Count Your Blessings PV Niffler Finished

[”You don't eat enough protein to exercise like this, don't you feel sick? You won't build muscle this way,”] said Yefim, still breathing hard.

It was true of course, and Valentin knew it. He was deeply sick, and if he were to see himself in a mirror he would see the problem clearly in the sunken eyesockets of his skull, gazing out like Death itself. Of course, this is why he avoided reflective surfaces. He said to himself that this was all to keep himself light and competitive on the broom, but he knew this was a lie. While this had been true at the beginning, now without Yefim, Mik, and so many others on the Durmstrang team being the focus of his life force, whom was he even flying for anymore? Valentin hated lies, even to himself, but he was just too tired to refute it anymore. He had found no resolution; now there was only succumbing to the weight drowning him in those dark waters of his mind. No matter how little he ate, he always felt like the heaviest stone in the world, fated to never be fast enough or strong enough, sucked down with the surreal power of quicksand.

The hours spent with Yef and Mik had grown too few and thin without the shared thrills and purpose of quidditch battle. Sometime after the summer and the duel with Mik, Valentin’s minimal eating had become nothing but vain self-flagellation. Valentin wanted to smirk at Yefim and tell him a joke to brush it off as no real problem, not wanting to weigh his dear friend down, too. Yet, he couldn’t get himself to show such a lie to Yefim. Valentin was a smart boy. He knew that not eating was making him unable to focus, more reckless, prone to accidents on the broom. Sure, starving was not helping his game, but he wanted someone to mete out the justice he deserved for having failed his dear people last summer. Even being beaten and burned by Mik had not satiated Valentin’s desire for punishment. All the pale boy could do to answer Yef was cast his sheepish and strained eyes the other boy’s way, grey-violet and washed out from sadness crashing over and over against the storm-beaten rocks of devotion.

«Ага,» (“Yeah,”) said Valentin in affirmation. Yefim was obviously right, but next time Valentin would look at food he would just feel like death. The knowledge that in some way he would let Yefim down made it even more sickening in Valentin’s soul. In the past that guilt trick had worked well enough to keep him from true extremes, but the magic had worn off under the battering waves of despair. Valentin was still breathing hard, too, like Yefim, but in this instant he didn’t know what else he could do but run.

A small crack formed at the corner of his mouth, echoing the way he used to smile radiantly when about to run off with somebody’s precious shiny thing. This wasn’t really a game but Valentin didn’t know anything sensible or logical to do. He had to try to keep up the morale around Yefim. The boy deserved the world.

Slowly and awkwardly, Valentin thrust out his legs to dash away. They had both just run hard though, and Valentin hadn’t recovered, couldn’t recover like he used to. As infinite as he wanted to be, the famed seeker was not; in seconds his legs gave out and Valentin crashed down like a bundle of twigs. Dust mixed with blood, crunching in Valentin’s teeth. He tried to laugh but no sound came out. He wanted it to be funny. He wanted Yefim to be happy.

Interacting: @Flash Holmwood
Mentioning: @Percival Rainwood

Valentin answered, though it was delayed, distant, and beleaguered. Even for as short of a word as it was, the emotion was painted on Niffler's face, for the brief moment Yefim could still see it. Yefim was not a man of deft perception, nor great insight, as he was not only still fairly young, but also still conceited in his ways. While growing up, it is natural, even necessary, to be focused entirely on oneself, and only later does one truly realize that others are just as storied and complex as they are. Yefim had not hit that milestone yet, not to mention how his upbringing had made the process a tad more confusing.

There was the obvious, though, which even he could grasp. Why had no one else said anything before it got this bad? Bad enough for Yefim to actually take significant notice of it and say something? Well, needless to say, Yefim did not surround himself with well-adjusted, popular students. He was as charismatic as a charging rhino, but he had one thing going for him. He was never disappointed in his friends, never belittled them or held things over their head. Even when inattentive and self-centered, he managed to be mostly considerate and loving. To his minions. Did I say friends? I meant minions.

No sooner did this single word get spoken, di Niffler start to bolt. Reaching out to stop him, there wouldn't be time to prevent the garbled tumble. Yefim would grit his teeth to watch it, blood would be easy to pick out along Niffler's blanched skin. [”Aw man.”] The painful display was followed by laughter, to which Yefim would shake his head as he moved to help Niffler untangle. [”Come on, Niffy, it's only funny when someone else gets hurt. Let's check, if you have any broken bones I'll fix them right away.”]

Yefim did have a wand after all, was even a part-time duelist now, so his spells could be replied on. Dressing wounds in the field was also an ability many Durmstrang students had, no less the over-achievers like Yefim who had something to prove. [”If you want to do me a favor, then don't make me worry like this! At least explain why you aren't taking better care of yourself. If it is someone bullying you, I will take care of them, you know that.”]

With a groan of true pain Valentin willed himself to get up. He lacked energy, but making an ass of himself gave him just enough oomph to rise to his knees. The bigger problem was his jaw, which was not only bloody but askew-- dislocated. Valentin was usually a fancy-faced boy, but now he looked like a white goblin, cartoonishly surreal with a crooked jaw.

He didn’t open his mouth to speak and only made a rather silly squeak. His grey-violet eyes did the asking for him. It was for the best, Valentin mused to himself, because now he couldn’t answer Yefim’s question and wouldn't have to fess up to the truth of being eternally crushed over a guilt of failing Yef, Mik, and the rest of the team. He hadn’t even been able to put up a real fight most of the times Yef brought on the fisticuffs. Valentin squeaked again and laughed softly from inside his chest. Yefim deserved a true answer, Valentin knew it, and the white seeker did want to break free from the trap he had put himself in. Otherwise, he would keep falling flat on his face like this, the very definition of pathetic. If he was going to stop failing his people, he was going to have to be… vulnerable… and get some help from them. He sure as hell wasn’t going to talk to some stupid grown-up. They were all full of it, as far as he had seen.

Nodding twice, Valentin indicated he would try to answer once his jaw would work again.

@Flash Holmwood

Niffler looked truly pathetic, unable to say a word in response, and only sadly look on with a pained expression and a nod. Yefim knew better than to pity him, as he did not pity any of his friends. Difficulty and hardship was a necessary road upon which glory was the ultimate destination. Pain was no fun, but neither was being a loser, or giving up. If his destiny was to be a god, and Niffler was to be his companion to the end, he would need to already know that no pity would be spared, only undying support.

So with that, Yefim threw up his hands and eyes, as if calling to the deities to give him patience, before moving behind Niffler and grabbing his head. Hooking his thumbs into his mouth and back to his molars, he would begin the excruciatingly painful process of relocating his jaw, leaning his head against Niffler's in order to hear the 'pop' as the ball back into the socket. This was not something anything but a trained professional should do, but those in Durmstrang were trained survivalists, and would not ever be caught in a moment of hopeless vulnerability without a means of carrying on. In a short moment, Niffler would be fixed, though not without suffering.

[”There is it.”] With that, Yefim would move back into view, wearing the grumpy face of an impatiently concerned mother. [”No more excuses now. I won't accept this. Explain yourself.”]

Yefim, in true Durmstrang badass form, grabbed Niffler’s jaw and relocated it without an ounce of squeamishness or hesitation. Niffler, for his part, tried to hold in the cries of excruciating pain. Yet, with his jaw necessarily open, the best he could do was confine any escaping sounds to high-pitched grunts quashed in the back of his throat. In moments Yefim was back, front and center, expectantly waiting for a real explanation. Niffler couldn’t run away now.


“Quidditch isn’t the same...” without you, he wanted to say. He couldn’t, though. It put too much weight on Yefim when the faultline inside Valentin went much deeper. “I ask myself all the time, should I quit quidditch so that I can race with you and Mik… But then, I don’t feel like I...” He swallowed hard, pain shocking through his jaw and radiating down his neck. I don’t deserve to be there, with you, he thought. “I let you down, that summer, when the giant came… I thought I had a wingman but I was just assuming… I failed to notice the obvious. How could someone with such eyes as mine not notice a literal giant like that, until it was too late? I thought I could see, could find; I thought that was my gift that I could give. I trained so hard but...” I am just a fool. “I failed you so terribly. I destroyed our team. It was me, I will accept the blame. I want a real punishment. I cannot bear the imbalance of it all. The sight of food makes me sick because I have not received justice for my stupidity. That kind of reward goes to the just, and if it goes to the depraved then it will only bring down that person and the people around them. I wanted Mikael to punish me, but like a fool, I had to go and win our duel. Please, just...” Valentin’s throat suddenly choked in a surge of emotion. Suppressing it as hard as he could, more pain shot through his battered jaw and tears escaped his eyes like fleeing exiles.

“I am sorry I failed you, that day. Failed you and Mik and everyone. Keep failing you, and how I am so weak that I cannot win a fist fight for you. You need a strong warrior, but all I am good for is dragging your heroic body away… I failed my parents, how weak I am, that I could not protect even my mother from a petty lunatic. I am hardly a man. I am...” lower than even a worm, he continued to himself. At least my father tried to go after her murderer, but what did I do? Nothing. Weakling. Wormdirt.

“Just… I am sorry. I want to have your back. I want to be strong and make the world see how good you are. I have failed you… So, please... Please, punish me.”

Interacting with: @Flash Holmwood as Yefim

Once Yefim had given him the serious look, it finally seemed like Niff was willing to give up the answers he was looking for. However, once the spigot opened, the water burst out in a powerful stream. Though he wanted to be taken aback by the amount of pain coming out in Niffler's words, he knew better than to be surprised. They were still young kids, Yefim was still intensely self-centered, but it was clear that something had changed after that summer.

Yefim and Mik moved on, trying their hand at another sport, not thinking much about what it meant that everyone seemed to leave the team at once after that. It was part of Durmstrang pride, after such an embarrassing defeat, it only made sense that others in their school should get the opportunity to show they could do it better. Yefim and Mik both knew they were good at flying, so broom racing seemed like a natural progression of their abilities. Here, Yefim was planning on dueling even though it had nothing to do with flying, because he knew his destiny was attached to glory in any and all forms.

His heart would bleed for his dear friend, though. He was too pure, one so devoted that it could be called madness. This was a good thing, it was part of what Yefim loved about him, a soul like that was rare and precious, worthy of being by his side. And yet, he spoke of needing punishment, of his many failures. It was painful to think that he had been carrying this inside of him all this time, and Yefim's face would reflect this sorrow.

[”Valya, you pathetic creature.”] Yefim would start, shaking his head. [”I never told you to shoulder any burden upon yourself. Punishing yourself... don't you know that your pain is my pain also? All challenges are ours to bear together, that's how we survive them!”]

Though his voice would be loud and clear like a drill sergeant, they would be followed by a big hug, the kind where the short, skinny one was lifted off the ground like they were an adorable plushie. Hugs were not unusual between the two of them, but this time Yefim would not squeeze too hard. After feeling the release of some of the tension for himself, Yefim would place him down again, holding on to make sure he didn't fall over if his legs were bruised.

[”This isn't up for debate either. I want you to tell me when things are wrong, it's only after destroying the things that hold us back that we'll become stronger. I know you're a good person, and I'll even defend you from yourself if I have to.”] His eyes would look at Niffler will all seriousness, a conviction only a god could have. [”Now, what happened with your parents?”]

Trigger warning: Involves a panic attack and anorexia, minor cursing

[In Russian.]

Yefim picked up the pale bowtruckle of a boy for a firm but gentle squeeze. Then, as Valentin’s feet touched the ground, he swayed softly like a tree in the breeze. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. In fact, it was hard to remember a number of things these days. Yefim held on, though, so Valentin didn’t fall over. Instead, Valya’s left hand reached out and clung to the cuff of one of Yefim’s sleeves. With eyes closing halfway, a white mess of hair covered Valentin’s face as he bowed his head in shame. He wanted another hug, but he was afraid. He had enjoyed being called pathetic, though, echoing his failings even if Yefim’s words were about a completely different issue. Being told off made Valentin feel slightly better, knowing that it meant Yefim felt how hard he was trying. It was upside-down like much of Yefim’s logic, so it made perfect sense to Valya. The more scathing Yefim’s words, the more it showed he understood the severity of Valentin’s situation.



“I wanted to shield you from the pain, take it on myself… take your pain, not make you hurt. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, but I failed… None of it was supposed to be like this...” Long white fingers coiled around the cloth between them, gripping carefully as if holding the last golden snidget on Earth. If Valentin lost Yefim now, he didn’t know how he could make it through. Yef and Mik were the only things that had gotten Valentin through the last several months, void of his parents and old team, clinging to the event horizon of the black hole left by disappearing people. Valentin’s lips parted, wanting to speak, but a dark animal impulse tore his words away: terror.

His defenses weakened under the weight of Yefim's words, Valentin felt the raw power of Yefim’s terrible presence crash over him like waves in a violent storm. Yef was really never the same after that crushing defeat in London… a darkness seemed to follow him everywhere now. The white seeker’s hand began trembling, and Valentin looked at it. It didn’t feel like his hand. The spindly white claw attached to a skin-sheathed bone arm… it was surreal. Laughing in broken gasps, a lump caught the back of Valentin’s throat, making breathing more like choking underwater.

“Ha, ha...” Valentin tried to say. Pathetic wasn’t the half of it, he thought. “Fima...* Something’s wrong...” Smiling strangely with a half-cough, half-laugh. “Something’s wrong... with you. What happened? It’s not the same, at your side… I once thought it was my fault, and it probably is, but you are… followed by a shadow now. I’m not just seeing things. It’s there even when I eat. The darkness cloaks your back, everywhere you go.” Busting out with a series of coughs, the shaking in Valentin’s arm climbed up into the rest of his body. He could usually decently control his reaction to Yefim’s terrible presence, but now that he was thoroughly soaked with the terror of losing Yefim after having opened up… the fear became overwhelming.

“I’m no-not afraid of anything, you know me… Hurricane, lightning bolt, the thrill-chasing seeker from hell. The immortal white seeker of Durmstrang. There’s no stunt I won’t do, but… here I am...” shaking like a leaf, Valentin began to collapse, and would fall to his knees if Yefim didn’t hold him up.

“Y-y… Misha, too. M-Misha...” A gasp caught in Valentin’s throat as he remembered the darkness that clung to his other best friend. “Both of you have changed… Are you… are you okay?” creaked Valya’s usually silver-lined throat. He tried to bring his head up to look Yefim in the eyes, but suddenly he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The pale boy had never felt so vulnerable and exposed in his life. He didn’t know he was capable of being so weak, let alone showing it in front of his hero.

“When my parents disappeared, it was sudden. Just, gone. You… You’re not going to… What… what happened to you?” Valentin swerved towards Yefim, barely on his feet at all. He would glance off Yefim’s side and bounce back into the corner of the boy’s arm if Yefim didn’t evade.

“Fima...” whispered Valentin. “Please don’t go. Don’t… die… I don’t understand why my mother had to die. I thought wizards, we are…. Aren’t we magical? We can just go to St. Mungo’s, or whatever place. They just wave their wands and we come back, right? I have been in a billion pieces, and I came back. Why didn’t she come back? I take it all for granted, these people who spend their lives studying to put us back together. Did someone not study?” A flame of anger flickered in Valentin’s eyes. “Was it some low-rate doctor, someone who didn’t try hard, just some fake...” like me... he wanted to continue. The conclusion was on point, if upside down-- he did feel that he was to blame for his mother’s death. If the doctor had been inept, it was because Valentin was the truly useless one. The failure, the fallen star, the shattered angel from on high: it was his weakness, his lack of observational skills, the blindness in his keen eyes. “Just like the giant, I didn’t see it until it was too late.”



Trying to straighten his back, a loud crack, then two, punctuated the quiet around them. Valentin gazed off into the distance, as if looking for the snitch, as if he might see his mother there, coming back. “I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off her. She was so famous, of course she would get bad attention, too. That mongrel-bastard… He...” A hot tear of rage escaped the walls of Valya’s eyelid, then another from his other eye, splattering fat into the dust below. “It was a fan. A crazy fan. Stalker. Fucking stalker. I was not home, but at school. I was a pathetic son. I didn’t even try to catch him. The bastard killed her. My father said the killer explained, before he died. Dad killed him. The killer said… ‘if I can’t have her, neither will you.’ It was after she died. Dad went after him, chased him down using magic to track him… Killed him in vengeance. The bastard deserved to die, but now the… he… Dad was sent to prison. Maybe he’ll die in some work camp, a slave. Damned ministers, thinking they know better. Using him like a tool. Throwing away his gifts. Dad did it for honor, for vengeance. No one can take his wife, kill Mom like that without paying. He shouldn’t be there… It’s so wrong...” Strength from his anger came back into Valentin’s legs, and the bone-white boy tried to look up. Fierce, terrified, loving eyes in silver and violet looked into Yefim’s eyes.

“I won’t let you down like that. I would die first. Die, like my mother when she refused to betray my father for some scum’s selfish wish. I won’t, can’t let you die. Let me take the pain from you, let me take the blows...” Valentin’s mind traveled back to the day Yefim forbade him from intervening, only to be obliterated in one punch by that horrid dhampir. “I can be stronger. I will eat for you, and then you can trust me again. I can take the blows after I recover, you’ll see,” Had Valentin learned nothing from Yefim’s words about sharing the burden? Taking on the burden alone was too ingrained in Valentin’s habits to be easily given up, no matter how eloquent Yefim’s earlier statement had been. “Don’t you see?” he said, cutting short the full extent of the emotion.

“I have to earn your trust back, and I will. Then you will tell me when things happen to you. You said to tell you when things are wrong. You have to tell me, too. I’ll throw myself down hell’s chasm for you, but you have to fucking tell me when the devil has stolen your soul.” As much as Yefim’s terrible presence itself disturbed Valentin, the worst part was not knowing why the change had happened, and what it was.

“I don’t ask for much, but I demand this. I will tell you, and you will tell me. Got it?”

“Fima” is the usual Russian diminutive for “Yefim,” just as “Misha” is the common diminutive for “Mikael.”
Interacting: @Flash Holmwood as Yefim Rumyantsev
Mentioning: @Percival Rainwood as Mikael Halldorson

Yefim wouldn't comment on Valya's first reply, as he hoped it was clear that he knew that Yefim felt the same way. He also wanted to protect his friends, but he never did it by punishing himself. To him, the concept was extremely foreign, as he never had anything to be ashamed of. If he failed to score a goal in Quidditch, or failed to get in the way of a spell before it hit a friend, he would blame fate, not himself. It was this superpower that made him an indominable fortress, a stark contrast to the spindly waif clinging to his arms like his legs were broken.

What honestly surprised Yefim was how the conversation continued. Valya said there was something wrong with him. Naturally, he was used to hearing this from people. It was all too common to be told he was insane, off, crazy, stupid, reckless, and wrong, among other, more colorful insults. He did not believe Valya would ever insult him though, this was instead a concern. This was not something he was used to. For once, he himself felt unsettled.

Yefim would want to answer, but Niff would start convulsing in coughs and weakly continue, as Yefim realized he needed even more support, this feeling he had making the exercise and fall even worse. AS he felt more weight lean into him, he instead moved his hands under Niff's arms and hefted him up onto his torso, moving one arm under his butt so he would no longer need to exert any energy. Carrying him like this would not be an overly odd sight to anyone who had seen them commonly, especially with Niffler injured, and so lightweight.

[”I'm okay.”] Yefim would answer right away, before Niffler's worried words could keep staggering out. Mostly he had been thinking about his dueling match the next day, but even before that, he had not considered that there was anything clearly bad going on with him.

The poor creature did indeed continue though, but this time he was answering Yefim's question. He feared Yefim's death, was conflicted about magical healer's inability to save his mother. It was a realistic complaint, both Valentin and him had been taught to endure pain with the expectation that it was all temporary. In their Quidditch training, being hurt was an expectation more than it was an accident, and this was felt all throughout the magical world and pureblood community. Sometimes though, magical healing will not save you, and that loss was jarring him to the point of self-destruction.

[”I won't die, Valya, I promise.”] This may have been an empty promise, but Yefim was not yet aware of the fact that his life was not completely in his hands. He had not even considered a bad healer getting ahold of him before his prophecy could be fulfilled. The possibility was simply non-existent. Even if his body rotted away, the real him, the soul of a god, would simply find another vessel.

When Valentin explained how his mother died, and how his father was sent to prison, Yefim was alongside him in indignant rage. A selfish egotist stole her life, and his father rightly delivered the only justice that would qualify. Why Valya blamed himself for being at school though... he did not know.

[”You're father is just. I would have his name cleared and given recompense for the state's erroneous decision.”] When Yefim became king of the world, his word was going to be the only law, and this seemed perfectly reasonable. [”It is the family of those who created that monster who should face judgement, not the man who meted out the punishment.”]

Then, Valya changed to talking about Yefim again, and about how he would die for him. Even though Yefim proclaimed to have what he believed to be immortality, his heartstrings flourished, like a falling piano. He knew Valentin, and he knew this was a genuine offer. He might have thought he deserved such pure devotion, but it still stirred him deeply to hear it. He suddenly felt like he could lift a mountain, or create a tsunami with the strength this gave him. Still, he was trying to weasel out of the compromise by offering to become stronger to withstand the blows.

[”Please get stronger, but for the whole of us.”] He would reiterate. [”You are not a sacrifice, you are a part. If I accept your life as mine, I can't have you throwing it away.”]

Then, the subject which had confused Yefim the most returned. If at any point Niffler wanted to be let down from the carrying position, Yefim would still support him, but otherwise he would start walking back to the campgrounds with him in his arms. He would pause thoughtfully.

[”Yes. You're right, it is only that I don't think...”] Yefim was about to say nothing was wrong, but if Niffler, the best Seeker in the world, saw something, certainly there really was something there. [”You know... my dad, right? When I grew up he and I were always together. He stayed with me while Mama worked, and he was always so amazing and he loved me so much. I told you about how she said he was crazy and tried to get him arrested for... abusing me.”]

Yefim shook his head, he still couldn't believe it. He loved his mother dearly, she was a strict but intelligent woman of incredible power. Her and the therapists all tried to say that Yefim needed help, that he needed to forget the things his father told him. He said he would, but he lied. The longer he was apart from his father, the stronger his conviction in his words grew.

[”I haven't seen him in three years, no one knows where he is. I miss him. I want to be the amazing person he saw me as, and I wonder if he knows... if he watches me or checks in on me.”] Yefim would take a deep breath, looking up into the big sky that had started to dawn on their early morning excursion. [”After the Quidditch game, I made a decision. I wanted to be the best of me, no matter how much I have to push, no matter who got in my way, no matter how dirty my hands have to get. I know I am capable of greatness. True greatness, the kind that changes the world forever. A world where people do not get attacked by giants in a legal match, where people aren't put in jail for seeking justice.”]

To an adult, Yefim's speech no doubt sounded like the ramblings of an oblivious child seeking easy answers for life's disparity, but his conviction was earnest. He assumed people were scared of him because they were themselves feeble, and in awe of his power. He did not want to enfeeble Valya though, he was an honest soul who deserved to be lifted and loved. He didn't realize this path had made him feel responsible for Yefim's safety. [”Is that wrong?”]

Pathetic as a mangy street cat in the rain, Valentin was a mess in front of his beloved Yefim. How was the pale mass of pick-up sticks supposed to convince anybody that he could be counted on? Yefim said that he was okay, brushing him off just like Mikael did. On the worst nights back at Durmstrang, Mik’s dismissive behavior managed to convince Valentin that he was indeed mistaken, reading into the boys’ condition with the desperate hope of being useful to them. Valentin wanted to believe during those moments that, yeah, everything was just fine; he was just worrying too much. When the morning broke, though, the deathly shadows still clung to his friends as the birds chirped out their cheery songs. From the depths of Valentin’s heart the truth kept seeping through and, in a fury, Valya would fly out the door astride his broom as if terribly late for something. Flying at lunatic speeds through the clouds or snow or hail, Valentin immersed himself in the wind as if he could become a wordless prayer. No, Yefim wasn’t okay, nor was Mikael. A terrible presence haunted them both and Valya couldn’t deny it. Valentin was too late. Something had happened to them.

Yefim said he wouldn’t die. Yet, right after the heartache of having been fed the line that Yefim was fine, Valentin couldn’t swallow it. No matter how much Valentin wanted to believe that Yefim was immortal, Valentin had been there, dragging Yefim’s body away that time in the lake, as well as that time with the dhampir, and… he would have dragged him away during their fight at St. Mungo’s, if only he could have moved. What if one day Yefim didn’t wake up? What if he got extinguished forever, like his mother? Yet, this was Yefim promising. Valentin believed in Yefim, knew that he could do anything… eventually. If Yef ever lost, it was just fodder for a much greater victory. Even if he died, eventually he would come back to life. It wasn’t like Yefim to die forever. Scooped up in Yef’s great, big arms, how could the little niffler doubt him when Yef promised?

Back when Yefim would scrape Valentin off the grounds of the pitch, permanent target that the seeker was, Yef hadn’t seemed quite so big… Yefim had really grown since then, he realized. Yefim had grown, but Valentin really hadn’t. If anything, the anorexic had become smaller, which was originally the idea when he was trying to compete against the evasive likes of an infamous half-goblin. Yet, feeling no bigger than a child in the arms of his peer, Valentin’s heart made a decision. He couldn’t base himself only on his quidditch performance anymore. Valya had more than quidditch to live for now. Yefim and Mikael were each more important than everything that quidditch had ever taught him. Sure, Team Durmstrang needed him to be the famous “White Immortal” seeker, and so did his fans… but somewhere between the lowest hell Valentin plunged into and here, in Yefim’s strong arms, Valentin’s priorities changed. He would give up everything that had made him who he was now, if only he could do right by Mik and Yef.

As Yefim agreed with Valentin’s feelings about his imprisoned father, the brawny Durm boy’s anger resonated. They felt the same about these important things, and it was times like this that made Yef so important to him. There was an unbroken continuum between Yef and Valya in such moments, just like during their most glorious coordinated actions in quidditch. This was the powerful emotion that made Valentin love quidditch in the first place, but even without the epic battle of the game, Yefim still gave Valentin that feeling. It felt only natural that Valentin would offer his life and volunteer to suffer fates worse than death for such a boy-- no, man-- as Yefim. When Yefim glowed like this, everything was worth it. All of it.

Yefim had become a man, decided Valentin, while the little white niffler had remained a child. What Yef needed for the battles to come, however, was no weakling child. Squirming out of Yef’s buttresses of muscle, Valentin landed on all fours like a cat. The bigger Durm boy was right. Valentin had to get stronger in order to be a continuous part of that magnificent whole. That was what he had truly wanted since the beginning, and Yef was inviting him in.

Stretching his back, Valentin stood up straight on his own two feet. The day had dawned, so they began walking side-by-side back towards their tent. Then, like the miracle of a bright green seedling pushing out of late-winter dirt, Yefim began to open up. Valya listened closely to Yef’s story about his parents and his post-quidditch ambitions, heart filling fuller by the moment.

“…Damn. How could your mother call him crazy, when he helped make you as amazing as you are today? Tried to get him arrested? She sounds crazy. What did they do to him? This is not okay… I sometimes wonder if my mother is watching me, never really died, but… You didn’t hear that he died, right? What if they secretly put him in… prison or something… they just put people there if they become inconvenient. People who tell the truth get put away, like that. The world is full of corruption. Guess he made some enemies. Have you ever thought to go looking for him?” Valentin’s voice lilted with hope, a childish instinct imagining Yef’s dad and his own becoming friends in prison, plotting their jailbreak together.

“You aren’t wrong, Fima. We both know people can’t trust the justice system, and that we have to be strong in order to make real justice in the world. We train hard, and we fight together. We will make justice in this world. If you want to look for your father, you know I want to help. One way or another, your dad was right about you. You have true greatness in you, and you will change the world forever. I will get better, and I will be at your side in the fight-- I promise.” Valentin reached out to clap Yefim on the back. There wasn’t much force to it, but Valentin’s voice overflowed with warmth.

“I just… Let me be your eyes. I will tell you the truth, and the truth is, there is a darkness burrowed deep inside you. I see it, and I see you, but I will still not leave. I don’t understand why it is there, or if it is your father’s absence that made it, but in the end… I believe in you. The weak and downtrodden come to you because they sense it, too. The world thirsts for justice and wishes for you to restore it.”

Valentin looked up at Yefim in the hopes of catching his gaze. The seeker’s keen eyes glinted with wisdom beyond the likes of their peers. If there was anything Yefim knew about Nif, it was that he had always been honest with him and never pulled any punches. Silvery violet eyes rimmed with snow-white lashes, Valentin’s gaze beamed with genuine love.

“You have become sharp, like a blade. Like a sword, you have become ruthless. People need a hero because they need a sword to free them from slavery and corruption. A hero needs good eyes with which to see the target and know where to strike. Mik and I will go with you.”

Valentin crossed his arms and smiled at Yefim. “Together, we will make things right.”

Interacting: @Flash Holmwood as Yefim Rumyantsev
Mentioning: @Percival Rainwood as Mikhael Halldorson
Abilities: Keen Eye, Evasive Maneuvers, Charmer
Stats: STA 8 ★ EVA 10 ★ STR 2 ★ WIS 15 ★ ARC 1 ★ ACC 11