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“Can you clear this up?”
“I can. But will I. That is the true question.”
“Come on, Yura. My family's visiting, you know that.”
“Why.”
“What do you mean ‘why’?!”
Viktor Krum, he who is in possession of tremendous patience but who doesn't seem like he is, takes a deep breath and pinches his nose, a move that works surprisingly well to keep his short temper in check. Between him and the housemate sitting on a black leather couch, is a wood and glass coffee table spread with gory crime scene photographs. Magical crime scene photographs, so the blood and brain matter runs from massive open wounds, before crawling back, over and over again, repeating its last trip endlessly.
Yuri looks up from his spread of death with the faintest smirk twisting his lips, just enough to give a hint of sharp white tooth. “My family don't visit.”
“Because you refuse to tell most of them where you live. You and I are not the same.”
“Up till this moment I was not aware of that, Vitya. But if you like, I can owl Professor Karkaroff right now and-”
Sensing that he's been put on the infamous torture device known as the execution wheel, preparatory to having his limbs smashed by a sadist armed with a verbal hammer, the superstar pats his pockets desperately, feeling a thick piece of wood lying in one. Wand! Thank God!
“Silencio!”
The only problem with this attempt to save himself, is he is a quidditch player and his mate is an auror and champion duelist. The spell whips back and punches Viktor in the mouth, silencing him.
“Next time you try to silence me, I won't play so nice.” says Yuri, standing up and pulling his beringed hand out of the hidden pocket his wand lurks in, before gathering up his terrible photos.
With a house newly clear of anything which may cause distress to the sensibilities of his family, Viktor sits at the marble kitchen island (overladen with fancy food and drink) and waits for the charm to wear off. A bit of silence is often a good thing.
😣😣😣
The pretty house, sitting on one of the prettiest streets in Sofia, fills with voices other than the two it's used to. Its size constricts, making both introverts inhabiting it feel tense and anxious. As he leads his mother and father around the building they already know well, Viktor hopes and prays that his best friend remains out of sight and sound. He and they have never got on, although his parents soon learnt that expressing concern over anything in their only son's life only leads to him being more determined on whatever it is. So they attempt the opposite, behaving sickly sweet and cloying towards everything he loves. That would be fine, if Yuri didn't see straight through it.
“They worry that you and I are in a relationship.”
“Don't be silly. You're my brother, they know that. You've been watching too much muggle jellyvison and reading too many gossip rags.”
“You haven't seen how they look at us behind your back.”
“Even if they do give us funny looks, it's because I've always been a loner.”
“I don't see why I should have to suffer because you didn't have friends as a child.”
“You didn't have friends as a child either!”
“...My sisters don't think I sleep in the same bed as you.”
“I'm surprised you care more about my parents thinking you're gay than them thinking you're a satanic wizard. You realise that means they think I'm gay too? Do you see me moping about it?”
But to that Yuri only slammed his bedroom door in his housemate's face. Really, Viktor ought to put the pieces of the puzzle together, but he's a young man and not particularly fond of gazing into the rotten abyss that is his friend’s background. The same way he's not particularly fond of being alone with his trainers, physiotherapists, or managers.