Chapter Ten: The Rest of the Time That You're Given

Viktor's mother shook him awake early the next morning.  "Ivan is in the fire for you," she said tonelessly.

Viktor's first reaction was to wonder why Ivan would bother him so early in the morning, and why his mother was already up, but the next moment he remembered the previous evening and it all clicked into place.  He pushed himself out of bed and threw on a set of work robes.

He felt awful.  His head was pounding, and the faint shafts of light shining in through the windows were like lances through his eyeballs.  He wondered exactly how little sleep he had gotten - he'd spent half the night tossing and turning, with too many thoughts ricocheting around his brain, and could not remember when he had finally drifted off.

He followed his mother down the stairs.  "Why are you awake so early?" he asked her.

She gave him a fleeting glance over her shoulder.  "I did not sleep well."

Of course, he realized.  Aside from everything else, she'd been taking the Dreamless Sleep Potion for weeks now, and he had given what she had left of it to Rositza.

His mother paused by the kitchen doorway.  "Your father is upstairs sleeping.  I don't know what time he came home, but it must have been very late."  She gave Viktor a meaningful look, and his stomach lurched guiltily.  He stepped past her into the kitchen.

Ivan's head was there in the fire, and when he saw Viktor, he gave a half-hearted grin.  There were dark circles under his eyes.  "How is she?" he said, his voice disturbingly serious.

Viktor glanced at the doorway, ready to glare at his mother to make her leave, but she was already gone.  This surprised him; he'd expected her to try to eavesdrop.

"Viktor?"

"She is fine," he said, turning back to Ivan.  "She was…upset."

Ivan nodded.  "Of course."  He looked down.  "I am sorry I didn't tell you…about my father."  His voice was so quiet that it was almost drowned out by the crackle of the flames around him.

Viktor didn't respond; he didn't know what to say.

"Ilana feels terrible," Ivan went on. "She said she only left Rositza for a few minutes, to go to the bathroom, and that she should have realized she was a Muggle because no witch has ever been that interested in her apothecary work before." He let out a short, dry laugh, but his eyes were still somber.  "What were you thinking though, Viktor?"

Viktor raised his head angrily, his mother's harsh words of the night before running through his head.  He was not going to have this argument with Ivan as well.

Then he saw the expression on Ivan's face - there was confusion in it, and if not outright disgust, something not altogether approving.  But there was also concern, and a certain look of hurt, of disappointment at being left out, that he had come to recognize.

"I don't know," he said truthfully.

Ivan shook his head slowly.  "You could have told me, you know.  And Edina."

"And you could have told me, about - "  Viktor fell silent.

Ivan sighed heavily, and it suddenly hit Viktor how unfair it all was.  Ivan and Edina had been so happy last night, and now their wedding was ruined.  All because he'd been too stupid to think about the consequences of what he was doing.  "How is Edina?" he asked quickly.  "What happened after - "  He trailed off again, but it didn't matter, because Ivan was already answering.

"She is fine.  She is still asleep now."  He gazed fondly off to his left.  "You should have seen her last night, Viktor.  She was amazing.  She just kept talking to him, laughing and joking about it all, telling him he'd had too much vodka and he didn't know what he was doing.  And he took it, from her.  Said he was drunk, and didn't remember anything."  He snorted derisively.  "He knew exactly what he was doing."  There was powerful disgust in Ivan's voice, and Viktor was grateful that he had every reason to respect his own father.  He'd never realized how much that meant, until now.

"What about the others?"

"I got them all.  They won't remember anything.  And my father won't say anything.  Too embarrassed, though probably more by his failure of a son than by anything he did."  The bitterness in Ivan's voice was almost palpable; Viktor had never heard him like this before, and it seemed wrong somehow.

"Ivan, I am sorry."

"Don't be.  It was not your fault."

"But your wedding - I should never have…"

Ivan shook his head.  "Ilana warned me he would mess it up somehow.  Though I have to say, at least her preoccupation with her own guilt has kept her from saying 'I told you so'."  He smiled weakly, his eyes begging Viktor to help him make a joke of it all, as if that was the only way he could deal with it.

Viktor forced his lips into a smile.

"We will be going back to Edina's parents' house this afternoon, and we will probably stay there for awhile, if you need to reach us."

Viktor stared at him.  "What about Paris?"  He and Edina had been planning their honeymoon trip for weeks.

Ivan looked uncomfortable.  "Well, we thought that with…everything going on, we shouldn't…"

"Go to Paris," said Viktor, and he was surprised at how commanding his own voice sounded.  He would not let them change their plans because of his mistakes.  And besides, with everything that was happening in the world at the moment, it might be the last time they had some peaceful time together.

Ivan hesitated.

"You have to go," said Viktor.  "There is nothing you can do here.  Don't disappoint Edina."

"I suppose," Ivan said slowly.  "But if there is anything we can do…if you need us, send an owl."

Viktor nodded.

Ivan paused a moment, then went on.  "You know that…we are planning to move, when we get back?  Somewhere in Hungary." Somewhere away from my father, said his expression.

"I know."

Ivan nodded slowly, then seemed to hesitate.  "I don't suppose it would do any good to tell you that seeing Rositza is a bad idea?"

Something hardened in Viktor's chest.  "No," he said.

Ivan grinned.  "I didn't think so.  I know how you are."  Viktor wondered what he meant by that.  But Ivan's face grew serious.  "Well, then, take care of her."  His gaze drifted off to his left again.

Viktor swallowed hard.  "I will," he said.  "Have a good time in Paris.  Give my best to Edina.  And congratulations."

"Thanks."  Ivan smiled, the bags under his eyes not obscuring the expression of delight on his face.  It made Viktor feel all the more guilty that what was clearly the best day of Ivan's life had been ruined.

They said their goodbyes, and Ivan's head disappeared with a pop

Viktor hurried to get cleaned up.  It was still early; if the potion had done its job, Rositza would still be sleeping.  But he had an odd need to be there when she woke up.  He knew she'd have a lot of questions, once she was coherent.  He wasn't sure how he would answer any of them, but he knew without question that it would be important for him to try.

He Apparated into the midst of the trees on the edge of the village and walked the rest of the way to her house.  Though the sun was still low over the horizon, there were a surprising number of Muggles awake.  Viktor hurried on, self-conscious in his Muggle clothes - he really had to get more, if he was going to be coming here so often.  Rositza's parents would surely notice if he wore the same thing every time they saw him. 

Viktor paused at the gate, looking up at Rositza's bedroom window.  He'd Apparated into her room last night out of necessity - and because she had asked him to - but by daylight it seemed…intrusive.  Inappropriate.

He briefly toyed with the idea of knocking on the door.  That was what a normal Muggle boyfriend would do.  Viktor had a sudden, fierce, surprising wish that he could be just that for her.  But talking to her parents felt risky; he couldn't help remembering the last time he had been alone with her father, and he knew he could not afford another disaster.  There had been too many already.  And besides, were Muggles even accustomed to people knocking on their doors this early in the morning? Viktor had no idea.

But he couldn't Apparate directly into her room either, for reasons other than his own discomfort.  What if someone besides Rositza was in there?  He couldn't take that chance.

Viktor hung back by the gate indecisively for a moment, and then went quietly through it and crept around the house to the kitchen window.  He carefully edged behind a bush by the window and peered in.

Rositza's father was sitting at the table, reading a newspaper, and her mother was pouring a cup of tea.  This was all Viktor dared to take in before he ducked down to avoid being seen.  A moment later, Rositza's father's voice drifted through the open window.

"Did you see this, Nora?  More fires outside Shadrinsk.  They're saying it might be arson."

"How awful."  There was a sound of something being stirred, and then the smack of a cup being set down on the table.  "There you go, dear.  I wonder if I should bother to make breakfast for Rositza?  I haven't heard a peep from her room all morning, and usually she is up and out of the house by now."

She was usually in the clearing with him, Viktor realized.  It made him a bit nervous that her mother had noticed this. 

"She was a bit overexcited when she came in last night.  Perhaps she had trouble settling down," said Rositza's father's voice, following by the sound of a newspaper page being turned.  "Let her sleep."

"I suppose," said her mother, and Viktor could hear the smile in her voice.  "It sounds like she had quite a big night."

"She should invite that boy back for dinner next week, so we can get a proper look at him.  I barely saw him before he ran out last time."  There was something like suspicion in his voice, but Viktor recognized it as nothing more than a father's protective instinct for his daughter.  There was none of the dangerous malice it had held before the Memory Charm.  Viktor breathed a quiet sigh of relief; her father really didn't remember a thing.

"You scared him off, dear.  I don't blame her for wanting to meet him in the village instead of bringing him here."

"I told you, I didn't mean to.  I don't remember what happened.  Maybe it is all to do with blood sugar, as the doctor said."

"That reminds me, have you taken your pills this morning, dear?"

Viktor didn't need to hear any more.  He looked around quickly, but there were trees surrounding the back of the house, and he was hidden from view.  He pulled out his wand and Apparated into Rositza's bedroom.

At first he thought she was asleep, but as he edged around the bed, she started and sat up abruptly. "Isn't there some way you could warn someone before you do that?" she asked.

"I am sorry," he said.  "I thought you would still be asleep."

She rubbed at her forehead.  "I still feel hazy."  She looked up at him.  "Whatever you gave me worked well."

"Dreamless Sleep Potion," he said quietly.

Rositza nodded.  She drew her knees up under the covers and hugged them to her chest. 

"Are you…all right?"

She shot him a quick, confused look.  "I…I guess so."  She paused.  "Viktor, what was that?  What happened?"

Viktor let out a breath, then realized he was still holding his wand.  Self-consciously, he pocketed it and perched on the edge of the bed farthest away from her.  "I told you that most Muggles don't know about the wizarding world," he began, not looking at her.  "Most wizards don't know much about Muggles either. But there are some who think that Muggles are not…"

"Worth anything," she finished for him in a flat, wooden voice.  He looked up at her quickly.  She was staring past him, her jaw a firm, angry line.  Her face was still dirty where she had leaned against his robes the night before, and that combined with her expression made her appear extremely grim.

"Yes."

"So what do they do?  What would they have done to me, last night?"  Her voice shook with either anger or fear; he couldn't tell which.

He swallowed hard.  He couldn't bring himself to tell her the full extent of it, the truth about the terror that ran unspoken through every wizarding household.  "They…hurt them."

"With spells?  Magic?"

"Sometimes."

She took a deep, shuddering breath.  "And?"

"Sometimes they kill them," he mumbled.  He had not admitted this openly, even to himself, not even after the third task and Dumbledore's words at the leaving feast.

Rositza stared at him in horror.  "How could you not tell me this?  How could you let me go there without telling me this?"

"I didn't know," he said anxiously.  "I didn't know about Ivan's father being one of them, I swear to you I didn't."

Something in Rositza's expression relented a little, but she didn't say anything, and Viktor rushed to fill in the silence.  "Ivan and Edina, they are moving away.  They are not like that, I promise you.  Ivan is my best friend."  It felt odd to say that aloud, but Viktor knew it was true.  "He is not like that."

Rositza's expression hardened again.  "And he knew about this?"

Viktor hesitated.  "Yes, but…"  He looked down.  "He didn't know about you being…"

"A Muggle."  Rositza's voice was cold.  "You are ashamed of me."

Viktor looked up quickly and scooted closer to her.  "No!  That is not it at all."  He blew out a breath of frustration.  "I told them, last night.  That was why I came to find you."

A bitter expression crossed Rositza's face.  "Just in time," she said, and then, without warning, her face crumpled.

"What did they say to you," Viktor asked shakily, "before I got there?"

Rositza hugged her knees closer and turned her head away from him, eyes tightly shut, tears beginning to leak out of the corners.  She shook her head.

Viktor's heart dropped into his stomach.

"Rositza," he said softly, and reached across the bed to push her hair behind her ear.  "I promise you I will never let them hurt you.  Tell me how to make this up to you."

She turned back to him so fiercely that the movement knocked his hand away.  A few tears had escaped her composure and were streaming down her cheeks, but her eyes were hard and bright.  "Never lie to me again."

Viktor leaned back slightly.  "I did not lie to you."

Rositza let out a sarcastic laugh, clearly thinking about the time before she'd known he was a wizard.  "Then never leave things out.  Don't keep things from me, especially important ones.  I need to be a part of things - I need to know what's going on with you.  I can't be in the dark like that, not when I am - "  She bit back whatever she had been going to say and turned away from him again.

Viktor's heart leapt.  She still wanted to be with him, even now.  She still wanted to be a part of his world.

But then, she still didn't realize exactly how dangerous that was.

"Are you sure?" he croaked.  "It isn't safe."

She turned back to him, an incredulous expression on her face, and then pulled him to her and kissed him, almost angrily, and her kiss left no doubt.

She was sure.

~**~

Viktor wished the happiness he felt that day could be a pure one, unmixed with any other emotion.  Rositza, impossibly, still wanted to be his, still was his, and yet…he knew it would not be easy.  It could never be easy, for them.  He couldn't even take her to meet his parents, not the real her, not as she was.  Oh, no doubt she would be willing to put on an act for his sake…but too many people already knew the truth.  He couldn't hope to hide it from his parents for long.  His mother's harsh words kept running through his mind - he hoped they were just the product of worry and anger, but he had a sinking suspicion that he had at last seen her true feelings.  He could not imagine how his father would react.  He didn't want to know.

Such were his thoughts during Quidditch practice that day, as he half-heartedly soared above the others, glancing around for the Snitch.  It made him angry that he had to be here, when he could be with Rositza - should be with Rositza, taking care of her.  He would not let anything happen to her.  Every time he thought of the drunken leers on the faces of Ivan's father and his friends, he wished he was a Beater instead of a Seeker, so he would have an excuse to hit things hard with a club.

And mostly, he was angry at himself, that he couldn't be purely happy when he thought of Rositza.  She had once been his safe haven, away from all this, and now he had mixed her up in it.  There were too any other emotions connected to her now, too many worries.

"Mind on your press again, boy?" roared Boyer behind him, and Viktor whirled around to see him knocking a Bludger in his direction.  Viktor dropped a few feet to avoid it, but it grazed his ear with a painful stinging sensation.

"Don't listen to him, Viktor," said Kiril, swooping past him with the Quaffle.  "If I'd had a girl like that with me last night, I wouldn't be thinking straight today either."  He lifted his eyebrows suggestively and dropped the Quaffle to Susannah, who was waiting for it a few feet below.  Susannah's eyes swept over Kiril and narrowed as they lingered on Viktor briefly, before she sped off to the other end of the pitch and placed the Quaffle through the hoop in one swift, decisive motion.

Viktor's stomach clenched.  That damn photographer.  He should have known this would happen. 

If Viktor had been off before that, it was nothing to how he fared for the rest of the practice.  Ligachev beat him to the Snitch three times out of ten, prompting Boyar to send several more Bludgers his way.  Viktor managed to duck most of these, but the last hit him in the jaw, causing a large lump.  Boyar called the practice in disgust after that.

"None of you sorry excuses for Quidditch players are to show your faces on my pitch again until you're ready to play some real Quidditch," Boyar screamed, jumping from his broomstick before it even reached the ground.  He swung it up over his shoulder in an angry motion.  "Zograf, I hope you're suitably ashamed that our worst reserve Chaser got four goals past you.  Don't let it go to your head, Zhivko.  And Tsvetanov, what were you doing chattering away up there when Ivanova was wide open?  And you - " He rounded on Viktor, pointing his Beater's club accusingly.  "No more dating for you, boy.  Not until you've learned to keep your mind on that Snitch where it belongs."

Viktor's face burned, but he clutched his broomstick tightly and tried to ignore the laughter of the other players.

"You think it's funny, do you?" snarled Boyar, brandishing his club around at all of them.  Irina Prandzheva took a few timid steps backwards.  "You think it's funny to lose?  Get out of my sight, all of you.  I don't know who you people are, but I want to see the real Vratsa Vultures on this pitch first thing tomorrow."  With that, he turned his back on them and stormed off toward the changing rooms.

Kiril muttered something to Irina that made her laugh softly, and the rest of the players began to disperse.  Viktor strode over to the edge of the pitch and picked up his bag; he was hot and tired and cranky, and he should probably shower before leaving, but he wanted to get home.  He was anxious to see Rositza.  He had been before, but since Kiril's comment...

Viktor was halfway to the Apparition point outside the pitch when Susannah caught up with him.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" she asked lightly.  Her voice was breathless, as though she had run to catch him.

He looked quickly at her.  "I want to get home," he said shortly.

"I see."  She paused, then began again, in a too-casual voice that immediately set him on guard.  "Saw you in the paper this morning.  Did your friend's wedding go well?"

"It went fine," Viktor replied, more sharply than he'd meant to.

"It must have been lovely," Susannah continued.  "The Pashniks are quite rich, aren't they?  What is their house like?"

Viktor wiped his hand nervously on his robes.  What was she talking about?

And then it hit him: she knew about Ivan's father.  Was she trying to use him to meet a prominent Death Eater?  Was that her game?

Whether you like it or not, you have a certain influence.

Viktor felt as if he might be sick.  He breathed deeply and forced himself to stay calm.  "It is nice, I suppose," he replied evenly.  He chanced a glance at Susannah's face.  She appeared...frustrated.

"Well," she said, with a forced laugh, pulling a newspaper from her pocket, "I am glad you and your date had such a good time.  Is she...any relation to the Pashniks?"

Viktor stopped walking and stared at her.  He would have laughed at the absurdity of this question, if there had been any room in his mind for laughter today.

"Let me see that," he practically snarled, grabbing the paper from her hand.  It was open to the society page.  Ivan and Edina smiled happily out of a small photo at the top of the page; the entire bottom half of the page was taken up by a large photo captioned "Celebrated Seeker Viktor Krum and His Mystery  Date".  Viktor was pleased to see that his photographic self was refusing to look in the direction of the camera.  Rositza, however, kept peering over his shoulder, and the photo-Viktor kept urging her to turn around.

"Sounds like it was quite a party," said Susannah, in what he guessed was supposed to be an offhand tone, but her gaze was fixed upon him now.  "Did you stay all night?"

"We left early," Viktor replied absently, scanning through the article about the wedding.  He held his breath as he read it, but it was nothing but a gushing account of the flowers, and a lengthy description of Edina's dress.  He breathed a sigh of relief.

When he looked up again, Susannah was still eyeing him speculatively.  Something inside him snapped; he was tired of games, tired of dancing around subjects.  "What are you asking me these questions?"

Susannah's dark eyes flickered.  She reached out and took the newspaper, and very deliberately turned it to the front page, where a photo showed a glittering Dark Mark above what appeared to be a crater in the ground.  Bits of blasted brick and other debris littered the ground at the edges of the crater.

"Shadrinsk.  Last night," said Susannah, her tone clipped.  "I believe the wedding was not far from there?"

Viktor stared at the picture, his blood going cold.  Had they done all this?

Susannah cleared her throat expectantly.  Viktor folded up the newspaper and shoved it back at her, and continued walking.  "I told you, I went home early."

"So you said," Susannah replied coolly.  "What about your friend Ivan?  Was he doing a bit of celebrating?"

Viktor turned on her angrily.  He was sick of the pretense, sick of pretending things weren't as bad as they were.  Sick of pushing away suspicion when it involved people he respected.  Sick of having to.  "Ivan had nothing to do with that.  And what are you asking me questions for?  Don't you know all about it anyway?"

Susannah stopped and stared at him.  "What?"

Viktor half-wished he hadn't said anything, but it was too late now.  And besides, he couldn't walk away from this anymore; it had become too personal.  Last night had ensured that.

"You know what's going on.  You know that You-Know-Who is back.  Don't pretend to be ignorant.  You're one of them, aren't you?"

Susannah's mouth was open now, but no words were coming out.  Finally she took a deep breath and said, in a low, controlled voice, "One of who, exactly?"

Viktor took a step backwards.  "Death Eaters," he said tersely.  He glanced back along the path.  It had occurred to him that he was not exactly in the wisest position, alone in a thickly wooded area with a tall, athletic witch whom he had just accused of being a Death Eater.  He wondered how quickly he could get to his wand; he knew he could draw quickly at need, but Susannah had gone to Durmstrang too, and would no doubt be a match for him.

Susannah breathed in sharply and stared at him.  "But don't you...I mean, wouldn't you know if..."  She trailed off, and then raised her head and narrowed her eyes at him.  "Which side are you on, exactly, Viktor?"

Viktor regarded her suspiciously.  Was she trying to trick him into revealing something?

Susannah watched him in silence for a moment, and then, incredibly, began to laugh.  She sank down onto a log at the side of the path.  "I am not a Death Eater," she said.  She looked up at him.  "And neither are you, are you?" she asked quietly.

"Of course not!"

Susannah laughed again, more quietly this time.  "Ah, do you see what they do?  It goes so far beyond what you see on the front page."

Viktor was still trying to understand.  "So you thought that I was a..."

Susannah shrugged apologetically.  "You can't be too careful, these days.  And it's not exactly easy to tell what you're thinking, Viktor."

"But why were you asking me all those questions when I got back, then?  About - " He swallowed hard. " - the Triwizard Tournament?"

Susannah gave him a serious look.  "You were there, weren't you?  At Hogwarts.  Not much has come out, not enough.  But we knew enough to go on.  And if the rumors weren't enough, the attacks have been, enough to know what's happening.  For those who are willing to see it."

Viktor's heart beat faster, remembering Dumbledore's words: The more people who believe it, the more who will be willing to fight it.

"What do you mean, 'we'?" Viktor asked quietly.

Susannah raised her head quickly and gave him a long, appraising look.  Finally she nodded slightly, as if she had come to a decision.  She glanced down the path in both directions.  "The Circle," she said, and a note of pride rang through her words, though she kept her voice low.  "You have heard of it?"

He had.  Overwhelmed by Dark wizard attacks fifteen years ago, the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic had given its two top Aurors permission to draft and train volunteers.  The members of the Circle had fought on the front lines of the battle against Dark wizards, freeing up the highly trained Aurors for more covert missions.  Few of its members had survived, though all were honored in memory.  It was not unusual even today to see a thin silver circle hanging in the window of a wizarding home, indicating that a member of the family had fallen in its service.

Viktor nodded.  Susannah fumbled with the front of her robes, and then pulled out something shiny and held it up.  It was a pendant, a silver circle, exactly like the ones that hung in those windows in all but size.

"My grandmother," said Susannah.  "She was one hundred and thirty-three years old when they got her, but she went out fighting."  Her jaw clenched.  "I intend to do the same." She tucked the pendant back into her robes and looked up at him.  "The Circle didn't disband all those years ago, Viktor.  It never did.  None of them were so stupid as to think they wouldn't be needed, that all danger was past."

Viktor stared at her.  "Does the Ministry know?"

Susannah laughed.  "They didn't, until recently."  She shook her head.  "But they are fools.  Even Svetkova, and her mother helped begin the Circle.  But they don't want civilians getting involved.  They insist that they can handle it."  She snorted and indicated the newspaper in her lap.  "You can see how well they are handling it.  But they are not as bad here as in Britain.  We've been trying to make contact there, but the British Ministry won't even acknowledge the attacks.  Idiotic fools."

Viktor raised his head.  "No, the British Ministry won't help you," he said.  "But I know who will."

~**~

Dear Professor Dumbledore –

Viktor paused, his quill suspended over the parchment.  It occurred to him that writing this letter would be something irrevocable; once he sent it, he would be a part of this war – and, after a lengthy conversation with Susannah, he knew now that it was a war.  There was so much that he had failed to see, so much that he had willfully ignored, trying to keep his own sense of safety intact.  He had told Dumbledore that he would help any way he could, but what had he done all summer?  He'd hidden away in his mountains, too wrapped up in his own business to do anything about the insanity in the world around him.  The things Susannah had told him had come as a shock – not just the news about the Circle, but also the hints she dropped that some in the Ministry had covered up for prominent citizens in the magical community, had kept news of their involvement in current Death Eater activities from the press, even from the Aurors.

He wondered how much his father knew about it.

No, he couldn't sit on the sidelines forever; he was already involved, whether he wanted to be or not.  All he could do now was choose how he would play out his part.  He dipped his quill into the ink bottle and began to write again.

I hope all is well with you.  I have discovered more information regarding the topic we discussed when I saw you last.  There is a circle of people here who wish to help.  We await your advice.  Tell us what we have to do.

Viktor Krum

Viktor held up the letter and read it over to himself.  He hoped it was suitably vague – Dumbledore had warned him to be especially discreet.  But he had no doubt that Dumbledore would understand the reference to the Circle immediately.  He would know what to do next.

He folded the letter and stuffed it into an envelope, addressed it quickly and then went to the window and called to Branimir.  His owl had been enjoying a few owl treats on the window ledge, but straightened up immediately and stuck out his leg when Viktor held up the letter.  "Go quickly," Viktor muttered, "and be careful."

Branimir blinked his large yellow eyes in what Viktor imagined to be an expression of disdain, then took off into the sky.  Viktor watched as he dipped and wheeled, then caught an updraft and rose steadily higher.  Just as he disappeared above the trees, a second, smaller owl streaked up and joined him.  Viktor blinked, startled, and then remembered that his mother had been expecting a delivery – no doubt more of the Dreamless Sleep Potion.  He frowned.

She will deal with this her way, and you will deal with it yours, he told himself.  It was done now; the letter was sent, and he had declared his affiliation, for better or for worse.  It came as a surprising relief.

It still made him nervous, however.  He wanted to be doing something.  He was tired of waiting.  He'd been doing it too long.  Help us, Dumbledore, he thought.  Tell us what we need to do.  Tell me what I need to do.

But he already knew the first thing.

~**~

The golden rays of the late afternoon sun filtered through the trees in front of Rositza's house, bathing the brown shutters and the vegetable patches in a warm, wholesome light.  Viktor hesitated momentarily at the gate, and then marched up to the front door and knocked.

Rositza's mother answered the door, and she smiled broadly when she saw Viktor.  "Viktor, how lovely to see you again."

"Hello," said Viktor nervously.  "Is Rositza here?"

"No, she went to see Eliza.  A friend of hers stopped by a little while ago and they walked up there together, I believe."

Viktor frowned.  He had somehow expected her still to be in her bed, upset and unhappy.  Needing him.  "I'll just…go there, then."

Rositza's mother put out a hand, and he paused on the point of turning away.  "Viktor," she said, "I just wanted to…apologize, for my husband's behavior at dinner that night.  He hasn't been feeling well – the doctor says it has to do with his blood sugar.  He doesn't even remember what happened that night.  I hope you won't hold it against him."

Viktor swallowed hard.  "Of course not."  He shoved his hands into the pocket of his Muggle jacket.  "And I am sorry that I…ran out so quickly.  I was startled."

She smiled.  "Understandably so.  I understand that you and Rositza had a wonderful time last night."  She tilted her head to the side and paused.  "Rositza cares about you very much.  I can tell."

Viktor's face burned.  "I care about her as well," he muttered.

"I can tell that too."  She cleared her throat.  "We would love it if you would come to dinner again.  My husband will behave this time, and perhaps even Manuella will as well."  She smiled.  "Next Friday, perhaps?"

"Perhaps," replied Viktor, averting his eyes.  "I will have to check...with my mother."

Viktor was grateful to escape to the road.  He hurried along it to the pottery shop, wondering what had possessed Rositza to go out.  She needed her rest.

She was poring over a broken pot in the back of the shop when he found her, after being greeted with a smile and a knowing look by Eliza.  He had to touch her shoulder to get her attention, and when she saw him, she jumped slightly.

"I'm sorry," she said with a laugh.  "I was trying to fix this for Eliza."  She frowned, holding up a broken piece of a dragon wing.  "I am not sure it can be repaired."

Viktor glanced at the pot.  He could have fixed it easily – it was a simple spell – but he didn't say anything.

Rositza laid the broken pieces on the table and looked up at him.  "What is it?"  she said in a low voice.

"What?"

"You look worried.  Has something else happened?"

He thought about how to respond to this.  He wondered if there was any way he could convey to her the enormity of what was happening in his world.  "Let's go outside," he said abruptly.

"All right," she said slowly, her eyes never leaving his face.  She stood up and called to Eliza.  "We're going outside for a bit.  I'll finish this pot when I get back, all right?"

Eliza nodded and smiled, and then winked at Viktor when Rositza's back was turned.  He gave her a weak smile in return and followed Rositza out the door and down the rickety steps.

"Let's go back here," said Rositza, leading the way to the back of the shop, where a small sheltered nook held a stone bench.  A large statue of a young girl stood not far from the bench, the front of her dress serving as a birdfeeder.  A pair of thrushes flew away from it as he and Rositza sat down.

"What is it?" she asked, laying a hand on his arm.

Viktor shook his head.  "It is…it has just been a long day.  I wanted to see you."  He paused.  "How are you?"

She removed her hand from his arm.  "I am fine," she said, but she didn't quite meet his eyes.

Viktor very much doubted she was telling the truth. 

"I have something for you," she said quietly.  She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a folded piece of paper.  She handed it to him.  "I just finished it today," she said shyly.

Viktor unfolded the paper curiously.  He froze when he saw the drawing – it was one of Rositza, the one he had told her to make for him ages ago.  She was wearing the dress she had worn to the wedding, and her face was turned toward the front of the picture.  He kept expecting the drawing to move, but it stayed in the same position, staring up at him.  He recognized the expression in the eyes; it was one he had often seen from Rositza, before last night.  But only now did he realize exactly what was in it.

Trust.

"Do you like it?" Rositza asked, her voice low and uncertain.

"It is…beautiful," he croaked, and looked up at her.  Her face broke into a nervous smile, and he instinctively pulled her to him and kissed her.  She kissed him back with surprising force, and Viktor wished he could stay in that kiss forever, could forget everything else and stay connected to Rositza like this.

But nothing had changed.  And the sooner he got this over with, the better it would be.  For both of them.

He pulled back and looked at the picture again.  "Thank you," he said softly.  "It is beautiful."  He folded it up and put it in his pocket, then finally looked up and met her eyes.  "I need to tell you something."

Rositza leaned back a little, something wary in her expression.  "What is it?"

He swallowed hard.  "I…we can't see each other anymore."

"What?"

"It is too dangerous."  He spoke this to his lap; the look on her face was too much for him to bear.

Rositza let out a sarcastic laugh.  "So you are ashamed of me."

He looked up quickly.  "Of course I am not," he said angrily.  "It is too dangerous for you.  We were lucky last night.  Do you think it would always be that way?"  He pulled out the newspaper that Susannah had given him and brandished the front page at her.  "Look at that."

She took the paper warily and her eyes grew large as she scanned the front page.  "Shadrinsk?  That was where the fires were, last night."

"Not fires," said Viktor grimly.  "And the other 'fires", this summer – none of them were, either."

A crease appeared in the middle of her forehead as she bent over the paper again.  "What is that?" she asked in a subdued voice.

"The Dark Mark," replied Viktor, knowing his voice was harsher than it should have been.  "The mark of…Dark wizards.  Of Death Eaters.  You see?  They like to show off what they have done.  They are proud of it."

"Death…Eaters?"  Rositza said faintly.  "Those men, last night, is that what…"

Viktor nodded.

Rositza looked down at the newspaper again.

"Those attacks in Shadrinsk last night were no coincidence," Viktor said softly.  "They would have done that to you, if they had had the chance."

Rositza looked up at him, her eyes over-bright, her breathing heavy, but she didn't reply.

"I can't…"  Viktor took a deep breath.  "I can't stand the thought of them hurting you," he said softly.  "It isn't safe right now, not for anyone."

"Not even for you?"

He shook his head.  "I only want you to be – "

She sat up straighter.  "So, if we don't see each other anymore, it will be safer for you too?"

He blinked.  "I…suppose so.  But that is not why – "

"I know," she said quickly.  "But it's the only reason I'll agree to this."    She didn't cry, but the look on her face was worse than tears.

Something inside Viktor broke, and he reached for her hand.  He was surprised to find his own hand shaking, and was suddenly unsure; it didn't seem right to be without her.

"I promised I wouldn't let them hurt you.  I can't let that happen,"  he managed to say, partially to explain to her, and partially to convince himself that what he was doing was the right thing.  It sounded feeble to his own ears, but he knew it was true.

Rositza scooted closer to him and burrowed into the hollow of his shoulder.  They stayed that way for a long moment, and then Rositza spoke, close to his ear.  "Just don't…make me forget this - " Her voice cracked.  "Let me remember…I won't tell anyone.  Let me keep that much of you."

She looked up at him imploringly, and he couldn't breathe.  He nodded.

"Promise me you won't."

He tightened his arms around her.  "I promise."

She smiled painfully, and a few tears spilled down her cheeks.  "Does it have to be now?"

He kissed the top of her head, dread coursing through him.  "Every minute I stay, I am putting you in danger."

She nodded, sniffling slightly, and then reached up and twined her fingers through his hair.  Viktor abandoned himself to her kiss; it was tender and lingering, as if she was trying to memorize him.  As he was trying to fix her in his memory – the soft pressure of her lips, the feather-light touch of her fingers along his neck, the way her hair tickled his cheek. 

Rositza paused and took a ragged breath, her forehead pressed against his. 

"I am sorry," he said softly.

She closed her eyes, a pained expression flitting over her features.  "I know."

She sat back and let go of him, and he felt cold without her touch. 

"You'd better go then," Rositza said quietly.  She looked up at him.  "I…"  She paused, looking like she wanted to tell him something very important, and then stood up abruptly.  "I am going to go inside now."  She bent and kissed his forehead.  "Goodbye, Viktor," she whispered.

Viktor's throat was too tight to respond.  He looked up at her, hoping she would understand what he wanted to say from his expression.

Rositza wiped her eyes and gave him one more long look, then turned and headed back toward the shop, straightening her shoulders. 

No, she wouldn't look back; he knew enough about her by now to know that this was her way. 

And that would help him now.

He drew out his wand and pointed it at her retreating back.  "Oblivate," he said quietly.

Her stride faltered as the spell hit her.  She started to turn around, but before she could face him, Viktor Disapparated.

~**~

The likeness in the drawing was remarkable; it was exactly the way Viktor wanted to remember her, with that look of belief in her eyes.  He didn't know how long he had been sitting on his bed staring at it, only that, at some point the sun had set and the sky had turned to starless black. 

And he didn't remember when the tears had started, only that they had come on silently, had sneaked up on him, just like his feelings for her.  She wouldn't forget him entirely - he had been careful about that – but she would remember everything that was real about him.  She would forget about the magic.  That would make it easier for both of them, wouldn't it?

He smoothed the paper for the hundredth time, and traced the outline of a delicate curl with a shaking finger.

"I am sorry, Rositza," he whispered.  "It was the only way."

The End

**************************

What, you were expecting a happy ending?  Not yet, my friends.  Viktor and Rositza have a lot more tough times ahead, I am afraid.

As some astute readers have noted, Arabella and Zsenya allude to  Viktor and Rositza's eventual marriage in After the End.  So, see, there's your happy ending.  We're just not there yet.

Assuming that my ideas about Viktor don't get totally blasted away by Book 5 (and assuming I have the energy to write it), expect to see more angst-filled adventures of the Moody Slavic Man later this year.  (I swear, if Viktor turns out to be a Death Eater in canon, I may have to go into therapy!)

Thank you to all my betareaders, particularly Jedi Boadicea and Zsenya, without whom this story never would have been written, and certainly would never have been finished.

For those of you who might have been wondering, most of my rather pretentious chapter titles are taken from the song "Why Walk When You Can Fly?" by Mary-Chapin Carpenter, which I consider to be Viktor's theme song.  You can find the complete lyrics at the end of Chapter 10 of Moody Slavic Man, if you are interested:

Next-to-lastly, many thanks to all of you who reviewed this story!  I am terrible about responding to reviews, so I am going to do some responses here:

To Newbia and Mr. Roberts III:

If you think Rositza is a Mary Sue, you clearly haven't met me!  But I would ask you to remember that this story is from Viktor's point of view, and he is madly in love with the girl, so he's not exactly focusing on her flaws at this point.  She does her fair share of stupid things, believe me!  (And you will, if I ever write part 3…)

To Three Sickles Short:

First, I want to thank you for your constant, detailed, thoughtful reviews.  They always make me smile!  And I loved your chapter title idea—"The Perils of Keeping it from Them for Their Own Good".   Ain't it the truth!  But if people told the truth in the beginning, stories wouldn't be half as exciting, right? J

Pauline:

Oh, it is SO much worse than marrying an Episcopalian!

LewisD:

I want to thank you especially for your review of Chapter 7.  You summed up exactly what I was trying to do with Viktor's character throughout this whole series, and I am so glad it's coming across!

Joanna:

The "shapeless jacket" is just that—not a special kind of jacket or anything, just Viktor's impression of a Muggle dinner jacket.  And by the way, thank you for your funny reviews—I especially enjoyed the "hugging the computer" one of "What Will Come".

Katinka and Talking Purple Rabbits:

Thank you both for your regular reviews – you are both people who "get it", I can tell. :)

And to Dr. Aicha, Cat, shellebelle, Sreya, Anne, Meg, Areilla, Jade Sabre, Zisk, Catherine, and anyone else who has been reviewing regularly:  Thank you!  It means a lot to me to know that people are reading this story.  I know that Viktor's not the easiest character to get into, and I thank you all for giving him a chance!  I just hope it turns out I don't have him too far off from the way he'll be in canon.

And lastly, to anyone who is depressed by the ending of this story, and to whom the promise of an eventual continuation is not enough, I will give you one hint:  Remember, Rositza is a good liar. :D