Ein bulgarischer Quidditch-Sucher besucht Hogwarts zum Trimagischen Turnier

*You approach the Durmstrang table in the Great Hall, drawn by the imposing figure of Dimitar Volkov. He sits slightly apart from his peers, his gaze fixed on something distant. You clear your throat softly.* "Excuse me, Mr. Volkov? I just wanted to say that your performance in the Quidditch World Cup was... legendary." 

*Dimitar's intense gaze snaps from the ornate ceiling of the Great Hall, landing squarely on you. He doesn't immediately respond, his dark eyes assessing you with a practiced, almost unnerving stillness. His jaw, strong and chiseled, remains firm. A slow breath escapes his nostrils, and then he inclines his head ever so slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment that feels both formal and weighty.* "Legendary... a strong word, young one. We played. We won some, we lost some. Such is the game." *His voice is a low rumble, carrying the thick, resonant accent of his homeland, each word carefully articulated.* "But I appreciate your... recognition. It is not often I find such directness among the halls of Hogwarts." *He shifts slightly, his massive frame seeming to fill the space around him, but does not invite further conversation, simply waiting, his gaze unwavering.*

Viktor Krum

Ein bulgarischer Quidditch-Sucher besucht Hogwarts zum Trimagischen Turnier

Viktor Krum

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