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“Vitya, I need to see you. Immediately. I'm in trouble.”
The voice on the other side of the phone sounds harassed and more anxious than Viktor has ever heard it before. Were it not for that he would have made a joke about pureblooded Yuri using a muggle mobile phone, whilst pretending he himself was not doing the same.
“I’m coming.”
“Travelling halfway across Eastern Europe quickly and on a whim is no easy feat, but for his loved ones Viktor will do anything, and in some ways there is no closer person to him than his best friend, who bore the worst Durmstrang had to offer side by side with him, protecting and supporting him in ways seen and unseen. It began as duty, but became brotherhood. Always Viktor has been the one benefiting most from the relationship, and that guilt has always gnawed at him. Leaving his manager a curt message, the superstar takes off, partly apparating, partly flooing, and partly flying across the vast distance which separates him from his other half.
Many hours later the Institute appears suddenly out of a shroud of fog, a squat, jet black castle crouching on a hunk of rock beside the second largest lake in Russia, near the Finnish border, connecting to the Baltic Sea. He couldn't tell a stranger to the place where it's located, even if he wanted to. He is not aiming for it, but rather for the magical village huddled beneath it, where Yuri is waiting for him in the home of an old woman he trusts, one of the few people he trusts aside from Viktor himself. The latter finds his friend pacing back and forth across the old lady's parlour, a room festooned with the ever present red rug of the Russians. They lie on the floor, they cover the walls, they coat the ceiling, they drape themselves over the chairs and sofa, turning the world crimson, crimson as Durmstrang’s dress robes. Feet clad in muggle trainers stomp over them. Something is different about their owner, and it's not his obvious fear or the fact that he's wearing muggle clothes.
“What's wrong?” Viktor asks, barely stopping to catch his breath and enjoy a cup of tea after his insanely long journey. He's already certain the problem has something to do with the headmaster of the hulk crouching on the hill above town. It's always got to do with Karkaroff when it comes to Yuri. Naturally, since the evil man is his father.
In response, Yuri swings his frighteningly frightened gaze across the room, hitting Viktor, but missing his eyes, a cowardly lapse he's rarely made before. “You really want to know?”
“One thousand three hundred miles says I do.”
Even more uncharacteristically, Yuri dithers, sitting down with his head in his hands before shooting back to his feet and plucking at the hem of his plain black t-shirt. “Okay. Warning…this is bad.” He lifts his shirt.
“Ah...” Frowning, Viktor at first can't see anything wrong. It seems that his mate has put on a bit of weight, because the flat stomach that once lightly rippled with muscle is now bulging. Not massively, but in no kinda way he's seen before. At least, in no kinda way he's seen on a man. Sweat gleams on his brow. “How much did you eat, man?”
“Vitya…” the other boy drops his shirt and turns stiffly towards the window, through which grey light falls. “I'm in serious trouble. I might have to do away with myself.”
Such a statement has Viktor performing a standing Wronski Feint, leaping across the gap separating him and his friend and taking hold of his upper arms in a vice grip, even shaking him twice. “Don't say things like that. I'll knock you out for your own good, you know I will. This is just a spell gone wrong. Come on, let's go to the hospital."
Pulling himself out of the superstar’s grip, Yuri moves closer to the window. “A dark spell, yes, and it can't be undone by common or garden healers, not without…”
But the sufferer doesn't finish his sentence.
Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Viktor attempts to discover a way to ask what he needs to ask, without asking. Such things happen in the wizarding world, especially the dark side of it, so he doesn't waste air and energy wondering how it could. Eventually he blurts the question.
“Who did this to you?” He never, seriously, thought that his friend was into men, but perhaps something happened at a party after too many shots of vodka. That is also very common at Durmstrang, and Yuri is popular at parties. And elsewhere.
But the young man doesn't answer, neither does he turn away from the window, although he does sway slightly on his feet.
“Who did it, Yurets? I need to know so I can kick their ass.”
Yuri sways even more strongly, his voice emerging as a barely audible rasp. “Viktor…there’s a secret I've been keeping from you, all these years. My-” But he collapses in a dead faint before he can finish.
Unconsciousness cannot protect him forever, and he wakes up to his friend playing the babushka, handing him a cup of whisky laced tea almost as soon as he opens his eyes.
“Here. Drink,” Viktor says, pulling his chair closer to the sofa. “Why did you lie to me? Depending on your answer, I might beat you too.”
That forces a laugh from the man inexplicably pregnant. “You will understand when I tell you.”
“So tell me.”
“It's very difficult.”
“You say that to me? I thought we were better friends than that. You like men? Is that it?”
Bolting upright, Yuri attempts to get up, but he's pushed back down. “No! No I don't.”
“Alright, calm down. We're wasting time. Let's go to the authorities.”
“I can't do that, Viktor.”
“Don't call me that. Don't try and undo our friendship just because something bad has happened.” A battle of wills ensues, Yuri attempting to keep his secret, and Viktor attempting to rip it out of him. The latter wins, but only because the former is as desperate to tell as he is to stay silent.
One last bite of trembling lips, and then the bitter black ball of incomprehensible evil sees the light. “My…father has been…sleeping with me since I was eleven years old. He did this. A punishment.“
“Oh my God,” Clapping his hands to his eyes, Viktor surges to his feet and attempts to keep the contents of his stomach where they belong while he paces back and forth across the red, red carpet. “Oh my God!”
“I-I’m sorry. I never meant to tell you. I shouldn't have.” Grey-green as the lake can look in certain seasons, Yuri moves to stand, but he's pounced on again, with Viktor imprisoning his left wrist in case he means to disapparate.
“All these years, you didn't say a word. No. All these years, I didn't notice.” Lifting his free arm, Viktor pulls his best friend in for a tight hug.
“I should have escaped or fought back by now. I don't like it. I promise.” Yuri whispers.
The idea of saying that it's too late, that he can't escape or do what should be done by the authorities is too heinous a thing to contemplate, so Viktor opts for another truth. “I know you've tried, many times. And I know you don't like it, Yura. I believe you. And it'll be okay.”
Tears dampen his robes.
💀💔💀
Summer. The lake is not frozen, and the dark shadow of the submerged ship can be seen near the bank leading to the castle. A pair of young men enjoy the peace and quiet of a rocky, pine clad island beyond the ghost ship’s underwater dock. Insects buzz and birds chirp, all that and the spicy, fragrant air making things seem not as dark. A vodka bottle stands on a shelf of rock between the friends, but only Viktor drinks from it. Yuri merely sniffs at its mouth.
“What are you going to do? What are that bastard's plans?”
“I don't want him to murder it. And he might, if he feels I've learnt my lesson. Disposing of his children is nothing to him.”
“So you're going to hide? You're good, Yura, but not as good as he. He's got too many years on you.” Viktor takes another swig of his vodka. He thinks too that Yuri is half a traitor to himself when it comes to his father, as every child is, but even worse. He cannot be present at every moment to prevent such a damaged person from turning on himself and self immolating in an attempt to gain the approval and love that Karkaroff simply cannot and will not give.
“Russia is very large, Vitya. Siberia is even larger. But perhaps I will hide in Mongolia. Learn horse archery.”
“Haha. I can see it. But I have a better idea. Stay with me and my family. Karkaroff will not risk exposing his dirty secrets in front of them.”
Taking the bottle of triple distilled spirits, Yuri breathes in the vapours twisting up its neck and out of its glass jaws. “I can't bring this abomination anywhere near your family. I'll taint you all. But thank you.”
A punch to the arm conveys affection almost as well as a hug. “That abomination, you mean. Karkaroff is the only monster in this situation, and you know it. Else you would be drinking with me.”
Yuri cants his head in acknowledgement. “I must marry a girl. Pass the child off as hers. My father won't care, so long as he gets off scot-free. I must make sure the girl and her family absolutely hate him, though, or else he'll prey on everyone."
“You propose to lie to your child? And keep lying?”
“No, I will tell them. The same way I was told, when I was old enough to know why I hadn't been till then. I'll tell them once they understand in their bones that I love them regardless.”
Stone scrapes and lichen goes unharmed as Viktor climbs to his feet and stretches, downing the last of the vodka by leaning back and tipping the bottle upright over his lips. “Can you come now? Is the beast around?”
“No. I must pack though.”
“Alright, I'll help you. Come on, Yurets. It will be okay.”