Author's Note: Alright, last short chapter then they get longer until the end. Also, I don't usually do this, but I wanted to thank violetmaid for the review. As a writer, I was extremely flattered that you were able to recognize my writing style from another one of my stories even though you hadn't realized I had written both. For whatever reason, your review stuck with me and it has made me smile several times thinking about it. Gold star for you.

And now, for your viewing pleasure...

CHAPTER SEVEN

Harry waited until the only sounds in the room were the deep breathing and gentle snoring of his roommates before pulling aside the curtains to his bed and creeping over to the window-seat with a small stack of belongings. First, he pulled out the latest note from his godfather and read through it once more, before looking at the reply he had prepared.

Hey Pup –

I've been struggling a little with how to reply to your last note. On
one hand, I could channel James: "You're writing to some slimy ponce
from Durmstrang? What are you thinking? They're dark, and bigots,
the lot of them! Don't trust a word they say or share any personal info."
And to be perfectly honest with you, that'd be my own gut response.
Then I think what Lily would say, though. "There's good in everybody,
Harry; sometimes you need to be the one to give them a chance to show
it. Follow your heart. Life's a series of chances and choices, and you
can never win in love or friendship if you never play the game." Great
woman, your mum, though I still say she was barmy as all get-out thinking
that Slytherins and the like deserved compassion and other nonsense…
Look kid, here's what I'm saying: Be careful. I suppose it's hard to
imagine—even for me—an entire school comprised solely of evil little
dark lords in the making, so there might be a good egg or two in the mix.
Whatever your mum may have thought, though, people aren't always
capable of good. Don't trust easily or blindly, Harry; I don't want
you hurt. Keep me posted; and I still love these fancy boxes!

– Sirius

And then, the reply he was about to send back through.

Padfoot –

I'm being careful, I promise. The twins are just as worried as you are. We
talked about it earlier, when they pulled me aside to check on me after the welcome
feast. They had even looked up some basic healing spells and health potions in case I
needed them, can you believe it? I know they have cause for worry; they pulled bars
off windows and kidnapped me my first summer, and you were there when I ran
away last year… I've just never had anyone look after me like that before. It
was… nice. Really nice. But I told you: Shadow is with the light. He said he
would fight against Voldemort if he came back. And he has no idea who I am,
so it's not like he was just saying what the 'Boy-Who-Lived' would want to hear.
I… feel like this friendship is real. Sort of sad, I know, since we've never even
met and I don't know the bloke's name, but we're getting to know each other,
the important stuff, not some made-up hero nonsense or looks or any of that
surface crap. The deep things, y'know? I'll be cautious, but I'm not giving this
up. I love you Snuffles, stay out of trouble and don't do anything stupid!

– Harry

Harry read it over one more time, then nodded and slid it into the box, feeling the hum of magic when he closed the lid that told him the parchment had vanished from his own box to appear in Sirius's. The past couple of weeks had been great, with them sending notes back and forth every day or two. He had been able to tell his godfather about his friends, the World Cup, the death eaters, and finally his pen-pal. Sirius gave him advice and asked questions and always managed to throw in something about his parents, which delighted Harry to no end. His letter 'journal' from Ginny was steadily filling up, and he smiled every time he opened it.

Harry looked down at the blank parchment and quill still waiting for him. Squaring his shoulders, he picked them up and angled himself so the moonlight shone through the window onto what he was working on. He wanted to run to the owlery before classes started in the morning and send this off with Hedwig as soon as possible.

Shadow –

I saw more of those vile people than I ever wished to. I don't know how close you got, how much you saw… but I watched the Death Eaters dangle helpless muggles in the air, tormenting them. I heard their laughter as they set fire to tents—tents containing sleeping children—and reveled in the fear and chaos around them. It was disgusting, and frightening in a way that I've never quite faced before; to see such depraved humanity… really see it, not just hear or read about it…

My friends and I ran into a bit of a scuffle, and my wand was lost in the confusion. Somehow, someone found it and used it to cast the dark mark. I don't know how these things always happen to me. Needless to say, the run-in with the Ministry of Magic officials who found us—and then my wand—was not the highlight of my World Cup adventure. We're all safe, though, and I've nearly stopped feeling repulsed whenever I pick up my wand, knowing what it has cast.

I told you my parents died protecting me. What I didn't tell you was that they were murdered in the last war. They fought against Voldemort (I'm sorry if the name bothers you, but Dumbledore once told me that fear of a name only increases fear of a thing itself, and I don't intend to give that monster any more power). I was only a baby when they died, and I don't really remember them, but I know that I had parents to be proud of. Nothing in this world will keep me from fighting against that man or his followers if any of them come back.

Enough of that now; it was a single, isolated event, as you said, and not worth any more thought from me. The World Cup was about Quidditch, after all—and what an amazing match it was! I suppose I was cheering for the Irish; that's what my friend's entire family was doing, anyway, and I really don't know enough about the professional leagues to do more than go along with my mate's favorites. I'd guess there's a good chance you were cheering for Bulgaria. My friend gave me a book on magical schools for my birthday, and it says that although Durmstrang is probably in northern Sweden or Norway somewhere, that most of the students are from Eastern Europe. I hope you're not as much of a Quidditch fanatic as my best mate, or I may have just ruined our friendship—I swear he would curse my name and disown me if I ever admitted that I don't think much of the Chudley Cannons.

Whoever you cheered for, though, as a fellow seeker you must admit that Viktor Krum on a broom was a breath-taking sight. The talent is there, of course, and it is clear that he has trained hard with his team. What struck me, though, was the complete and utter look of calm that settled on him whenever he focused solely in on his flight. It was a look of total control—of total freedom—whether he be diving into a feint or chasing after the snitch. I longed for my own broom, watching him.

I happened to see him—Krum, that is—right after the match, when he walked up to the announcer's box with his team. I felt sad for him, almost, as strange as that sounds. Not because of how the score ended: he knew his team was out-matched and ended things on his own terms (the twins had actually bet money on the Irish winning but Krum catching the snitch; they really are remarkable). No, I felt sad because I recognized the mask he wore once he left the air, the one that came down to protect 'Viktor' when the rest of the world was clamoring for a piece of 'Viktor Krum – Quidditch Superstar.' Is that presumptuous of me? To think I can read that much in a total stranger?

I don't know when your headmaster or headmistress intends to make the announcement, so I hope I am not ruining the surprise, but at the welcome feast tonight Professor Dumbledore told everyone about the Triwizard Tournament. The twins were furious about the age restriction—they'll be only just shy of seventeen—but secretly I'm grateful. People have died in this tournament; personally, I don't quite see why it's back at all, though I understand the letter-exchange assignment much more, now. I suppose for that—if nothing else—I ought to be grateful.

It did cross my mind, though… that you might be coming to Hogwarts this year? Durmstrang students interested in entering into the tournament will be arriving later in the term and staying until the final task. While I have no wish to see you put yourself in danger, I can't deny the thought of just seeing you—meeting you—is appealing.

Finally, I need to thank you for my gift. I've put it off until the end, because I'm still not sure how to describe how thoughtful and perfect I found it. I can't wait to get out on the pitch, fly my broom, and try out my new present (my friends' mother was paranoid after the World Cup, and kept us in the house—normally, I would have been able to fly there, during my last week of summer). You know, this is the first time that someone has ever tried to help me fight off my nightmares? You really shouldn't have gotten me anything, but… I'm very glad you did. I think you're incredible, Shadow.

I am looking forward to sharing this friendship with you this year—whether that be in letters or in person.

Happy start of term! I know I am happy to be home.

-Survivor

Harry read it through, and quickly added one last light-hearted line before signing it. He was worried his sentence about friendship was a little too cheesy, but couldn't bring himself to take it off. Despite what he told Sirius, he was getting overly invested in this stranger from Durmstrang, and he knew it. With each letter, he shared a little more and got a little more personal. He only hoped that following his heart (as his mother would have apparently encouraged) was the right thing to do this time.