Work Text:
“Vitya, are you okay?”
In the wake of Harry Potter returning from somewhere unknown with Cedric Diggory’s body in tow, followed by Moody’s exposure as Barty Crouch Junior, everyone had forgotten about the other two legitimate champions. Well, Madame Maxime had not forgotten about her student, but Igor Karkaroff had vanished into the night, leaving his aide to take care of his precious Viktor and relay information to him about what was happening.
“Yes. What's going on?”
“Voldemort's back.” Yuri didn't mind saying the name, and Viktor didn't mind hearing it, at least not from his stalwart friend, but they both still blinked and suffered adrenaline surges, the news hanging in the air of the medical tent like a great black cloud.
“Are you sure? Is it not hysteria? This tournament kills people. We always knew that.” said Viktor, rubbing at his temple, where a vicious imperio slash stun induced headache was being pushed back by Madam Pomfrey’s tonics.
In response, Yuri rubbed his left forearm and looked around, anywhere but into his charge’s eyes. “I’m sure. Only that could have caused my father to leave us. His…mark. It was black the last time I saw it,” he swallowed and blinked rapidly, the muscles in his jaw bulging. “Anyway, I must see about the ship. Make arrangements. Maybe he'll return.”
“...I hope so.”
The pair of friends sat in grim silence for a time, until Madame Maxime herself, accompanied by Fleur, looked in on them, their faces and eyes gentle. “Boys, why don't you come with us for a nice hot cup of chocolate? Let us leave zis nastiness for later.”
A couple of abandoned young men turned looks of deep gratitude upon the giantess, going with her and Fleur to her fabulous carriage, where some small comfort awaited.