Author Note: I suppose the one positive thing about being kept up all night coughing is I keep getting chapters posted reeeaaaaallly early. Gotta find that silver lining, yeah? Also, as I'm re-reading this story I've decided I officially have a crush on Emil. Damn him and his non-existence... I am cuddle-deprived. Le sigh.

Thank you for the lovely reviews I've been getting for this story, I love hearing your thoughts!

-Emmette

CHAPTER FOUR

As soon as Emil saw the snowy owl approaching in the distance, he signaled the coach that Viktor needed to take ten. By the time the team had landed and were headed to the edge of the pitch for water and quick massages to work out cramps, the owl had landed gracefully on the open door to the locker room, and Viktor was bee-lining towards it.

Emil rolled his eyes with a small smile, knowing his friend had been childishly eager for a new letter ever since he had sent his own off from the Krum Citadel. He eased himself up from the ground, where he had been scanning through magical newspapers and magazines and drafting letters to editors in an attempt to keep the media coverage on Viktor somewhat under control. He collected a large bottle of icey water and a small vial of lotion, the one Viktor commonly used to ease the sore muscles in his hands from his harsh grip on his broom. Turning to walk back to the young seeker, he watched the play of emotions change on his friend's face as he opened and read the letter: excitement, fondness, a brief blush? Emil smirked, wondering what the young Hogwarts student had said. The smirk faded though, and he quickened his steps as he saw a deep sadness settle into his friend's eyes for a few moments. His mood lifted slightly, changing to a soft smile and then an incredulous head-shake, but the sadness didn't leave his eyes, and when he finished reading, the look had returned fully.

"Is something amiss?" He asked gently, reaching Krum and pressing the water bottle firmly into Viktor's free hand, leaving no room for argument. He expected Viktor to hand him the letter, as he had done with the last one, but he hesitated and, in the end, folded it back up and shook his head before gulping down half the water bottle.

"I'll tell you later," Viktor said, and handed over the bottle and parchment in exchange for the little bottle of lotion to rub into his hands. When he mounted his broom and kicked back up into the air a few minutes later, Emil was still holding onto the letter. He fiddled with it uncertainly as he returned the bottle and potion vial, then went back to his paperwork. Viktor hadn't said not to read the letter, although Emil had no doubts he wasn't meant to after Viktor folded it away rather than share it with him. He set it aside, making a few more notes for the letter that needed to be sent to the editor of Quidditch Quarterly, but after another ten minutes he tossed it aside, admitting he was too distracted to get anything done. Glancing up to make sure Viktor was focused elsewhere, he slid the letter back over and opened it up, reading it quickly. He had just finished when a shadow fell across his lap, followed immediately by a solid thud from Viktor's landing, and the letter was wrenched out of his hands.

"What are you doing?!" he hissed, and while Emil's first instinct was to snap back in the face of his friend's anger, one glance at the guilt and betrayal in the seeker's eyes had anger leaking away.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry… well, I did, but I was worried about you. I didn't think you would be so upset—"

"They trusted me with the things they shared, it wasn't my place to show this to you!" Viktor cut in, and menacing wrath laced with clear hurt was more than Emil was prepared for. He had seen Viktor get protective in the past, but never had he been on this end of the anger. He felt terrible, truly, and knew he would need to apologize properly later, but right now the team was watching them curiously from the air, the coach glaring, and above all of it, he was worried that his friend was getting pulled too far in too fast; he didn't want to see him hurt.

"Vik, you don't owe this kid anything. You don't even know him, he doesn't know you. You've gotten two letters from a complete stranger, and you're suddenly so emotionally invested? Take a step back." His voice was pleading, but Viktor only glared at him with hard eyes. He slid the letter into his robes, ignoring the disapproving look this earned him from the coach, and kicked off roughly into the air. Running a hand absently through his hair, Emil watched the jerky, anger-driven spins and rolls that his friend coaxed out of his broom for a few minutes before kneeling down to pack away his things. He had damage control to do, and that took priority over the media…

Little Survivor –

I have never been more grateful for a school assignment than I am for this correspondence, for it has shown me that there are truly good people in this world. I have no doubt you will disagree with me that you belong in such a category, but frankly I do not trust your judgment on this matter, little friend. The more I learn about you, the more I want to know who you are and yet the more fiercely I hope to shield your secret, as it seems the only part of you I will be able to protect. It is a maddening irony.

You have not, in either letter, 'whined' about your summer. Though, reading between the lines, I imagine you have every right to. This cousin of yours sounds quite dishonorable, and frankly cowardly. What kind of man outnumbers and attacks another person, much less their blood relative? I hold little regard for his parents, either, as you have clearly resigned yourself to this abuse, and therefore I can only assume that your aunt and uncle condone the behavior, at the very least. The fact that you dread your time in their household and view your school, rather than your relatives' house, as home, is more than enough to allow me to draw my own conclusions about your situation.

I would like to make it clear, before I go any further, that I hold no ill feelings towards your mother's memory. I do not know if you meant to reveal so much, but you wrote of your mother in the past tense. I am sorry for your loss, my little friend. It is true, Durmstrang began as a private pureblood institution, and to this day only accepts students with two magical parents. I did not choose which school to attend, and though I won't deny the school spirit I have developed over the years, that is not the only practice with which I find fault. Nowhere—and no one—is perfect.

Will you tell me about your father? I have my guesses, of course, seeing as you live with relatives, but I won't press you further.

I think, my friend, that you reveal more than you intend with many of your stories. I was aware, yes, of the healing ability of phoenix tears. Did YOU know that a phoenix will only offer aid in a truly noble and selfless endeavor? That the tears of a phoenix are an incredibly rare gift, only produced when the creature's pure spirit is truly anguished by the pain it sees, sometimes going entire decades without shedding so much as a single tear? It makes me wonder what a child of twelve could have been doing to prompt such comfort. I think you'll find me disinclined to believe any future attempts to deny that you are—at the very least—a decent person.

I will share with you about my own family, it seems only fair. And, I admit, I find myself wanting you to know me—the real me—and wanting you to find me deserving of your friendship.

My mother is young, beautiful, and a very gentle woman. She grew ill with her pregnancy of me, and though the healers warned her that she may not survive childbirth, she never considered terminating the pregnancy. Such strength and courage in such a tiny person never fails to humble me. I love her dearly. My father is quite the opposite. Large, brusque, tough. He has high expectations of me, and at times I grow weary from how unrelentingly he pushes me. I have never doubted, however, that he challenges me because he wants what is best for me, and whenever I stumble on that path I know he will be right there to help me find my footing. I forget sometimes just how much he loves me—and I him. Thank you for helping me remember, little friend.

I have one elder brother, my father's from a previous marriage, who is twelve years my senior. He was already in school by the time I was born, and while we are close I think our relationship is more of a favorite uncle doting on a spoiled nephew than that of brothers. I do not regret it. My brother is married to a patient, witty young woman who I am proud to call a sister-in-law, and two years ago they gifted me with the most precious little niece. They have not said as such yet, but I believe they are trying to make a big sister of her. I would be absolutely delighted were they to succeed.

I tell you all this, little friend, not only to help you learn more about me but also to make it clear that I am not trying to claim I understand what your life is like. I have always grown up surrounded by love and support, and could not imagine a childhood in which I did not know that I was protected and cared for.

We don't know each other, and you have little reason to trust me, but I feel the need to tell you anyway: should you ever need a friend—should you ever need a protector—I will be there. My best friend (who is really another member of the family) says I am a fool, to have become so attached to a stranger I received two letters from. My father would more so, if he knew, especially to have exposed such a 'weakness.' Perhaps there is some merit to the opinion, but I find myself refreshingly, recklessly, not caring. This friendship matters a great deal to me, little survivor. I am willing to make myself vulnerable to you if it means you might open up some yourself.

Yours,

Shadow

Emil read over the letter carefully, before forcing a tentative smile and handing it back to Viktor. The seeker had left the pitch without speaking to him, and then disappeared for several hours before showing up suddenly at his side and handing over the letter he had written in return. Emil had wisely kept his mouth shut until he had read it through.

"It's… very nice, Vik," he said carefully, not quite daring to say anything that might set his friend off again and push him away before they'd worked anything out. Viktor, though, knew him too well and wasn't buying it.

"But…?" He prompted, and the earnest, pleading look in his eyes impelled Emil to be honest, though he was careful to keep his voice low and gentle.

"But, you know I am going to worry about you sharing so much personal information with someone, especially in writing. I know," he added hastily, when it looked like Viktor was going to interrupt, "that he doesn't know your name and you didn't use my name or your family's names, I know you're being careful. But you're clearly invested in this; what if you decide to tell this kid who you are some day? I admit, they seem nice enough, but you've never actually met, you barely know anything about them." He cupped his hands around Viktor's neck, facing him and meeting his eyes insistently. "I do not want to see you hurt, Viktor."

"I know, brother. And I love you for that, even when you're being infuriating." He returned the embrace briefly before they stepped apart. "This feels right, Emil. I want to take a chance. Aren't you the one who's always reminding me that I'm going to have to let someone in some day if I ever want to have a relationship, and not just 'friends with benefits' with other Durmstrang students?" His eyes were pleading now, and Emil knew he had lost.

"You know I can't argue with that. I want you happy. Is this what this is, then? An attraction, not just a friendship?"

"I… I'm not sure, not yet. I would not be at all adverse to the idea," Viktor answered carefully, and Emil simply nodded as though it was just the answer he had expected.

"And the fact that your new friend is just reaching fourteen, this will not be a problem?" Since Viktor had lost his virginity to a witch in their year on his sixteenth birthday, he had not been with anyone younger. Several friends—both male and female—had been happy to share a friendly afternoon or the occasional evening with the famous seeker over the past two years, always with the understanding that that's all it would be, and the promise of discretion. Viktor had never truly dated, though, always too uncomfortable with his fame, and it was one of the sacrifices that weighed most heavily on Emil, who knew what a big heart the seeker had.

"In someone else, perhaps; but the soul is older than the years, in this case." He looked nervous, but Emil only smiled reassuringly. He knew Viktor would never take advantage of someone younger, and Emil himself had been fourteen when he had slept with his first girlfriend, so he honestly had no right to judge. Viktor had so little control over his personal life, between the media and pressure to reflect favorably on his politician father. Even if Emil worried about his friend investing so much in this stranger, he would not take that choice from him. With an exaggeratedly put-upon sigh, he clapped Viktor on the back and guided him over to where the regal white owl sat in the window sill.

"Well then; we have a letter to send off."