient listener.
“Right, well, those eyes were huge and she squeaks, ‘Really? You wanted to marry me?’ And I tell her, ‘Well, of course I bloody wanted to marry you. I still do.’ And the next thing I knew, I was on one knee.” Ron pointed a finger at Viktor. “And if it hadn’t been for you and your letters, mate, I wouldn’t have the most amazing fiancée in the history of the world.”
“Hm.” Viktor was pensively eyeing his mug of whiskey. Then he looked up and grinned widely. “I am quite ‘appy for you, Ron! I ‘ave always been saying that you and Her-my-oh-ninny would be getting married, even after all of these years. I tell my wife ‘ow my first love had already given her ‘eart to another, and even though they fought like ‘ell, he loved her, too.” Ron chuckled a bit.
“Hey, Viktor, you’re married?”
“Of course. Giselle and I are most ‘appy.”
“Mate, I’m happy to hear it. You two will come to the wedding, of course?”
“Yes, certainly. You must send me an invitation!” The two wizards exchanged addresses, and then Ron stood, already putting enough gold on the table to pay for both their drinks (it was, for once, a luxury he could afford).
“Nice to see you again, Viktor,” he said, and they shook. Ron was about to turn and leave, but Krum stopped him.
“Er…Ron.” Ron met the Bulgarian’s slightly self-conscious gaze, and was, for some reason reminded of himself at the end of his fourth year.
“Yeah?”
“I ‘ave told you about reading the papers,” Viktor said nervously. “I am most impressed with your great deeds, you see. They are far more impressive than any Quidditch skills-you ‘ave defeated the Dark Lord, yes? You and Potter and Her-my-oh-ninny.” Ron was a bit bemused, but Viktor drew a breath and carried on. “And so I wonder…well, Ron, I…might I have your autograph?” He looked distinctly embarrassed as he held out a napkin and quill, and Ron couldn’t help but crack up. Well, it was a way to repay a favor, wasn’t it? Of course, he’d have to sign trillions of autographs before he could properly thank Viktor for getting him the most wonderful, brilliant, annoying, intelligent, bushy-haired fiancée in the entire world, but it was a start.
“Why, Vicky,” he said, in between hysterics, “it would be my pleasure!”
Author:
that_september
Rating: PGish.
Characters/Pairings: Ron, Viktor Krum. R/Hr.
Disclaimer: It's J.K. Rowling's sandbox.
Summary: Ron owes Krum a favor he can never repay. Oneshot, written pre-DH in October 2006, but could actually be compatible.
Ron Weasley had never been so pleased with anybody in his entire life. Viktor-Viktor Krum-thank Merlin the kid had been brilliant enough to be Champion. Thank God he had asked Hermione to that damned ball! Yes, if Ron had ever owed anyone a favor, it was good old Vicky-of this he was sure. He was determined to pay back this favor; Ron wasn’t one to let debts go unattended to. But first, he had to find him.
“Yes, I’m trying to get hold of Viktor Krum,” Ron explained to the irritable looking witch sitting behind the circulation desk of London’s Bulgarian Quidditch United headquarters. “It’s terribly important.”
“Viktor Krum,” she reaffirmed, eyeing Ron beadily. “Viktor Krum?”
“Yes!” Ron said exasperatedly for the fourth time. “V-I-K-T-O-R. Krum. You know, the youngest bloke on the Bulgarian Quidditch team? Competed in the Tri-Wizard Tournament? Has a nose like a great bloody hawk and walks like a duck?”
“Sir,” the woman said even more irritably than before, “as I’m sure you’re well aware of, Mr. Krum is an extremely busy person. He has interviews to attend, Quidditch matches to fly in, and training to do. He does not have time to sign autographs.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, I’ve already got one,” Ron said dismissively. “I don’t need another one; that’s not the problem. I know Vicky-er, Mr. Krum-from way back when. I went to Hogwarts.” When the woman failed to look impressed, Ron elaborated with, “During the Tri-Wizard tournament, you know. I was fourth year, so I couldn’t compete, but he took my best friend to the Yule Ball.” The woman now looked puzzled. “She’s a girl, of course,” Ron assured her. “Though I do have another best friend who’s, y’know, a bloke. Harry Potter-maybe you’ve heard of him?”
“Ok, listen, kid,” the woman said, finally snapping. “Not only does Viktor Krum not have time for you, I don’t have time for you! Next thing you’ll be telling me that your name is Ronald Weasley and you were fighting alongside Harry bloody Potter to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! I’ve had enough of your nonsense! Get out of here, and go bother someone else!” She pointed a bony finger towards the door.
“Actually,” Ron told her, tapping an unopened copy of The Daily Prophet on her desk, “perhaps you’d like to have a good look at the photo on the cover of that right there.” The woman’s face went red (with fury, Ron presumed) and she angrily snapped the newspaper open, eyes scanning the front page. Ron watched in amusement as her face drained of all color and her gaze flew from the cover of the Prophet and then back to Ron with an incredulity not uncommon to what Ron himself had felt when the twins had briefed him on exactly how babies were made.
“But-but-” the poor woman spluttered.
“Now, ma’am, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind letting me in on where Viktor is, would you?” Ron asked pleasantly. “It’s imperative I speak with him. Top secret business, you understand.”
“Of…of course, Mr. Weasley,” the woman said fumblingly. “I-I’m sure I can’t express how sorry…I…” She drew a breath. “Mr. Krum is actually in London at the moment. He’s staying at the Leaky Cauldron; the best room, naturally. Would you like me to arrange an appointment?’
“Yes…er…” For the first time, Ron squinted at the woman’s badge. “…Edwina.” Well, no wonder she had been grumpy. “That would be lovely.”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Weasley. Is there anything else I can do to assist you today?”
“Nope, that’d be it.”
“Certainly, Mr. Weasley.” Edwina reached for quill and parchment, scribbling hastily and calling for a nearby owl. Within seconds, she’d had the message swooped away by a tawny barn owl, and just minutes after that, she’d received her reply. “Mr. Krum would be delighted to see you,” she told Ron happily. “He’ll meet you in the pub of the Leaky Cauldron right away, he says.”
“Very good,” Ron said, winking at Edwina. “Really. I can’t thank you enough for your professional, cooperative handling of all of this.” And he left, before she could think whether to be insulted or not. He had a bit of a bounce in his step as he sauntered off towards the Leaky Cauldron. It had been ages since he’d felt this good-and since he’d used so many big words in one conversation. As Ron approached the Leaky Cauldron, though, he couldn’t help feeling just a bit anxious. This was Viktor Krum, after all, and Ron couldn’t quite remember exactly how he’d treated the bloke when they’d had the privilege of meeting. For all he knew, Krum might have some sort of secret agenda (his note had come awfully quick, hadn’t it? Almost…too quickly?). Ah, well, though. Once he saw what Ron’s intentions were, he wouldn’t want to kill him. In fact, he’d probably be too busy being pleased with himself to worry about performing any Unforgivables.
“Mr. Weasley!” Tom, the old bartender, cried. “So delighted to see you again! Where is Mr. Potter? Miss Granger?”
“Resting,” Ron said, grinning. “Been a tiring year, eh?”
“Oh, definitely, sir,” the toothless old bloke agreed. “Most definitely. Now, Mr. Weasley, the usual?”
“Oh, no. I’m here to meet Viktor Krum.”
“Ah, certainly. Why-he’s right over there!” Tom pointed, and Ron grinned.
“Hey, thanks, Tom. Fire whiskey, please.” The bartender nodded and hurried off to fill the order. Ron eyed Viktor from a fair distance off. He’d gotten, if possible, scarier-a few more scars here, another obvious broken nose there-Merlin, professional Quidditch was brutal. Krum was scowling out the window, looking like he wouldn’t mind thrashing the first old archenemy he saw. Ron gulped. Maybe he should’ve left well enough alone…oh, bugger. Vicky was looking his way.
“Ron!” the Bulgarian hollered, leaping to his feet in delight. “Ron, it ‘as been far too long!”
“Er…hi, Viktor,” Ron said, smiling warily and moving to shake the famous Seeker’s hand. “How’ve you been?”
“Oh, I ‘ave been vundervol, of course,” Viktor said, nodding pleasantly and taking his seat once more; Ron did the same. “It ‘as been an interesting year. You and Her-my-oh-ninny ‘ave ‘elped Potter, yes? I ‘ave been reading it in the papers.”
“Yeah, yeah we did,” Ron said, grinning at Viktor brightly. “It was hell there for a while, though.”
“I am sure.” Viktor nodded gravely. “And Her-my-oh-ninny…she is…well?”
“Very well,” Ron said, unable to keep the joy from his voice. Viktor eyed him appraisingly.
“I see,” he said, and then glared at Ron for the three remaining minutes it took Tom to bring over the Fire Whiskey.
“Um, Viktor,” Ron said after he’d thanked Tom and had taken the first tentative sip of alcohol, “there is a reason I, y’know, went to the trouble to meet with you today.”
“It is lucky I am ‘ere for the Quidditch, yes?” Victor said dryly, still looking at Ron strangely.
“Yeah, yeah it is. Well, the thing is Vicky-um, Viktor, I mean-” Ron mentally cursed himself for getting into the habit of calling the bloke that mentally (and loudly, to Hermione, at least). “-I wanted to…thank you.”
“Thank me,” Krum repeated, seeming unconcerned with Ron’s little nickname for him, and not at all surprised that Ron was being pleasant. “Well, I ‘ave been waiting. Let’s ‘ear it.”
“Of cou-wait a moment, hold the bloody hell on! You’ve been waiting for me to come thank you?” Ron’s ears turned red in irritation. Ok, now he remembered why he’d disliked Krum to begin with…well, at least part of why he’d disliked him.
“Certainly,” Viktor said, taking a sip of his drink. “I did you a favor a long time back when, yes?” Ron took a moment to think over Krum’s muddled sentence, then agreed.
“Yes-but how do you know that?”
“Well, I was the one who was giving the favor, no?” Viktor shrugged. “But ‘ere, I will let you do your thanking the way you meant to. Please be forgiving me.”
“Well…” Ron said, not without some suspicion, “I wanted to tell you that if it hadn’t been for you, it’s possible I (being the thickheaded git that I am) never would have figured out I was in love with Hermione.”
“Oh!” Viktor said, looking surprised. “But I thought you ‘ad already known that.”
“Well, perhaps I did, somewhere in the back of my mind,” Ron said, shrugging. “But I ignored it. Well, I ignored it up until you asked her to that damn ball.”
“Ah, the ball. You were most unpleasant that night, if I do remember it correctly.”
“Well, yeah,” Ron said, a bit apologetically. “Sorry for that, by the way.”
“I am not taking the offense.”
“Eh…well, good, then. Look, Viktor, the thing is, I owe you a favor, I do. See, Hermione and I are getting married, and it’s all thanks to you.”
“You ‘ave proposed?” Viktor looked faintly pleased; it was almost strange to see him smile, his face was so gnarled.
“Yep, and like I say, I owe you one, mate.”
“But you did that on your own,” Viktor assured Ron. “You were falling in love with Hermione when you were young, and I made you jealous because I too was thinking ‘er most wonderful, but you won in the end because she only ever really wanted you. Was not my doing, Ron.”
“But that’s the thing, Vicky. It was.” Ron grinned. “See, Hermione and I have been…erm, dating a bit, I suppose you’d say. And I had bought the ring, but I’d thought maybe the time wasn’t right, or something. I’d been planning to postpone for at least another few months, maybe even a year. Of course, I still had the ring in my pocket and stuff. So I’m about to hide it, right, but Hermione stalks into the room (she and Harry and I are sharing a flat), and goes, ‘Ron, have you seen my letters from Viktor?’” Viktor himself grimaced.
“Ah, I am sensing that this was becoming a fighting match quite quick, yes?”
“Yes,” Ron sighed. “So I say to Hermione, ‘What, you save that prick’s letters?’ Er, no offense again, mate. No offense meant at all.”
“And again, I am not taking any.”
“Right. Well, Hermione gets all huffy and says irritably, ‘Don’t call him a prick, Ron! Honestly, I’d think you’d have gotten over such childish jealousy.’ I scowl at her and cry, ‘Jealousy! Jealousy! I am not jealous of Viktor Krum, Hermione. I just…erm, you know, want to know why you’ve saved his letters!’”
“Understandable,” Viktor put in.
“See, I knew you’d get it!” Ron shook his head. “Women.”
“Women,” Viktor agreed.
“So anyways, we had a bit of a row about you and your letters and whether or not I had been a immature git over you and why on earth I hadn’t asked her to the ball if I’d wanted to take her so bloody much and such like. It was a very old row, and it got me to thinking, and I started smiling at Hermione. So she says, ‘What? What are you making fun of now?” And I tell her, ‘It’s just that when we fought the night of the ball, just like we are now, that’s the first time I can ever remember thinking I wanted to marry you.’ I don’t know what made me say it, but her eyes got big. You know how her eyes get big like that? It was really nice.”
“Yes,” Viktor nodded. “I would expect.” Ron was beginning to like talking to Krum; he was a man of few words. It made him a very patient listener.
“Right, well, those eyes were huge and she squeaks, ‘Really? You wanted to marry me?’ And I tell her, ‘Well, of course I bloody wanted to marry you. I still do.’ And the next thing I knew, I was on one knee.” Ron pointed a finger at Viktor. “And if it hadn’t been for you and your letters, mate, I wouldn’t have the most amazing fiancée in the history of the world.”
“Hm.” Viktor was pensively eyeing his mug of whiskey. Then he looked up and grinned widely. “I am quite ‘appy for you, Ron! I ‘ave always been saying that you and Her-my-oh-ninny would be getting married, even after all of these years. I tell my wife ‘ow my first love had already given her ‘eart to another, and even though they fought like ‘ell, he loved her, too.” Ron chuckled a bit.
“Hey, Viktor, you’re married?”
“Of course. Giselle and I are most ‘appy.”
“Mate, I’m happy to hear it. You two will come to the wedding, of course?”
“Yes, certainly. You must send me an invitation!” The two wizards exchanged addresses, and then Ron stood, already putting enough gold on the table to pay for both their drinks (it was, for once, a luxury he could afford).
“Nice to see you again, Viktor,” he said, and they shook. Ron was about to turn and leave, but Krum stopped him.
“Er…Ron.” Ron met the Bulgarian’s slightly self-conscious gaze, and was, for some reason reminded of himself at the end of his fourth year.
“Yeah?”
“I ‘ave told you about reading the papers,” Viktor said nervously. “I am most impressed with your great deeds, you see. They are far more impressive than any Quidditch skills-you ‘ave defeated the Dark Lord, yes? You and Potter and Her-my-oh-ninny.” Ron was a bit bemused, but Viktor drew a breath and carried on. “And so I wonder…well, Ron, I…might I have your autograph?” He looked distinctly embarrassed as he held out a napkin and quill, and Ron couldn’t help but crack up. Well, it was a way to repay a favor, wasn’t it? Of course, he’d have to sign trillions of autographs before he could properly thank Viktor for getting him the most wonderful, brilliant, annoying, intelligent, bushy-haired fiancée in the entire world, but it was a start.
“Why, Vicky,” he said, in between hysterics, “it would be my pleasure!”