Chapter 3
It was late. Past nine. But Theo was certain his best friend—and extreme Quidditch nerd—would still be awake. Draco would welcome the impromptu visit.
With that in mind, Theo stepped into the fireplace, threw in a handful of Floo powder, and muttered the address of yet another gothic mansion.
The moment he arrived, he heard a voice call out from the dining room. “In here!” Draco’s wards must have alerted him to Theo’s arrival.
Sauntering toward the voice, Theo entered the dining room to find Draco standing over the table, fingers raking through his pale-blond hair in obvious frustration. The entire surface was covered in books—thick, ancient tomes stacked precariously on top of one another—while a piece of parchment lay before Draco, filled with his familiar, slanted handwriting.
Theo approached from behind, slung an arm over Draco’s shoulders, and leaned in to scan the parchment. Draco’s handwriting was hardly better than Krum’s. The only reason Theo could make out any of it was because he’d been forced to read it before.
“Are you inventing a new ward?” Theo asked, glancing at the open books. The diagrams and runes confirmed his suspicion.
Draco nodded, straightening the front of his Auror robes—robes Theo had likely rumpled with the casual contact.
Theo lingered at his side, studying the notes, before finally pointing at a section in one of the books. “This completely contradicts…” He trailed off, shifting his arm away from Draco to point at another open volume. “This.”
Draco frowned, following his friend’s gesture. Then, without a word, he grabbed his quill and scrawled a fresh set of notes in the already-cramped margins of the parchment.
When he finished, he turned to Theo with a smile—one that quickly curled into a familiar, sly grin. His grey eyes gleamed with amusement, studying Theo like he knew something. Something he could use to his advantage. Something that would make Theo uncomfortable. Something Theo had yet to figure out.
But whatever it was, Draco didn’t reveal it. Instead, he said, “To what do I owe this visit? Did Iggy forget to feed you or something?”
At that, Theo was abruptly reminded of the curry soup he never got to have. His stomach voiced its displeasure with another loud complaint.
Draco’s grin widened. With a lazy snap of his fingers, he summoned his house-elf, who promptly handed Theo a sandwich. Peanut butter. Not as enticing as Iggy’s curry soup, but good all the same. At least Mina, Draco’s elf, had taken to sourdough baking— so the bread was always fresh.
Between bites, Theo explained the reason for his visit. “Do you know, uhm… That quidditch player, Victor Krum?” Draco arched a brow, curiosity sparking in his expression. “Did he do something weird at Pansy’s party?”
Theo shrugged. Maybe he had. Draco ought to know—hadn’t he been there? He voiced this thought, only for Draco to wave a dismissive hand. “I was otherwise occupied.” A slow, smug grin spread across his face. “A fit Healer from St. Mungo’s.” Of course. Ever the flirt. It made sense that Draco hadn’t paid attention to much else that night.
“Anyway, why would Krum be at the party? Isn’t he playing for some Romanian team?”
Draco gave him an incredulous look. “Still living under that rock, then?” With a flick of his wand, he summoned a stack of The Daily Prophet. Sorting through them, he pulled one from about a week ago and handed it over.
“You know I don’t like their bias—” Theo started, but the words died in his throat as he read the headline. It announced Krum’s new contract with Puddlemere United. That team, at least, he’d heard of.
Draco launched into a monologue about Krum’s career, his latest matches, his impressive stats—most of which went in one ear and out the other as Theo stared down at the moving photograph.
Krum was, objectively, handsome. Broad-shouldered, athletic, long dark wavy hair, sharp brows, dark eyes, and a beard that made him look like he’d stepped straight out of some wizarding adventure novel. He was practically the definition of “rugged masculinity.” Not that Theo felt at all inferior about his own slim frame or distinct lack of facial hair. Nope. Not at all.
His attention finally snapped back to Draco when he heard the words Triwizard Tournament. That piqued his interest.
“You met him then, didn’t you?” Draco said, flipping through another paper. “The Durmstrang lot always sat with us at the Slytherin table. Krum included. He usually sat with me, Crabbe, and Goyle.”
Theo frowned, trying to recall his fourth year at Hogwarts. He hadn’t been close with Draco back then. He hadn’t really been close with anyone. But at Draco’s prompting, vague memories stirred—flashes of the Durmstrang champion among them. Theo glanced back down at the newspaper. Krum had changed a lot since then.
“Yeah, the whole lot of them sat with us. I remember there was this girl… Ah, even her name was pretty. The only pretty girl in the Durmstrang crowd, to be honest. Most of them looked like trolls, but this one—she was always by Krum’s side. Like she’d been stuck there with a Sticking Charm.” Draco frowned, trying to recall. “It was weird. I swear she tried to hit on Potter during the Yule Ball.” Draco went on about Potter and this girl for a bit longer. If Theo didn’t know better, he’d say Draco sounded bitter, that this girl had preferred Potter over him.
Draco let out a laugh as he moved on to the next adjacent topic. “ Do you remember the ball? That was the time we all realized Granger was actually fit.”
No. Theo did not remember. He hadn’t attended the ball. His attention drifted as Draco continued his monologue, seamlessly shifting from Quidditch to a random girl. Of course he would find a way to make this about a girl. Theo watched him, idly wondering when Draco would finally settle—when he’d tire of this eternal conquest for the next fleeting bit of fun. It seemed exhausting.
Draco continued on about Granger’s level of attractiveness—a topic Theo frankly could not care less about. He’d never given Granger much thought. Of the so-called heroic trio, she seemed the most tolerable. Beyond that, she barely registered in his mind.
While Draco rambled, he plucked the newspaper from Theo’s hands and flipped it open, scanning the article on Krum’s arrival in the UK. And there, in the middle of the page, was another photograph of Krum—this time, not alone.
She was there. Elvira. The uninvited guest in Theo’s mansion.
She looked up at the camera with that same polite, unreadable smile. Krum’s arm was wrapped securely around her waist, pulling her close. Theo squinted at the text beneath the image. "Victor and Elvira Krum, husband and wife move to a London suburb."
Draco let out a triumphant sound, jabbing a finger at the page. “That’s her! That’s the one from Durmstrang!”