AN: QFLC Round 10, the "forbidden relationships" round. I had to write about a forbidden relationship between two people of rival schools, so of course I set it during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. My optional prompts were the restriction - no use of the word 'forbidden,' the myth that carrots help you see in the dark, and the occasion New Year's Eve Party. (Prompts 8, 11, and 13.)

Unfortunately, this round I won't be getting extra points since the prompts weren't submitted in time, but this was still fun to write once I got into it.

The title is from one of ee cummings' works.

Total word count: 1,764

The New Year's Party is in full swing.

Loud music is playing, and people on the dance floor are packed tight together in the small ballroom, people moving against each other with each thumping beat. Up above are the flickering lights of various floating globes, casting soft, colourful light in the otherwise dark room.

Viktor pushes his way through the crowd, sweating from the heat that exuded from the crush of people. He rolls up the sleeves of his red dress shirt in an attempt to cool down, wetting his lips, and presses forward. As he moves, a hand skates along the muscle of his bicep, a finger traces across his broad shoulders, and a knee brushes against his thigh. Viktor allows the touches, then leaves them behind with every step he takes.

He presses a hand against a girl's lower back to shift her out of his way, and closer to her dance partner. He squeezes between two girls, patting one on the shoulder when she makes an annoyed face at him.

Like this, his face is obscured by the shadows his strong features make and the dim lighting. Viktor is just another face in the crowd, another body to push against.

He exits the crowd without any regrets, taking a moment to breath in the cooler air before continuing on to the far side of the room.

"Hey!"

Viktor turns. Coming out from the crowd is the blond teenager that had been handing out those Potter Stinks badges. Viktor scowls.

"Krum, how are you finding the party?" Malfoy asks, slightly breathless. He tugs his robes to straighten them, then gestures with his hand. "It's nothing compared to the Yule Ball, of course, but much less formal," he says. "Much better for making friends." He smiles, all full of teeth, and tilts his head slightly to the side. His shoulders are more lax than Viktor has ever seen in their brief acquaintance, and it looks strange. Fake.

Viktor does not smile. "Yes," he says. "Less formal." He does not elaborate any further.

Malfoy's smiles becomes strained. Viktor snorts, then turns away from Malfoy to search the room. Squinting, he sees someone slip out of the room quietly. "Excuse me," he tells Malfoy, not waiting for a response.

He exits the room and chases after the rapidly disappearing back of his fellow Champion. A right turn, a left, through a door. Viktor's quarry has already vanished by the time he enters the tower they had hidden in. Unfazed, he climbs up the numerous stairs, then up through the open trapdoor and into a pitch black room.

This tower must be the Divination tower that Hermione told him about. It matches her description, or at least what he can see of the room does. The only lights in this room are from the glowing tip of a still burning incense stick nearby, and the slivers of moonlight that peek through the thick curtains to stretch across the classroom, over small, circular tables, and gaudy looking armchairs. The room smells heavily of something too sweet and cloying. He wrinkles his nose, coming to understand Hermione's distaste for Divinations as he took another breath.

Viktor moves further into the room, taking care to close the trapdoor behind him silently. He waits for his eyes to adjust before picking his way through the room.

In this classroom, surrounded by the low chairs and tables with delicate crystal balls perched on top of them, Viktor feels huge, like a giant. He turns towards the curtained windows, hand at waist-level in front of him, feet carefully moving forward. His outstretched hand bumps against an armchair that he hadn't seen. He moves around it and advances forward.

Just as his hand touches the rough fabric of the curtain, he hears a soft creak and shuffle of feet behind him.

He turns, eyes straining in the dark.

"Lumos," he hears, and suddenly a light hovers out of arms reach. Viktor blinks rapidly to adjust to the bright white, almost missing the person who casted the spell.

"Harry," he says, hands dropping from the curtain. Harry is dressed in a ratty old button-up that looks much too big on him. Viktor frowns, but decides not to comment. Instead, he holds out his hand, palm up, and beckons Harry to come closer.

"Hey," Harry says softly, almost a whisper. "What're you doing here?" He takes a step closer, wand still held aloft.

"What are you doing here?" Viktor counters. He smiles when Harry takes another step, and lets his hand fall back to his side. "I followed you. Did you not enjoy the party?"

Harry shakes his head. He takes another step closer. Viktor keeps still and relaxed, the way his mother taught him to approach small animals. Harry, Viktor feels, is much like a deer. Skittish. Wide-eyed.

"It's not really my thing," Harry says. He sighs, placing his wand on the table and pulls out a chair. They both wince at the loud scrape. Harry flops down onto the chair tiredly. "What about you? Why follow me here?"

Viktor pauses for a moment, staring at the boy. That's what he is, really - a boy. Small, skinny, with bright green eyes and dark bags under them. He's so pale underneath the light of his spell that he looks sickly, his tired visage amplified three fold.

Viktor gropes around for a chair and places it close to Harry, then sits down. Their knees brush together, and Viktor's lips twitch up when Harry doesn't pull away.

"Not really my thing," Viktor repeats, leaning forward to see Harry's face properly. "Though I am famous, parties and such are very - ah, taxing, I think is the word?"

Harry smiles at Viktor. It's strange that the Boy Who Lived is small enough that if Viktor straightened, he would have to look down to look Harry Potter into the eyes. The stories have always made Viktor think of someone bigger. Someone taller, more broad-shouldered.

Instead, there is Harry.

Harry, whose knobbly knees bump into Viktor's. Harry, whose wrists are skinny twigs compared to the thickness of Viktor's. Harry, whose shoulders are thin and slumped forward even when Harry is sitting back.

"I suspect you understand the feeling," Viktor says, and knows that he is right.

Harry grimaces, and then scrubs both hands against his face. Viktor does not know if he realises that he has left himself defenseless. His wand is left on the table, his vision obscured. It's a startling display of trust to a stranger.

Or perhaps not a stranger. Not entirely.

"Yeah, I guess I do," Harry sighs, placing both hands in his lap. He stares at his hands, toying with the frayed fabric of his shirt.

Viktor's eyes stay on the smooth curve of Harry's jaw, and then skitter down to rest on Harry's feet. He feels a blush rise up, colouring a spot high on his cheeks an unflattering red, and feels guilty for looking. He sits back into his chair, placing his hands on the arms of his chair to scratch at the fabric covering it. He hopes that the darkness covers his flush.

"I - I'm just not used to it." Harry blurts out.

When Viktor glances back up, Harry's face is surprised, like he did not expect to say it himself. It morphs into a more thoughtful one, though no less surprised, when he looks into Viktor's eyes. "This year was the first time I met a reporter," he says by way of explanation.

Viktor's eyes raise to form high arches on his forehead. "Skeeter?" he says with a grimace.

Harry nods.

"Apologies," Viktor tells him with sympathy. "Not most reporters are like her. She is of the more vicious kind." He hesitates, tilting his head to the side as he considers Harry, tracing nonsense patterns into the armchair as he thought. "Do not go anywhere with her alone, yes? Better to have someone with you."

Harry nods, smiling self-deprecatingly. "Hermione told me that too." He pauses, looking up at Viktor.

"Why are you giving me advice? Helping? We're supposed to be enemies."

Viktor's heart freezes the same time he inhales sharply through his nose, quiet enough that Harry doesn't hear. He shifts his leg and it presses against Harry's more firmly, just an accident, but Harry still doesn't pull away.

"Enemy is a strong word. Competitor, maybe," he says, but Harry narrows his eyes in suspicion.

"You haven't answered my question." Harry says flatly. He sucks in his bottom lip to chew on it, white teeth flashing in the dark like small pearls, endlessly distracting.

Viktor shakes himself. "No, I suppose I did not."

He hesitates, then reaches out to put a hand on Harry's, which are still in his lap. Viktor's hands dwarf Harry's, but Harry's are rougher than his. Viktor's lightly traces the calluses of Harry's hands with his thumb as he thinks. Harry's hands are cold, even though the leg pressed against Viktor's is warm, but the hand easily warms in his.

Harry does not pull away.

"I am thinking," Viktor says contemplatively, "that it would be easier to show you." He smiles when Harry makes an inquiring noise. Another stroke of Viktor's thumb, this time on the thin skin of Harry's inner wrist.

They stay like that for a moment, breathing quietly.

Then: "There is a myth that carrots help you see in the dark," Viktor finds himself saying, just as the thin strips of moonlight that dot the classroom vanish as the moon disappears behind a cloud. "Shall we test it?"

He raises his free hand, slowly, carefully, like he's reaching out towards a deer, and picks up Harry's wand. He looks into Harry's eyes, pleased at the brightness in them, the dilation of pupils he can see, and the buzz underneath his skin when he knows that this isn't all one-sided.

Harry, still, does not pull away.

"Nox," Viktor whispers, and puts the wand back on the table.

Completely blind without any light, Viktor lifts the hand he used to find the wand and reaches out to where he last saw Harry's face. When he gently prods skin, he cups Harry's face with his large hand.

In the complete darkness, Viktor leans forward -

AN: AND DONE HAHAHA