Author's Note: We're half-way there! And, more importantly, I JUST FINISHED MY LAST FINAL! I am sick and exhausted but damn am I in a good mood right now.

I hope you're all still enjoying the story!

-Emmette

CHAPTER SIX

Viktor crept silently out onto one of the parapets of the Citadel, settling himself down against a secluded wall before conjuring a little bowl of flames for light against the black sky. He pulled out the letter he had started to his young friend during the partying after the World Cup match. He and Emil never drank in such a public arena—Viktor because he had a tendency to over-share when inebriated and so avoided it around reporters, and Emil out of solidarity with his friend.

One good thing that came of the rampant inebriation was a swift negotiation with a well-known developer for Quidditch training equipment. Between Viktor's intimidation, Emil's sly maneuvering and a flurry of vodka shots, the boys had for the second time obtained a prototype of un-manufactured merchandise never even made for the market—they were feeling rather proud of themselves. After several hours, though, of being the only sober ones left in a room full of increasingly drunk Europeans trying to drown their disappointment in the loss, the young men had snuck away to a quieter area (relatively speaking) and watched from a distance all the elaborate celebrations taking place in the Irish camps.

The snowy owl had been waiting for him when the team returned to the tents after the match. She had seemed much more restless and unsettled than usual, and it wasn't until he read his newest letter that he understood and crooned sympathetically to her. It must be difficult sensing that her owner was so class but not being able to return without a reply. With this in mind, Viktor had pulled out parchment and a quill and began a response.

Survivor –

Happy Belated Birthday, my friend. I am glad I was able to share the day with you in some small way, though I wish you had said something sooner as I feel now that my gift is woefully late. It is a flight recorder. Clip it onto your broom handle and tap your wand against it to activate it. It will record up to an hour of movement. Tap your wand against it again to end the recording. When you take the ring off and place it back on its stand, you can tap your wand and watch a miniature image of your broom's route. It was created originally as a training gadget, but to be honest it is of little use in that area so it never went on the market. However, I was able to get my hands on a few of the prototypes, and I quite enjoy them. The image lights up, and I find it is a pleasant thing to fall asleep to. I know there are some nightmares that cannot be so simply chased away, but I hope this small gift can help at least a little.

I did not receive your letter until after the World Cup match, but I, too, was there. I have been to many professional games, as it were. What did you think of the match? If it is not too sensitive a subject (I know it may be for some), which side did you cheer for?

It was as far as he had gotten before the shouts and exclamations of merriment had turned to terror-stricken screams. He and Emil had stood quickly, pulling their wands as they watched wide-eyed at the Death Eaters that had appeared across the field. They were still standing uncertainly, wondering whether they should go and join the fight, when a British Ministry representative found them and hustled them away with an emergency portkey. They were met in the Ministry by a frantic coach and subdued teammates, all having been administered powerful sobriety potions, before being shuffled off through a series of floo trips back to the Krum Citadel.

They were both shaken, though they handled the stress in different ways: Emil, by retreating silently into his own thoughts and drifting away after a hug from Milena to brood in a corner of the room, observing. Viktor, on the other hand, seemed only to truly process the implications of the attack once he was back in the safety of his home.

"Father, we need to go back. There are families, children, crowded into those camps. They won't have the training we've been given." He was striding quickly back towards the fireplace when a steely grip closed around his arm and spun him around, bringing him face-to-face with a menacing Stefan Krum.

"Where do you think you are going? That is not your responsibility!"

"Not my—that is entirely beside the point!" Viktor snapped back, outraged. "Let go of me! I am seventeen, you cannot hold me here!" It was the first time he tried to undermine his father's authority over him, and the tension in the room increased almost palpably.

"I don't care if you are twice that age; when you are in my home my word is law," his father hissed dangerously. Had Viktor been any less frantic and agitated at that moment, he would have recognized the need to tread lightly. As it was, he merely glared back at his father and spit out the first thing that crossed his mind.

"Those monsters were attacking innocent people—women, children, defenseless people. Do you not see how wrong that is? Have you no heart or decency at all? Is that why you never fought against Him in the war, because you simply didn't care?" As soon as the words were out, Viktor knew he had gone too far. He paled, and opened his mouth to try and apologize, but his father had already dropped his arm as though burnt, then spun away from him, his entire stiff posture screaming his desire to lash back. When he did speak, though, after a few tense moments of silence, he said only five words, in a voice that sounded only sad and tired before he walked out of the room without a second glance.

"Do what you want, Viktor."

Gut twisting, Viktor had turned to his mother, but she would not meet his eyes.

"You've been travelling for hours now; the attack has long since been handled," Milena said softly, then followed her husband out of the room, offering nothing else.

Viktor stood utterly still, frozen in place by guilt and regret for several minutes before a noise in the corner reminded him that Emil was there as well. He heard slow footsteps approaching, but did not turn around, waiting to see what his friend would do.

"I'm scared too, brother." He said quietly, and finally the tension flowed out of Viktor's tense muscles and he let his head hang down in front of him. "I'm going to sleep in the guest wing tonight. We both need time to think." Viktor knew that it wasn't a rejection, that Emil had purposefully kept his tone light and even, but it made it no less difficult to watch him walk out of the room when the last thing Viktor wanted was to be left alone with his thoughts. He walked slowly to his rooms (trying to ignore the emptiness of Emil's own rooms on the other end of the family quarters), managing to sit still and process his reactions for a solid hour before he began to feel trapped and surrounded in his chambers, and retreated outside to one of the castle's walls. He slid a little closer to the light from his conjured flames, then took out his quill and began to write once more.

Although I hope you were safely away when danger struck, I have an odd feeling this was not the case. Did you see the Death Eaters? We have spoken very little about political affiliations, beyond your concerns about your mother being muggle-born. I assume, that being the case, that you are against what You-Know-Who and his followers stood for. I suppose I ought to be more cautious, not knowing for sure where you stand or even who might be privy to this information, but I refuse to hide my beliefs in this area. I find the acts committed by You-Know-Who's side in the war deplorable. I refuse to buy into the panic roused by a few bullying individuals at a Quidditch match, but were this isolated incident truly to turn into more, I don't think I could stand neutrally with my father. I love and respect him, and I know that his stand in the war kept our family safe and in-tact, but I am my own man and must make my own choices. I try not to push you for anything too personal, my little friend, but I feel I must ask: If the Dark Lord's supporters rose again, where would you fall in the fight that followed?

You must be with those twins of yours now, and your other friends. I know you feel honored to have them in your life, but have no doubt that they are lucky as well, to have you in theirs.

I return to school in a few days' time, as I imagine you do, as well. This will surely be the last letter we exchange before the start of term, and the summer assignment will be over then. Am I presuming too much to hope that these letters can continue?

Whatever you decide, I will always cherish the friendship we shared this summer.

-Shadow

(PS – Some day, I will get you to tell me how you came to find out you were a wizard at age eleven, from a giant breaking and entering on your birthday. You never fail to surprise me, little survivor.)

It wasn't as long or as elegant as he would have liked, but it felt right. He would have to find his father in the morning and apologize. He had admitted to himself before writing his letter that he had overreacted, but organizing his thoughts onto parchment had really showed him how cruel his words had been. He was only a tiny child during the last war, four years old when the Boy-Who-Lived defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He had heard enough stories, though, especially from his brother Vladimir who was a teen at the time, to know how terrible it had been. He knew his father did everything he could to protect his young wife and his sons. Vlad also told him how the laughter died in Stefan in those years, how the weight of his choice to stay neutral aged him. His personal life motto after the war ended had become "If you aren't part of the solution, you are part of the problem." He had thrown himself into reconstructing the foreign branches of the Ministry of Magic, quickly rising in politics with his tireless efforts to heal the damage done during the war.

Viktor folded the letter up and slid it carefully into a pocket. He would send it off once the snowy owl had found its way to the Citadel. For now, it was late and his body was feeling the effects of having flown in a World Cup match. He needed to catch a few hours of sleep before finding his father, and then going to Emil. There was much to consider before his return to school.