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Durmstrang, a prison of a school north of the mosquito ridden, swamp infested hell hole that is St Petersburg, Russia. A pair of boys sit across from each other in a sunlit quidditch changing room, its roof having not seen maintenance in decades. One boy is several years older than the other, and plays no wizard football.
“Why do you have to stalk me everywhere I go? It’s very annoying. I am beginning to see things in the shadows. Horrible things.” says Viktor Krum, the lone quidditch player in the scenario. And what a player he is, even at only twelve years old.
His taller (for now) and older (forever) companion looks up from under dark eyebrows. “Because the headmaster says so.”
“Why does he say so?”
“You can work it out, little boy. A clue: it is because you are stupid.”
“I can take care of myself. In fact maybe one day you'll find that out when I hex you.”
His unwanted bodyguard's menacing expression intensifies, his sixteen year old body appearing to the child to belong to Hercules himself.
“Accidentally. I will hex you accidentally.” amends Viktor, in a squeak.
“I cannot wait to die laughing.”
The future superstar leaps to his feet and whips his little wand out. “I will hex you right now!”
A nasty smirk disfigures Yuri's face, arising from the dark depths. “Please do. In return I will accidentally hex you back in front of a girl you like when you least suspect it. The loose bowel curse, perhaps. Or the missing clothes jinx.”
Viktor sits back down, replacing his wand in his pocket. “You're evil…it's pretty cool.”