Chapter Seven ~ The Noble and Most Ancient House of Krum
HARRY
The flight from Dover to Calais was an exhilarating experience. Harry had not flown since the summer he had spent at the Burrow after the war. He had forgotten the thrill of the wind rushing past his face and the urge to push the broom as fast as it would go. A little to his right, he could hear Ron speaking reassuringly to Hermione, who had never been a good flier. It was an odd spectacle, as all he could see of the pair of them was a broom speeding along with the indistinct outlines of Ron and Hermione painted the precise color of the sky above it.
A little over two hours later found them landing on the shores of Calais. Harry had never passed this way before, but thought there was something unsettling about the complete absence of ships on the water. Could the hysteria caused by the fall of the Statute of Secrecy have spread this far already?
Harry, Ron and Hermione had discussed at length how they would go about their journey safely before leaving the cottage. They had remained there for nearly a week, though Harry itched to set out much sooner. They had debated seeking out the Delacours, Fleur's parents, for help, but had decided against it. They did not want to bring trouble upon their friends as they had for so many others who had helped them evade the Ministry over the years. Instead, they would have to rely on their brooms to transport them to safe rural areas.
"Oh! Look," said Hermione.
Harry followed her gaze to the rear wall of a nearby ship registries office. His own face stared back at him from a Muggle poster, captioned with the words "Armed and Dangerous." On either side, Ron and Hermione's faces looked out from identical posters.
"If only we had a bit of Polyjuice," said Ron. "Though I never really fancied the taste."
"There's no hiding in plain sight here," said Hermione. "We'll have to take cover and travel by night."
She reached down and untied a large wicker basket from the end of her broomstick. The basket fell open and Crookshanks emerged, hissing furiously.
"You had to bring him?" said Ron. "I know he saved our skins and all, but we can't be all that stealthy traveling round with a cat, can we?"
"I don't know," said Harry, frowning. "It looks like he wants to show us something."
Crookshanks had trotted off in the direction of the office. Casting a look around to make sure they were not being followed, Harry, Ron and Hermione ran after him. They entered the deserted cabin with their wands at the ready. A single naked light bulb hung from the ceiling on a wire, affording a little flickering illumination. The room was strewn with loose stacks of paper warped by the rain leaking in from the exposed rafters. There was nothing here to suggest they might find a successful escape from the Muggle authorities.
Crookshanks leapt onto the desk, purring. Without warning, he swept his tail from side to side. A sheaf of paper was blown across to the north window, which stood open. Instead of flying out into the harbor, however, the papers vibrated strangely in mid-air before falling back to the floor of the cabin.
"What the bloody hell was that?" said Ron.
"Protective enchantments," said Hermione. "This place is guarded by powerful spells."
"But how can it be?" asked Harry. "We just walked inside."
Ron picked up a paperweight and threw it at the window at full force. The small china dolphin shattered.
"It's… It's warded to protect us," said Hermione slowly.
"Can we trust it?" said Ron. "It might be a trap."
"Crookshanks led us to safety before," Harry reasoned.
"But do you realize what this means?" Hermione exclaimed. "Someone is helping us! Someone set this cabin up as a safe house for us!"
"We should still keep watch," said Harry. "If anyone approaches, for any reason, we run."
They split the day into thirds, as per their custom, sleeping fitfully and in bursts while one of them kept a lookout. Crookshanks flounced around the cabin looking haughtily pleased with himself. Once he left the premises for almost an hour, returning with a mouthful of toad which he took to the corner of the room and guarded closely. Occasionally a solitary car drove by outside, or else a boat departed from the harbor, but no one came near the cabin.
At last the sun dipped over the horizon. Harry, Ron and Hermione Disillusioned themselves and flew off into the clouded night sky. They were soaked through within moments. Harry heard Hermione casting Impervius over herself and Ron, and did the same, but he was already cold to the bone. He leaned forward and urged his broom to gain speed.
When they could stand to cling to their brooms with frostbitten hands no longer, they landed in an empty country pasture, where Hermione managed to conjure a reasonable facsimile of a shelter. Crookshanks disappeared once more, and this time returned with a full-grown rabbit, which they cooked over a small magical fire.
It was lucky that they had all three experienced rough living during what should have been their seventh year at Hogwarts. Otherwise, Harry suspected, the strain of sleeping on the ground night after night, and eating food foraged by Crookshanks, would have been too much to bear. They traveled on this way for several weeks, frequently doubling back and taking complicated detours to throw off anyone who might be on their tail. Germany yielded better game but colder nights than France. From there, Harry, Ron and Hermione moved East through Denmark, and North along the coast of Sweden until they reached Norway.
"You're sure you remember the place?" Hermione asked one morning in early September.
"I spent weeks tracking Yaxley there, Hermione," Harry assured her for the twelfth time, throwing dirt into their campfire as they readied themselves to leave. "Five hundred miles North of Oslo, right in the middle of a mountain range."
"Meanwhile, I had to follow Dawlish to Stockholm just to find out the deranged criminal we were meant to be tailing was Stan Shunpike," Ron grumbled. Ron's disposition was marginally more pleasant than it had once been without Slytherin's locket around his neck, but he had yet to adjust fully to the effects of hunger. Harry was glad that they would be arriving at their destination soon.
He took a quick survey of the snow-capped hill where they had pitched their makeshift tent and cast their warming charms, walking in a wide circle and checking for footprints in the snow. Finding none, he returned to gather his broom, clearing his throat and knocking his feet loudly against the ground to make his presence known. After an incident near Copenhagen, Harry had begun to find it necessary to announce himself before entering any room occupied by Ron and Hermione.
"We should only be a day or so away," Harry said. "And there isn't a town for miles. We might as well fly through the day."
"Fine," said Ron. "But I'm not getting soaked again. We can fly beneath the clouds."
Harry thought they could probably have gotten away with Apparating the distance in a few leaps, but Hermione had shouted him down each time he had suggested it. They had continued to see wanted posters offering a reward for their own capture all through Germany. Without knowing how far the hunt stretched, Hermione insisted, they could not risk Apparating and having their movements tracked. Harry found the posters strangely unnerving. For all that he had been through, he had never been wanted internationally before.
They flew longer than they had ever done before that day, skimming close to the ground at regular intervals so that Harry could examine their surroundings. Before long Harry could not feel his arms. Shortly after midday he began to find the scenery increasingly familiar, until he heard Hermione gasp.
"Stop!" she shrieked. The wind ripped her voice away the moment she spoke, but Harry saw her lips move. "Stop the brooms!"
Harry leaned back sharply and managed not to lose control of his flight. To his right Ron and Hermione swayed but remained airborne.
"What?" he shouted.
"Protective spells!" Hermione yelled back. "Like the ones around the Hogwarts grounds. We've reached the boundaries of Durmstrang. Look!"
Sure enough, when Harry squinted more closely, he could see an iron gate stretching for miles across the snow-covered ground below. He tried aiming a spell straight ahead and had to duck when it rebounded.
"So I suppose we're walking the rest of the way," said Ron.
They landed before the iron gate, which contorted to form the disconcerting outline of a human mouth.
"State your names," said the gate in a booming voice.
"Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger," said Harry through chattering teeth.
He felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind sweep over him as the gate evaluated him. It seemed to make a favorable judgement, for there were a series of clicks and the bars swung forward to offer them admittance. Harry led the way onto the grounds of Durmstrang. If his memory served him correctly, he recalled that they still had a trek of some miles ahead of them before reaching the castle.
The grounds were a stunning patchwork of crags, streams, and towering mountains covered in a quilt of sterling white snow. When the sun set they would be able to see northern lights shimmer above the ancient spruce trees that lined the path to the school. A few hundred feet from the gate Harry noticed sentinels stationed at the foot of the nearest mountain. They stood motionless, wands at the ready, staring into the distance. And again, half a mile later, more guards greeted them.
"Cheerful lot, aren't they?" muttered Ron.
The pattern persisted for the two hours it took Harry, Ron and Hermione to trek up the winding path to the school. At last the school came into view, and Harry stopped for a moment to appreciate the sight of the smoke colored turrets built into the face of the tallest mountain in the range. The castle was a natural stronghold, difficult to reach in large numbers and surrounded by thick walls of basalt. On the mountain's other side, Harry knew, there stretched a magnificent expanse of valley perfect for Quidditch practice.
A lone figure was making its way down the path from the school to greet them. Harry recognized him by his gait before he saw his face, and his jaw dropped. The familiar man divested himself of a layer of heavy furs, revealing robes the traditional crimson of Durmstrang underneath. Harry heard Ron swear under his breath.
"Hello, Hermione," said Viktor Krum.
Hermione looked both shocked and pleasantly flustered. "Viktor! You learned how to say my name properly! Er, what—what are you doing here?"
"I vos made Headmaster," said Krum with a rare smile. "Allow me to show you inside the castle, vere you vill be received properly."
"Aren't you awfully young to be a Headmaster?" asked Ron loudly as they followed Krum up the path.
"I am the youngest in the school's history," said Krum calmly. "It is an interesting story. There haff been many changes since the Statute vos broken, as you must know. This, I think, is why you are here?"
"Yes, we do have some questions, and some things to discuss," said Hermione breathlessly. Ron's arm had somehow managed to find its way around her shoulders as they walked.
"Yeah," Harry interjected. "Like why are there guards stationed all over the grounds?"
Krum turned a grim expression on Harry.
"Surely," he said, "you know that ve are being votched."
DUDLEY
It had been nearly two months since his first meeting with Cho Chang, and the global manhunt for his cousin had rather managed to escape Dudley.
He had been interrogated several times by government agents, who had invited themselves forcefully into Number Four, Privet Drive and borne Vernon Dursley's indignation with bland indifference. They had asked Dudley vague, circumspect questions about his cousin, offered his mother a cup of her own tea, and left with many ominous promises of returning shortly. In the days that followed, Dudley had grown convinced that the dark vehicle with the tinted windows stationed in the alleyway nearby was a plant, filled with spy equipment trained on the Dursley house.
For all this, Dudley spent very little time thinking about his cousin. As the weeks went by he became increasingly perturbed for another reason altogether. His mother fussed and his father offered blustering, well-meaning curses as Dudley shut himself in his bedroom day after day, refusing meals. But Dudley could hardly tell them the truth.
He spent much of his evenings nursing headaches as he strained his eyes to read the incomprehensible small print in The Standard Book of Spells: Grade Six and One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Dudley had spirited the books away from the pile of Harry's forgotten effects after the Dursleys had come out of hiding, and stowed them under his floorboards before his father could dispose of them in some irrevocable way. He could not explain the impulse to himself, except that his cousin had saved his life and these books were the only trace of him that now remained in Privet Drive.
Still, Dudley had never read them. He had let them sit undisturbed under the floorboards like some shameful, half-remembered secret, until a fortnight ago.
Cho Chang had vanished without a trace after the night of the first mobs and looters. She had promised they would see one another again, but despite his best efforts, Dudley had been unable to locate her. He had looked through phone books, newspapers, even internet search engines, to no avail. Then it had dawned on him that perhaps she did not want to see him again. What if she had changed her mind? It would not be the first time Dudley had proven himself too dim to hold the attention of a girl he fancied. His mother could make excuses all he liked, but Dudley knew when he was being brushed aside.
So it was that Dudley found himself bent over an incredibly dull tome about something called "house-elves"—as he understood it, abominable shrunken creatures with the power to creep about residences unseen—in the early hours of the morning, moving his lips to frame the words he could not understand. It had taken him over a week to get through the first chapter alone. He kept opening it to the first page and then closing it again, horrified by this solid evidence of the magical world transcribed before him. But if he was ever to have anything to talk to Cho Chang about, he would have to persist.
Dudley heard his mother tip-toe across the corridor and stop outside his room, no doubt spying the light streaming from under his door. To his relief, she walked on without comment after a few moments. He had no idea how he would have explained the complicated diagrams of magical creatures he was examining.
Crack!
Dudley recoiled. Something had collided with his window and left an actual dent in the glass. Dudley waited, petrified, for his mother to come running. When it appeared that she had not heard, he crept cautiously across the room with Harry's book in hand, ready to pummel whoever was attempting to break his window.
Cho Chang was standing in his backyard with her magic wand raised.
Dudley remained immobile for almost a full minute before he was able to regain the full use of his senses. Cho was waving at him. With a flick of her wand she repaired his window. The crack running the length of the glass disappeared, as though it had never existed at all. Dudley's hand jumped instinctively to his backside as the memory of a pig's tail surfaced.
Cho smiled at his reaction. On impulse, Dudley made a decision. He opened the window and leaned through.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" she replied. "Or shall I levitate up to you?"
"No!" said Dudley hastily. "I'll—I'll come down."
Half convinced he had taken leave of his senses, Dudley slipped out of his room as quietly as possible and padded down the stairs to the first floor landing. He cut through the kitchen to the backyard and joined Cho, suddenly acutely aware that he was wearing mismatched socks.
"How did you know where I live?" he whispered with many glances up at his parents' bedroom window.
"I have Muggleborn friends," said Cho primly. "I know how to use a phonebook."
Dudley was finding it difficult to concentrate on her words while her magic wand was still raised and pointed vaguely in his direction. Cho seemed to guess his objections and stowed the wand away in her pocket. They began to speak at the same time.
"I've had to lie low these last few weeks," said Cho with a disarming smile.
"You don't call or write," said Dudley. It was something he had heard in a movie.
They paused and laughed awkwardly. Dudley became aware that there was gooseflesh running up Cho's arms. He thought inexplicably of what Harry would have done in this situation, and felt certain that his cousin would have offered Cho his coat.
Dudley did not have a coat. Instead he asked, "Would you like to go for a cuppa, like last time?"
Cho shook her head. "There isn't time. I've come to warn you. We should talk inside."
"If my mother hears—" Dudley began.
"She won't," said Cho.
With misgivings, Dudley led the way back through the kitchen into the sitting room, where he thankfully remembered to pull Cho's chair out for her at the table. Congratulating himself on his presence of mind, Dudley took a few colas from the fridge and offered one to Cho. When he turned back he saw to his alarm that she had her magic wand out again.
"Muffliato," she murmured. When Dudley scrambled back she added, "It's only to keep this conversation between us. Goodness, haven't you ever seen anyone do magic before?"
"I've seen m—magic," said Dudley darkly.
Cho considered him for a moment. At last she shrugged.
"Dudley, I need you to be honest with me," she said. "You didn't get along with Harry much, did you?"
Dudley's first instinct was to lie. Then he remembered how the Dementoid had made him see things inside his own head, and wondered whether Cho's lot could read minds. Harry never had, or else he had not claimed to. All the same, Dudley nodded reluctantly.
"That's what I thought," said Cho. "They're going to try to take advantage of you."
"Who?" asked Dudley. He pictured sects of green-faced warlocks chanting around a bubbling cauldron, like in the old computer games he used to play as a child.
"The Muggle authorities. I'm sure they've been to see you already?"
"Er," said Dudley. "Some men came to ask questions about him. About Harry. But I lied and told them I hadn't heard from him in years, so they would leave me alone."
"So you have heard from Harry?"
"He sent me a letter after that—that war. Just to ask if I was all right. I never wrote back."
Cho grimaced, somehow managing to look lovelier in the process. "Well, Dudley, you were able to lie because I spiked your tea with an antidote to Veritaserum."
Dudley nodded knowledgeably, desperate to appear as though he could keep up with Cho's conversation. He vaguely recalled reading about Veritaserum in one of Harry's books, but had given up on the chapter as a bad job shortly thereafter.
"You don't have any idea what I mean, do you?" said Cho with a faint grin.
"Er," said Dudley.
"That pub I took you to that day, the Leaky Cauldron, was a Wizarding pub," she explained. "The barman, Tom, gave me something to put in your tea so that you wouldn't be affected by truth potions. I suspected the Muggle government would come around to ask you about Harry, and I didn't want to risk them slipping you a truth serum in case you knew anything about Harry that could get you—or him—in trouble. According to my sources, the Muggles have access to magical weapons."
"You drugged me?" Dudley felt a rush of belated panic. What if there were aftereffects? What if he grew pig's ears, this time? He ought to have known he was in a magical pub when one of the patrons had paid the barman in gold coins the size of saucers.
"It was only an antidote," said Cho. "I was trying to help."
Dudley struggled to verbalize his objections. There were so many that he gave up and settled on his most pressing question instead.
"You said they were going to try to take advantage of me?"
"That's what I'm afraid of. There's been a great deal of change since Harry broke the Statute. They're trying to keep it quiet, but wizards and witches are being rounded up and interrogated, and Muggles have been noticing. Some of us are their friends and neighbors. From what I hear, the Muggle authorities are looking to mend their image to the public."
"The government is… capturing your lot?" said Dudley, struggling to keep up. He felt suddenly very dizzy. It was surreal to be speaking so plainly about magic in his mother's spotless sitting room, with a vase full of wilting tulips to his left and a girl holding a magic wand to his right.
"My lot, right," said Cho, and for some reason she looked unhappy. "And since Harry is the one who exposed us, and you're his cousin, you're about to become very well known. The Muggles want to use you as a sort of figurehead for their cause. That's what our sources at the Prophet say."
"But your side can do magic!" Dudley burst out. "Can't you just… wave your wands and mend it all?"
"Times are changing," said Cho quietly.
The doorbell rang.
There was a bellowing of oaths from upstairs as Vernon woke up. Cho stood and retreated towards the kitchen.
"I can't be here," she said. "I only came to warn you."
"Warn me?" Dudley repeated. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead and landed on his mother's pristine linoleum floor. He did not know what to do next.
Harry. Harry would have known what to do.
"Come with me," Cho urged as the doorbell rang a second time.
There were footsteps from upstairs.
"I—I can't," said Dudley. "My parents…"
"They'll use you," Cho insisted.
Dudley remained immobile, and Cho's expression darkened.
"I see," she said with distinct frostiness. The doorbell rang a third time.
"What the bleeding hell?" came Vernon's voice from the top of the stairs.
"Wait!" Dudley cried, but Cho was already gone.
Cursing himself to the moon and back, Dudley rushed to the front corridor to get to the door before his father could. Opening the door, he was greeted by a pair of men in charcoal suits, both with guns holstered at their hips.
"Good evening," said one of the men pleasantly. The sun was just beginning to rise beyond the roofs on the houses opposite. "Do I have the pleasure of speaking with Dudley Dursley?"
Dudley nodded jerkily, keeping his eyes on the man's gun.
"Dudley," said the man, extending his hand, "my associate and I would like to speak to you about a—shall we say an opportunity."
Dudley looked over his shoulder at his father, who was huffing like a rhinoceros at the end of the corridor. With a sigh, he stepped outside.
