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“Vitya, don't you have enough on your plate without becoming an animal on top of it? Do you want to transform mid-game? Because that can happen if you have inadvertently progressed far down the route.”
“Creature Feature, by Rita Skeeter. Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Bonbon, gets in touch with his wild side and falls in love with a street cur. I can see it now. Front page news.”
“His animagus form is not a canine, Lina. I guarantee it. He’s not enough of a team player.”
“I know. But it would be funny if he turned into a Maltese poodle.”
“It would, but we both already know what he’s going to become, if he becomes anything other than a puddle on the floor, that is.”
A male and female pair stand around a hulking yet gangly young man where he sits on the concrete floor of his private dressing room backstage in a quidditch arena. He looks like a tarantula in the process of having a fit, or else dying because it fell from a height of one inch. Oh, and he's growling and his short black hair is standing on end.
“Vitya, growling will not assist you to become an animagus, as amusing as it is.” says the slightly older young man who had the temerity to tell Viktor that he, the core and lead and essentially only member of any quidditch team he happens to have been sold to, is not a team player.
Sweaty faced and pale Viktor Krum, opening one eye, speaks through his clenched teeth. “When I turn into a wolf, I am going to bite your ass off as the first thing I do, Yurets!”
The man so named, snaps back immediately, bland of voice and visage. “You can’t be a wolf, I’m a wolf. Stop copying me. Choose something else. Like a slug. They also come in black.”
“Aaaaah!” The superstar attempting to devolve into some sort of beast, begins climbing to his clown feet. Wolf teeth or no wolf teeth, someone is going to be bit!
Before things become violent, Alina, the girl, parries both men, deflecting testosterone with kind and gentle femininity. “Vitenka , you of all people don’t need to prove anything to anyone. There are lots of animagi, but only one Viktor Krum.”
Mollified instantly, Viktor returns to his crossed leg pose on the unyielding floor. “Alusya, I’m thirty years old.”
“And?”
Yuri takes a sip from an enormous Wizbucks cup that does not contain coffee, but ‘water’. “He means he feels over the hill and old. Meanwhile, I’m thirty-four.”
“You are not a celebrity VIP,” growls Viktor, black eye darting at his bestie once again. “No one cares how old you are.”
The young man who was Karkaroff’s Aide, and is now simply Karkaroff, pulls some more ‘water’ up through a black and red striped straw, his eyes focused on the far wall, which is covered in moving pictures of Viktor Krum, pro athlete and pro ladies man (and spotless virgin).
Sweat rolls down the sharp planes of Viktor’s face. “Ahhh…anyway. Grrr-”
A savage snarl straight out of a deep, dark forest bursts forth from the throat of the offended one, and, after flinging his trenta sized cup of vodka at his friend’s head, he leaps at him, already halfway through transforming into a gigantic wolf.
A high pitched shriek usually only heard in places frequented by the littlest of girls, breaks free from Viktor’s lips, a wail of terror which becomes a scream of truly adorable proportions when, in an explosion of pastel feathers, a bird emerges where a man once was. The creature takes off and goes whizzing around the ceiling, where the big, bad wolf has trouble getting at it, though it does try, leaping and snapping its long jaws or else standing on its back legs.
Again, yonder woman comes to the rescue. Whipping out her wand, Alina points it at the flying creature. “Accio lovebird!” the spirit doused animal zooms at her, and she snatches it out of the air. “Mine.” And with that she runs off, holding the cutest of birds in a fist, where it peeps and trills happily at the sniggering wolf chasing them.