Author's Note: I'm really quite proud of this story. For something that I started writing on a whim with no real direction in mind, it certainly developed a life of its own. I love the background I've built for Viktor. I enjoy taking the fringe characters JK Rowling created and giving them more complex personalities and histories.

I hope everyone is still enjoying the story, only four more chapters to go after this one!

-Emmette

CHAPTER EIGHT

Viktor was nearly vibrating with energy as he paced through the double room he shared with Emil in Durmstrang's West Tower. He had eagerly handed over his pen-pal's latest letter for his friend to read, and had been more than a little frustrated when, after skimming through the contents once, Emil had merely raised a hand for silence and began slowly and carefully reading it through a second time. Viktor, for all his patience in scanning a Quidditch pitch in search of the golden flash of a snitch, was sure he was going to burst at the seams if Emil didn't say something—anything—very soon.

A small part of him realized he should be feeling guilty, that his pen-pal surely wouldn't have gone on like that about him if he realized he was actually talking to Viktor Krum. Most of him, though, had just fallen a little bit in love. His Survivor had seen him, the real him, underneath his public persona. He had admired not just his talent, but the real joy he felt when flying. He had understood the obsessive need for the freedom that only being on a broom could bring. He had called Viktor breath-taking…

A quiet snort drew him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to find Emil watching him and fighting to hold back laughter.

"Why are you laughing?" Viktor asked bewilderedly, halting his nervous pacing abruptly to frown at his friend in concern. With visible effort, Emil got himself back under control, and though he was clearly going for nonchalance, Viktor could still hear the amusement in his voice when he answered.

"Nothing, no reason… I was just thinking that 'smitten' was a good look on you. Sort of like a love-sick puppy…" He trailed off, snickering openly now as he ducked away from the pillow Viktor had pitched at him with a scowl.

"Krum men do not do 'love-sick puppy' looks," he answered with as much dignity as he could muster while fighting off a blush. Emil just chuckled again and patted him on the back.

"You keep telling yourself that, brother." He sobered up then, settling down onto his bed. He crossed his legs, elbows resting on his knees and chin held up on his fists, studying the other man carefully. Viktor, sensing that the conversation had now gone from playful to serious, mirrored the position on his own bed and waited patiently for Emil to gather his thoughts.

"We spoke about many things before returning to school this year, Viktor. You told me how you felt about the Death Eaters we saw at the World Cup, and you told me where you would stand if war returned. Why is it that in all of our conversations you never asked me about my own stance?"

"I know how you feel about fighting and violence. You must know I would never ask you to abandon your morals." The Seeker spoke earnestly, watching his friend closely. He hadn't felt it necessary to ask, if he was being honest. He accepted that for the first time, he was going to have to take a stand without Emil watching his back. He didn't like it, not in the slightest, but he respected the other man and wouldn't dream of trying to change him. Emil, though, had quirked an eyebrow at the response and looked almost tempted to roll his eyes.

"Well that's rather presumptuous of you," he drawled sarcastically. Before Viktor could work out whether to apologize or simple gape at the uncharacteristic attitude, however, Emil had brushed away the comment with a wave of his hand and settled once more into the somber expression that Viktor was familiar with. "You're right, I don't like violence. And—however misguided your assumptions—I am nonetheless honored that you hold my beliefs and choices and such high regard. Standing with you against the type of evil we saw from those Death Eaters though, that is not fighting for sport or glory; that is simply doing what is right. I respect your father's decision to stay neutral in the last war. He had a family depending on him, and he did what he felt was best. I, though, do not have those same responsibilities." He held up a hand when Viktor looked like he wanted to argue, and quickly clarified. "I am not saying I have no family; not only do I still hold some fond feelings for my mother and brothers, however strained those relationships may be, I no longer have any doubt of my place with you and your family. Neither of us are in the same position as Stefan was, though; the safety of our family isn't resting entirely on our shoulders. Other than Stefka, there are no small children to consider, and she has your brother and sister-in-law and see to her safety. If it comes to fighting, I will fight. I will be proud to do so at your side."

"I've no idea how you grew into such a brave, honorable man. I've met your parents, they certainly can't take any credit. Not even my parents can, or I would have turned out much better myself," Viktor answered quietly, watching his best friend with a mix of awe and gratitude.

"Stop," Emil suddenly growled, and Viktor looked at him in surprise. "You always do that; how can you find the good in others and yet be so blind to it in yourself?" He snatched the letter from Viktor's pen-pal off the bed and quickly found the spot he wanted to read. "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.' I will not let you lose yourself in your own masks, Viktor." His expression was fierce, and Viktor, despite the serious moment, could not stop himself from smiling.

"I am very lucky to have you as a friend," he said sincerely. Then, with a smirk, he added, "It's good to see you warming up to my Survivor." Emil scowled at this, though it didn't hold its usual strength. Refusing to admit any such thing, he quickly changed the topic.

"Well, I suppose now we decide whether or not we are entering into this Triwizard Tournament." His tone was light, but his Krum saw the steely determination in his eyes.

"Whether or not we are entering, Todorov?" He asked quietly, well aware that Emil not only hated performing for an audience, but refused to take part in any sort of physical competition, even in martial arts where he was surprisingly skilled. The man was probably the only student ever to make it through a Durmstrang education without either accepting a challenge for a duel or ruining his reputation. He would fight for his friends and he would fight for his life, but he saw nothing to gain from fighting for the sake of fighting, and no amount of peer pressure had ever had him faltering in those ideals. Viktor quite admired him for that.

"Of course 'we'. You already have your Quidditch spotlight; you don't think I'll let you take all the glory without putting up a fight, do you?"

"Emil, you don't have to—"

"Unless you think I'm not capable? Perhaps I'm too much of a weakling to compete in such a tournament?" Viktor gaped at the harsh words when his friend cut him off, purposefully throwing out the insult that the Todorov patriarch had barked at his son so often during their childhood, nearly destroying the young boy's confidence in the process.

"You know I've never—!" This time, he was cut off with a mere look, and Viktor realized the trap Emil had spun. They may both know that Emil was doing this only to ensure that they stayed together in their last year of school, but Viktor couldn't try to change his friend's mind without sounding like an utter prat. Even as he shook his head in exasperation, he couldn't help sending a small smile at his best friend.

"Come," Emil said, standing quickly and effortlessly shifting into 'manager' mode. "Put on your Viktor-Krum-Quidditch-Star face and we'll go get Karkaroff to let us use the floo in his office to contact Stefan and Vladimir. We shouldn't be making decisions like this without discussing them with the family." He stood up and stretched, and Viktor smiled broadly now, knowing that even a few years ago Emil would have had a hard time claiming the Krums as his family, too.

The seeker was drawn from his thoughts by a gentle squeeze on his shoulder and looked up to find his friend gently handing him Survivor's letter.

"I want you to know, Viktor, that no matter how much I worry, I really hope this—whatever this is—works out for you. Whatever happens, whatever you decide to do, I'll be there for you 'till the end." Viktor felt the familiar warmth of love for his best friend bloom up and clasped hands tightly with the other man.

"Brothers until death," he said solemnly, repeating the promise they had made to each other at nine years old, when they had secretly performed a crude 'blood brothers' ritual of their own design.

"Brothers this life and the next," Emil responded immediately, and with one last meaningful nod at each other, Viktor let his public mask come down and they left their room to seek out the headmaster in his private tower…

Survivor –

We, too, were told of the tournament during our first night's dinner. I apologize for the delay in responding to your letter, but I wanted to take some time to seriously consider my participation in this contest, and to get the opinions of my father and brother as well. I have had several chances to speak with my family now, and time to reflect on what I want. Though it may be that nothing comes of it, I have decided to enter. It is my final year at Durmstrang, and I have studied thoroughly. I would be honored to represent my school in such a way. Besides; how could I pass up the opportunity to spend the year earning your friendship in person?

You mentioned in a previous letter that you thought you would someday want to tell me who you are. I, too, am ready to let go of the secrecy. I cannot help but worry, though, what you will think of me once my identity is revealed. My best friend tells me I should just tell you my name now, let you get used to the idea before I work myself up over meeting you. Then again, he also says I should make you sign a privacy contract first, so that you can't sell my letters to the media. I am happily ignoring him on both points. He shakes his head and calls me naïve, but somehow I know that even if you end up angry with me, our letters will stay between us. Whatever the outcome, I would like to meet you and introduce myself in person. Will you wait until my arrival at Hogwarts before learning my name?

I do not understand how you can speak so lightly of your run-in with the Death Eaters. I know that for some, it is necessary to 'put on a brave face' after such a traumatic event, but that does not seem to be what you are doing. No, with you it is more like you honestly feel that events that night could have been much worse. What have you seen and done in your young life, my little friend, that has left you to see the world through the eyes of an adult when you still ought to be a child? There is so much about you I do not know, and I want to.

I am sorry to hear about your parents. You told me before that your father died trying to give your mother time to escape with you. You truly are a survivor, aren't you? Like Harry Potter, you are a Boy (or Girl?) Who Lived. The war left so many families in ruins… how anyone can still think that Voldemort was anything more than a murdering bastard, I do not know. Loathe as I am to admit it, I struggled to write his name just now. I do not think you will judge me for it. Your headmaster sound like a wise man. I have of course heard of the great Albus Dumbledore, but your admiration clearly comes from the man himself, and not his accomplishments. He sounds like the kind of leader to truly inspire loyalty. I wish I could say half as much for our own headmaster; to be honest, I think the professors here would fare better simply left alone to lead themselves. It will be a welcome reprieve for the younger students, I am sure, having Karkaroff at Hogwarts all year.

I am glad my gift was to your liking. Hopefully you will have the chance to use it soon, I know how eager you must be to get back into the air. I am impressed that you are on a Quidditch team for your school if you are unable to practice during the summers. We must fly together when I arrive at Hogwarts. Will you do me such an honor?

I am happy that you are back home, little friend, and with your true family.

Faithfully Yours,

Shadow

As he finally tied his letter to the snowy owl's leg with great care, Viktor could only grin as the impatient creature nipped at his fingers in annoyance. He knew by now that she would stay with him until he had given her a reply for her owner, but he had never before kept her for so much time and she was clearly less than pleased.

"Shhh, one more moment. Then you may return home. I know I have held you far too long, I apologize." This seemed to appease the ornery owl somewhat, as she stopped hampering his attempts to secure his letter. Not for the first time, he marveled at the intelligence and poise of the remarkable animal. "There you are. Go on, back to Hogwarts now!" Carrying her on his arm to the open window, he gave her a mighty launch and watched as she soared gracefully into the cool night sky.

He felt bad that he had delayed his reply for several weeks, but he hadn't wanted to let the owl leave without an answer to his friend as to whether or not they might meet in person this school year.

Stefan had been very pleased with his son for considering the tournament. It had felt good—more so than he would have imagined—to make his father proud like that. When Vlad had told him privately that Stefan had been unable to speak of anything else for days and had even threatened the rest of the family with a painful death if they let slip how secretly worried he was over his momchentse (baby boy), because he trusted his son to make this important choice on his own with a clear mind… Well, Viktor was sure he would compete over that alone.

What had really taken so much time was his promise to Emil to speak with Milena about his pen-pal before making a final decision. It hadn't been easy to find a time to speak privately with his mother, and when it finally happened, the conversation had been more complicated than he had anticipated.

First, she had been hurt that Viktor had hidden the correspondence from her in the first place. He tried to explain that it was just a school assignment, not worth mentioning, but she wouldn't have it; she insisted that once he felt it was more important than that, he should have brought it up then. "Unless you see this friendship of yours as worth nothing more than a homework grade?" She had asked him, and Viktor, unable to agree, had been forced to apologize.

No sooner had that been settled and Viktor just beginning to describe his new friend than Milena had interrupted to ask after the gender of the writer. Viktor had blinked a few times, staring at her blankly, before awkwardly admitting that he really didn't know. Then it had been his mother's turn to be surprised, for surely it mattered to him if he was developing romantic feelings towards this young person? When he had only blushed and ducked his head, Milena had smiled softly and brushed a hand lovingly over his cheek. "I see. So many secrets from your mother. I wish you would stop that; nothing could ever make me love you less." And so a slightly more emotional Viktor had gone on to tell her all her knew about his little Survivor, and all the things they had shared with each other over the summer.

He had expected his mother to share the same concerns as Emil, and had prepared himself to defend any number of objections: Survivor's age, the hidden identity, the distance, whether or not these feelings were influencing his decision to enter the tournament… In the end, though, Milena had sat quietly with him for a while before asking a single question.

"Do you think you could love this Survivor of yours?" Viktor didn't answer right away. He thought of his mother and father together; Milena, who nearly radiated her love for her family, and Stefan, serious and reserved, who never the less lit up like a chandelier when she walked into the room. He thought of Vladimir and his sister-in-law, Daniela, who had been married for four years and shared a child for two of them, and still gazed into each other's eyes like love-struck teenagers. Then he thought of his pen-pal, and whether or not he could ever feel like that for his new friend—or for anyone at all, really. He smiled.

"I do not love them now, I do not know them enough to love them. But yes, I think someday I could. I want the chance to find out," he answered, gently but confidently.

"Then you had better pack for your trip to Britain, no?" Was his mother's only response, accompanied by a soft kiss to his forehead.