Chapter One
The Luck of the Draw
:.:.:
How do you come back from something like that intact and unfazed? Is it even possible? In my case, I've had to learn to make it possible. I've had to learn to restrain myself from reaching out and helping the people suffering. It didn't mean I was born without a heart, honestly, I was just…trained to function without one.
My grandfather, you see, he was all I had. He was my guardian, my only family, for I never really got the chance to know my parents. The only thing I knew about them was the way they looked on their wedding day, thanks to the picture Grandad had given me. All right, so maybe that wasn't the only thing I knew… But Grandad never spoke of them, never even told me how they died. One day he just sat me down and told me as quickly as possible that some Aurors from the Order of the Phoenix had murdered them for being Death Eaters.
"You look just your mother, you know," I recalled the words Grandad had told me at ten-years-old. "But your father is definitely in there as well. You've certainly gotten his eyes…and Quidditch ability, no doubt. He played Chaser for the Tutshill Tornados, I'll have you know."
"Demetria? Demetria?"
But all at once, Grandad's voice began changing, growing somewhat deeper and gaining a…Bulgarian accent?
"Demetria?" The voice's owner shook me from my thoughts…literally. "Are you all right?"
I straightened up from where I sat in the common room, occupying the entire window seat, and found myself staring into the dark eyes of my seventh year friend, Viktor.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I assured him, my own accent of British origin clashing with his (not to mention the rest of the school). But Viktor still looked to me with a skeptical brow raised. "Honestly, you can lower those bushy eyebrows of yours."
Shooting him a grin, which he returned, I allowed my eyes to wander back out the window to find the same old mountainous landscape surrounding the castle.
"Vhat is it you are thinking about?" Viktor inquired.
But regardless of all the years I'd known Viktor, the fact that my grandfather was a Death Eater, and that my parents had been them too...that was something I wasn't even ready to admit to myself yet.
"My parents." It wasn't a complete lie.
Viktor walked over and I dropped my legs to make a space for him to sit; he did. "I am afraid I knew your parents no more than you, but I do know this — they vould be proud of you, Demetria. After all, you are von of the top students here at a school no other vitch could survive in, let alone succeed."
I decided I wouldn't even think about if that were true or not, I'd just believe it was. "Thanks, Vik," I told him, sincerely.
"Viktor, Demetria," called a voice from the threshold of the common room. It was the third member of our little trio: another seventh year by the name of Grigor Poliakoff. "Karkaroff vants everyvon down in the Dining Hall straight away, so hurry, von't you?"
"Nie idvame," I assured Grigor in his native tongue. (We are coming)
Grandad was very keen on my learning Bulgarian.
"Do not vorry, friend. I am sure there vill be plenty of tarator for you to bathe in," Viktor said in jest as we made our way over to Grigor.
"Ah yes, and you know how Karkaroff just loves your eating habits," I added.
At that, Grigor playfully tugged on my dark blonde locks, the three of us then making our way down to the first floor. And once nearing the Dining Hall, we found ourselves swallowed up in the sea of students all wriggling through the crowd to enter the Hall. So since Grigor, Viktor, and I had somehow managed to stay together, we moved to occupy three empty seats in a row and did so with success. It wasn't long after that all of the other blokes had found seats of their own and Karkaroff stepped up to the podium from his spot in the front of the Hall.
"God kvled," he began. (Good evening) Regardless of whether everyone there was Norwegian or not, we'd all come to know what certain terms such as that meant. "Naturally, you are all wondering why I have asked you all to be here, yes? Well, I will not prolong my reasons. Gentlemen…and lady…" He spotted me rather easily and a few students, as well as myself, gave a chuckle. "this is the first time in over a century that we will be attending an event known as the Triwizard Tournament."
A wave of excitement broke upon everyone in the Hall, all undertones detected as buzzing. Even Viktor and Grigor began muttering about something. Despite coming from a pure-blood family, I was one of the few still awaiting an explanation.
"Now then, for those of you unaware of what this tournament is, the first was held in approximately 1294 —" Nearly half of the blokes issued groans. "Stillhet," he ordered sternly. (Silence) "As I was saying…Each of the three schools — Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and Hogwarts — were represented by one Champion apiece who would compete in three tasks designed to test magical ability, intelligence and courage, traditionally judged by the Headmasters or Headmistresses of the competing schools. Champions would compete for the honour and glory of not only winning the Tournament, but the prize for the victor — the Triwizard Cup and a monetary prize."
"Vich school is hosting this year?" inquired a student I recognized to be Aleksander Nikolov, a fellow fourth year. Everyone submitted their agreements which practically drowned out Karkaroff as he attempted to warn us of the rise in death tolls.
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But, not all of you may come — Hush!" he silenced all arguments prior to their peak being reached. "And since I know you will all complain about this news as well, I shall get it out of the way — You have to be at least seventeen to enter your name," But if the blokes were outraged, they managed to keep it quiet for once. "Anyway, as far as who will be coming to Hogwarts, my first choices will be those of age and of great skill. For anyone else to be chosen, it will be — as I have heard it said — the luck of the draw. I will announce said students the morning before we depart for Hogwarts…a week from today. That is all! Off to your quarters!"
There were only a handful of different expressions spread amongst the blokes. All those of age left with a distant look on their faces, while nearly everyone else appeared either furious or anxious. But from what I could see, Viktor and I were the only two participating in neither facial appearance.
"Reckon you'll enter, Vik?" I asked him.
"I haff not even been chosen to go yet," was his humble reply. He knew as well as I did how much Karkaroff favored him. So I only continued to stare at him as though saying 'Really Viktor?'. He gave a full laugh. "All right, so my chances are looking good. And even if I did not submit my name, Karkaroff vould for me. But vhat about you?"
"I'm not old enough to compete," I reminded him, now noticing Grigor trailing at my side like a zombie. His eyes were wide as Quaffles and his jaw was dragging along the floor. "And even if I was, I wouldn't want to end up looking like that."
Viktor found Grigor and grinned, shaking his head hopelessly at the poor bloke. "But you vould be more than capable of surviving, I am sure. Who knows? Maybe they vill make an exception." He nudged my shoulder teasingly.
"Thanks," I smiled. "But I wager my father's Quidditch legacy, plus my own someday, ought to give me enough eternal glory to last into my old witch age. I don't need to be a Triwizard Champion."
"Neither do I," He shrugged. "But it vould be fun to vatch, no?"
"Yeah," I admitted. "but you heard Karkaroff — it's the luck of the draw," I imitated him with my best attempt at his fruity, unctuous-voiced accent.
"But you must know he has a soft spot for you as vell?"
I shrugged. "Most of the professors here do."
Grigor seemed to finally have wiped the drool from his blood-red robes, composing himself enough to form a sentence. "Are you thinking I haff a chance at making it?" he asked Viktor and I.
"Without a doubt," I assured him as he gave a confident smile. "You have chosen a rather elite group of friends, after all." It had fallen just as quickly, Viktor and I both chuckling at our friend. "Not to worry, Grigor, I'm sure you'll make it. But you'll have your answer soon enough, the week'll be over before you know it…"
:.:.:
"That vas the longest veek of my life!" embellished Grigor upon everyone's arrival into the Dining Hall. The day for Karkaroff to announce the dozen students traveling to Hogwarts had finally arrived, and I felt absolutely no different.
"Calm yourself, Poliakoff," Nikolai Pavel leaned in to say. "Vouldn't vant you drooling on yourself again, vould ve?"
Nikolai was a seventh year, and the absolute worst one, at that. Actually, he was just the worst student in general. He loved to start shite with anyone and everyone, no matter what.
"Sod off, Pavel," I told him as I placed a hand on Grigor's shoulder. "If Grigor's chosen, it's because of pure talent. If you're chosen, it's because Daddy's gone and bought your entry."
The gorilla-resembling git narrowed his eyes in my direction. "You'd be vise to vatch yourself around me, Harris. Vouldn't vant any harm to come to…Durmstrang's Lille Prinsesse."
With that, he and his sallow looking side-kick continued on to locate a seat. And though it hadn't been in Bulgarian, it was easy enough to decode, especially considering that wasn't the first time I'd been called by that name. Durmstrang's Little Princess, I thought in disgust. But I simply allowed the comment to roll off my back, for Nikolai wasn't the only bloke in school who seemed to think I was. And it never helped that nearly all of the professors, Karkaroff included, would give me a sort of special treatment from time to time. Whenever they did, I would try and tell myself it was because of the skills beyond my years which I possessed, but that was rarely even half of the reason why.
"God morgen," (Good morning) I hadn't even noticed Karkaroff take the podium, but sure enough, there stood said Headmaster, the same old smile he wore unable to reach his cold eyes and the same old goatee ending in a small curl from his chin. "Before we tuck into our breakfast, I believe there is something you have all been waiting for, no?"
The Hall errupted in their own forms of confirmation, seemingly every bloke going along with Karkaroff's little game of fetch. He threw the ball and everyone ran to bring it back, even Grigor. But knowing Karkaroff, he'd only throw it back out into the air again until someone caught it between their teeth.
"And you have all been waiting so patiently for this day, but I'm afraid I have forgotten what it is you have all been waiting for…" The ball was tossed again and Grigor gladly leapt into the air to catch it. He slammed his fist down on the table and began shouting at Karkaroff along with the others.
"All right, stillhet!" he demanded. "After careful consideration, I have finally decided who will be making the two day journey to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament," he continued dramatically. "When and if your name is called, come forward and be seated at the Head Table. Now, in no particular order…Viktor Krum!"
Naturally. I joined the Hall in applause and watched as Viktor shot me a knowing glance before standing and making his way toward the Head Table in front of the Hall. He took a seat between Karkaroff's aide — a seventh year whose name escaped me — and the empty seat of Karkaroff himself.
"Sasha Polinskiy!" Ah, so that was his name. Sasha rose briefly to take a bow before descending back into his seat. And the next four names Karkaroff announced were also those eligible to be the Durmstrang Champion.
"Nikolai Pavel!"
"Oskar Kowalski!"
"Sergei Christov!"
"Grigor Poliakoff!"
I actually had to catch the Drama King who'd pretended to faint from his spot on the bench. But luckily, it wasn't for long, Grigor quickly 'regaining consciousness' and practically bolting toward the Head Table. Honestly, he was just too much sometimes. But anyway, the remaining six names were the underaged students who would support their Champion. And for some reason, that was when the butterflies began fluttering within my stomach.
"Aleksander Nikolov!"
I dunno why I'm so anxious about this, I mused. After all, I don't absolutely need to see the Tournament.
"Finnick Archer!"
It's really all right, I don't need to go.
"Marcus Azarov!"
There are so many other students here, I'm sure my name wouldn't be called even if I wanted to go…which I don't.
"Ivan Skar!"
Although…it could be fun just like Vik said…And I'd be going to Hogwarts, where my parents went to school…
"Yuri Blok!"
Oh to hell with it! Please call my name!
"and Demetria Harris!"
For a moment, I thought I was simply caught in a daydream. It wasn't until one of the boys had given my shoulder a nudge that I finally realized I wasn't. So I stood upon fairly shaken legs and made by way to the Head Table where the only open seat remaining was between Karkaroff and Nikolai. Just my luck. But regardless, there wasn't a moment to socialize — or insult — Nikolai what with Karkaroff's mouth immediately running as soon as his arse hit the chair. He went on to babble about how we all knew how to behave and make a good first impression and other bollocks of that nature. After that, I'd managed to completely tune him out as he spoke of the traveling accommodations. But there then came one word which had brought me back into orbit — well, two — Yule Ball.
"I'm sorry, Professor," I intervened, though Karkaroff hardly seemed to mind. Though if it had been someone like Grigor, there would have been a tad bit of yelling involved. "but what's this I'm hearing about a Yule Ball?"
"Actually, I was just about to explain that, Demetria," he replied coolly. "The Yule Ball is a tradition involved in the Tournament. It is a formal dance held on Christmas Eve of the tournament year, and is opened by the Champions and their…partners."
"You mean ve must vear our dress robes?" inquired Sasha.
"No, that will not be necessary," Karkaroff assured. "I have decided Durmstrang will stand out far more if you wear these uniforms." He nodded his head to Viktor who was sporting, though like every other boy there, the school's blood-red robes with the fur cloak and black pants.
That was when my fear truly began seeping in. Looking down at my own attire (my school uniform consisted of basically the same thing though with a bit more of a feminine touch) I knew it, unfortunately, wouldn't be appropriate for a formal ball.
"What about me, Professor?" came my question reluctantly.
"For you, Demetria…" He seemed deep in thought before appearing rather sad, as though moved with remorse for me. That could only confirm my worst nightmare…or well, one of them at least. "…I would owl home for your outfit."
"You must be doing the kidding…?" scoffed Nikolai, amused. "Harris in a dress?"
"Von may as well dress a chimp in lingerie," teased Grigor.
And though strange a point it was, it was true. I didn't even own a dress, let alone wear them. "Professor, is it required that everyone attend this ball?"
His face distinctly fell. "Well no, but it would show great…teamwork on Durmstrang's part."
If there was one thing that simply couldn't work on me it was a guilt trip. I remained completely oblivious to Karkaroff's crestfallen reply and told him decidedly, "In that case, you can count me out."
A long sigh and then: "Very well." But he'd almost immediately dove back into his informative demeanor. "Now, remember to finish packing by tonight. Have your luggage with you tomorrow morning and be at the docks no later than six o'clock. We set sail at dawn."
