PART ONE:

ANDREI VASSKA

After all, it was not Dusan's place to say anything. None of them could say anything, except, perhaps, Alex, who had, of course, said something the second Viktor had returned to Durmstrang without Krystof.

It was rather disappointing, how Viktor had become so distant from his comrades. As far as Dusan knew, Krystof had gone someplace, leaving Viktor without her. Dusan sensed, rather easily, in fact, that she had passed on. The others seemed to think Krystof had been transferred to a school closer to his home.

Dusan tried his best to comfort Viktor, but what could one say to him? Even talk of the upcoming match between Wrathoth and Grifithmine could not lift his spirits. Dusan had heard rumors passing among the other students of Wrathoth that Krum was planning to quit the Quidditch team altogether.

"Let's see them," snapped Professor Vasska, and everyone's essays flew to the front of the room and piled on the desk. A number appeared above the huge pile of essays. "Twenty-eight. Whose essays are we missing?"

Krum didn't bother to raise his hand. In fact, had it not been for the fact that this was his last year at Durmstrang, he would not have bothered to come to class. Rather, he sat with his eyes locked on the desk, hand hands twisting Ekatrine's wand idly under the tabletop.

"Where is Uriov? And Valkova?"

No one said anything. Alex leaned back and muttered to Krum, "Where is he, comrade?"

"Dead," Krum finally said, and he stood. "I am sorry, Professor Vasska, but they are dead."

The room, while not loud before, seemed as dead as Ekatrine's body had been not two weeks prior.

"Really?" drawled Vasska, his eyebrows arching slowly. "I had not heard. Are you sure?"

"Yes," replied Krum.

"And I take it you also did not finish your work?"

"Fail me, if you want," replied Krum, his gray eyes finally lifting to face Vasska.

"Mr. Krum, you will stay outside, since you seem to be such a disruption. Go on, sit there and wait for the class to end."

Krum did not move.

"Go on, then," snapped Vasska, obviously irritated at the young Quidditch player. "I will be out momentarily.

Alex shot a glance at Dusan, who could only gape at Krum. So that was what had happened. Of course Krum would be so distraught. He had heard that Krum's Mamo was in the hospital, but nothing more could be gotten from their comrade.

Krum merely left the room, keeping both his and Ekatrine's wands firmly in his hand.

"Now, while I speak with our young prodigy," the word was so sarcastic that Dusan could not help but feel anger well within his chest, "you are to read Chapter Thirty-Seven and write a three-foot essay before class is over. Begin."

Vasska left the room and approached Krum outside; leaving an ear within the walls of the room as he had begun to since he found such a use for the young English entrepreneur's magical device.

"Well, what is your real excuse, Mr. Krum?"

"They died!" he snarled.

"Keep your tongue with me," replied Vasska calmly. "Please, elaborate. Does the Headmaster know about this?"

"Of course he does," replied Krum coldly. "He was the one who was letting Ekatrine stay here!"

"Who?"

"Ekatrine Logachov! She was Krystof Uriov!"

"Ah," replied Vasska, finally grasping what it was Viktor was talking about. "I see now. She was the girl from Russia whose family was killed, then?"

"Yes," said Viktor. "And he finally killed her, too!"

Vasska gently rested a hand on Viktor's shoulder. "I am sorry to hear that, Viktor. But it does not excuse such poor behavior in class."

"Don't you get it?" asked Viktor. "I loved her!"

"I assumed as much when you said he was a she, yes," replied Vasska.

"I want her back," whispered Viktor. "I miss her so much…"

"But what happened to Vladimir?"

"He was a Death-Eater," replied Viktor. His rage had subsided and now all he could do was put his energy into keeping his tears back. "He was going to kill her, but someone else did."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

"If you can find out his name, I think I might be able to help you," replied Professor Vasska. "But, you must promise me to do your assignments and focus on your studies. You are nearly done here, and it would be wise to work toward passing and graduating, especially with the problems as of late."

Viktor finally just nodded.

"Good," said Vasska. "Now, I assigned a three-foot essay on Chapter Thirty-Seven, due for tomorrow. Go back to your room and rest. I will find what your other professors want from you for tomorrow."

"Thank you, Professor."

"You are welcome," replied Vasska, and with a wave of his hand, dismissed Krum.

Viktor left and wandered slowly back to the Wrathoth common room. On his way, he ran into Serge the ghost, who was floating around rather absently. Viktor stopped and gaped at the ghost, who was humming to himself.

"You bastard!" snarled Krum, wishing he could wrap his fingers around the ghost's neck. "You're the one who told him!"

"What?"

"You told Valkova that Ekatrine was here!"

Serge held up his hands in defense and replied. "I never said anything!"

"That's what he said before she killed him!" screamed Viktor. A small group of passing first-years hurried away from him. "So then you know who the other guy is! Who was he? Who killed her?"

Viktor drew his wand as the ghost stammered, trying to find a response. He held the wand close to the ghost's neck and snarled, "You had better tell me who he was! Or I will petrify you so fast you won't have any time to yell for help!"

"I didn't even know Valkova was a Death-Eater!" cried Serge. "Honestly, I didn't!"

"His companion was Bulgarian. Now who was he?"

Serge swallowed and tried to push the wand away, his fingers merely passing through it. "I d-don't know!"

"You had better find out, or I swear I will find some way to make your life miserable!"

"If he knew Valkova, he was probably from Varna. Try there!"

Krum pocketed his wand and left Serge to blast through the wooden wall. Viktor hurried down the hallway and outside. He prepared himself and Disapparated to Varna. Not more than a few moments later he arrived in a wayward alley and left, brushing snow from his uniform, which had collected during his journey.

Heading to a nearby pub, he entered and sat at the bar. "Do you know Valdimir Valkova?"

The bartender shook his head and replied, "No, I don't. Might want to try the pub down the street, owned by a Valkova. I think by Dmitry. Vladimir might have been his son."

"Thanks," replied Krum and he left the bar. It was not far to the Valkova's bar, but by the time he arrived, Krum's fingers were knotted with the cold. He pushed aside a patron, who looked fairly drunk for so early in the morning. The bar was fairly empty, it being so early in the day, but Dmitry was cleaning the bartop, watching a television at the end of the bar. He was smoking a cigar, and indeed looked a lot like Vladimir.

"Vlakova!" snarled Viktor, anger speeing through his knotted fingers and into his very chest.

The man turned and smirked when he saw Viktor. "Can I help you?"

"Your son—he was Vladimir?"

Dmitry stopped cleaning glasses and set his equipment down. Gently he took the cigar from between his lips and tapped it against an ashtray. "I take it you knew him, yes?"

"Knew him! The bastard almost killed me and my girlfriend!"

Dmitry shook his head and said, "I am sorry, but he has been dead only two weeks."

"Are you a Muggle?"

"No," replied Dmitry. "I am presuming you're Viktor Krum, then?"

"Yeah," replied Viktor. "Did you know your son was a Death-Eater?"

Dmitry smirked. There was something in his cold eyes that sent a shiver along Viktor's spine. He tried not to feel repulsed by this man. Maybe Vasska was right. Maybe I should have stayed there. But I need to know!

Viktor raised his wand and snarled, "Tell me who his partner was!"

"Who do you think?" asked Dmitry with a cold laugh.

"You!"

"No," said Dmitry. "No, no. My son was a moron, but it does not run in this family. I think, though, that you should not go around in a Muggle city, accusing people of being wizards or Death-Eaters, especially with that woman's book roaming around. You'll look something of a fool. Now go away."

Dmitry lifted the glass and began to scrub again, completely ignoring Viktor.

"Who was it?" snarled Viktor, leaning over the bar and grabbing the man by the neck of his shirt. "Tell me, or you'll be joining your son!"

Dmitry gazed down his long nose at Viktor before pushing the boy's hand away. "Think about it, boy. Whose death was such an uproar in the community? Not my son's, and not that girl you were with."

Viktor could not quite piece together was this man was saying. Finally, he growled, "Tell me who, or your head will be half-way across this room, comrade."

"Ilya," sighed Dmitry. "Ilya Uriov. Do you remember how his death was plastered all over the Muggle news? Yeah, I can see you do. Didn't you ever wonder why his death made the front page, when not even my son's or that girl's death did?"

Viktor slowly released his grip on Dmitry's collar. He pocketed his wand, though kept his hand firmly around it. "You had better be telling me the truth."

"Don't you worry, boy. Now get out of here before you lose me customers."

Viktor did not hesitate. He left the building and Disapparated from a nearby alleyway, returning to the Durmstrang campus. He hurried inside of the castle and through the crowded corridors towards the Wrathoth house. It seemed classes were changing over. Once he realized this, he could hardly wait and changed direction to meet with Professor Vasska.

"Professor," he said, walking into the room. A group of second-years were sitting and listening to the lecture. Unlike the older classmen's classes, Vasska actually gave lecture to the younger classmen.

"Mr. Krum," said Vasska coolly, "you had better have a good reason for interrupting my lecture."

"I do," replied Viktor. "I need to talk to you."

"It can wait."

"No, it can't."

"Mr. Krum, it will wait," said Vasska, so coldly that many of the first-year students visibly shuddered and drew away. "Believe it or not, you are not special. You can wait until this evening, after classes have ended. Leave. Now."

Viktor was about to argue when the door was slammed in his face with a flick of Vasska's wand.

He growled and left for the Wrathoth house, muttering the password before entering the common room. He could hardly look at the table or couches without being reminded of the time he had first discovered Krystof was a girl. His eyes lingered on where she had lain, and he squeezed his eyes shut, hurrying down the hall past Anton and Oleg, who were at a far table, working through the homework for their next class.

Oleg exchanged looks with Anton, but neither said anything. After all, what could they say? Even though they knew about Krystof's death, they had no idea how to talk to Krum. It was alike he had loved the other boy!

Viktor returned to his room and spent the next few minutes pacing back and forth, eying the clock. When only a half-hour had passed and he could no longer stand to be inside, doing nothing, he left for the common room. "Oleg!"

"Yeah?"

"Do you still have that paper about Ilya's murder?"

Oleg sent a side-long glance at Anton before replying, "I can go check."

"Do it."

Oleg stood and went to his room, Viktor on his heels. They went into the single room and Oleg rummaged through a stack of papers on the floor beside his bed. He had nearly reached the bottom before pulling out the paper from that week. "Here." He hardly had to ask Krum why he wanted the paper. Krystof's death was no doubt related to Ilya's and Krum probably wanted to find their families.

"Thanks," grunted Krum, and he took the paper back to his room and read through the article. There was not much in it about where Ilya was from. All it said was that he had lived in Archangel, the same city Ekatrine had been from.

Krum frowned. Archangel was not a very small town. In fact, he doubted Ilya would even be there anymore. But it made him feel a little better to spend his time trying to do something while he waited for Vasska to be done with lectures.

It had bothered him at first, no longer calling his professor's by their rightful titles. But before long he had dismissed any idea of title. No title had been able to save Ekatrine. No one in a powerful position had been able to save her.

Even so, he let the hours tick by as he took notes from the articles. By the time it was growing dark out, Viktor had managed to gather a good two pages on Ilya Uriov. Before leaving to find Vasska, Krum took a shot of vodka to calm his nerves. He took a leather bag from under his bed and packed a spare set of clothes, the article, and his notes on Ilya. He kept the wands close to him and left a letter for his mother on the desk, then left the Wrathoth house.

Not ten minutes later, he had found his way to Vasska's office and knocked on the door. It opened without a word and Vasska looked up from the papers before him. "Mr. Krum. I thought you had been rash and gone on your own."

"No," replied Viktor coldly.

"Did you find anything?"

"Yes," replied Viktor, and he produced the article, regurgitating everything Dmitry Valkova has said to him earlier.

"I don't doubt that Dmitry is also a Death-Eater," said Vasska after a long moment of thought. "But, at the same time, we cannot go and point fingers at him. He does have a point—I remember hearing about Ilya's death. It did garner a lot more attention than the others. But, suppose he is right. Do you really want to go through with the opportunity I am about to present you?"

"If it means finding the asshole that killed Ekatrine, then yes."

"Mr. Krum, you must understand what I am about to tell you, and you must understand that no amount of vengeance will make her come back."

"I want that bastard to pay for what he did."

"All right," said Vasska softly. "Since it seems I will not be able to change your mind, I will do what I can to help you."

"Good. How?"

"Follow me," replied Vasska, and he led Viktor to a small antechamber in his office. Within were a number of magical items, among them a rather distraught and, in slight disrepair, mirror. "With this mirror, you will be able to find whoever you are looking for. Do you really want to see where this Ilya Uriov is?"

"Yes," replied Krum, having expected something far more dramatic than a damn mirror. "How does it work?"

"Visulae," replied the professor, and then he said, "Ilya Uriov."

The mirror flickered, and a moment later, was speeding across space until it found the magical signal produced by Ilya's wand. "There, you see him?"

"He is alive," muttered Krum coldly.

"It seems that way," said Vasska, also looking into the mirror. Ilya was talking to someone across a table from him. All that could be seen of this person were pale, fair, narrow hands, slightly stained with earth and mud.

Viktor imagined the other person a vile, horrid creature. Perhaps it was even the Dark Lord himself sitting, talking with Ilya. Anger boiled within Viktor and he asked Vasska, "May I have the mirror?"

"Are you going to go after him?"

"Yes," muttered Krum. "He killed her, and I have to know why."

"Why?"

"They were friends before. Close friends, from what I know, and I have to find out why he did that to her."

"The Dark Lord does many things to many people, Viktor," said Vasska gently. "Perhaps it would be wise not to search after Ilya. I wish you would not—your mother has just begun to heal, I take it?"

Krum nodded. "Mamo is strong. She will be fine, but I must know why Ilya did this. He must have had some reason to kill her."

"Viktor," said Vasska, "think about it. He works for the Dark Lord. There might be no reason for him doing what he did. He might not have even known he did it, if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named put him under a spell."

Viktor turned his blood-stained eyes to his professor and replied, "You were fond of Krystof."

"Yes, I was. He reminded me so much of an old friend."

"Who? Was it Boris Logachov?"

"Y-yes," said Vasska, shocked.

"Boris was her father," replied Krum.

"I should have guessed when you said Logachov before. I had my suspicions, but…still, to hear it is something quite different, indeed."

"Then let me do this, not just for her, but for her father, as well. The Death-Eaters killed them all, and I want that bastard to pay for it."

Vasska did not know if Krum was talking about Ilya or about the Dark Lord. Either way, he could not let the young man go unarmed. "I will not try to stop you," Vasska said at length. "But, I do want you to be protected. A wand will not be enough if you are captured."

"Fine," replied Viktor calmly. Secretly, he was glad for Vasska's help.

Vasska began to sift through the items in his small antechamber. He took at least three down before turning back to Krum and explaining them. "Lately, the Dark Lord and his Death-Eaters have been learning the skill of necromancy. Should you run into any undead souls, use this to be rid of them." He pushed a machine into Viktor's hands. It looked like some sort of Muggle gun, but was gold and silver.

"It has bullets with a flesh-eating spell cast on them. You only have two-dozen, so make sure every shot counts."

Viktor nodded and placed the bullets and gun into his bag.

"This will help you to detect any Death-Eaters headed your way," said Vasska, pushing a compass into Viktor's hand. "And this is in case you run into He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." The last item was in the guise of a harmless set of glasses. "If you run into him, these can be used to make yourself invisible. They will only work if they remain unbroken, so take good care of them."

"Thank you, professor," said Viktor softly, placing the glasses back into their case. He set them, along with the compass, into his bag.

"Be careful, Viktor," said Vasska, placing a hand on Krum's shoulder. "And don't get too carried away. She is dead and you are not. Don't be foolish about this."

"I won't," replied Viktor, and he took the mirror with him. "I promise—I won't die."

"Good," said Vasska.

Krum left Vasska's office with a final thanks and departed from the school, his eyes locked on the mirror. "Where are you, Uriov?"

The mirror whizzed away from Ilya and revealed a map. It was not a map of the world or anything quite so easy to use. Rather, the map worked similarly to a compass, pointing North, South, East, or West. According to the map, Ilya was to the northeast.

Krum took in a deep breath once he was outside of the wooden castle. The cold night air hit him like a rock. Snow was falling hard, and a wind had picked up since he had last been outside. He tucked the mirror away and Disapparated, heading toward the northeast, and towards Ilya Uriov.

BREAK

Ilya tapped his fingers idly on the sable table, leaning into the shadows, a warm fire at his back. He was just as Ekatrine had left him, save a lot bigger than he used to be. He still had very European blonde hair, and a pale face matched with light gray eyes. His hair had grown a bit since his childhood, and he had grown a beard, which was bristly and not quite filled in all the way. At least there was no gray in his beard or hair.

"Do you think he will come?"

"Oh, yes," said Ilya softly in Russian. "I have no doubt of it. That boy is too young, too thick-skulled not to. He will fall right into our hands."

"He had better," replied the other, "or Lord Voldemort will not be pleased. We are, after all, wasting our time on them."

"The brat wants revenge. I saw it after he petrified me, the bastard."

"Ilya, don't get too comfortable in your abilities."

"Viktor Krum can't outwit me," said Ilya.

The person he was speaking to emerged from the shadows, eying the other across the table from Ilya. "It creeps me out that you came up with this," he said.

"Grow some balls," snapped Ilya. "Besides, wasn't it me who brought you back, you moron?"

Vladimir Valkova sneered at Ilya and replied, "Just don't waste his time."

"Trust me," said Ilya with a crooked smirk. "This will work. Just as long as you aren't as thick-headed as you were before, Valkova."

Vladimir turned his face away, ashamed. Even in the firelight, his features were gaunt and dead. His eyes were sunken pits, and his hair had begun to fall out. He had only been dead a few weeks, but the toll of the necromancy magic had been sucking any remnants of life from him faster every day.

"I have free will. How do you know—?"

"Only because I gave it to you. You're not as dimwitted as you used to be, Valkova. I can choose what to give you and what not to."

"So…"

"Yes," said Ilya, and he leaned his chin onto his knuckles. Across from him sat the chilled and decaying figure of a lost woman. "She does not have free will, as long as I control her."