Chapter Text
Yuuri sat by himself at the end of the Gryffindor table. He could see his friends towards the middle of the table, laughing and talking with each other, probably exchanging summer stories. Yuuri wanted nothing more than to join them but something inside stopped him. He couldn’t deny that it would be awkward. He hadn’t replied to any of their letters all summer, and eventually they dribbled down to just Yuuko’s letters. He had hoped that the slump he was in was temporary and he would feel better after leaving Hogwarts, but his sense of shame at what happened last year had only swollen in the months he was away from his friends. His cheeks burned red as he glared down at his plate. Professor Feltsman interrupted his reverie and Yuuri was grateful for the distraction. The sorting ceremony seemed to fly by and Yuuri didn’t pay particular attention to who was sorted where, he wouldn’t have much interaction with the eleven year old, he reasoned. Finally the food appeared before him. He shovelled as much as possible on a plate and escaped from the great hall. He just didn’t want to talk to anyone yet, he wasn’t ready. Yuuri glumly ascended the stairs towards Gryffindor tower as he thought back on last year.
He single handedly lost Gryffindor the Quidditch House Cup in the final match. His cheeks were hot with shame just thinking about it. To make matters worse, he immediately resigned from his position. The last few weeks were a blur after his resignation. Yuuko wouldn’t talk to him because she thought he was a terrible, awful person for quitting. Takeshi refused to talk to him because he had made Yuuko cry. Phichit, his Hufflepuff counterpart, had been the only friend who seemed to understand how he felt in those last few weeks of term. Yuuri hadn’t even been able to open Phichit’s letters, let alone respond to them. Yuuri, at last, made it to the Fat Lady’s portrait on the seventh floor. One of the benefits of being a prefect, Yuuri supposes, is being able to ignore prefect duties in favour of sneaking away with the list of passwords, as he approaches the Fat Lady.
“Newt Scamander.” Yuuri stated loudly to wake the sleeping portrait. The Fat Lady looked him up and down, looked at the plat full of food in his hands, rolled her eyes and swung open. Yuuri could feel his heart hammering and his face flushing at the thought of the Fat Lady knowing he had fled the Great Hall in favour of eating his dinner alone in his room.
“Hey! Yuuri!” A voice called out from one of the couches. Yuuri jumped, just missing splattering his dinner all over himself and the carpet. “How have you been?” Yuuri, his eyes adjusting to the fire lit common room, recognised the speaker as Leo de la Iglesia, a fifth year and the Gryffindor keeper. Leo was not who Yuuri wanted to see at the moment.
“Hi Leo, I’ve been good, did you have a good summer? What are you doing in the common room so early?” Yuuri really did not want to get dragged into a conversation with his team mate - former team mate, he mentally reminded himself.
“I’ve not been too bad myself, my girlfriend is a prefect so she gave me the password ahead of time, I wasn’t in the mood for dinner really, just wanted to get home.”
“Same, well goodnight then Leo! I’ll see you around.” Yuuri was so relieved to slam his dorm door shut behind him he almost started crying. He gazed around his dorm and felt a small bit of happiness deep inside. He had forgotten how much he had missed his homely dorm room. He set he tray of food down and opened his trunk. It wasn’t a new school year in Yuuri Katsuki’s book until he had decorated his small section of the room. He pulled a pile of posters out of his trunk. The mere act of gazing at them helped calm him. He waved his wand and the posters flew out over his wall space. They all had a recurring theme. Viktor Nikiforov. Yuuri sat down on his bed and observed the poster closest. Viktor Nikiforov was doing an elegant loop on his broom across the page, Yuuri could tell from just the hairstyle is was from four years ago, when Viktor had brought the Russian National team to victory at the Quidditch World Cup. He looked so graceful, flying in his infinite loop across the page. Every fifteen minutes or so he would come to a stop in the centre of the page, his blue robes billowing behind him, the wind blowing his ponytail back, and he would wink out at the world before resuming his never ending figure eight. It was Yuuri’s favourite poster of him for a reason. Yuuri placed his empty plate on the ground, sighed and stretched out across the bed. He was fully intending to pretend to be asleep before Takeshi stumbles in and attempts an awkward conversation with him.
He has had his eyes closed for about five minutes when a frantic banging on the door pulled him from his fake slumber. “Yuuri! Oh my god! Open this door right now! You won’t believe what’s happened!” Yuuri recognised the voice instantly and felt the sour taste of shame rise in his mouth as he opened the door. Phichit launched himself at Yuuri and a tangle of limbs soon found themselves in what could be defined loosely as a hug. “Ahhhhhhhhh! Yuuri! First things first; it’s great to see you! Please don’t worry about not answering my letters, we’re still cool, now you’re going to want to sit down for this!” Yuuri found himself pushed onto his bed in a sitting position.
“Phichit. . . what’s going on? How did you even get in the common room?” Phichit made a shushing gesture with his hand and Yuuri mimed zipping his lips.
“Leo let me in in answer to your second question. In answer to your first, well. Remember how heartbroken you were when Viktor Nikiforov announced his year off after the World Cup over the summer?” Yuuri nodded, he hadn’t told Phichit due to the whole refusal to reach out to any of his friends thing he had going on, but Phichit knew him well enough. “Well, remember how everyone assumes he’d be continuing his studies in Durumstrang or Koldovstoretz?” Yuuri nodded again, not getting where this is going. “I tried to find you all day, I know you don’t read the Daily Prophet so I saved this for you from this morning. Read it! I’ll wait.” Yuuri opened the Daily Prophet, right smack in the middle was a photo of Nikiforov on the front page. It was a photo from the most recent World Cup over the summer. His hair was short, he was decked in his quidditch garb, blue for the Russian national team, he was still astride his broom, Yuuri could see the beads of sweat around his forehead. He was throwing a wink to the camera and pressing a kiss to the snitch. Yuuri swallowed as he turned his attention to the headline.
NIKIFOROV, 20, ANNOUNCES HIS RETURN TO HOGWARTS
Nikiforov, 20, has many accomplishments to his name considering his young age. He has brought the Russian National Team to victory at two consecutive World Cups (2012, 2016 respectively). He has brought the Russian team to victory at the Eastern European Championships five times consecutively (2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016). He has also brought the Bulgarian team, the Vrasta Vultures, to victory at two consecutive European Cups (2012, 2015). He holds three world records in the sport. In 2011 he became the youngest person ever to be selected to an international squad at 15. He left his formal education at the time after having completed his OWLs. He had some homeschooling with the Russian National team, however he never achieved his NEWTs. It was a shock to many this summer when, fresh off of a global victory, he announced his plans to take a year off to return to his education. He made no mention of a particular institution until the early hours of this morning when he contacted the daily prophet to make a statement. Here it is in full.
“I have decided that I will be continuing my education over the next academic year in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It seems the obvious choice for me. I began my education there and I would like to end it there. Unfortunately my decision means that I will be missing the Eastern European Championships in 2017. I have full confidence my team will be able to win without me. I will be returning to my competitive career in time for the European Cup in 2018 and the World Cup in 2020. Thank you so much for your time.”
Yuuri didn’t take in the rest of the article after he read Nikiforov’s statement. He sat gaping, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “The best part is,” Phichit began, a grin splitting his face, “that Viktor Nikiforov is downstairs right now, and we can totally go look at him.”
Yuuri was on his feet before Phichit finished his sentence. He had a grasp of Phichit’s upper arm as they bolted past the older students beginning to stream into the common room. Yuuri forced them to take the stairs two at a time. He practically vaulted the last flight of stairs. He burst into the Great Hall, still clutching Phichit’s arm, and they both froze. Yuuri noticed him instantly, his hair is what gave him away. A flash of silver seated in the middle of the Slytherin table, smiling politely at the throng of people who had clearly approached him once the feast was over. He smiled amiably as people pushed posters and notebooks over to him to sign, he seemed to take it in his stride. Someone must have said something funny, as Viktor tipped his head back and laughed. Yuuri physically reached for his heart over his robes to make sure his heart wasn’t actually beating out of his chest. He twisted his fist in his robes, clutching the fabric as tight as he was clutching Phichit’s arm. It was then that Viktor seemed to notice the two of them, standing frozen in the entrance hall just gazing in. Viktor’s blue eyes met Yuuri’s brown. Yuuri’s world seemed to stop; no poster could every do justice to Viktor’s eyes he decided.
Viktor, as if he could read Yuuri’s mind, flashed the two of them a grin before he returned to entertaining the throng of fans.