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Rival Hearts	By : KohakuShadow Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2852 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Standard Disclaimers Apply: I do not own Harry Potter or any of it's characters. If I did, there would be smut. The only profit I make from this fanfiction is the entertainment of my readers, and a boost to my ego if I get good reviews.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
A/N:
I
decided to split this story into two for sake of the time line.
'Rival Hearts' is a companion fic for 'The Quiz' (Snarry) that anyone
who has read 'The Quiz' will see actually takes place before it. 'The
Game of Love' (not yet written, but I'm working on it) takes place
after
'The
Quiz'.

However, you don't
need to be familiar with The
Quiz to follow this
story. It manages to stand on its own well enough.

Due to the fact that the Bulgarian National Quidditch
Team, other than Viktor, are only ever given last names, I'm going to
make up first names for them as needed.

Rival
Hearts

Viktor Krum x Seamus Finnigan

Chapter
1: Polarity

Seamus Finnigan prided himself on his sunny disposition
and winning personality, but as he read the front page of the Daily
Prophet they both abandoned him.

IRISH NATIONAL TEAM CRIPPLED BY BULGARIAN BEATER

Irish Seeker Aiden Lynch was attacked last night after
the team defeated

Bulgaria 170 to 140. Witnesses state Beater Andrei
Volkov met Lynch in

a pub outside of Sofia after the game and the pair
exchanged words, and

eventually came to blows. An Anonymous Healer in
residence at Kablokov

Hospital for Magical Maladies claims that Lynch is "in
stable condition, but

will not be playing Quidditch again any time soon."

The manager of the Irish Team, Desmond Brody, tells fans
that Lynch's

place will be taken by the promising, young, Colin Doyle
until Lynch has

made a full recovery.

In response to the incident, the Bulgarian National Team
has been put

on probation for the remainder of the season and will
not participate

in further games or be eligible for the Quidditch Cup
this year. Volkov,

rumor has it, will be replaced in next year's line-up,
but the Bulgarian

team is hesitant to make any formal statements as to who
that replacement

might be. This reporter hopes it will be someone a bit
less prone to violence.

~Darren Wesley

He threw the paper down. "Can you believe this
rot?!" he demanded. "Doyle! Of all the seekers in Ireland,
they just had to pick Colin-freaking-Doyle! We'll never see
the Cup this year now! He's a prat. No talent either. You should play
for Ireland, Harry. We'd be better off."

Harry decided not to take that as an insult. He played
seeker on the Gryffindor Team, but he wasn't so arrogant as to think
he stood a chance against professionals like...well, like Viktor
Krum, for example. Speaking of, "Krum must be really depressed."
Viktor Krum--he'd met him on a few occasions, and the man seemed to
exist for the sake of Quidditch. Harry found him strikingly ordinary
other than that. Well, that wasn't fair. He was in the
Tri-Wizard Cup, so there must be something about him, but...Harry
couldn't see it.

"Actually, he seems to be doing well,"
Hermione piped up.

"You're still writing to that bloke?"
Ron complained jealously.

"I'm allowed to have a pen pal, Ronald,"
she sighed before returning to the letter. "He's not happy about
not being able to play, but he was offered a coaching job that will
keep him busy the rest of the season. Oh, it sounds like it's going
to be in England. He says maybe we can get together sometime."

"You...!"

Hermione sighed. "All of us, Ron. Honestly..."

"...oh."

"Hey, who cares about Krum?!" Seamus blurted,
gesturing madly at the front page. "Lynch. Doyle. Doesn't anyone
understand how traumatic this is?!" he bemoaned. No one got
it. Quidditch was like...life. And if Ireland was left in
Colin Doyle's clumsy oven-mitt hands, Seamus was pretty sure his life
for the incoming months was going to suck.

The next table over, Malfoy was bragging loudly, no
doubt to get their attention. "Oh yeah, we'll win this year. We
have a secret weapon that's going to leave the competition in
the dust. You'll see." He eyed Harry, who just glared back
before ignoring him in that way that wasn't really ignoring, but
pretending to ignore, and therefore appearing to be above petty
rivalries when one really isn't above such rivalries at all. Seamus
knew all about that sort of thing...and here people thought he was
stupid. Hah!

In any case, Malfoy's secret weapon--and making jokes
about what it might be--temporarily distracted Seamus from his grief
over the dismal prospects of seeing Ireland at the Cup again this
year. The suggestions ran from yet more new brooms to a giant
that would bend over and fart the competition off the Quidditch
Field--that one had been Seamus's addition. Harry had laughed,
agreeing that Slytherin had always been full of hot air anyway.
Eventually they decided that they'd just have to wait and see.

***

The Gryffindor-Slytherin game was set for Saturday
afternoon, and time seemed to be flying. Seamus was still torn up
about the Lynch incident the next morning. His entire extended family
seemed to be too, given the amount of letters he received in the
Great Hall at breakfast bemoaning the current state of the Quidditch
world, excepting one cousin who was apparently a Doyle fan...but
Seamus had just told Dean, "oh, that one's from Liam. We don't
like to talk about him. Kinda weird, you know? Fruity. Likes red
pumps a bit too much."

"What's wrong with red pumps?" Dean had asked.

"Nothing," Seamus answered. "If you're a
girl."

Ron spit out a mouthful of juice. Harry made a face and
had to scourgify his robes and glasses. "Thanks a bunch, mate."

"...sorry Harry, but you just don't blurt things
like that out of nowhere! Blokes in red pumps don't go right with
pancakes!"

Seamus dropped off mid-laugh. He went pale, and started
elbowing Dean, who had been laughing and patting juice out of Harry's
messy hair with a napkin. "Seamus, what..." but Dean was
interrupted.

"Herm-own-ninny, good morning."

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin, turning to
find--much to everyone's shock, Viktor Krum standing over her with
his usual shy little smile. Everyone in the room was staring.

"Viktor!" she yelped. "I...you...I mean,
good morning. Of course. What are you doing here?" she blurted,
giving Ron a good stomp on the foot. She could sense him giving Krum
the evil eye.

"Did you not get my letter?" Viktor asked
innocently. "I have vork here this season, as coach."

"Here? You mean here at Hogwarts?!"
Hermione declared. "I thought you meant here in England!"

Viktor looked as if he was mentally going over what he
wrote and suddenly realized he hadn't actually said Hogwarts in it.
"I vas not specific enough, Herm-own-ninny. I am sorry. I vill
be vorking as coach for the Qvittitch team of Slytherin. I received
an owl from a Mr. Malfoy three days ago. Since I can't play Qvidditch
right now, I thought teaching Qvidditch vould be okay. I arrived last
night."

The entire group went silent for a long moment and
Viktor didn't seem to understand what he'd said to upset them. Harry
looked as if he'd swallowed a snitch, but it was many times its
normal size and had lodged in his throat. There was no doubt what he
was thinking. Even Seamus could admit--if never aloud--that Viktor
Krum was an amazing seeker. If he was going to coach Slytherin, they
really were in trouble.

"Did I say something wrong?" Viktor asked
hesitantly.

"Uh. No, no," Hermione assured. "That's
great. Good for you." Though it didn't sound as if her words
convinced her, so it was doubtful they'd convince anyone else.

For once, Draco Malfoy's timing was merciful. He
strolled down the isle and said, "Oh Coach, there you
are. Come on then, I saved you a seat."

"I...oh. Thank you very much," Viktor answered
clumsily, plodding along beside the blond.

"...guess we know what that secret weapon is
now..." Harry mumbled.

Ron had gone pale. "Well," Dean said. "He
only started coaching them last night. How bad can it go?"

The others gave him sharp looks for jinxing them by
saying it. It looked like this time Trelawney wasn't necessary.
Harry--and with him, the Gryffindor team, was going to die a horrible
death by blows to the pride. The depression that leaked through
Gryffindor House the next two days was tangible. No matter how many
hours Harry made the team practice, nothing seemed to be coming
together. How did you inspire a team when they knew they had that
kind of opposition? 'Sure, they have Krum, but we have...Ron, stop
cowering like that.'

Seamus watched the practices, and felt for the first
time in his life like he really understood just the kind of feelings
that drove people to suicide. Dean tried to cheer him up by giving
him the last chocolate frog, but he wasn't ready and it splashed down
into the mud before he managed to catch it--just making things that
much worse. "Thanks for trying, mate," Seamus told him. "I
think...I'm going to go study."

Seamus never studied. If he was considering it, Dean
knew things were bad. "Hey, wait, I have a better idea. Why
don't we check out that compatibility test your mum sent you. I hear
they're pretty funny."

Seamus waved his best friend off on that note. "Nah.
Maybe later. If I flunk another potions exam, Snape'll skin me.
Mum'll dissect whatever's left when he's done. Be in the library, I
guess." Why not? Things couldn't get any worse, could they?
"Come get me for dinner if I'm not back by then."

***

The reason Seamus didn't study--it didn't take him long
to realize--was how sleepy it always made him. He would have to keep
potions homework in mind the next time he was too riled up about
something to go to bed at a normal hour. So it was probably
understandable that when someone tapped him on the shoulder he sat
bolt upright and screamed like a girl. A strong hand behind him was
all that kept him from toppling over in the midst of the chorus of
'shh!' noises. "I oh er...sorry," he muttered to no one in
particular, feeling his cheeks heat as he looked up expecting to find
Dean coming to get him for dinner.

But the person looking down at him with his hand on his
shoulder, rather surprised at the way he'd over-reacted, was none
other than Viktor Krum. "...sorry," the older man
whispered. "I just thought..." His eyes wandered from the
smeared scroll that Seamus had fallen asleep on to the open book, and
then he raised a book he was holding to bring attention to it.
"...this one would be more useful."

Seamus wondered why Viktor's hand was still on his
spine. He figured the older man didn't realize it was there, but it
seemed to burn a path of awkwardness in ripples up and down his spine
until the only defense Seamus seemed to have left was to get snippy
in hopes of scaring him off. "I'm not stupid," he snapped,
snatching the book out of Viktor's extended hand. "I just didn't
see it when I was looking." He focused on flipping through the
book. What was he supposed to be working on again? Potions. Right. It
was something about potions. He didn't have ink on his cheek, did he?

Viktor nodded. Hey, why was he sitting down? "It
vas on a high shelf," he answered.

Seamus glowered at him. "Yeah. Ha-ha. It must be so
nice to be tall. Excuse me for being vertically
challenged." Had the Bulgarian brute sat down just to pick on
him?

Viktor frowned. This idea had played out much better in
his head. "I did not mean..." he tried, but didn't finish
the sentence. Instead he settled on, "I have taken dis course in
Durmstrang. I can help your studying, if you vould like..."

Seamus glowered, picked up his pile of materials, and
moved three seats further to the right. "Like I need help from
some nosy Bulgarian," he snipped. He did need help, but his
Irish pride wouldn't allow him to sink to the level of accepting it
from a Bulgarian. Ever since Ireland just barely defeated Bulgaria in
the Quidditch Cup, they'd been rivals. It was even worse now that one
of the Bulgarian Team had put Lynch in the hospital. Seamus was still
bitter about what happened to Lynch, even if he knew Viktor Krum had
had nothing to do with that. It was easier to just assume all
Bulgarians are the same. Seamus wasn't in the mood to be particularly
understanding.

Viktor sighed, got up, and left the library. What was
that about?

Seamus frowned and opened the new book to the right
section at last, and grudgingly admitted to himself that this one was
easier to understand. 'But I'm not thanking him. No way.'

***

The next morning, Snape was giving him strange looks in
class. A whole ten minutes had passed and nothing had exploded. "Way
to go, Seamus. Your potion's actually looking like a potion,"
Dean whispered.

"Shut up," Seamus complained. "I studied
like I said!"

"Yeah, but 'study' for you usually means go to the
library and nap for a few hours."

Seamus decided not to be on speaking terms with Dean for
the remainder of class, you know, in the interest of remaining
friends and all. On the up-side, his potion didn't explode. A few
more classes like this, he might scrape by with an
'Acceptable'--thereby freeing up his summer for actual fun, rather
than being grounded for two and a half months. It was the first patch
of brightness to break through his morbid week.

At lunch, Ron and Harry were talking animatedly about
the Prophet, which Seamus snatched, and felt a little brighter
still to find an interview with Aiden Lynch, who was claiming his
injuries 'really aren't all they've been worked up to be.' He was
already up and around, and would be released in the next week or
two--though it would probably be a month before he would be able to
play Quidditch again. That was depressing, but maybe--just
maybe--that incompetent bloke, Doyle, would somehow manage to get
lucky enough to keep Ireland in the running after all. He hooted out
a loud cheer and threw the paper to the table, knocking over Harry's
pumpkin juice. "Hah! Take that Bulgaria, can't keep an Irishman
down!" he declared happily. Well, yeah, he was probably jumping
the gun--he knew not everything the Daily Prophet put
to paper was gospel, but they would have no reason to lie about
something like this, right? "Right then. Didn't blow up my
potion, sun's shining, Ireland's still got a chance (however slim) at
the Cup...I'm going for a walk. Beautiful day and all that..."

As Seamus nearly frolicked out of the Great Hall, Dean
Thomas just rolled his eyes and laughed. "He's completely
bipolar."

That was fine as far as Seamus was concerned. After all,
for the moment his polarity was happily leaning towards positive. The
sun felt warm and he could almost forget that life had ever been
anything but perfect. He wandered the grounds aimlessly for a bit,
thinking of the Irish National Team, and Lynch--praying a little that
Doyle didn't fuck up too badly in the interim. As long as they could
win three out of five games over the next month they'd still stand a
chance at making it to the World Cup again this year. For now he'd
focus on more immediate concerns--the Gryffindor-Slytherin game was
only a few hours away.

Sure, he told himself, Slytherin had Krum coaching, but
only for the past few days, and even Viktor Krum couldn't work
miracles when Malfoy is playing seeker, right? Harry could fly
circles around Draco Malfoy, damn it!

Well, all this stuff about Quidditch made him want to
walk by the pitch. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. It'd get him
all psyched up for today's game. He'd cheer loud as hell--good for
morale, that.

But the green robes swirling around the pitch when it
came into view was not good for morale--namely, his. He didn't
mean to spy but--oh, who the hell was he kidding, of course he was
going to spy. It looked like Slytherin was practicing some new
formations. Malfoy seemed to be chasing Krum around the pitch,
through the goal loops and all. Merlin, that Bulgarian could fly. He
remembered it from the Ireland-Bulgaria World Cup, but memory often
dims with time. Seamus found himself temporarily awed before the
horror sunk in. Malfoy couldn't keep up, but he wasn't that far
behind. His moves were clumsier, but he was still clearing all the
obstacles Viktor Krum was putting in his way. This put a serious damp
on Seamus's bright mood.

Half an hour later he was barreling into Gryffindor
Tower looking for Harry. Harry could win, right? He wouldn't let a
butt-face like Malfoy out-fly him. No way. Harry out-flew a dragon!
But Seamus somehow doubted that even Harry could out-fly Viktor Krum,
who was coaching Malfoy...

"Harry! It's awful!" he declared, grabbing the
surprised Potter by the biceps. "It's, they..." Seamus had
entire sentences in his head, but they were moving too fast from one
to the next and he couldn't get them out of his mouth.

"Seamus, calm down."

"But Harry you don't understand!"

"Stop shaking him like that man, he's got a game in
an hour," Dean said.

Harry's glasses had skewed with the force of Seamus's
excessively confusing urgency.

"The game!" Seamus declared. "Harry,
you've got to beat Malfoy. Got to! If you win I'll,
I'll...I'll wear a freaking dress to the All Hallows Eve
Ball!" he blurted desperately. "You can pick the damn thing
out yourself."

Harry had been about to tell Seamus he had every
intention of beating Malfoy anyway, but Seamus's panicked state had
some pretty entertaining results. Dean was laughing. "Oh, please
let me help, Harry," he joked.

Harry shrugged. "You've got yourself a deal,
Seamus," he said. "You're not allowed to go back on your
word."

Ron looked positively giddy. Sure, it was at Seamus's
expense, but it seemed just what the red-head needed to break through
his own pre-game panic. He laughed. The Gryffindor team left the
common room in good spirits as the color drained from Seamus's face
as he finally registered what he'd just said.

"So, Seamus," Dean mused, "what size do
you suppose you are?"

"Shut up!" He didn't want Gryffindor to lose
to Slytherin, on the one hand. On the other...urgh! "...me and
my big mouth..."

"Oh, cheer up, mate," Dean joked. "It's
one of your more charming qualities."
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Rival Hearts