Author's Note: Merry Christmas Eve! Enjoy the second-to-last chapter, the ficlet is almost at an end! I'd love to hear your thoughts, if you felt like sending a little gifty my way in the form of a review. Oh, and enjoy your holiday!

-Emmette

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Try as he might, Harry couldn't keep his eyes from straying over to where the Durmstrang students sat with the Slytherins at dinner that night. At least, he couldn't keep his eyes away once Fred and George had finally talked him into braving the Great Hall in the first place.

"I can't show my face in there!"

"Harry, you're being stupid; he doesn't even know who you are."

"I called him breath-taking! To his face!"

"Well, technically you haven't told him anything to his face. The whole pen-pal thing you know…"

"I'm being serious!"

"I thought Padfoot was Sirius. Aren't you Survivor? Now I'm confused."

"That joke wasn't funny the first time."

"No really Harry, it's not like you're the only one; you told us he compared you to the Boy-
Who-Lived once."

"Well yeah, but—"

"And he did name you Survivor. Are you really telling me that you never stopped to appreciate the irony of the Boy-Who-Lived being nick-named Survivor?"

"…Er, no, actually. Okay that's actually a little amusing."

The cajoling and coaxing had gone on for nearly a quarter hour but the twins had finally convinced him to go in for dinner. He was sitting across from them now, Ron and Hermione on either side of him, but he hadn't been able to do much more than poke his food from one side of his plate to the other, so distracted was he by a certain surly seeker.

Then again, after watching him surreptitiously for most of dinner, he had his doubts about the surly bit. Sure, he slouched and scowled at nearly everyone in sight, but Harry had spied him biting back smirks and smiles several times when the thin boy with him leaned forward to whisper in his ear, and Harry was beginning to wonder if this was the best friend he had spoken of. What was more, although all older students had been turned away with a glare when approaching him for autographs and other attention, Harry had noticed he took care to shake hands or pat shoulders of the youngest students who were brave enough to approach him, and he had even smiled at two shy little Hufflepuff first years.

In fact, Harry was pretty sure that under his bristly mask, Krum was just a big softie. But I already knew that Shadow was sweet, Harry reminded himself, and he had a thoughtful expression the next time he glanced at the Durmstrang students.

"Ah, now that's a much better…"

"…look on you," the twins whispered warmly, jarring Harry from his thoughts. His head whipped around to find them leaning across the table to speak as quietly with him as possible. He raised his eyebrows in question.

"We were starting to wonder…"

"…if your Gryffindor bravery…"

"…had left you for good!" With matching winks, the twins simultaneously slid a hand across the table, and Harry looked down to see that they were pushing a bright red feather towards him. Torn between gratitude and exasperation, Harry quickly slipped it off the table and into a pocket, not wanting to have to explain it to anyone at the table. He tried to glare at them, but by their matching smug expressions he assumed his blush ruined it a bit. Luckily for him, Dumbledore finally chose that moment to stand and welcome the guests before bringing out the Goblet of Fire and explaining how to enter the tournament.

At least everyone will only have until tomorrow to angst over who will be chosen, Harry mused. Although I'm still a little fuzzy as to what would be appealing about entering this tournament at all… He must have said this last bit out loud, because Ron was suddenly paying attention to him rather than his food for the first time that evening.

"Don't see the appeal?! Only a thousand galleons and eternal glory, that's all! Blimey, I wish younger years could enter! You can't tell me you wouldn't enter if you could, Harry, you're like the ultimate Gryffindor!" The young seeker shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of many of his housemates, Ron's words having drawn their attention.

"I don't think it's about being Gryffindor or not, Ron. This tournament is really dangerous—life-threateningly dangerous. I don't think anyone but a fully trained wizard has any business entering. Besides, I really have no desire to risk my life for any amount of money or glory."

"What are you talking about? What about going after the stone first year, or saving Gin from the basilisk second year? Or last year, when—"

"That was different Ron!" Harry snapped, annoyed that his friend was about to mention something about his rescue mission for Sirius. "I didn't feel like I had any other options then, at least not without risking someone else's life." He was trying to keep his voice as soft as possible, and was growing increasingly frustrated with the red-head for pushing this conversation in front of an audience. He vaguely recognized that Dumbledore was excusing everyone from dinner, but he was mostly focused on Ron's scowling pout.

"Sure, famous Harry Potter has to play hero; not like you have enough attention as it is." In Ron's defense, it was said so quietly that Harry was pretty sure no one—including him—was actually meant to hear it, but it hurt like a kick to the chest nonetheless. Harry stood suddenly, reaching down to feel the soft tendrils of the feather in his pocket. Ron's insecurities had been one of his biggest concerns when he realized he had been writing to Viktor Krum all summer. He knew his friend would be jealous, and start to worry that he would be replaced by the famous seeker simply because he was so well-known. Suddenly, none of that felt like a valid reason not to tell Shadow—Viktor—who he was.

With a determined look, Harry strode away from the Gryffindor table to slip out of the Great Hall after the procession of Durmstrang students. They may have a head start, but he knew the secret passage-ways of Hogwarts. If he stayed focused, he should be able to reach the castle doors first…

He didn't notice the wide grin Fred and George shared behind his back.

xXxXxXxXx

For once, Viktor's sour expression was entirely genuine. Emil had been trying to prepare him for several days now for the fawning and attention he was sure to receive at Hogwarts. Having already been well-known at Durmstrang before reaching celebrity status, and after years for his classmates to get used to it, however, Viktor had underestimated how extensive the hero-worship would be at the foreign school. Add to that how distracted he had been over finally meeting his pen-pal, and the seeker could admit that he hadn't paid nearly as much attention to his friend as he should have. He was paying for it now.

He had thought the staring and whispering and sucking up during dinner had been bad; nothing could have prepared him from the mobbing he had received when he and his classmates exited the hall. Emil and others had resorted to holding their staffs out like barriers to keep students back as they slowly pushed their way through the throng. Viktor's had been snatched from him at one point, but luckily Emil was pressing it back into his hands almost immediately (not that he had any idea how his friend had gotten ahold of it so quickly—the whole mess had been such a blur).

Finally, some of the Hogwarts professors had come out and realized what was happening. The fierce Scottish woman in particular had been livid at her students' behavior, and in short order the Hogwarts students were detained allowing the Durmstrang delegation to slip away towards the front doors. On top of it, he had spent the entire disastrous meal glancing all around the hall for any sign of his mysterious pen-pal. He had tied the red feather prominently onto his staff, just like he promised. The only reason he could think that Survivor hadn't approached him yet was that he had seen who he was and decided he no longer wanted to be friends. Emil frowned at him every time those thoughts entered his mind, as though he could somehow read the negativity on his friend's mind, but he couldn't help it. All things told, he was in a foul mood. It was for this reason that by the time a small, dark-haired boy caught up to them at the castle entrance and tentatively called his name, Viktor was entirely out of patience.

"What?!" He snarled, spinning around to face the lone teenager with a scowl. Were he in a better mood, he probably would have noticed the anxious, guarded look or the flash of hurt in the bright green eyes. Instead, he merely glared harder when he didn't get an immediate answer.

"I-I'm sorry to bother you, I—" Harry took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, forcing down the stammer. "I thought you might want this." With that, he pulled the red feather from his pocket and handed it over with a hopeful expression. Viktor, seeing the feather, felt his heart hammer with excitement for just a moment. One glance at his staff, though—the staff with no feather tied to it—left him feeling crushed and empty. This wasn't his survivor; this was just another fan who had seen his feather fall off and used it as an excuse to talk to the Famous Viktor Krum. He sneered at the smaller boy, ignoring the sudden wide eyes and frantic head-shaking from Emil on the other side of the throng of Durmstrang students.

"Oh? And why would I want anything from you?" He gave Harry an unimpressed once over with his eyes, knowing deep down that he was being unnecessarily cruel but hurting enough to lash out anyway. When the boy in front of him went deathly pale and the determined set to his shoulders slumped away in defeat, Viktor felt his guilt like a punch to the stomach. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the boy had turned and fled, disappearing behind a tapestry against the wall. Viktor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was just about to ask Emil to turn in early with him when something hard slammed into his chest, leaving him breathless, and he opened his eyes to find the man in question glaring inches from his face.

"Krum, you moron!" Viktor couldn't keep his mouth from hanging open as he realized Emil had just knocked the wind out of him with his staff. "Our staffs got switched when we were getting mobbed by your fans; I hadn't had a chance to swap back," he snarled.

With a sinking heart, Krum saw that the staff still pressed against his bruising chest had a red feather tied to it. Hand trembling, Viktor lifted up the red feather that had just been handed to him, holding the two next to each other.

"Moron does not even begin to cover it," he agreed, head hanging in shame as he tried to figure out how he could fix this. Even when Emil took pity on him and began steering him back towards the ship, he couldn't get the look of betrayal and defeat in bright green eyes out of his mind.

xXxXxXxXx

"This is a terrible plan, even for you," Emil griped for the fifth time, but kept following Viktor as they crept through the deserted halls of Hogwarts.

"Shhh. And no one made you come with me," Viktor hissed back, rolling his eyes at the predictable circle of their argument as he hesitantly peeked around another corner before slipping around and creeping down yet another stone passageway. The place was enormous, and—loathe though he was to admit that Emil might have been right about the flaws in his plan—even he was beginning to wonder if he'd ever find the owlery.

"What's this?" A deep voice from behind them had both young men freezing, Viktor with a nervous wince, and Emil with a quiet sigh of resignation. The last thing Viktor had been expecting when he turned around, however, was a ghost in ruffled clothing, floating a few feet above the ground with hands clasped behind his back and watching the two of them with a pleasantly curious expression.

"Erm, my name is Viktor Krum, sir, and this is my friend, Emil Todorov." Emil sent him a brief glare at this, but then rolled his eyes and stepped up next to his friend in silent support. "We're Durmstrang students, and we were hoping to find the school's owlery…" He trailed off, uncertain what else he should say if it would make any difference.

"Krum? Ah yes, one of the champions. While I must say that the middle of the night may not be the best of times to search out the owlery, I can understand why you might need to send off a missive this night." He paused then, gazing thoughtfully down the corridor as though lost in thought. Viktor shifted uncomfortably and was about to say something to break the awkward silence when the ghost suddenly shook himself out of his reverie and smiled at them.

"My, where are my manners? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington, at your service. Well, come along then, I will show you the way." With that, he floated off in front of them, humming quietly to himself and leaving Viktor and Emil to exchange bemused looks and follow quickly after him.

After bidding goodbye to the gallant ghost, Viktor found himself gaping around at literally hundreds of owls roosting about in the vaulted tower room and—for the majority of them—watching him curiously.

"So what's the next step in this genius plan of yours?" Emil asked lightly, not entirely succeeding in keeping the sarcasm from his voice.

"Oh shut it," Viktor snapped, more to cover the fact that he had no answer nor anything else planned. An initial scan showed no sign of a snowy owl, though the constant shifting of so many wings and bodies and the darkness itself was greatly hampering Viktor's ability to see what was going on.

"Erm, Hedwig? Hedwig! Are you here? I need to send a letter to your owner! Hedwig, please, I need your help," Viktor called out, feeling foolish but willing to try anything to send a message to his Survivor. "Well, I sound ridiculous," he mused quietly, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Well that's…"

"…rather fitting…"

"…seeing as you look…"

"…rather ridiculous…"

"…as well."

"Oh, and you're a jerk," one of the fiery-haired twins who had appeared, scowling, in the owlery doorway added as an afterthought. Viktor noticed Emil straightening up and carefully extracting his wand out of the corner of his eye, but his attention was focused on the two young men glaring at him.

"I beg your pardon?" He spluttered out, but before either had a chance to answer him he noticed the snowy owl that was resting on one of their arms. "Hedwig!" He would have stepped forward had the twin holding the owl not side-stepped protectively behind his brother, who now had a wand levelled between Viktor's eyes.

"You don't want to do that," Emil's voice spoke quietly from behind him, a deadly calm to his tone.

"You've no idea what we want to do to this arse for hurting our friend," the twin holding the owl growled, having shifted so that his own wand was levelled back at Emil even as he continued to shield the owl protectively. Suddenly, the pieces clicked into place, and—acting purely on instinct—he reached behind him and grabbed onto Emil's wand-warm, forcing it down to his side. He ignored the indignant hiss from his friend and instead turned his attention back to the two red-heads.

"You're his twins, Survivor's I mean; the ones he calls his big brothers."

"Harry said that?" One of the red-heads asked, and both their expressions softened visibly, their eyes sparkling happily.

"Harry," Viktor repeated, nodding distractedly. The name felt familiar, seeming to 'fit' with what he knew of Survivor somehow. There was a moment of silence, then the other twin asked cautiously,

"You have no idea who he is, do you?" Viktor shrugged and shook his head at their incredulous looks. The one in front snorted and lowered his wand, though he kept it in his hand after a pointed glance at Emil who was doing the same. His brother shoved his own wand in his pocket and stepped up next to his brother, cooing and petting Hedwig gently.

"Let's play a game," he said amiably, still stroking the soft white feathers. "You tell us what the hell happened between you and Harry today, and we'll decide whether to help you or hex you." Seeing it as the chance it was, Viktor quickly launched into a summary of the events since his arrival at Hogwarts, from his perspective. By the time he finished, Fred and George (they had finally introduced themselves) had both groaned several times, and one of them (he really couldn't tell them apart) had actually hit his head against the stone wall at some point.

"I never meant to hurt him, I swear to you," Viktor finished pleadingly. The twins watched him for a moment, then looked at each other and seemed to have an entire conversation with only the waggle of eyebrows and tilt of lips.

"Alright. Hedwig is sending an important note for us—"

"—one that we won't trust with any other owl—"

"—but if you have a note ready we'll take it to Harry..."

"…and we'll try talking to him," they offered, though they both looked as though they held doubts about getting involved at all, much less to help Viktor get another chance.

"Thank you," Viktor gushed sincerely, and he didn't even mind when he noticed Emil biting back a smirk at his expense. One of the twins must have noticed as well, for he suddenly addressed Emil.

"What did you think of Vikkie's behavior earlier?" He asked challengingly. Emil, though, simply shrugged unconcerned and promptly responded with,

"I shoved him and told him he was a moron." The twin only grunted in response, but there was a mischievous glint of approval in his eyes.

"By the way," his brother added, just as the two of them slipped through the doorway to leave the owlery. "If you hurt Harry Potter again, I promise you we won't be the only ones coming to hurt you." With matching smirks at the dumbfounded, slack-jawed expression on Viktor's face, they slipped away. A moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder and managed to stop gaping at the empty doorway, turning instead to look at Emil.

"You do realize you compared the kid to the Boy-Who-Lived at one point, right? And nick-named him Survivor?" He asked conversationally, even as his eyes danced with humor.

"Oh shut up Emil," Viktor groaned with a blush. His friend was mercifully quiet for a minute, but then,

"You know we don't know how to get back out of the castle, right?"

Viktor promptly decided that best friends were overrated.