Ron,

I left the key to the broom shed on the table this morning. Can you return it by owl as soon as possible? It's the bronze one, skeleton, tries to bite your fingers if you sneak up on it, so be careful.

See you tonight for supper--let me know if you want me to pick up a curry.

Love,
Vitya

Translated from the Bulgarian

Papa,

Don't ask why--it's far too complicated to explain--but I woke up this morning thinking of you. Particularly thinking of you when you were my age. Thirty-four and you had two sons and a daughter already. How did you manage with us? It's exhausting enough for me to have Lily every other weekend.

I know it wasn't easy for you during the war. I know you did everything you could to keep us safe. I know there are some things that you're not proud of doing. You shouldn't be ashamed, Papa. You did what was necessary. For us. I will always respect you for that.

I love you.

Your Vitya

Ron,

Left some porridge on the hob for you. Don't forget to eat it--you know how cranky you get without breakfast.

Mind my Durmstrang scarf--I'm not entirely certain what's on with it, but the damned thing's been following me around since I got out of the shower this morning. You haven't been practicing charms on it, have you? It's been trying to wrap itself around my leg all morning, and I must be utterly mad, but I swear it sobbed when I threw it across the room. Scarves can't sob. I'm fairly certain of that.

Anyway, I've a nice wool burn on my leg now that itches a right fucker, so really, whatever you've done to it, make it stop. I had to threaten to incinerate it to keep it from following me to practice.

See you tonight--I'll be home around three hopefully. Maybe a bit later if I stop by the market. I'm thinking of lamb for dinner.

V.

*swearing in Bulgarian*

Did you change the Floo wards again?

Ron. Ron.

Do you want help washing up?

Gwenny,

All day? Really? Not one damn broom available while mine’s being repaired? I might as well buy another bloody one, if I could—and don’t think I haven’t tried except QQS seems to be entirely out of stock today and how the bloody hell can a broom shop be out of brooms? I can’t even borrow Ron’s because he seems to have misplaced it and I’m not even going to question how you can lose a Nimbus, for fuck’s sake.

I just want to fly today. Is that too fucking much to ask?

Viktor

ATTENTION ALL HARPIES.

Courtesy of unforeseen circumstances (also known as Annabeth leaving the bloody shower in the changing rooms running all night--even though I told you lot the drains were having doxy problems and backing up--and thus flooding the entire lower two storeys of the practice facilities) practice this morning has been moved to the secondary location on Hafod Elwy Moor while the maintenance staff dries the whole damned building out. And gets rid of those bloody Doxies.

Hopefully by afternoon we'll be back at Holyhead for the usual drills. We're up against the Harriers next week. We've got to be at top form.

Bring your private brooms--the broom closet at the facilities is behind four feet of water. Annabeth.

Gwenog Jones
Captain

Hey. It's midnight.

I would have preferred to wake up next to you this morning instead of in a damn hotel room in--hell, where are we again? Karasjok. Norway's bloody cold, by the way.

Tonight, though, I'm slipping away for a few hours to come home to you. Don't make that face. I'm not the only one on the team doing it. They're turning a blind eye to absences this evening.

I know it's only been a couple of days, but I still miss you.

Love,
Vitya

----------
Along with the note is a box containing a dual face watch, one face charmed to always display the time zone Viktor's in, the other charmed to display Ron's time zone.

Ron? Are you awake?

You'll make sure we're not disturbed then, right?

Hey, you.

Look, whomever took my fucking key to the fucking closet I use to change in can fuck off.

I'm not in a fucking mood to fucking deal with it today, and thanks to you I just cut my fucking hand trying to break a fucking iron lock just so I could put on my kit for this fucking match.

And keep away from my fucking vodka.

Krum

I’m angry.

I think I have been for weeks now. I just haven’t been letting myself feel it. Or I couldn’t feel it. It seemed wrong somehow. Unsupportive. Something.

But I want to put my fist through a wall this morning. Or someone’s head, though I suppose the latter would be far more problematic than just having to patch up the plaster.

I’m angry with Ron for being such a fucking shit for getting into this fucking mess in the first place, for telling me what he thinks I should do, for not listening to me. I’m angry with myself for not realising there was something wrong with him sooner, for not insisting that he see someone, for thinking that he’d be okay eventually, that things would sort themselves. I’m angry with the Ministry for not stopping him. I’m angry with Potter for…for just being, for dragging Ron into the war, for being the one that Ron can’t let go, for being more than I ever can be. I’m just Viktor Ioannovich Krum. The most I can do is catch a fucking Snitch, not save the world. How can I ever measure up to that? Why should I have to?

Fuck.

And I’m angry with the Weasleys. ( I don't understand them. )

Tomorrow is Orthodox Easter. I’m going home tonight, for the lighting of the candles at church come midnight, for Mama’s roast lamb and Nono’s koznuak, for Papa’s red wine, purchased a year ago and waiting for tomorrow’s dinner, for the laughter and teasing of my sisters, for my mother’s tight hug, for the egg fights my brothers and I will get into, smashing our painted eggs against each other’s until the one left intact is deemed this year’s winner.

And for a few hours, perhaps, I can pretend I’m happy, that I’m not angry. And I can know I’m loved. And not alone.

I miss my family.

I used to be happy.

I should get dressed and go over to Lake Cottage to ask for a new photograph of Lily. I don't know which of the Weasleys might show up to see Ron today. But maybe they'll let me have five minutes to talk to him. Maybe.

I hope.

I should owl Nono. I should go visit Ron. I should walk to the shop for milk and tea; the tin's far too low. I should, I should, I should.

It's always I should.

Ilyia owled. I should take the coach's position, he says, or at least let him find a speaking engagement or agree to an interview. Everyone's curious about the reclusive Viktor Krum, after all. Fuck them. All they'll want to know is why I do it, why I wait. It appalls them and fascinates them and it's none of their fucking business.

I love him. I miss him.

The money I left on the table was gone when I woke up this morning, but I could still smell Elena on my sheets, on my skin. They'd love to know that, wouldn't they? That I'm not the romantic saint they make me out to be. I'd like to see what they'd do if they were allowed one fucking conjugal visit a month for fifteen fucking years. It's not as if I fuck her every night. Only when being alone feels too much to bear. I pay her to take the Polyjuice Marik brews for me--and Christ I hate the pitying look in his eyes when I ask him for it, but there are times when when I need to feel Ron. To smell him and touch him. To pretend he's still here.

Lily slept over Sunday night. I went with her to see him. It's always hard for her, but she prefers going with me than going with Harry. She can hide her emotions better with me, or so she thinks. More like I let her hide them and pretend I don't hear her crying in her room when it's dark and silent. I wonder if that's the right thing to do, but it's hard for me as well, seeing him locked up still, wanting him out so fucking badly. I don't think I can bear her grief too. That makes me a horrible parental figure, I suspect.

But she talks to me some, about what it's like to be Potter's daughter, all the eyes and expectations of the wizarding world on her at such a young age. I understand. They were making action figures of me when I was seventeen. It's nothing that her father wouldn't understand, as well, if she talked to him, but she's hesitant to. Doesn't want him to think that she resents him for putting her in this position, which is ridiculous. Of course she does. She's a teenager. Irrational resentment towards your parents is part of growing up.

I said again she shoud find her own flat, make her own way in the world, instead of living in that dreary old house in Cornwall with her father, and she just looked at me with those eyes that have seen far too much for a girl her age, hair just like her Da's falling into her face, and told me someone had to look after him. Someone has to look after all of us. Ron, Harry, Draco, Snape, me. It's too much. She shouldn't be responsible for us. She's a good girl, that one. Too old for her years.

Sod the tea. Maybe I'll Floo Ginny. She can come over and share a bottle of vodka with me.

You didn't have to come over. I'm fine.

Ginny,

Thank you. Marik is with me right now, but perhaps I could come by in the morning before I go to the Ministry and St Mungo's. If you'd like to come with me there, or your parents, please, that would be good.

I'm sorry. I would say more, but I don't know the words at the moment. If it is this horrible for me, it must be worse for you and your family. Our family. Thank you. I will come by. I promise.

Love,
Vitya

Ron,

I don't know where you are or what you're doing, and I'm not sure if I want to. I don't know what to think. Or what to do. You should come home. If St Mungo's didn't work, then we can try one of the private hospitals. Please, Ron. The Aurors are after you, and, Christ, I can't even say they shouldn't be. You locked up my best friend. For weeks--and would you have killed him? I don't know.

I don't know. This isn't you. It's not the Ron I know. Not the Ron I love.

And Malfoy...you could have hurt him. You could have killed him. What are you thinking? What are you doing? A letter came for you Tuesday. I opened it; it was from the Wizengamot. Your hearing over Lily was cancelled. Malfoy dropped the suit.

I had a match last night. I won it. I don't remember most of it. I was thinking about you.

Please, Ron. Come home. We can fix this. Please. Even after everything, I love you and I can't watch you do this to yourself. It hurts.

Love,
Viktor

Attached is a letter on heavy parchment, with a broken Wizengamot seal.

Hello?