A/N:Co-written with Crystia.

Brainstormed between Crystia and I, the original plot bunny is the fic now called "Yuuri Katsuki and the Oblivious Muggle" (it's on ao3).
Then I switched up the POV, and this fic came to be. The plot's slightly different so I don't know if it's still considered a companion fic, but for simplicity's sake, let's just call it that.

Remember to check out "Yuuri Katsuki and the Oblivious Muggle" too!

The thing to note about the man known as the Russian Legend was that though he was flighty and easily distractible on a daily basis, he took figure skating seriously. Coaching figure skating, doubly so.

By the time Yuuri was finished practice, he wanted nothing more than to sink into his bed and forget the rest of the world, sweaty clothes and skates on his feet be damned.

Viktor was the sort who happily took advantage of Yuuri's stamina in order to devise a training regimen that worked him to the bones. Each spartan drill was commanded with a smile on his perfect lips, and Merlin, Yuuri could not disobey.

Not that he'd want to, his not-so-discreet obsession with Viktor aside – it was obvious Viktor's training showed promise, considering the results of Yuuri's recent competitions. And he'd never felt more stable in his jumps and landing.

It was a fair trade off for being reduced to feeling like he'd been cursed with the jelly-legs jinx (and boy could Yuuri recall fond memories about that particular curse during hallway scuffles while at school).

The second Viktor called it a day, Yuuri stumbled off the ice and into the changing room, hands dragged along the walls for support as his legs threatened to commit mutiny. He gave a pitiful moan when he collapsed onto the bench, one of both anguish and pleasure.

Except his journey was nowhere near complete.

He needed his training bag. But, his locker seemed so far away, and why was walking even a thing? Yuuri would lie on the bench all eternity if he could. He probably would (bless Yuuko, she would let him get away with it too), were Viktor not outside waiting for him to return home together.

Viktor did not need to see Yuuri as a messy pile of stench.

With more determination than he thought he had left, Yuuri moved to sit up, a loud groan enunciating his actions. His legs hurt. His everything hurt. He couldn't do it. Viktor would find him collapsed in the middle of the changing room floor two hours later, if he had to take another step.

Perhaps Yuuri would later call it self-preservation, or even anti-embarrassment measures, rather than sudden moment of weakness, but instead of persevering with the task, Yuuri suddenly slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a wand instead.

Not just any old wand, his wand; absolute proof of his wizarding heritage.

After graduating from Hogwarts, there hadn't been many chances for Yuuri to use any proper magic. He'd immediately moved to Detroit, and between getting used to American culture, University, practices under Coach Celestino, and eventually gaining Phichit as a roommate, he never had a moment to himself. Yuuri always worried himself silly that he would unintentionally break the Statute of Secrecy, though considering nothing of the sort happened yet, it was a needless fear.

Still, when he returned home to Hasetsu, Yuuri had gotten so accustomed to doing everything by hand by that point that his wand would sit mostly neglected in his back pocket – or wand-holster, depending on what shirt he was wearing – all day.

Sometimes Yuuri forgot he was a wizard.

Though, considering the constant flow of customers, using magic at Yu-topia wasn't a good idea to begin with.

Here, however, in the solitude comforts of the changing room, what was the harm? Straining his ears down the hall, Yuuri casted an "Alohomora" at his locker.

"Accio sport bag," he murmured, when the locker swung open. The bag soared into his arms, and the tingle of his magic washed over his form.

It had been far too long since he'd cast anything.

Still, it was no time to sit and appreciate the little things in life. Setting his wand by his side, Yuuri pulled out his clothes and changed swiftly. He'd already spent too much time idling about, and he knew better than to keep Viktor waiting. The man was unpredictable when impatient, and liable to burst into the changing room and accidentally catch Yuuri half-dressed.

Which wasn't any worse than their initial meeting at Yu-topia, but … No, no, no, no, don't think about it. Yuuri buried his face into his hand, trying to ignore the hot burn of his cheeks.

He hurried through his motions instead. In record time, he swapped his workout clothes with something more presentable, only to find his shoes missing. They were probably still in the locker, or perhaps he'd left them by the back wall.

Yuuri snatched up his wand without another thought. "Accio," he cast urgently.

"Yuuri?"

Yuuri's heart jolted from his chest at the voice, shoes nailing him in the back. They tumbled onto the floor, discarded, as the skater hastily crammed his hands out of sight.

There was no time to worry about the impending bruising, because he saw. Viktor saw.

"It isn't what it looks like!" Yuuri blurted, frantic, heart pounding in his chest in fear and anxiety because how could he make such a sloppy mistake? He should've checked before he casted another spell.

Viktor peek from around the row of unrented lockers, platinum brows raised at Yuuri's shrill cry. His eyes studied Yuuri's pallid face, and it seemed so intense – too intense – that Yuuri couldn't help but tremble under his icy gaze.

If Yuuri didn't fail in one thing, it was another, because with his measly talents, it was too much to ask for to be competent in both figure skating and wizarding. And now Viktor saw, except he couldn't. He couldn't be allowed to, not with the Statute of Secrecy, not with the world's history of witch hunts, and human discrimination for anything abnormal and beyond their comprehension.

Perhaps that scared Yuuri the most, knowing it could easily take a second for Viktor's endearing affection to turn to terror and distrust. He'd taken for granted, Viktor's care, Viktor's attention, Viktor's place by his side. In his content, he'd forgotten to be careful, and now stood to lose everything.

Yuuri didn't think he could handle seeing Viktor turn away from him. Perhaps when they hadn't been acquainted, when Viktor was just another poster, just another recorded coverage on TV, Viktor's reaction wouldn't've meant as much. But now Viktor had found his way into Yuuri's heart – deep, deep into his heart – and a single word, heck look, would be all it took to break that glass core.

Yuuri's eyes found their way to the white glare of the tiled floor, unable to hold on Viktor, in fear of his expression. Yuuri didn't think he could breath. His breathing was shallow, and his sight was starting to swirl.

True it would be simple to undo – it was simple enough to contact the Ministry's Obliviators to remove Viktor's memory of magic – but Viktor's reaction would stay in Yuuri's mind forever. And he would have to live with the knowledge of Viktor's shock and hate –

A warm hand cradled his cheek.

The contact startled Yuuri out of his spiraling thoughts.

There was a look of concentration on Viktor's face, rather than the alarm or astonishment that Yuuri was expecting. His hand held unmoving and reassuringly soft on the curve of Yuuri's face, while the man tilted his head, silver bangs sweeping aside to allow both eyes to study the skater before him.

Then, without warning, he leaned in and gently rested his forehead on Yuuri's own.

It was unexpected and startling that Yuuri jerked backwards without a thought.

Considering he was on a bench, that wasn't his finest idea. Yuuri flailed helplessly. Back met air, and gravity took hold. He would've tumbled to the ground if Viktor hadn't made an alarmed cry and lunged for him, arms curled around Yuuri's waist in a tight embrace.

Distantly, Yuuri heard his wand clatter onto the floor, slipped through limp fingers.

Yuuri froze.

Viktor made sure Yuuri was settled down properly in place before he reluctantly released him.

Then he crossed his arms and pouted his lips. "You should be nervous, trying to keep secrets from me," Viktor harrumphed dramatically, though certainly much calmer than Yuuri thought the situation entitled. Some sort of reaction was expected, considering he just found out magic was real.

"W-what?"

Perhaps the utter shock in Yuuri's pale face had Viktor treading carefully. The man dropped his sulk in exchange for a smile, gentle and calming. "Oh, Yuuri, were you that worried about it? You should've told me sooner. I could've told you you were fine," Viktor continued. There was a mild shine of disappointment in Viktor's gaze, but Yuuri was still too confused to let it worry him.

"I- I am?" he sputtered out, instead.

"Yuuri, don't you trust me?" The man pinned him down with pitifully sorrowful eyes. "As your coach, I promised you could trust me with everything, yes?"

"That's not– I mean," Yuuri scrubbed his face, shoulders drawing inwards. Realisation slowly dawned in Yuuri's mind. "I didn't think that you–" He started again, only to falter because Yuuri didn't know how to finish.

He didn't think that Viktor wouldn't be scared of his magic; that Viktor knew about magic; that Viktor had magic? Which was the right choice?

Viktor's reaction could mean any of the above.

"Of course, Yuuri! How could you suggest otherwise!" Viktor said cut in abruptly. There was such a tone of indignation that Yuuri's mouth snapped shut.

"Oh."

There was his answer.

Viktor was a wizard as well. He made it sound like it had been plainly obvious, crossed that Yuuri could mistake him for anything else.

He'd missed all the signs. Though, retrospectively, it wasn't hard to miss if Yuuri had been looking for it, not with all Yuuri knew about wizards.

It was public knowledge that Viktor hadn't attended further education in order to pursue his skating career. But perhaps the truth of the matter was that Viktor's schooling couldn't be made public because its existence couldn't be let known to muggles. Viktor was extraordinary, and Yuuri didn't doubt the man would've been capable of balancing school and skating - much better than how Yuuri coped in Detroit.

And Viktor's sudden appearance in Japan without forewarning didn't seem like such a reckless and stupid move anymore. No one would've gotten a flight to Japan on a whim… but with magic, if Viktor's offer had been rejected by Yuuri, his return would have been only a portkey away.

Never mind how Viktor managed to carry so much luggage, and managed to fill the banquet room with so much stuff. If that wasn't magic, Yuuri didn't know what was.

Yuuri lowered his gaze. "Oh," he murmured again. "Sorry. I didn't know."

"I care about you, Yuuri," Viktor said firmly, hands on his hips. "So, no more secrets, understood?" Viktor lectured, but despite his firm words, his face was soft and tender.

Yuuri nodded.

Viktor beamed. His hand snaked around Yuuri's arm and gave him a firm squeeze. Yuuri had a feeling it would've been a hug instead were Viktor not as considerate as he was, knowing Yuuri was shy of overwhelming contact. Instead, he let go with only a lingering touch, and then circled around his bench.

Viktor stooped down suddenly.

"I think you dropped these," Viktor said, picking up Yuuri's shoes, paused, and grabbed his wand as well. He dropped both into Yuuri's open hands. "Change quickly, Yuuri. Your cute sneezes are no reason to truly catch a cold!" he called out, finger wagging playfully in his face, though Yuuri wasn't sure when he'd ever sneezed cutely in front of Viktor before.

Then with a grin, Viktor waltzed off to let Yuuri finish changing in peace.

Alone, Yuuri sat motionless. Yuuri's fingers curled over the wooden grooves of his wand, shoes forgotten by his side. The warming sparks of his magic flowing through his body. Perhaps he was being too sensitive, but the thought that Viktor handled something as intimate and personal as his wand, left Yuuri's heart trembling and he didn't know what to do with that feeling.

Sometime over the months, Yuuri and Viktor somehow had gotten the habit of sitting quietly together in his family living room, talking about anything and everything.

The stiffness in Yuuri's sitting posture slowly relaxed from one of erect attention, to a casual sprawl as he got to know Viktor better. Even the distance between their respective seats slowly diminished, until Yuuri was brave enough to take the seat next to Viktor like a normal friend, instead of sat directly across like some sort of stressful job interview.

At this distance, Viktor was more beautiful than ever. TV did Viktor no justice; it couldn't capture the glisten in his eyes when he talked about Makkachin, his simple and careless bluntness, or the mischievous twitches on the corner of his lips when recounting his skatemates' antics.

Yuuri quickly got to know the quirky personalities of the Russian Team. He heard more than he ever needed to know about Georgi's troubling love life, Mila's amazing strength, and Yurio's constant rage.

In response, Yuuri told Viktor of his life in Detroit, of Phichit, of College, and training under Celestino's rule. It was boring, because Yuuri was a dull man who did nothing but study and practice, and surely Viktor would fall asleep hearing about such mundane topics. But Viktor would lean engagingly, cheek rested on his palm and made Yuuri's stories seem more exciting than they ever would be.

And honestly, he'd already blurted out years of embarrassing stories because his mouth had no control around Viktor sometimes. Not when Viktor set his gorgeous blue eyes on him.

As if aware of Yuuri's thoughts on him, Viktor turned from where he was sprawled lazily on the tatami mat, Makkachin draped under his arm. There was a drowsy atmosphere around him, especially after a long soak in the hot spring, yet despite this, his eyes focused sincerely on Yuuri.

"Tell me something interesting about yourself, Yuuri," Viktor said, and surprisingly, Yuuri anticipated the question this time.

Not that Yuuri consciously thought about it, but somehow the realisation that he no longer had to hide away half of his lifestyle from Viktor was surprisingly freeing. He hadn't realised how much he'd been holding back.

Yuuri had always been a bit of an outcast at Hogwarts. Between his dismal English, and his natural social anxiety, he never had the chance to make any close friends. Not everyone had the persistence of Phichit to get involved with him. Granted, it was mostly his own fault, taking every opportunity to slip away from his peers in order to keep up with his training for skating.

They never understood his infatuation with skating – or really, any sport that didn't have to do with Quidditch.

Now, it felt like he was making up for those lost years, able to unload all the things he never got to say about the wizarding world to Viktor. He certainly was no teenager anymore, but he finally made his first wizarding friend. Though, truthfully, not that much changed since then, because Viktor was his teenage crush, then and now – however, if asked, Yuuri would vehemently deny it because Viktor was a golden being who was a deity compared to the dime-a-dozen skater that was Yuuri.

It was still a marvel to be spoken in the same breath.

Under Viktor, Makkachin squirmed playfully in the lull. When he finally broke free, he bounded onto Yuuri's lap like a bundle of fur and slobber. Yuuri laughed and indulged the poodle with pets.

"I was pretty average at school, but herbology was always one of my better subjects," Yuuri confided at last, because that seemed like a good place to start. Makkachin's happy whine seemed to agree with him.

"Herbology?" Viktor questioned.

Yuuri blinked, confused, before realisation hit. "Oh, right, they probably had a different word for it in Russia," he mused. "Like, with plants?"

"Ah!" Viktor nodded thoughtfully and said a word in Russian that Yuuri didn't think he could ever reproduce. He shivered at the way Viktor's tone dropped, smooth and baritone, in his native tongue; it was so different from hearing him speak English.

"I'm not good with plants. I always forget to water them," Viktor confessed with a bashful laugh, which only served to distract Yuuri further. "Luckily I never had to take herbology classes," he said, carefully pronouncing the unfamiliar word.

"I guess it wasn't required at Durmstang?" Yuuri murmured to himself. "Or was it Koldovstoretz?"

Viktor's brows furrowed, and in utter mortification, Yuuri knew he had mangled the name horribly. "What subjects did you like, then?" Yuuri barreled on quickly, eager to stop Viktor from lingering too long on his embarrassment.

Viktor let him.

"What do you think?" Viktor asked, eyes hooded. Yuuri didn't know how anyone could make such an innocent question sound so teasing.

"Um, I, ah, I would've thought you were good at charms," Yuuri replied truthfully, because Viktor was definitely very charming – though, admittedly there was no correlation between being charming and charms. It was just a passing thought, okay? Yuuri flushed and buried his face onto Makkachin's floppy ear, wiping the last two seconds of stupidity from his mind, and wondering the ethics of casting an Obliviate for his own benefit.

Viktor cocked his head. "Am I charming you?" he said, in so much of a coincidence, Yuuri swore Legilimency was at play.

"You wouldn't need magic to charm me," Yuuri blurted out before his mind could censor his traitorous mouth.

A helpless expression crossed Viktor's face. "Don't I?" Viktor said, eventually. He sounded almost frustrated, though Yuuri couldn't understand why.

He stared silently at Yuuri, but before Yuuri could unscramble his mind to respond, Viktor carried on smoothly, "Actually, I found history pleasant, I suppose. I always imagined my name in the textbooks." He let out a laugh and ran a hand through his hair.

Yuuri stared, mesmerised. This man wouldn't need to wish for long, because as a five-time gold medalist, he certainly made history. If Viktor had been in his school history books, Yuuri wouldn't have fallen asleep so often in Binns' class.

"Speaking of history," Yuuri shared mirthfully, before he could blurt out anything else incriminating, "mine was a ghost, and not even an exciting one at that."

"Oh?" Viktor asked. An amused expression crossed his face, as though he was imagining the man.

Idly, Yuuri wondered if Viktor's school housed as many ghosts as Hogwarts, if any. The idea of a ghost professor was probably novel to the Russian.

"He'd taught some of the student's grandparents."

"Wow! I wouldn't mind being that old." Viktor's eyes sparkled. Without warning, Viktor suddenly reached over. He covered Yuuri's hand with his own. "Not if I could spend it all with you," he said dreamily.

Yuuri's fingers curled in Makkachin's fur, but didn't move to dislodge Viktor's grasp, suddenly struck by the thought that Viktor didn't have to stay with him. He'd been taking Viktor's presence in his life for granted for so long. What was keeping Viktor with him – definitely not his mediocre appearance, his uninteresting stories, or his inferior skating.

But something interested Viktor, and Yuuri couldn't let Viktor slip away that easily. He couldn't imagine life without Viktor anymore.

"P-please," Yuuri uttered. "Please haunt me," he said earnestly. Boldened by Viktor's widening eyes, he shyly held Viktor's gaze and professed, "And me too. I'll stay by you forever." His ghost would follow Viktor until Viktor sent him away.

With a happy cry, Viktor rolled to his feet and lunged at Yuuri. Makkachin yipped and wriggled between them, while his glasses sat askewed, squished between his face and the press of Viktor's cheek against his own.

"Forever! I like the sound of that," Viktor exclaimed, sounding so much like a promise.

Yuuri lobbed his phone across the room.

The impact met with a resonating clatter. Viktor visibly jumped at the noise. "Yuuri? What's wrong?" he asked, wide eyed. Yuuri would've felt bad, that is, if he had the ability to feel anything but mortification at this point.

"Nothing," Yuuri squeaked.

Viktor clearly didn't believe him. The man crossed the room to pick up Yuuri's phone, a pale finger running across the blue cell phone case carefully to check for damages. Finding none, he glanced down the screen. It was still lit, despite Yuuri's abuse, traitorously giving Viktor a clear view of the last article he'd been on.

What did it mean that Yuuri could predict Viktor's reaction the split second it occurred?

Viktor's whole face lit up as he skimmed through the text and accompanying photo, eyes glistening with glee.

Yuuri moaned into his hands.

"How is it still trending?" he muttered, mostly to himself, seeing as Viktor was too happy to relate. Because weeks later, and The Kiss was still all anyone could talk about.

Viktor squealed and twirled, flipping through Yuuri's phone. "Oh, look, we have fanart!" he said, shoving the screen in Yuuri's face.

Yuuri wanted to hide in his room, bury himself under the covers, and never resurface for a year.

Like the good friend he was, Phichit was having a field day. He'd send links upon links, accompanied by cheeky smilies, of everything he stumbled upon – half of which he probably wrote himself. Yuuri wouldn't be surprised.

It was Yuuri's mistake opening them up instead of doing the smart thing and deleting every single text from Phichit. Ever. And the internet – he needed to learn to delete the entire internet as well, considering all the twitter posts and tumblr accounts dedicated to the forbidden topic.

He could already feel his magic rebelliously creeping along with his rising blush, and the last thing Yuuri needed was to short-circuit his phone in a show of accidental magic. That was not a side Yuuri wanted Viktor to witness.

Thankfully Viktor mentioned nothing about his hastily thrown phone. Surprisingly, he took it in stride, rather desensitised to the whole thing, and Yuuri had to wonder about the oddities of Viktor's friends and the Russian Team if this was a common action amongst them.

Perhaps it wasn't uncommon for fellow wizards to randomly chuck their phones across the room like Yuuri had done, because of their magic. Better than having to buy replacements regularly.

Regardless of such revelations, Viktor was still in his own world, Yuuri's phone hostage in his hands. Viktor was happily and obliviously dancing around the room, showing Makkachin his favourite posts. Yuuri almost couldn't take his eyes off Viktor because Viktor was beautiful, and when he moved, choreographed or not, he had a graceful presence that demanded Yuuri's full attention.

It was with reluctance that Yuuri buried his head in his hands, because that was the only way he could escape from reality.

If he could, Yuuri would lunge for his phone to stop seeing that incriminating photo flashed around, but the thought of doing that only gave him flashbacks to Viktor lunging at him, and the resulting kiss. It was inescapable. (And to be honest, Yuuri wasn't sure if he was hesitating because he didn't want another reminder of the incident, or because he didn't think he could hold himself back from doing the same.)

Silver hair simmered as Viktor turned his head. When he noticed Yuuri's lack of attention, he pouted and veered back to the younger man, his name on his lips. "Did you see this post yet? It's a compilation of every angle!"

"I can't show my face in public anymore."

Viktor sulked. His expression did things to Yuuri, and it just wasn't fair how much of his heart Viktor unknowingly held in his hands. "Why not?" he asked, so ignorantly Yuuri didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"I should've known you were a Gryffindor," Yuuri groaned instead, exhausted.

"A what?"

"At school – at Hogwarts," Yuuri explained, "we had houses. Gryffindor was the house for reckless people like you, who think that kissing me on an international broadcast is acceptable."

"I just wanted to reward you for impressing me."

"Ugh," Yuuri said, plopping down to the ground. He snatched up a pillow to bury his face into, groans muffled by fabric.

"Did you not like it?" Viktor continued pitifully, shoulders drooped into a miserable sight.

His bottom lip jutted outwards and glistened under the artificial lighting. Yuuri's breath caught, recollection of Viktor's container of lip balm flashed teasingly across his mind, and he could suddenly feel the ghost of Viktor's fingers once more, warm and tender as he slide them over Yuuri's own lips.

His eyes unconsciously flickered down to Viktor's mouth, unable to keep eye contact, before darting away with a flush.

Viktor caught the gaze, and his lips curled, pleased and too utterly seductive to be legally allowed. The distance between them shortened before Yuuri knew it, cologne assaulting his senses.

"Yuuri?" Viktor pressed, and Yuuri had a sudden and dire problem forming any sort of coherent thought. His mind replayed the pale, supple sight of Viktor's lips and it took all he could not to lean forward and capture them in his own.

He warred between craving, and dying of mortification if Viktor found out just how much his pitiful-self wanted that legend of a man.

Viktor stared at him through half-lidded eyes, silver lashes fluttering, beckoning him, doing a sound effort collapsing his wavering will. A tongue peeked out, pink and moist, and licked slowly across his lower lip in – absentmindedness? Anticipation? Enticement ?

Heat curled in Yuuri's stomach.

"Oh Merlin," Yuuri muttered breathlessly.

No, Yuuri decided, not Gryffindor; Viktor was secretly Slytherin. Viktor must know what his actions were doing to him.

Viktor's eyes narrowed and abruptly he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Yuuri, pulling him into his chest, hidden away from the rest of the world.

"Uh-"

"Are you trying to make me jealous?" Viktor murmured. His voice was crossed between a whine and a plead, so low and warm in Yuuri's ear that he felt his legs go weak.

English. What was English? What was Japanese? An intelligent sound found its way out of Yuuri's throat.

Jealous?

From what? Was Viktor jealous from hearing about his school life?

It was an inconceivable thought because Yuuri was the one who was envious he missed out on Viktor's younger years. He never imagined Viktor felt the same as him.

Viktor seemed pleased at Yuuri's response. His voice purred, curling pleasantly as he murmured, "So, did you like it?" pulling the conversation back on track, but Yuuri's brain was too scattered to remember what they'd even been talking about in the first place.

"Wha-? " he strained, wide eyed, glasses slipping down his nose.

Viktor sighed. "Such a playboy."