Author's notes: Welcome to the final chapter of Entwining Fates! I want to thank you all again for the follows and reviews. It has been great fun writing this series; both canons have given me such amazing worlds to work with, and you all have just been so lovely and encouraging. So without further ado, please enjoy!

Viktor had been to many balls.

Russia's magical community was notorious for extravagant celebrations in grand, oversized castles. His countrymen were only too happy for the chance to throw on their finely pressed dress robes and shimmery gowns, symbols of their apparent wealth. As a celebrity of sorts, he had the privilege of escorting numerous young ladies of noble status: the daughters of local landlords, counts, barons, and once, the princess of a visiting monarch.

Contrary to the needling of his teammates, Viktor was never nervous about his regal escorts. He hadn't particularly enjoyed the dancing aspect of balls, yes. Nevertheless, social class made no difference in his interaction with them; fans were fans, and all of them shared the same expectations of Viktor Nikiforov being charming, attentive, and chivalrous.

And Viktor Nikiforov was never less than perfect for his fans.

This ball, however: this ball was different.

To celebrate a successful end of the exchange program, Hogwarts revived the Yule Ball, an old tradition of the Triwizard Tournament. All students were permitted to attend, with special invitations extended to participants of the program. So special, in fact, that each pair was also expected to open the ball with a dance, or so went the tradition.

Gazing at his reflection, Viktor tugged at the collar of his Durmstrang uniform, the material strangely constricting round his neck.

He was familiar with ballroom dances; really, it was the only form of dancing he knew, and one that he performed fairly well despite it all, judging by the fawning letters he continued to receive from previous escorts.

Yet, he still felt…

"Nervous?"

Viktor turned.

Clad in dress robes of rich charcoal grey, Seung-gil raised a questioning eyebrow. "You've been staring into that mirror for the past ten minutes."

"A little," the Seeker admitted with a light laugh. "I'm not quite grasping why Yuuri insisted on changing in separate rooms."

"He's an enigma," Seung-gil said with a shrug, "Or a prude."

"Perhaps both." Viktor returned his gaze to the mirror, lifting a hand to adjust the heavy cloak across his shoulder.

"Right, that's enough of that." Before Viktor could ask what he meant, the Korean boy had grabbed him by the arm and yanked him roughly out of the room. "We're waiting for Yuuri and Phichit near the hall entrance."

Without protest, Viktor followed Seung-gil down to the Great Hall where the Yule Ball was to be held. Already, students were milling about, chatting among themselves in small groups. Yura was there, standing tall in their uniform and deep in conversation with Otabek, dressed in an impeccable military uniform of forest green. In deep purple robes, JJ was also nearby with a girl in a pink gown – presumably his "crazy bitch girlfriend", as Yura so eloquently described. Georgi stood out as well, hovering protectively over his precious Anya, dressed in a gown of luscious red, a bold slit running up her leg.

"As usual, we're the first of our merry little band," Seung-gil sighed.

"It is fashionable to be late, as they say," Viktor remarked.

"And who's 'they'? Chulanont?"

"I heard that!"

They looked up the large staircase to see Phichit descending the steps with a big grin. The boy looked like a personification of the sun in his bright orange top, maroon pants, and white, knee-high socks. A wide belt on his waist held down the golden sash slung across his chest as he bounded down in his black dress shoes with the exuberance of a gleeful puppy.

"Well?" Phichit said, twirling on the spot after hopping off the last step. "Thoughts, comments, compliments?"

"Like a broken traffic light without the green," Seung-gil said dryly.

Phichit rolled his eyes. "You just insulted my national costume, you prat."

"I think it's lovely," Viktor said politely.

It was then that Phichit's face split into a smirk that would've rivaled a Cheshire cat and the Russian's earlier nervousness returned tenfold. "Oh, I wouldn't use that word just yet, Viktor." Spinning, the smaller boy cupped his hands round his mouth. "Yuu~ri," he hollered, causing a few heads to turn in his direction, "Come on down!"

"I'm not going down after that," hissed a voice at the top of the stairs.

"Presenting Yuuri Katsuki, our resident Charms extraordinaire, dancer, and – "

"Phichit."

"Well come down and I'll stop!"

"You're making it worse!"

The two boys continued bickering vigorously at a distance as more students gathered to watch the spectacle occurring right before the hall entrance.

JJ tossed his head back with a loud guffaw. "Isn't that thoughtful, Isabella? A pre-dinner show!"

"Idiocy," Yura snorted, while Otabek observed the pair with an impassive expression.

"Should I fetch him?" Viktor asked, bemused.

"Do it before I commit murder in front of all these witnesses," Seung-gil muttered.

Chuckling, Viktor took to the steps, two at a time, cloak swaying behind him. The little comedic interlude – ("And now Viktor has to go up to get you!" Phichit yelled before he was punched in the arm, "Shut up, Chulanont,") – had done wonders for his anxiety, shifting the uncomfortable emotion into something closer to excitement. It had been weeks since Yuuri rejoined the world, but trust his insecure little star to have so much trouble showing up before a large crowd in a – in – in….

Viktor's mind froze.

Silver, white, and blue glimmered on tight robes that clung almost hungrily to the slender figure, sleeve tails long and trailing, hanging inches from the floor. Up close, Viktor realized that the white came from the sash secured round a narrow waist, the silver from sequins dotting a thick diagonal line across the lean chest and down the left arm in an exquisite asymmetrical pattern. Even the feet, those small, dainty dancer's feet, looked delicate in fabric shoes adorned with small, flowery designs.

"Hi," Yuuri said shyly, eyes half-lidded.

Never in his wildest fantasies did Viktor ever imagine that Yuuri would don his performance outfit again, much less for an opening dance in front of the entire school. And then there was the matter of how well the costume fit him.

Phichit was wrong; this wasn't lovely.

It was heavenly.

Pride and desire swirled in a fusion of emotions, and Viktor's fingers twitched, itching for a feel of the blue fabric stretched taut across dancer's muscles. "That's…"

"Yeah." Yuuri flushed, plucking at his sleeves. "I-Is it okay? I thought, you know, if I wanted a new start, I needed to, um, accept the past, and this is… sort of… well, part of the past, so uh – "

As a younger boy babbled on, Viktor felt a fierce rush of affection. Reaching out, he tugged Yuuri close to press dozens of light kisses on Yuuri's temple, nose, cheeks, before sweeping down to claim his lips and swallow the rest of his words. Though his little star used to stiffen so very tensely in their initial kisses, now, he melted into them with breathy little noises, hands sliding to his shoulders.

"I take it you approve?" Yuuri murmured after they parted.

"Very much," Viktor breathed, tracing a thumb over Yuuri's bottom lip.

Yuuri's lips curved, and when he raised his chin, Viktor eagerly closed the distance –

"God, can't you just get a damn room?" Yura groaned.

Instantly, Yuuri jerked away, stammering apologies. Viktor squashed a twinge of irritation that rose with the interruption; his dear cousin had the worst timing. "What is it, Yura," he said in a tone sharper than intended.

"Yule Ball's starting," Otabek supplied quietly by Yura's side. "The Headmistress wants program participants to form a line at the door. Everyone's present but the two of you."

"Great, thanks for letting us know," Yuuri said, cheeks stained red.

Viktor followed compliantly when the Japanese boy grabbed his hand to pull him hastily down the steps; Yuuri was clearly still flustered about public displays of affection. It was kind of cute, honestly.

"I still don't see why I can't dance with you," Yura grumbled behind them in the line.

"I'm not a participant," Otabek said, sounding gentler than he ever had.

"Not to worry, Yuri baby, you'll see your boyfriend inside," JJ said cheerfully as the stoic Hufflepuff strode away.

"B-B-Boyfriend!?" Yura shrieked.

Sweeping in, the Headmistress of Hogwarts appeared at the doors, patting self-consciously at her bunned hair. "Oh good, Katsuki, you're here with Nikiforov, I thought I might have to – Plisetsky! Stop kicking your partner and take your place, please – thank you. Are we all here? Splendid. Now then." The Headmistress straightened and smiled broadly at them. "As representatives of your schools, I expect all of you to be at your best behaviour – as well as to open the ball with a lovely waltz. When the doors open, you will walk down the aisle, pair by pair, to the center of the Great Hall. The music will not begin until all of you have gathered. Are we clear?"

When heads nodded, the Headmistress waved her wand in a circle.

As the heavy doors started to creak open, Viktor felt Yuuri squeeze his hand. "This is really happening," Yuuri said in disbelief, "We're really going to dance before all of Hogwarts."

Viktor returned the squeeze. "Together, with each other."

The tender look Yuuri gave him warmed Viktor's heart to its very core.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the Headmistress's voice boomed through the hall, amplified by magic, "May I present our esteemed guests from Durmstrang Institute and the Beauxbaton Academy of Magic, joined by their Hogwarts partners."

And so it began.

"Stop touching her!"

"How am I supposed to dance the waltz without touching her?"

"Mickey, quit bothering us!"

"But Sara, he has his filthy hands all over you!"

"It's a bloody waltz!"

"They don't stop, do they," Yuuri whispered.

Viktor smiled as they spun slowly past the arguing pairs, the Crispino boy's partner looking nearly as homicidal as Seung-gil did before the ball. "We should applaud their self-control; there hasn't been any explosions yet."

"True," Yuuri laughed, and Viktor couldn't think of a sound he loved more.

They spun some more, round and round the center of the Great Hall, Viktor's feet moving mechanically to the beat of Georgi's deep voice echoing in his mind: up-side-together, up-side-together; 1-2-3, 1-2-3.

(" – made me a laughingstock, in that ridiculous getup, on that ridiculous broom – ")

"How's my dancing?" Viktor asked abruptly.

Yuuri blinked, long eyelashes fluttering over wide, captivating eyes. "It's good," he said. "Why?"

"Slow dances are all I can manage."

"I don't have much experience with ballroom dancing, but it's pretty hard to mess up a slow waltz," Yuuri assured. "I think you're leading well."

("A disappointment, is what you are, a useless wretch – ")

Viktor pulled the smaller boy flush against his chest. "High compliment from a professional dancer," he purred close to Yuuri's ear.

"Viktor," Yuuri gasped softly, "Let's not draw attention to ourselves."

"Why not," Viktor dug his fingers into Yuuri's hip, "Everyone's mesmerized by you as it is."

"Or I just look way too ostentatious in these robes," Yuuri let out a wavering laugh.

Ever so apprehensive – when will his little star learn that he shone like a beacon on the dance floor, drawing admiring gazes everywhere they turned?

"You are beautiful, moya zvezdochka, inside and out."

"Thanks," Yuuri said, his responding smile twisting Viktor's stomach in a way that he didn't dislike, not at all. "I'm that much closer to believing every time I hear you say it."

Viktor's eyes softened. "Yuuri…"

The music changed then, signaling the end of the opening dance. A different band took to the stage; the vocalist crooning a modern, snappy jazz tune to the brass sounds behind her.

Participants started to leave for other students to take the floor – Yura vanished so quickly it looked like he had Disapparated – and Viktor and Yuuri were just parting to follow suit, when Viktor felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Hey there," said Leo brightly, dressed in a sharp, maroon suit, "Mind if I steal your partner for a dance? Mine's too busy with his shift as school photographer."

When Yuuri nodded his assent, beaming, Viktor passed the boy's hand over to Leo's. "Not for too long," Viktor said with a wink.

The Seeker left the dance floor with quick strides, breathing a sigh of relief. As confident as he was with slow dances, there was something about the act of dancing that drained him. Spotting Yura by the buffet table, he headed towards his cousin, who arched an eyebrow as he approached.

"Did you just give the nerd to another man?" asked Yura bluntly.

"It's just for one dance," Viktor shrugged. "Are there drinks?"

"Yeah, some kind of pumpkin thing," Yura pointed to the large bowl behind him. As Viktor ladled the drink into a cup, his cousin nodded at Yuuri on the dance floor. "So, uh, how is he?"

"Fine," Viktor sipped at the drink. "As fine as he can be."

Yura frowned. "That bad?"

"He's not whole, Yura." Viktor gazed down into his cup, observing the ripples as he swirled the drink in small circles. "And neither am I."

His cousin shot him a penetrating look. "Voices again?"

"Just the one."

It looked as though the younger boy had something to add but thought the better of it. "Better not say anything like 'two halves make a whole' or some bullshit like that," he snorted instead.

Viktor's lips twitched. "Is Otabek not your other half?"

Yura's reaction was instantaneous. "Wha- wha – wha – " he spluttered incoherently, a dark blush spreading rapidly across his cheeks.

"You spend an inordinate amount of time together," Viktor pointed out. "And you smile every time you mention him, which is all the time, really."

For a brief moment, Yura appeared to be on the verge of bursting like a very red, horrified balloon. And then, slowly, gradually, the small boy deflated, air releasing in a long, weary exhale.

"I don't know if he likes me that way," he muttered in a voice so faint that Viktor strained to hear.

For all his angry bravado, Yuratchka was still very much a child.

Viktor hid his smile in his cup, knowing that his peevish cousin would have mistaken it for mockery. "Now might be a good time to ask," he suggested.

"Yeah," Yura sighed again. At the edge of the dance floor, the boy in question was beckoning vigorously for him, even as he remained expressionless, back straight in proper military poise. Yura's face softened into a smile. "Yeah, maybe."

Gently, Viktor nudged Yura forward, until Yura made his own faltering steps towards his friend – or perhaps, more than a friend. From what little interaction he had with Otabek, Viktor found the boy to be a grounding influence for Yura, and his lonely little cousin deserved happiness.

Taking another sip of his drink, Viktor sighted Yuuri within the throng of dancing students, waving at him when their eyes met. The Japanese boy lit up instantly, so full of joy and radiance, like Viktor was an oasis that gave him life.

In that moment, Viktor felt incandescently happy.

They might be broken, the both of them, filled with scars from troubled pasts and yearning for love – real love. Somehow, somewhere, some force had brought them together, and here they were, entwined with their flaws and imperfections: two halves making a whole.

Ah, if Yura could hear him now.

"Viktor," Yuuri called, "Come have one last dance with me?"

("Viten'ka, you insolent child, come here before I – ")

Setting his cup down, Viktor swept to the dance floor and spun Yuuri by the waist in the air, cloak swinging behind him. Around them, students cheered, Leo whooped, and Guang Hong darted about, snapping photographs on his camera.

"Viktor!" Yuuri laughed breathlessly, "What was that for?"

"Ty dopolnyayesh' menya," said Viktor, low and tender.

"W-What," said Yuuri, flushing.

"It's nothing," Viktor murmured, running his hands down Yuuri's sides, committing the feel of that lithe body to memory. "Now, how are we to dance to this music? I'm not familiar with this one."

For a moment, Yuuri didn't respond, studying Viktor with slanted eyes. Then, gently, he reached up to take Viktor's face in his hands. "Whatever you said, I think I feel the same way," he said, and Viktor's heart swelled with adoration.

("Kiss him!" Phichit yelled from a distance away, before Seung-gil crammed a fried dessert in his mouth.)

So this was what it felt like to be loved.

The ball was a success.

They had taken photographs, so many photographs – some with a traditional wizarding camera, others with an odd muggle device that Phichit called a 'cellphone on a selfie stick'. ("That's a lot of big words for some rectangular thing on a stick," Yura remarked, Otabek smirking beside him.) There were a few with Phichit's prefect friend – Christopher, or something to that effect – who managed to find some way to touch Yuuri in every shot. ("Bugger off before Viktor sticks a fork in your smug face," Phichit muttered, shoving the Slytherin boy away.) Even the hyper little boy called Kenjiro joined in later, turning positively catatonic with bliss when Yuuri laid an arm round his shoulders.

Viktor collected several copies of various sizes: physical memories of his time at Hogwarts, and more importantly, his relationship with a certain Japanese dancer.

Parting was extremely difficult the next day.

The group that gathered at the Durmstrang ship was sizably large; fans, understandably, predictably, wanted a last glimpse of their world-renowned Quidditch Seeker. Girls and boys expressed great distress, wailing and sobbing at the thought of losing him.

Viktor always thought it peculiar as he smiled, posed, and waved: after all, they never had him in the first place.

The one who did, on the other hand, looked fiercely determined to keep his tears in.

"I'll write," Yuuri said, bottom lip trembling. He lifted his chin as if the very act would quell the shaking. "I'll write every week."

"As will I," Viktor murmured, resting a hand on Yuuri's shoulder, mindful of the other boy's embarrassment with public affection. "I will write every day."

"He does have O.W.L exams, you know," Seung-gil pointed out plainly.

"Oh do shut up," said Phichit mildly, elbowing the Korean to the side. He stuck out a hand, which Viktor accepted for a firm shake. "I expect we'll see each other again real soon, on account of Yuuri being my best mate and all."

"We will," Viktor promised.

"It's been a real pleasure," Leo said with his affable smile, arms wrapped around a weepy Guang Hong in a consoling hold. "Sorry about this one, he's like a leaky faucet with goodbyes. Should've seen him when I went home last Christmas."

Viktor smiled fondly as the small boy blubbered his farewell through his tears. "I've enjoyed getting to know you both."

"Vitya," Yura hollered from the top of the gangplank, "It's time!"

Otabek was striding down and away with a melancholic expression, his cousin's red, puffy eyes noticeable even from a distance away. No doubt Yura wanted nothing more than to leave now, rather than drag the pain out longer than necessary.

"Vitya?" Yuuri asked curiously.

"Oh," Viktor said, heart stuttering in quiet shock. Hearing his name from the mouth of his little star shot a bolt of electricity straight down his spine. "That is my informal name."

"You have different names?" said Phichit with interest.

"We have several. A formal name, an informal name, and other, ah, I believe the word is 'diminutive' forms."

"Um, what's a 'diminutive' form?" Guang Hong asked with a hiccup.

"I suppose you could call it a term for more… intimate relationships." Viktor hesitated, chest constricting. "My mother used to call me 'Viten'ka'."

A beat.

And then, before his friends, before the frighteningly ardent fans, Yuuri, his timid, easily abashed, fearless little star, tugged him close for a kiss.

It was a simple kiss that ended as quickly as it began, a soft brush of lips against his, but it was the balm he desperately needed.

"Viten'ka," whispered Yuuri, and again, it was as if lightning had struck him deep to the core, sharp and hot and oh, so very right.

"Say it again," said Viktor, drawing Yuuri in by the waist.

"Viten'ka," Yuuri obliged, brown eyes shining behind his spectacles.

"Again," Viktor sighed, pressing his lips against Yuuri's neck, reveling in the boy's shiver.

"Viten'ka…"

"Oh for the love of – like it's not enough I've had to witness Georgi sucking face with his woman!" Yura bellowed above them. "Get up here or we're leaving without you!"

"And with that crude little interruption," Viktor chuckled, dropping a gentle kiss on the crown of Yuuri's head. Was that screams erupting from the watching crowd? "Dasvidaniya, moya zvezdochka. I will miss you greatly."

Yuuri pushed his glasses up and swiped furiously at his eyes. "I'll miss you too."

With a final kiss, Viktor pulled away from the smaller boy, nodding at the rest of the group – for some reason, every single one of them was sporting devilish grins on their faces, Phichit's the largest of all – and, with slow, heavy steps, rolled his suitcase up the gangplank.

As he took his place by Yura, his cousin cupped his hands round his mouth. "Hey, nerd!"

Below, Yuuri looked up, surprised.

"Next time we meet, I'll be kicking your ass hard in the air," Yura declared loudly.

And then Yuuri – his Yuuri – smiled with an unrecognizable fire, burning ever so brightly under the hot mid-day sun.

"We'll see about that."

"Dearest Viten'ka,

Congratulations on another solid victory in the European playoffs! You were magnificent, as always. I'd go on, but I'd much rather do that in person.

Things haven't changed much at Hogwarts.

Seung-gil's still upset that Phichit was voted valedictorian despite earning the top marks in his N.E.W.T exams. Doesn't help that Phichit was also made Head Boy. Their rivalry will probably continue beyond graduation. Speaking of Phichit, the secret club he started with Leo and Guang Hong has grown exponentially since its founding, though why people are so passionate about our relationship, I'll never understand. Even Seung-gil is a member. They're using my dance room now, or what used to my dance room, plastering photographs of us all over the walls. Phichit said it has something to do with our love being 'pure and true', but as they say over here, I think he's 'off his rocker'.

The Ravenclaw Quidditch captain has asked me to return as their coach of sorts. He's eager and very persistent; he even managed to get Professor Flitwick to approve this unusual request. They seem to think the team wouldn't have won the Quidditch Cup this year without my guidance. Apparently Ravenclaw hasn't won the Cup in over two centuries! The team has been so patient about my reluctance to fly that I think it's worth a consideration, if only to repay their kindness. Kenjiro's just made it on the team, too – a Beater, I think – so I'll probably be badgered into saying yes eventually.

And maybe, just maybe, it might take me back onto a broom someday.

My family is excited to meet you, by the way. Mom, Mari, and Yuuko think you're a stud, and Minako-sensei also seems a little too keen, so fair warning: the women in my life are slightly insane. They've hung up my Mahoutokoro robes, hoping to see the silver turn into gold. I think they'll be waiting for a long time.

Also, don't let my dad coerce you into drinking with him. Just don't.

I don't expect a response, since Vicchan would probably deliver this to you a week before your arrival. I hope you've received the calamus powder my mom grounded out for you. It doubles as an herb, so it smells a lot nicer than the nasty Floo powder they use in Britain. I've written several times to the Japanese Ministry of Magic to confirm a proper connection between our fireplaces; you won't believe the bureaucracy in my country. Make sure to enunciate: "Yuu-to-pia A-ka-tsu-ki".

I can't wait to see you again.

Love,

Your little star

P. S. Please thank Yura for the surprise gift. His grandfather does make the best pirozhkis."

Drawing his trenchcoat around himself, Viktor pulled his suitcase closer, nervous excitement thrumming through his veins. Delicately, he tossed a pinch of powder into the fire, watching as the flames flared once, before simmering into a pleasant shade of green.

"Yuutopia Akatsuki," he said, stepping into the fireplace.

Blue eyes met brown; two halves – slender arms flew round his neck, his own winding round the small waist – of a whole.

Translation notes:

Ty dopolnyayesh' menya – You complete me

Dasvidaniya – Goodbye, see you later

Moya zvezdochka – My little star

And so it ends! Spin-off of drabbles to come - Skeeter will get her comeuppance - and, perhaps, if time permits, perhaps a second arc, thanks in part to a lovely reviewer who took the time to write an incredibly persuasive comment on why I should write one. I've deliberately left the ending somewhat open-ended, both for you dear readers to fill it in on your own, and also for a chance to pick up where I've left off if/when I can. No promises! Again, thank you so much for reading all the way to the end, you've all been absolutely fantastic. m(_ _)m

If you'd like, you can also find me on tumblr at dreaming-fireflies :3

Lastly, I was asked how dancing on a broom might look like and I belatedly thought of a link of a character dancing with a broom on Little Witch Academia: watch?v=RUWH9JAHgXk
Ignore the ground movements; in my headcanon, Yuuri primarily does the aerial stunts.