For the Stargazer's Club at The Golden Snitch. Prompt: (Epsilon Crucis) write about Fleur Delacour, Gabrielle Delacour or Viktor Krum.

House: Durmstrang.

Word count: 526 words.

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The back of his home was covered in chrysanthemum. From the kitchen's window, he could see it: the place where he began playing Quidditch as a little kid.

"I remember the first time I saw you pull off a Wronski Feint, Vik," said his mother, sitting in front of him with two cups of hot cocoa. "I was so proud!"

"You yelled at me for five minutes, Mamo," Viktor replied, smiling and taking the cup between his hands. The temperature was perfect for the coldness outside. "Let me say I don't believe you were proud."

His mother laughed; Viktor hadn't heard her as happy in a long time, since before his Kaka died. The thought, bittersweet, had him smiling sadly at Mamo.

The years after his sister passed were hard on her. There were wrinkles around her eyes and her hair was white in spite of her being forty-three years old. She was young, but the heartbreak could kill her and Viktor hated feeling helpless against the grief she hadn't been able to shake off.

"But I was proud," she insisted, sipping from the cup. "You were twelve. I knew how you loved Quidditch. I knew being good meant more for you than what it meant for anyone else because you would make your life out of it. I was proud that my little boy showed so much dedication to that."

He smiled at his mother. She was right: Quidditch began as a hobby but it quickly became his life. It wasn't only flying, but the adrenaline at hurrying past the other players and evading bludgers and Beaters to get the Snitch before the other Seeker. It was a competition Viktor loved.

"Tell me again about your British friend," his mother asked, shuffling in her seat.

Viktor snorted and smiled.

"Hermyonee is wonderful, Mamo. She's intelligent and fun. Dedicated. Loyal to her friends. Very beautiful."

"Why didn't you bring her back home, Vik? You seem to have her in high esteem."

"She's fourteen, Mamo. I invited her to come, but I understand why she said no. I couldn't ask her to marry me after a few months of knowing her; it doesn't make any sense, Mamo."

"That's what your father and I did, Viktor," she sighed, contented at the memory of Tatko. Viktor had conflicted feelings about the man. While he was a good father, he wasn't a good husband to Mamo. Seeing them fighting... Not even his Kaka's memory hurt as much because she died doing what she loved (and because he felt her caring for him whenever he played Quidditch, like a guardian angel who helped him live when she couldn't). "I know we're not the best example, but..."

Viktor stood from the chair, circled the table until he reached his mother and hugged her.

"You are the best example," he told her and it was true. "I doubt other mothers are as strong as you are, Mamo."

She looked at him with tears in her eyes. "And I couldn't ask for a better son, Vik."