Author Note: On the second day of Christmas, my true love sent to me: 2 Turtle Doves... or another chapter of my story! I'm glad I finally get to share this, I think it's rather adorable. I can't for the life of me remember why I ever wrote the first letter, I know I was stuck in the middle of a chapter for my other story at the time... and eventually one letter turned into ten letters, and when I realized the pen-pal time had stopped, I was too sad to let the story go. So I went back and started filling in blanks and plumping the story out with some fluff and plot, aaaaand ta-da! Hope you enjoy as much as me!
Also, I love Emil. He might be my favorite original character I've ever written. He also reminds me somewhat of myself, so I suppose what I'm really saying is that I'm horribly narcissistic, haha!
Good luck to anyone suffering through university finals as I am!
-Emmette
CHAPTER TWO
Viktor Krum stroked the regal snowy owl who had shown up at his parents' sea coast Bulgarian Citadel. It was moderately sized—as far as castles went—but certainly large enough to rival the pureblood manors of Great Britain. He was home for ten days before he would join his Quidditch team for training and then the preliminary World Cup matches. The ten days may seem short to an outsider, but Viktor recognized it as the gift it was, and knew that Emil Todorov, his closest friend and unofficial manager since being drafted into the professional league, had fought brutally to secure him a break.
The owl had arrived a few days into the summer, brining with her a fascinating, heartfelt letter from his mysterious correspondent. Now, with only one night left with his family before he and Emil left for the summer season, Viktor pulled out the letter (worn at the edges now from the many times he had read and re-read it over the past week) and a clean sheet of parchment.
To say he had been less-than-thrilled at the prospect of the assignment was an understatement. He had long ago given up on making any sort of meaningful connection with anyone who had not known him well before his Quidditch fame. Finding that another student had requested to hide his identity for their correspondence had placated his frustration somewhat, but he had fully expected to force his way grudgingly through a few, uncomfortable letters over the summer before celebrating the end of the pointless project. All those preconceived notions had shifted abruptly, however, with his pen-pal's first letter. The sender had been intriguing, down-to-Earth, with a gentle sadness to his writing that had kindled defensive feelings in Viktor he had always before reserved for his niece and the times Emil's lungs acted up. Smiling at the owl one last time, he finally began to write.
Dear Friend,
That is, after all, how you signed your letter. It is interesting; your letter brings the first time in many years that I have welcomed the thought of a new friend. Others see an image of me, rather than who I am. It is infuriating—like living as a shadow of yourself. Yes, a shadow is a perfect description. Perhaps that is what I shall have you call me.
I do not anticipate regretting having you as my writing partner—whoever you are. I am, however, relived that you are 'hearing' my English through writing and not speaking. Otherwise, it is YOU who would be regretting this match. Without much time and effort in editing, my English is not so great. I know it is not as common for English wizards, but do you happen to speak a second language? Perhaps then you would understand my struggle.
Twice in your letter you mentioned dreading the summer. I would think that the eager anticipation of the summer holidays would be a rather universal experience—or is it just you in particular, little friend, who does not welcome the season? I must say I can sympathize with the horror of months without flying: I can't imagine living through such a thing myself. I feel as though there is more to your sadness, though. Am I asking questions I ought not to? I will try not to push (though I fear I am much less noble with my own curiosity), but consider this an open invitation to confide in me.
I suppose I must share something of myself with you in turn. I am a Durmstrang student, and am seventeen (near eighteen), thus earning me the privilege of writing you as my 'little' friend. I would have had reservations, had I known your age going into this assignment. I am glad I did not know. You write beyond your years, and rather than bored or uncomfortable, I find myself feeling only somewhat protective. It is a welcome change.
I did not do well in sharing about myself for long. I admit, it is not something I enjoy. Still, I would like us to be equals in this friendship, so I will try again: I, too, have quite a love for flying, though my own experiences remain strictly with broom-sticks (how you can profess yourself uninteresting and then say you have flown with a phoenix… I have never even SEEN such a rare creature!). I play seeker—I am told I am rather good. Do you have any interest in Quidditch, or do you fly just for sport? You did not say. I do not cook, nor do I personally know any witch or wizard who does (at least not well). Once again, little friend, you seem to miss your own uniqueness. When not in the air—an admittedly rare occurrence in my own summer activities—I enjoy martial arts training. I am not naturally talented, but with practice I have been steadily improving.
I, too, find myself with more questions the longer I write, and so will end soon in an effort to remain at least half as respectful and uninvasive as you. I wish to know more about you. I admit your letter left me wondering what your summer looks like, if flying is so woefully absent.
I wait impatiently for a second letter.
Yours,
Shadow
Emil had appeared next to him when he was about half-way through the letter, sinking silently down beside him, stretching out his legs and leaning back against the stone castle wall that faced out towards the Black Sea. It was near enough to the edge of the sea cliff to provide the sheltered, secluded feel Viktor loved, while still leaving plenty of space to stretch out and relax without worrying about tumbling over the edge.
Emil had grown up in the small wizarding community at the base of the cliffs. They had met when they were five years old, playing at the beach just outside the village, and had been inseparable ever since. Emil's parents were both magic, though there had been many muggle-borns and half-bloods married into his family line, and while not terribly poor, he was definitely nowhere near the financial circle that Viktor's parents came from. Stefan and Milena Krum had never minded, though, not so much as batting an eye-lash when Viktor first dragged his young friend home for dinner. He made their son happy, and that's what mattered. Over the years, as Viktor and Emil grew closer, he and his friend had spent more and more time up at the Citadel together. Emil was the youngest of four brothers, and by far the smallest. He had been born early, and spent the first few years of his life with frail health and circling through healers. Even now, nearing adulthood, strenuous activity or exposure to cold would have his lungs, especially, acting up. Between his father's indifference for his 'weak' fourth son and his parents' unhappy marriage, Emil had never enjoyed the time he spent at home.
The day they both received their Durmstrang letters, he and Emil had their first true fight, and Viktor returned to his parents hurt and confused as to why Emil had gotten so upset with him as Viktor talked excitedly about all the wonderful adventures that could be had at school. His mother had pulled him onto her lap—something she had stopped doing several years before—and explained that the Todorov's did not send their sons to Durmstrang, feeling the high tuition was not worth the formal education, when there were many (more labor-intensive and less-prestigious) jobs to be had by young wizards with only home schooling. Viktor remembered looking at her feeling utterly lost, and asking how that made any sense for Emil: he was smarter than any of the other kids their age, Viktor included, and surely his weak lungs and heart would make it impossible to work as a creatures-poacher or cauldron-welder like his brothers. His mother had looked sadly at his father, who had gotten a peculiar look on his face before kissing both Viktor and his mother on the head and then storming out of the room. An hour later he had returned, Emil's hand in one of his own and his wand—floating Emil's belongings in the air—held in the other.
It was several years before Viktor learned exactly what had happened that day: how Stefan had gone to offer a full scholarship to Emil's parents, how Emil's father had scoffed at it, asking why he should feed and house Emil during the holidays, then, if he wasn't going to be getting a 'real' job and earning his keep. Stefan Krum, to whom family meant everything, had snapped and yelled at the other man for a solid twenty minutes. In the end, a bag of galleons was enough for Emil's father to sign over guardianship to Stefan, and he had vowed that Emil would always have a home with the Krum family as long as he wished one. Though Viktor accompanied his best friend to visit his mother and brothers dutifully during every school break, Emil had lived in the Krum Citadel ever since.
"Vik? Where'd you go, brother? Your head is in the clouds." Viktor grinned sheepishly over at Emil, who was watching him with one eyebrow raised and rather than answering he handed over the letter he had written to get his friend's approval. He had no secrets from Emil, and the other boy had read the letter from his pen-pal the day it arrived. As Emil accepted the parchment and dutifully began reading without question, Viktor thought for the thousandth time how lucky he was to have Emil in his life. He may not have had the easiest childhood, but the youngest Todorov was stronger than he appeared, and he had flourished both at school and in permanent residence with the Krum family. He was brilliant, easily staying at the top of their class and dragging Viktor along close after him. His shrewd mind and wit, once his confidence had grown, delighted Stefan, who would often get into heated political debates with the young man, and Viktor smirked every time he watched his friend cross his arms and frown unimpressed in the face of one of Stefan Krum's famous tantrums. The Krums were traditional purebloods, so a formal adoption had always been out of the question, but Emil was none-the-less folded into the family and accepted as a close nephew/cousin. Even Viktor's brother, twelve years older than the boys and already well out of the house by the time Emil moved in, had accepted Emil as family without question.
Beside him, Emil snorted down at his letter.
"You're told you're 'rather good' at playing Seeker, huh?" He smirked as Viktor tried to scowl in return, but he could feel the corners of his mouth twitching to smile, and knew Emil had noticed as well. "It's a good letter… Shadow." Viktor received another teasing smirk, but this one quickly slid away to be replaced by a somber look.
"I've never liked the sacrifices you have made in your personal life in order to follow your Quidditch dreams," Emil said quietly. Viktor just smiled at him and gently took back the letter to fold and tie onto the owl's leg.
"I know, but having your steady friendship and my family's support has always made it worth it to me, you know that." Indeed, Emil—far from being jealous or resentful of Viktor's opportunities as many of their year-mates in school had been—had made it his personal mission to help Viktor be as happy and successful in his new position as possible. It had been his idea to develop the surly, scowling façade for the public eye when the first few public appearances and newspaper articles had proven to be overwhelming to a Viktor whose personality was left wide open for judgment. Emil, too, had spent weeks pouring over laws and contracts in order to develop one that would keep Viktor's attendance at Durmstrang shielded from the public if the headmaster consented… Stefan had gladly accepted the mission to bully his old school-mate Igor Karkaraff into signing off on it. Emil had even stormed uninvited into the Bulgarian Nationals' manager's office and secured transport and housing as Viktor Krum's "advisor" during all summer training and competing, ensuring that the boys weren't separated between terms.
"Damn right I'm worth it," Emil quipped, but when he bumped his shoulder into Viktor's he was smiling openly, and both boys watched in comfortable silence as the snowy white owl took off, soaring away across the Black Sea. They had one last night of peace and quiet before training began.