Author's Notes: Things can only get better after they get worse. A very, very happy new year of the Rooster to everyone, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! As always, reviews/feedback are always appreciated. 3
Yuuri sat in the ice-cold chair, fidgeting restlessly. The dim lighting of the dungeons and that one squeaky, swinging, light in the corner was adding to a strained atmosphere that was making him increasingly uneasy.
The skinny, sharp-eyed lady silently stalking him in circles like a ravenous vulture wasn't exactly helping.
"Um, Ms. Skeeter, was it?" said Yuuri meekly. "Shouldn't you be interviewing Viktor?"
"All in good time, my dear boy," said the reporter. A tremor ran up Yuuri's spine at the way she eyed him through the lenses of her jeweled glasses. "You are far more interesting to me."
The school had warned them as much at the orientation session: something about reporters wanting interviews, especially with the more renowned students. "There is one in particular who, as much as I would like to put on a permanent ban, has permission to enter our premises, and is quite likely to ask objectionable questions," the Headmistress stated with a disapproving frown. Yuuri had dismissed the warning with the assumption that reporters would have no reason to speak with him.
He was never more wrong.
"I understand you're a transfer student?" asked the reporter. With a wave of her wand, a quill and notepad floated out of her bag to join her side, the quill poised carefully above paper.
No sooner did Yuuri say yes that he heard the tell-tale scratching of the quill tip.
"Where from?" the reporter probed.
Yuuri hesitated– scratch, scratch, scratch –then thought it better to respond. "Mahoutokoro."
"From the far regions of the mysterious East," said the reporter, eyes twinkling. "How exotic."
Scratch, scratch, went the quill.
"Sure," said Yuuri, unnerved by the amount of writing growing on that notepad.
"So what brings you here to Hogwarts?"
"Well, um, a change of pace…"
"Poor boy," said the reporter, dripping with honeyed sympathy. "Didn't quite match up to the perfectionistic standards of your previous school?"
"What?"
"What colour were your robes?"
"Uh," said Yuuri, unclear on what direction this was taking.
The reporter's lips curled into the most frightening smile Yuuri had ever seen. "I've heard of the enchanted robes at Mahoutokoro. Rather humiliating, I've always thought, but who am I to criticize the draconian policies of a foreign school?"
She dragged over a chair to sit down, sending a loud metallic shriek through the quiet room. The notepad and quill floated obediently after her, latter still hard at work. "As I was asking: what colour were your robes?"
"Silver," said Yuuri, watching the quill with some suspicion. That thing was really writing a lot more than he was speaking.
"Oh." The reporter looked disappointed, but she recovered with a shrug. Behind, the quill appeared to strike something off the page. "Moving on," she said briskly. "You come from a family of muggles, am I correct?"
"Yes."
"Your friends are muggles as well?"
"Excluding the ones here, yes."
"How do they feel about magic? Are they in denial, perhaps? Upset? Afraid?"
Yuuri blinked. "My friends here?"
"No, silly, your muggle friends."
"Oh, my friends back home love magic. One of them, Yuuko, she always said my magic was a divine blessing from kami. Er, that's 'gods' in my language."
"Hmm," said the reporter. She was staring intensely at Yuuri again and he really wished she would stop.
"Why is your quill still writing?" he asked, hoping to turn her attention away from him.
"Ignore the quill," the reporter said dismissively. "Now tell me about your relationship with Viktor."
Yuuri nodded slowly. He had to be careful with his words here; Viktor's reputation was on the line. "It's going very well. Viktor's been very kind."
"And what of the rumours that the two of you are engaged in some sort of passionate, illicit affair?"
Yuuri felt his heart hammer loudly behind his ears. "I'm sorry?"
"My that's quite a reaction," said the reporter, revealing three gold teeth in a wide smile. The quill was writing furiously now, pouring words onto the notepad, which flipped its pages rapidly to accommodate its partner. "Do you play Quidditch at all, Yuuri?"
"Wait," said Yuuri, "I didn't get to respond –"
"Mahoutokoro has an outstanding reputation for Quidditch," she cut in brightly, "Surely you have dabbled somewhat in the sport as well?"
"That's not –"
"I have a statement from an ardent fan," she continued, "That you were, in fact, slated to take over the position of Chaser on the team of the previous League winners until a fairly unfortunate, ah, accident – "
Yuuri stood up abruptly then, his chair screeching across the dank stone floors. He didn't know what he was doing or why he stood up; all he knew was that he was suddenly seeing red. "Strike that off."
The reporter was startled enough for the quill to cease its movement. "What was that, my dear?"
"I said," said Yuuri in a low voice, taking a step forward to the reporter. He took satisfaction in the way she shrank back in her seat. "Strike that off."
She laughed nervously, a high-pitched trill. "You must understand, Yuuri. My readers are looking for news, you see, juicy, sensational news that lurks beneath the perfection that is Viktor Nikiforov. And you, this seemingly plain, unassuming, simple boy – for you to have such a deliciously hidden past in the very sport Viktor excels at… you are news."
Blind fury, coiling darkly in the pit of Yuuri's gut, built itself around the reporters' careless words into a roaring, deafening inferno. No one was to ruin Viktor like that, much less with his name. Consumed of all sense of rationality, he wordlessly retrieved his wand from his robe.
The reporter's eyes widened. "Now, boy, violent magic is grounds for expul – "
"Incendio," said Yuuri.
"Talk about stealing the spotlight," JJ guffawed loudly. "I have to hand it to you, Yuuri, King JJ is mighty impressed! Bon travail, mon amie!"
"Leroy," the Headmistress said sternly, "This is not a laughing matter." She looked past the rim of her glasses at the group of students seated before her, eyes narrowing. "I have called you here, as you may have guessed, to discuss about the incident with Ms. Skeeter."
Yuuri was told to sit facing his schoolmates, face burning with mortification. He kept his eyes firmly on the ground, shifting his feet every now and then. He had regretted his impulsive decision just seconds after he had cast the spell, but by then, the damage was done.
In front, Emil raised his hand.
"Yes, Nekola."
"As I understand it," said Emil, scratching lightly at his peach fuzz, "Yuuri was provoked. I don't think we should fault him for acting in self-defense."
"Self-defense? Self-defense?" The Headmistress reared up to full height. "I will say this once, and only once. You do not, under any circumstances, set another person's hair on fire."
"She had it coming," Anya piped up from the back.
Mentally, Yuuri agreed with her.
"That is not the subject on discussion here," the Headmistress snapped. "I believe we are all in agreement that that woman is quite a distasteful human being, but terrible character does not give us justification to act on impulse. You are all representatives of our school; as such, I expect you all to behave like mature adults with some semblance of good judgment and common sense."
"I was aiming for her notepad," Yuuri mumbled almost inaudibly.
"No excuses, Katsuki," the Headmistress said sharply, rounding on him. "I am well aware of your proficiency at wand work and it is doubly unlikely for you to misaim at such close range. And I must confess," she folded her arms across her chest, "I expected such reckless behaviour from Leroy – stop your preening, Leroy, that was not a compliment – but certainly not from you, Katsuki! You came to us with strong academic results and an exemplary disciplinary record, which you have maintained extraordinarily well since your transfer, and that is precisely why we had allowed Nikiforov's rather special request for you."
Yuuri drooped in his seat. "I'm sorry," he said miserably.
"Professor," said Emil kindly. "Just give the poor lad his punishment already."
Sighing, the Headmistress unfolded her arms. "Katsuki's punishment will be determined by the head of his house. Let this be a warning to the rest of you: students who engage in further risky behaviour will be punished and have 40 points taken from their houses."
Yuuri's gut clenched; Seung-gil was going to kill him.
"I have a question," said Anya, throwing her hand up in the air.
"Yes, Ms. Sokolov?"
"What happened to that horrid woman's notes?"
"Yes, well…." The Headmistress spared Yuuri a sympathetic glance. "In all the commotion, we hadn't paid attention to that."
As Yuuri sank deeper into his seat, JJ ambled up to him and slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Any publicity is good publicity," the tall boy said sagely.
"Thanks, JJ," Yuuri groaned.
By the end of the week, despite Yuuri's repeated corrections, the stories had morphed into an impossible tale of imprisonment, a daring escape, and something involving some kind of glass eye. ("Everything sounds more wicked with a glass eye," Guang Hong declared, while Leo ruffled his hair fondly.)
The whole affair was made all the more momentous by the mere fact that a Ravenclaw had pulled it off.
For days, Yuuri had to endure the sight of passing Gryffindor students giving him deep bows of reverence. Some pretended to tip imaginary top hats at him, Phichit included. Even the Slytherins now had grudging respect for him; a number of them actually addressed him by name instead of the usual "four-eyes". Christophe himself came up to shake his hand – and feel up his bottom, the minute he turned around.
Seung-gil, meanwhile, had decided he wasn't speaking to Yuuri.
Accompanying the heavy sense of guilt at disappointing his roommate, Yuuri spent the days filled with dread and trepidation, wondering just when the damning article would be published. At the very least, Viktor had not only been incredibly empathic, but the tactful Russian also didn't pry for details.
Viktor's cousin, on the other hand, was another matter.
"Spill," Yuri said, leaning over the crystal ball in front of him. "Did she scream? Did you see the bitch's face when you got her? Did she look scared? Tell me the bitch looked scared."
"I don't know," said Yuuri, surprised at the younger boy's vehemence. "It all happened so fast."
"It's no fun if you don't watch her face," Yuri scoffed, dropping back against his seat.
"Yura," Viktor said. "Sit up straight, we're having a lesson."
"You call this a lesson? We've been looking into a fucking glass ball for the past thirty minutes. What do muggles call this sort of bullshit again? Rocket science?"
Someone on the next table let out a snort at Yuri's comment.
Yuri turned to glare at the source: a stoic-looking boy with dark hair and shaved sides. Yuuri recognized him as the Hufflepuff student whom Leo described as the 'strong, silent type'.
"Got something to say, asshole?" Yuri snarled.
Unfazed, the student shrugged. "Actually, my name's Otabek."
Yuri and Otabek locked stares for several seconds, before the Russian turned away, rolling his eyes.
"Yura," said Viktor again, frowning. "Yuuri is in enough trouble without you adding to it. Sit up and stop antagonizing other students."
Yuuri flushed, feeling a combination of elation and deep shame at Viktor's concern. The other boy had no need to bear the responsibility of his idiocy – especially not when he was Viktor Nikiforov. He opened to his mouth to say as much, but Yuri beat him to it.
"Trouble? This damn school should be giving Katsuki a plaque. Hell, the whole of Europe should be giving him a medal," said Yuri. He slammed his fists on the table, ignoring the startled glances around them. "You of all people should be celebrating! The shit she wrote about you…"
Okay, thought Yuuri. That was nowhere close to what he was about say.
"I am more than familiar with Ms. Skeeter's work," Viktor said grimly.
"Then why aren't you happy about this? Huh? The old hag finally got what she deserved and all you do is sit in this stupid class, staring at this – this ball."
Silence fell. It was clear to Yuuri that no one was staring into crystal balls then; every single student was watching Viktor, waiting for his response.
"I think I see some sort of chicken," said Viktor after a moment. "What does that mean, Yuuri?"
Yuri gaped at him, open-mouthed, while the rest of the class collectively shook their heads and returned their attention to the task at hand.
"Um," said Yuuri, fumbling as he hurried to open his Divination textbook. "It says here that if the chicken is laying eggs, it could mean new opportunities are coming your way. I-Is it laying eggs?"
"I can't quite tell if that's a speck of dirt or an egg…"
"I'm surrounded by idiots!" Throwing his hands in the air, Yuri stomped out of the classroom, face red with frustration.
Yuuri rose to go after the younger boy, but was stopped by a firm hand on his arm.
"Leave him," said Viktor. "He'll calm down eventually."
Nodding, Yuuri lowered back onto his seat. Viktor should know his cousin best.
"Hey," said Otabek from the next table. "His name's Yura, was it?"
As they descended the Divination tower, Yuuri snuck concerned glances at Viktor. The half-Veela was unusually silent, staring ahead in a pensive expression. When Viktor failed to notice a girl's request for an autograph– poor girl looked utterly shocked and had to be consoled by her friends –Yuuri decided it was time to speak up.
"Viktor?" he said, laying a hand on the other's back. "Are you okay?"
"Hm?" said Viktor. He turned to Yuuri, face blossoming into a smile like a natural reflex. "Did you say something?"
"I just asked if you're okay," said Yuuri, eyebrows furrowing.
"Always so caring, moya zvezdochka. I'm fine."
Yuuri's cheeks tinted a slight shade of pink. One of these days, he was going to have to ask Viktor what that term meant. The Russian seemed to be using it with increasing frequency when they were alone, and from the way it rolled off Viktor's tongue, it sounded so very affectionate. For all he knew, it could mean something completely vile or disgusting.
He was thinking too much again.
Shaking his head, Yuuri persisted in his questioning. "But you looked like you were deep in thought."
Viktor's lips curved. "I do have deep thoughts occasionally."
"That's not what I meant," Yuuri corrected hastily, his cheeks darkening in embarrassment. "I just meant – "
"I know what you meant," Viktor cut in, chuckling. "I'm fine, I promise."
Yuuri nodded then, allowing his hand on Viktor's back to drop to his side.
"You never told me what your punishment was."
"Oh right," said Yuuri with a sigh. "It's detention. I have to help with repotting a fresh batch of mandrakes twice a week for the next month."
Viktor wrinkled his nose. "Your school certainly has interesting ideas for punishment. Does that begin today?"
"Yes. In an hour, actually."
"Wonderful," said Viktor, clapping his hands together. "Then I have a request."
"Sure," said Yuuri. "Anything."
"Will you dance for me?"
It felt strange, performing for another.
Yuuri used to participate in dance recitals when he was a child, prancing about the stage in handmade costumes and trying his hardest not to bang into props. Oddly enough, Minako saw talent in him, enough to spark her determination to focus most, if not all, her attention and energy on his training, almost as though she was grooming him to fulfill a selfish dream that was too late for her to attain. So Yuuri grew used to performing on stage, thousands of eyes following his every dip, arch and turn. Mahoutokoro was no different. The only difference was a change in setting: the freedom of anti-gravity over real, solid ground.
All that had stopped when he came to Hogwarts. Here, he danced alone: for he, him and himself, no one else.
But today –
Today, he danced for Viktor.
There was something to be said about a private performance. Though Viktor was gazing at him from a distance, it felt shockingly intimate, as though he was exposing all of himself for the other boy's scrutiny. So he showed Viktor everything he had felt in the last few weeks: joy, happiness, and perhaps– though Yuuri could barely understand it –perhaps even love.
He could only hope that Viktor liked what he saw.
Freezing in his final pose, Yuuri peeked through his bangs, breathing heavily. He realized, then, that Viktor was walking towards him, heels clicking against the floor. Unable to see Viktor's face, he straightened up with a nervous grin. "Viktor, what did you th – "
He wasn't at all prepared for the sudden embrace.
"V-Viktor?" said Yuuri, his voice muffled by thick fabric of the Durmstrang uniform. He felt Viktor's hair tickling his cheek, the other's nose buried in the crook of his neck.
"Thank you," Viktor breathed, sounding as though he was running out of air.
Yuuri swallowed, forcing down the lump rising in his throat. Slowly, he slid his arms round Viktor and squeezed his eyes shut, reveling in their shared warmth. They had hugged before, of course, Viktor being the tactile person he was. This, however – this felt different.
This time, Viktor was holding him as if they were the last survivors in a world that was crumbling to pieces around them.
Yuuri never wanted it to end.
"My balerina," Viktor said softly after a while. "What did Skeeter say to you?"
Yuuri stiffened and instinctively started to pull away, but Viktor's grip tightened.
"Yura was right," Viktor murmured. "I loathe that woman. She hurt the people I cared most with her lies and there was nothing I could do about it. My mother…" He paused, hesitating, then brushed his lips against Yuuri's skin, light and feathery. "Did she use me to hurt you?"
Yuuri shook his head mutely. She was using me to hurt you, he wanted to say, but he kept silent. There was something in Viktor's voice that he couldn't name; something so wistful and filled with tenderness that it made Yuuri's heart ache. He yearned to just tell Viktor everything, but he was afraid, no, terrified. Soon the world would learn the truth about him, then Viktor– Yuuri felt the hot sting of tears in the corner of his eyes –Viktor would turn away from him, just like everyone else.
"Yuuri?" Viktor probed gently.
"I wish you could stay with me forever," Yuuri sighed before he could stop himself.
For a beat, Viktor didn't respond. Then, he drew back to reveal turquoise irises shining behind a fall of silver. "As do I," he murmured. "Vmeste navsegda, moya zvezdochka."
Yuuri had no idea what Viktor said, but in that moment, he felt like he knew what love meant.
Three days later, Skeeter's article was unleashed.
Yuuri did the only thing he knew best:
He shut out the world.
Translation notes:
Moya zvezdochka - My little star
Vmeste navsegda - Together forever
