FIC: The Cherry Conundrum (George/Viktor - 7000 - PG-13)

[mini_fest_mod]

Title: The Cherry Conundrum
Author/Artist: gin_biscuit
Pairing(s): George Weasley/Viktor Krum
Prompt: 'Things get heated during the Magical Gingerbread competition'
Word Count: 7,000
Rating: PG-13
Contains (Highlight to view): *jealously, misunderstandings, drama*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thank you so much, RB, for beta-reading this one for me!
Summary: It's the annual bake-off and George, who is an avid hobby baker, has been really looking forward to show off a new composition. But he didn't count on the competitions new rules—or on Viktor Krum making an appearance where George didn't expect him to.



George stared at the parchment that had been almost lazily tacked to the wall. He blinked, hoping the words would change. When they didn't, he cursed loudly and kicked the wall, only to regret it immediately—now his foot hurt.

"What's up?" Ginny's worried voice came up from behind. It figured that she'd be the one to come check up on him. Wordlessly, George pointed at the piece of parchment, hoping for indignation. Instead, Ginny just laughed. "They're putting you into teams this year?"

George crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Yes. But not just that. Look at who they signed me up with."

Another laugh, this time at least fittingly flabbergasted. "Viktor?!"

Viktor Krum. Of all of the people they could have paired him with, they chose Viktor fucking Krum. His nemesis.

"Come on, George. It's not that bad. Besides, it's just a bake-off. It's not the end of the world."

"Just a bake-off? Are you kidding me? It's the fifth annual Christmas bake-off! It's sponsored by the Daily Prophet—that means publicity and prize money of five thousand galleons for the winner."

"The winning team, you mean."

George shot a dirty looks to his sister. "Yes. That."

"You should be happy to be paired with him."

"Happy? Are you drunk?"

"He makes good cakes, and he's beat you twice—"

George growled. He didn’t need to be reminded of that; it was precisely the reason he wasn't enthused about the pairing.

"That means as a team you'd be fantastic!"

"I doubt that. We hate each other's guts."

"You didn't use to. At Hogwarts—"

"Hogwarts was a long time ago. Besides, Ron was the fanboy—not me."


******


Two hours later, George had to face the music and shake hands with Viktor when the pairings were officially announced to the public. Wearing matching aprons and feeling utterly ridiculous, neither of them smiled as they touched each other's hands as briefly as humanly possible. Afterwards, they were ushered into the next room, where they were supposed to discuss their approach to the challenge: to bake a cake that represented Christmas in its entirety.

George and Viktor sat across from each other and just stared. George certainly didn't want to be the first to speak—it felt like giving in, like he was okay with this setup. He had had a plan for this bake-off. He had done his research, had guessed the theme of it, and had come up with an idea for his cake. All that didn't matter now because he'd have to find 'common ground' with Viktor.

Viktor uncrossed his arms, stretched and crossed them again. It was obvious he didn't want to be the first to talk, either. George rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He couldn't remember when he had last spent this much time in Viktor's company especially without trading an insult. It must have been during Bill and Fleur's wedding and they had yet to discover their love for baking. Maybe they had even liked each other. So much had happened since then. Two trophies of this competition had gone to George's hands, the other two into Viktor's and this year should have made clear who the better baker was. George was sure Viktor saw it the same way. Their only common ground was their passion for baking and their mutual rivalry. How could they ever manage to agree on a recipe?

"This is fucking ridiculous," George muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

A couple meters away, a pair high-fived. They had less qualms about working together apparently. George looked around. Everyone else seemed deep in discussion, excited, as if they were making plans. As if they actually thought they had a chance. Because Viktor and he had been paired up, he realized and because they weren't talking. He looked at Viktor. Instead of sabotaging each other, the two of them were sabotaging themselves.

George closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He'd be damned if he just gave his victory away like this. "Okay, let's do this."

"What?" Viktor sounded utterly bored.

"Look at all the others. They are talking, planning. We're not. They think they can win, but I won't let them."

Viktor eyed their competition critically. "What do you suggest? A truce?"

George thought about it for a second. There really was no other way. He nodded. "I think we should trade ideas. What were you going to bake?"

Viktor rolled his eyes. "You first."

George, after a moment of hesitation, complied. "I was going to make a two-tiered chocolate-buttercream cake. Decorations were to include miniature Yule logs. You?"

"I wanted to incorporate traditions from my home and make a white cake with caramelised walnuts. It was to be decorated with dried fruit like apricots and dates, cooked in sugar."

George tried not to laugh. He'd have won this round for sure. "Well, we're not making that."

"Neither are we making yours."

George resisted throwing a dung bomb at him (there were always some in his pockets). Last year, he'd had almost been disqualified for setting off trick-fireworks. "What are you suggesting then?" They needed to come up with something quick. The actual baking didn't start until the next day, but they would need to hand in their list of required ingredients soon. And if they had nothing, they would be kicked out for sure.

"I want walnuts in the cake. We can do your two-tiered suggestion."

"Fine." George considered fitting ingredients to go with walnuts. "We'll do a chocolate ganache."

"Cinnamon in the dough."

"We need something else though. To make the cake pop, to make it interesting."

"Dried fruit—"

"Let go of your dried fruit idea. It's an old hat. Reminds people of fruit cake too much."

"What do you suggest, then?" Viktor asked, not pleased.

"Cherries."

"Because cherries are such a winter fruit? I don't think so."

"They don't have to be. Nobody says we have to use winter stuff only. And a sour cherry filling keeps things fresh."

They looked at each other and nodded. All right, George thought, not everything was lost, after all.


******


Once they had handed in their shopping list to the competition's staff, everyone was carted off to the hotel the contestants were staying in. George was thankful he wouldn't have to share his room, at least—he needed some peace and quiet to regain his composure. He was used to chaos and commotion—revered in it, even. But this baking competition was different. It got him out of his comfort zone that was the joke shop, and he planned everything meticulously every year.

His love for baking had started out as a sort of therapy after the war. After he'd lost Fred. It had been Harry who suggested it, because he always found baking so calming. He'd been right—concentrating on the ingredients and how to handle them had helped reduce some of the overwhelming pain he'd felt. Different to Harry, though, George hadn't made baking his profession. He'd focused his energy on jokes and laughter instead, but used the annual baking competition as a means to do something different and regain that focus he sometimes felt slipping.

And now the organizers had gone and messed it all up.

George sighed and looked at his watch. Ginny had promised to meet up with him at the bar and he'd better show up. Maybe she could help him get a better perspective on this thing. He pushed off the bed, checked himself in the mirror and left his room.

Ginny was already waiting at the bar and raised an eyebrow at him for being late. George just rolled his eyes and ordered a beer.

"Well? Did you finally bury the hatchet?" Ginny asked him as she raised her glass.

George snorted. "Sort of. For the time being, I think. Or, to put it differently, we have agreed on what kind of cake we'd make."

"That's good," Ginny said approvingly.

"It's only for tomorrow, after all. We can go back to hating each other, after that."

Ginny pulled a face at that. "Two things. The first being that hating each other over a baking contest is stupid, and the second, have you seen the itinerary? It says you'll be staying in this hotel for three nights."

"What? That's impossible!" George blinked at that. He vaguely remembered seen dates when he'd confirmed his attendance. He hadn’t counted on spending more than one day on this. "They can't keep us here for this long."

"You signed a magically binding contract, I suppose?"

"Don't come at me with your lawyer-stuff, sis."

"Don't be a baby. It shouldn't come as a surprise—since when are you not paying attention to stuff like this?"

George sighed and took a swig of his beer. "I don't know. I thought it would be the same as always, I suppose." He ran his hand through his hair. "Three days. Bloody hell. What about the shop?"

"I think Ron and your employees can manage. Besides, you hardly take any time off."

"And what about Krum? If this thing takes three days, that means we'll have to work together the whole time!"

Ginny patted his shoulder, but she didn't seem all that bothered by George's predicament. "Just see it as your good Christmas deed, Georgie. And maybe you can learn not to hate him?"

"Not bloody likely," George said and frowned.


******


The next day, the staff announced what George had already expected: they would not bake their cakes that day, but rather have to compete in two consecutive rounds to earn their spot in the final round where the cakes would be made and presented. The only reason they'd had to discuss their cake ideas the day before was so that the staff had enough time to buy all the special ingredients. What a load of shit.

For the first round, they would have to bake Christmas confections: They were all to receive the same ingredients and would be allowed one additional ingredient each. The challenge would be that both teammates would have to choose from a range of ingredients without discussing with the other person beforehand.

George stared at the table in front of him. He didn't have much time before committing to an ingredient. If he chose something more extravagant, he might risk losing this round—after all, Viktor might choose something that didn't fit with what he picked and they'd have a disaster on their hands. But just producing something edible didn't cut it here—they needed to make something better than the other teams. They needed to be extraordinary.

"Make up your mind, Mr Weasley."

George's hand hovered over a block of chocolate, then twitched over to marzipan, before he eventually picked up green rice flakes. Now he could only hope that Viktor chose something that would go with this. He returned to their table and nervously waited for his partner to return.

"What did you pick?" he asked when Viktor came close enough to hear him. Viktor first raised an eyebrow, then his hand. "Coconut?" George pointed to the green rice flakes. "I thought we could use an edge."

He expected Viktor to be angry, but instead of going off at him, Viktor just nodded and said, "I figured you'd go for something outlandish. It was what you did at the competition two years ago. Not that it helped much."

George ignored the little side blow—he had come second place to Viktor with his slightly hot, chili-infused red velvet cake. "Fine, let's figure out what to do with this. The rice flakes should go well with the coconut, even if can't make it taste traditionally Christmassy."

"I don't think that'll be a problem as long as we incorporate the season at least visually."

"A cookie, then?"

Viktor shook his head. "Too simple," he said briskly, making it hard for George again to reign in his ego. Still, George managed to keep his mouth shut long enough for Viktor to add, "The green reminds me of leaves. Or pine needles maybe? I know, it's a stretch—"

"Are you thinking Christmas trees?"

"Maybe." Viktor pursed his lips. "How about small Christmas trees with a soft coconut-filling and a green, crispy outside?"

"A differently shaped cookie, in the end," George said, not able to let it go. But he did agree that the idea was a good one. "That might just work."


******



Lying on his bed, George revelled in the competition's first win for him and Viktor. It felt strange to include his former rival in this, but even he had to admit that they did well together. Experience in the kitchen—magically and manually—went a long way and after a slightly rough start of figuring out who did what, they had managed to work together almost seamlessly. Even stranger, George had almost enjoyed working with Viktor. They had even high-fived when the judges had announced their victory.

Being close to Viktor reminded him of his school years again, of the year the Tri-Wizard Cup had been held at Hogwarts and how Fred and he had tried to find out as much as they could on the other contestants in order to help Harry win. And, of course, in order to place promising bets on who'd make it to the next round. Or how they had snuck some honey brandy to the Yule ball and for some reason Viktor and Fleur had both ended up in an alcove outside the great hall with them and they had gotten sloshed together.

To be honest, he couldn't quite understand how this baking rivalry had gotten so serious. Maybe he should finally listen to Ginny and let some levity into this whole thing. Besides, they did have to work together. This could be a start of something new. Something friendlier.


******


The next day started on a more optimistic note than the one before. George finally felt like they could win this competition—as a team, even. He smiled at Viktor when he came in to join him at the table.

"Are you excited for today?" George asked.

Victor nodded. "I am looking forward to the challenge." He stretched out his hand when their assignment sailed towards them. Together, George and Victor bent over the piece of parchment.

Create a hearty Christmas dish.

George looked up at Viktor, hoping that his partner had any clue what to do about this. Sugary confections he could do. Pastries, cupcakes, eclairs—all that were things he was good at. Hell, in school, Fred and he had already baked delicious Canary Creams that had been so good people had eaten them even though they turned them into birds. He remembered sneaking into the Hogwarts' kitchens in the middle of the night, convincing the house-elves to allow the two of them to use the ovens. It had been a hassle, though getting in hadn't been the problem—telling them not to cook for Fred and him had.

"I—" George started and stopped. His heart was aching.

"I think I have an idea," Viktor said unexpectedly. George didn't feel inclined to protest and motioned for him to continue. "We will make something that is inspired by my home. We're doing a pitka."

"A what?"

"It's basically a Christmas bread."

George blinked. Gathered his wits. "You want us to enter this round with bread?"

Viktor rolled his eyes. "No. With pitka. Or rather, with a variation of a pitka. We'll stuff it with cheese and minced meat, onions and pieces of wine leaves."

George rubbed his forehead. He wanted to protest—because, wine leaves? He'd never eaten that and it certainly didn't sound that appealing—but he reminded himself that he didn't know shit about baking with savoury ingredients and certainly didn't have a better idea. "Okay, fine. But you should improve your pitch before we present this to the judges."

"Whatever." Viktor quickly jotted down a list of things they'd need for this round and handed it to George. "Now be a good assistant and collect this stuff."

George gave his partner a two-fingered salute, but marched off to get what they needed anyways. Since there were no restrictions regarding the ingredient list this time around, George decided to pick up some other ingredients like tomatoes and bacon as well, just to spruce things up. When he returned with two baskets filled with ingredients, though, he was in for a surprise.

Enhanced with a Sonorus charm, a judge's voice sounded through the room, "Now that you've picked your ingredients with so much enthusiasm and—in several cases—heedless panic, we'd like you to know that by picking these ingredients you've also committed to using them."

An alarmed murmur went through the hall, while Viktor just snorted with disdain. "I bet there were several people just grabbing whatever savoury pieces they could find. Thankfully we had our list made."

George cleared his throat. "About that—"

"What did you do?" Viktor pushed him roughly to the side and looked through what George had brought. "This isn't what I wrote down!"

"Look, I'm sorry, I just thought—"

"If we lose—if I lose because of your stupid—"

George clamped his hand over Viktor's mouth before he could even think about what he was doing. They stared at each other, unmoving. Viktor's lips felt soft against George's palm, soft enough to make it feel an effort to pull his hand away. "I'm sorry. I didn't think about it further than finding that these things fit together nicely with the rest."

Viktor cleared his throat. "Okay. It's fine. We'll work something out." He licked his lips.

How had George never noticed how nice Viktor's lips looked? George blushed, shook his head and tried to concentrate on the task ahead. This competition made him go crazy, apparently.


******


George pounded the crispy bacon into little flakes, feeling like he was committing some kind of sacrilegious act. "Are you sure about this?" he asked for about the hundredth time.

"I'm sure. And even if I weren't, it's too late now."

George looked at the bacon bits, then at the time. They only had a couple of minutes left. Before he could say anymore, their timer went off and Viktor bent down to get their stuffed bread from the oven. "Now sprinkle those flakes on top," he said, placing the steaming hot, pie-like thing on the counter in front of them.

George did what he was told and stared at their monster of a bread. It was magnificent, really. It smelled delicious, too. Now he could only hope that the judges liked what they'd done with the challenge. Because if they didn't, it would clearly be George's fault and he'd never live it down.

When the gong announcing the end of this round sounded, Viktor and George stepped away from their table and put their hands behind their backs. George looked over at Viktor, trying to calm his nervous heart. He wondered if he should reach over to hold Viktor's hand, but then thought it was silly. He shouldn't let himself get overwhelmed by his enthusiasm for this competition, he told himself and tried to focus back on the judges. As he turned back towards the table, he saw out of the corner of his eyes that Viktor was looking at him. His heart skipped a beat.

Then the judges stood at their table, looking at their pitka from all sides, whispering. George held his breath when they cut out a piece and started eating it, gingerly at first. He tried reading their expressions when they were whispering again and then nodded to each other, but couldn't.

"Do you think they are happy?" George asked Viktor under his breath.

"I am not sure. I was wondering if they were mad."

"But there's bacon on it. How could they be mad?" They both had to suppress their laughter.

Waiting for the decision to be announced was pure and utter torture. George had never been terribly patient, but when something was as important to him as this, it was even worse. He paced around their table, while Viktor leaned against it and was munching on their pitka.

"It tastes good," Viktor said, holding his plate out to George, who waved it away. "They should give us one of the top scores, that's for sure."

"But what if someone else was better? It doesn't matter if ours is just 'good', you know?"

"I know. Just as much as I know that there's nothing we can do anymore. We'll have to accept their judgement."

George ran his hands through his hair. "I don't know what I'll do when we lose."

"If we're not getting into the next round, I'm getting plastered tonight," Viktor said and then added, "Then I'm going to have sex."

"And if we win you won't?" George said before he could stop himself. Viktor looked at him, almost as if he was wondering if George had made a proposition. George just blushed. He felt his face grow hot and knew the colour of his hair and his skin now looked too similar to be called attractive. "Oh. Um."

Viktor smiled and was about to say something, when the gong sounded again, announcing that the judges' decision would follow. "Attention please! We will announce the finalists in the next minutes. In order for tomorrow's instructions not to be missed, these will be explained first. Please listen carefully. Just like our competitions in the past years were focussed on multi-tiered cakes, this round will, too. All finalists are allowed to re-work the list of ingredients they handed in during day one, if they so require. There will have to be three key ingredients that will be primary composites in their final creation. Now, onto the finalists. The following teams have qualified for the next and final round: Williams and Powell, McIntyre and Johnson, Millican and Gupta, and Weasley and Krum."

When George heard their names, he acted on instinct and threw his arms around Viktor. "Fucking hell, that was close!" he yelled, hugging his partner in crime. Viktor laughed and returned the hug, then patted him on the back after a couple of moments. George let go, grinning from ear to ear. "Made it!"


******


Once they had checked and slightly amended their list of ingredients (chocolate, cherries and marzipan), they returned to the hotel and retired to their respective rooms. George was in a festive mood—festive enough to raid the minibar and allow himself a gin and tonic to celebrate tonight's victory. He sipped, sitting on his hotel bed, and wished he could share this moment with someone. Ginny had left after the announcement and the respective congratulatory hug to go buy Christmas presents—something that George usually put off until the last minute. But he did work in Diagon Alley, after all, and could always do an express owl-order if need must be.

George sighed and went to the bathroom, his glass in hand. He turned on the shower and stripped, sipping all the while, then slipped under the hot water to wash off today's panic sweat and remainders of bread batter. It really would be nice to have someone to talk to now, George thought. Maybe he could go down to the bar and see if he could find someone. He frowned as he shampooed his hair—if he just picked up a random bloke, that guy wouldn’t know what the hell George was talking about when he started rambling about getting into the final round. It was also quite likely that he'd find George's stories about baking a turn-off. It had happened before; the year before, to be precise. No, the bar wouldn't do. However, if he went over to Viktor's room, he'd have someone he could chat with.

Grinning, George washed off the last soap suds and stepped out of the shower. Dripping all over the place, he downed the last of his G&T and quickly got ready. He was out of the room before his hair was even dry, and made his way towards the reception area to ask for Viktor's room number. He wondered if he should pick up a bottle of something on the way, but didn't want to come across too pushy. Though, to be honest, George wasn't sure what he wanted. Two days ago he sort of hated Viktor and now here he was, looking forward to seeing the man. What had even become of him?

George stopped in his tracks when he realised that bloody butterflies were frolicking inside his stomach. He stared at his midsection as if he'd see them flying around there, then looked up again. Did he have feelings for Viktor Krum, of all people? He swallowed thickly, realising that was utterly true and embarrassing at the same time. How would he explain that to Ginny? He'd be the laughing stock of his whole family, if that came out. He rubbed his hands across his face. Well. First of all, he would have to get with Viktor. Maybe Viktor found him stupid or irritating or he didn't go for gingers (which was stupid, because people like that were clearly missing out). Now feeling very determined to find out, George strode towards the hotel lobby.

He was about to pass the bar, when he spotted Viktor sitting there. He raised his arm to wave at his teammate, then lowered it again. Viktor seemed to be in deep conversation with another man—one that George had seen before, he realised. In fact, George found, he'd seen him every day during the competition, because that bloke over there at the bar had been the one to collect their ingredient lists and had watched over every selection process. But why was Viktor talking to him, of all people? Why did they seem so cosy and why was that man giving so many fevered nods?

George stepped back, feeling awkward, all of a sudden. He looked at his watch, just to have something to do, then turned back around to where he had come from, pretending he had forgotten something urgent. Just in case Viktor had seen him. Quickly, he made his way back to his room and spent his evening Floo-calling his staff to check up on the shop and work on a few ideas he wanted to bring to the Wizard Wheezes in the new year.


******


George found himself in a strange mood when he arrived at the bake-off's venue. On the one hand, he was looking forward to seeing Viktor, on the other hand last night's strange event at the bar still haunted his mind. He couldn't shake it, couldn't help feel weirded out by it. Nevertheless, he tried to write it off as jealousy, until he reached their work station.

"Where are the cherries?" he asked no one in particular. There were supposed to be cherries. He'd requested them specifically, even discussed using them with Viktor, who still wasn't convinced that they should use them. Viktor had suggested apples instead, thankfully giving up on the idea of dried fruit. But apple was so plain—George was sure someone else would be using it. In the end, they had agreed on the cherries, in too good of a mood to argue. George was sure he'd put them on the list last night.

He turned to Viktor, who had just arrived. "Where are the cherries?"

Viktor shrugged, apparently not bothered by the lack of fruit at their table. "I don't know. If they're missing we need to go ask the staff about it. I'm sure they'll turn up."

George looked around. Seeing a man with a staff robe, he walked towards him and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned around, George blinked in surprise—it was Viktor's companion from last night. Ignoring the strange feeling that settled in his stomach, George explained the cherry problem to him.

"Oh, that was you with the cherries? We couldn't get any. There was supposed to be a note at your workstation, together with a substitute for the cherries," the bloke said apologetically.

George stared at him. Couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What do you mean you couldn't get any? There have to be cherries available somewhere!" They were wizards, for Merlin's sake! Rounding up two pounds of cherries shouldn't even pose a challenge.

But the other man just shrugged and apologised again. "I'm sending someone over with the apples in a minute." Then he walked off to deal with the next issue.

Apples. Fucking apples. George turned around to look at Viktor, who was watching their exchange with apparent interest. A terrible sneaking suspicion crawled up George's spine. In quick strides he walked over to Viktor. "You were in on this! You made them conveniently forget my cherries, so you could have your way and make it your cake. That way the glory would be all yours. That's why you and that guy talked at the bar yesterday! That's right—I saw you!" Viktor raised his hands in defence, but George didn't give him a chance to talk. "And to think that I liked you," he spat out. "I should have known that—"

Viktor clamped his hand over George's mouth. "Shut up. Everyone is looking at us already and I really don't want to be disqualified thanks to you and your wild accusations. I have not sabotaged our cake. There is no nefarious plan and I'm not working against you." He looked at the clock at the far wall. "We have fifteen minutes until the final round starts. I'm willing to let you go and talk about this—if you promise to stop yelling."

George nodded and Viktor pulled his hand away. "If this isn't part of some plan of yours, why did you talk to that guy yesterday?"

Viktor sighed. "Because he's a fan. A Quidditch fan, to be exact. And he wanted to talk to me about several matches and my career. And, to be honest, I wasn't too keen on that whole conversation, because he was kind of annoying, but he's part of the staff and I didn't want any trouble for the last bit of the competition." He shot a look at George, making it very clear who had brought trouble in the end.

"Okay." George took a deep breath. He'd have to apologise, that much was obvious. How he hated that. It would have been easier being angry at Viktor. "Look, I'm sorry I snapped. I just saw you together and then the thing with the cherries happened."

Viktor crossed his arms in front of his chest. "And naturally you'd think I planned on sabotaging our cake to make it harder for us to win?"

George hung his head. "Point taken. Jumping to conclusions wasn't fair of me."

"No, it wasn't."

A couple of moments passed in silence as they stood there, staring at nothing in particular. George didn't know what to do. He'd made an arse out of himself, had probably blown any chance he'd had to find out why Viktor was causing fluttery feelings in his stomach, and their success at the bake-off teetered on a knife edge.

Viktor cleared his throat. "How come you saw me at the bar?"

George briefly considered dishing out a tale of going out the night before or having to ask for new towels in the lobby, but decided that honesty might actually be the better idea. "I watched to pay you a visit. Didn't know your room number and planned on finding out from the concierge. When I walked past the bar, I spotted you."

"You wanted to come over?"

George rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. I thought we could celebrate yesterday's win."

Before Viktor had the chance to comment on that, the gong sounded through the hall and announced that the final round of the bake-off was about to start. They looked at each other and nodded. They had a cake to make.

"So. Apple cake. With chocolate and marzipan." George sighed. "What do we do?"

Viktor didn't have to ponder long. "You go check up on the free ingredients. They said they'll have 'standard' stuff available to everyone. Maybe you'll find something that pairs well with apples."

"You want me to go pick those? Even though I kind of botched up the last times I did that?"

Viktor nodded, but didn't elaborate. George took a deep breath and walked over to ingredients table. There was a lot to pick and choose and he quickly started sending things over go Viktor with his wand. "I can take as much as I'd like, right?" he asked the staff.

"As long as you remember that you'll have to incorporate everything you have at your workstation."

Right. Better not repeat last round's mistakes. But what could he pick that would go well with apples, chocolate, and marzipan? He sent cinnamon, cloves and almonds over, as well as ginger, all-spice, aniseed, nutmeg, fennel seeds, and cardamom. He hesitated, then returned to their work station. "Do you think you can work with that?"

Viktor looked around. "What did you have in mind? A cake with spices instead of just cinnamon and apples?"

"I thought we could do a chocolate-lebkuchen ganache. These are all the spices that I remembered that go into lebkuchen."

"Lebkuchen! That is a genius idea! And the dough will be chocolate and almonds, the filling an apple compote with cinnamon?"

George licked his lips. He could almost taste their cake. "Yes, perfect! Let's get to work."


******


Eyes on their fantastic looking creation, George stood close to Viktor in lieu of holding hands and tried to be calm. The gong had sounded and the judges were about to announce the winner. George had a good feeling about this. But then again, he feared that his good feeling might be jinxing this whole affair—maybe, if he got too excited too early, they'd lose. He didn't want to have just another thing on his conscience.

When the judges stepped forward, he was so tightly wound with excitement that he practically jumped out of the chair, but of course they had to start thanking everyone for competing and for their creations and—George tuned them out, couldn't concentrate. It was only when Viktor nudged him that he noticed that things were about to get interesting.

"Now, as for the winning team: It's an absolute pleasure to announce this year's winners. Viktor Krum and George Weasley, please stand up and come to the stage!"

The rest was kind of a blur. George and Viktor hugged—definitely too briefly for George's taste—and stumbled onto the stage to receive their certificates and their prize money. Viktor said something while George stared at him, trying so hard not to look at him with open adoration, and George might have yelled a couple of well-meant obscenities and maybe even some kind of promotion for the Wizard Wheezes, though he later wasn't quite sure what he had done. And then they left the stage and the whole event was over. Just like that.


******


"What are you going to do with your prize money?" George asked, weighing the bag of Galleons in his hands The feeling reminded him of his fifth year at Hogwarts and the bet with Ludo Bagman, only that this time the money was real. Fred would be proud.

"Probably the same as last time," Viktor said. "Use it for some charity and a nice holiday. You?"

"I usually put it down for Christmas presents, gift some to a charity, too, and then I invite myself to go to the movies."

The two of them stood there in front of the venue's exit and nodded, not knowing how to continue the conversation, yet not willing to leave just yet. Now that the competition was over and their forced partnership had ended, they were free in what they talked about and yet found themselves at a loss. They had never before had the opportunity to just chat.

"So. Christmas." George looked around as if his surroundings could tell him what to say. When had he last been this awkward during a conversation? Though he rarely met someone he wanted to talk to so badly, just to get them to stay a while longer. "Are you heading home to Bulgaria?"

Viktor shook his head. "Not this year, no. I have family coming over for Christmas day, but that's it. You're probably celebrating with your whole family?"

George nodded empathically. "Yes, it's always a great affair. Nothing fancy, mind you, just a lot of people, a lot of food and a lot of laughter. Mom and Fleur will argue about who gets to make dessert, Ginny and Bill will sneak away with big box of cookies, Charlie will drink a little too much and start to annoy Percy—it's my favourite thing to watch."

"It sounds great," Viktor said earnestly. He shuffled his feet. "I guess we should head back to the hotel."

George nodded, a lump suddenly in his throat. Was that it? Would this be the goodbye until next year, when they'd see each other at the competition again? "I guess we should."

Awkwardly, they both leaned forward as if to hug, then stuck out their hands and shook them. "Thanks for a great bake-off," Viktor said, stepped back and Disapparated. George stared at the place his partner had been at for a couple of seconds. If only Ginny had been here to give him some perspective. Or Fred, to tell him he was being a lovesick arse. He sighed, then Disapparated, too.


******


George looked out the window onto the Muggle street down below. For one additional night they were allowed to stay before they had to head back to Christmas craziness. In his case, that was quite literal—the time before Christmas was even busier in the joke shop than the last week before school. He wondered if Viktor had taken them up on the offer to stay and if he should try to visit him again. But, if he was being honest, he was afraid. It had been ages since he'd been into someone else this much. He didn't want to come across too pushy—or worse, desperate.

Before this moping could continue, George heard a knock and opened his door. Viktor stood in front of his door, holding up two bottles of beer. "I thought we could finally have that drink you wanted to have the other night."

George grinned and stepped aside to let Viktor in. "Make yourself at home," he said and watched how Viktor sat down on the bed. What a horrible tease. 

Viktor handed George a bottle and waved his wand to open both of them. They clinked them together and both took a large pull from them. 

"I was afraid you'd already returned home," Viktor finally said.

George's heart skipped a beat. "You were?"

"Who else to drink this celebratory beer with?"

George let that sink it and, at the same time, told himself not to get his hopes up. If it was friendship Viktor was offering, he was certainly going to take it. Ginny had been right all along: burying the hatchet was long overdue. "Since we're already here, we should raid the mini-bar. We're not paying for the rooms, after all." Viktor laughed that guttural laugh again, and George grinned, pleased with himself. "We could also just take what's inside, put some wrapping paper around it and give them out as Christmas presents. I'm sure my dad would be delighted."

"A good idea," Viktor said, but his mind already seemed somewhere else. He took another swig from the bottle and, after a couple of moments of silence, cleared his throat. "Okay, now to the more important things: you said you liked me?"

George blushed and rubbed the back of his head. "So you didn't forget."

"Something like that is hard to forget."

"Don't worry about it. It's nothing a shower won't cure."

"A cold shower, you mean?"

"No, a warm one. I mean, I do plan on wanking during it and turning the water cold kind of defeats the purpose."

Viktor laughed at that. George liked the sound—deep and throaty. "How big is your shower?"

George was about to ask what he was talking about, when the meaning of the question hit him. His eyes widened. "I—um—big enough for two," he said grinning now.

Viktor put his hand on George's, and George quickly took it, pulled him close and kissed him. He sure as hell would never let him go.


******

The End