BEYOND SECRETS AND LIES
By: Chiki Yumeshisa
Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am up to no good….oh fine, I don't own Harry Potter. All original characters/ideas are mine to claim.
AN: Many thanks again to my reviewers Ashley, anneth10, KrazeyForever, Junyortrakr, Thee-unkown-factor-Incognito, Mimiheart, and Jaejae! I don't know what I'd do without you guys. Thank you for constantly reviewing and for putting up with me thus far.
This chapter will take you further into Harry's depression and his sickness. It will explain what it feels like to have MPD and the reactions of others who know you have it. Some of Harry's past is revealed here too. Please enjoy!
Warnings: Rated PG13 for some abuse. No flames please as you have been warned.
Chapter
7:
- The
Game -
Harry's face was flushed with embarrassment as he was forced to recount what had happened in Hogsmeade while Ron and Hermione were present. The nurse clucked her tongue as she was prone to doing, shaking her head when he admitted to eating the candy (and it was here that his friends blushed with guilt).
"Well, no wonder you stomach hurts!" She all but snapped. "We gave you a specific diet for a reason."
"I'm sorry." Harry repeated. He was getting tired of apologizing, but it seemed the right (and safe) thing to do at the moment. He watched as Madam Pomfrey mixed two potions together; one thick and gloppy, the other clear and smoking.
This she handed to him and ordered him to drink. As much as he wasn't looking forward to the taste he didn't dare argue but do as he was told. As he struggled to keep it down, the nurse fretted over his temperature and told him that she would be extracting another vial of his blood to measure his blood sugar.
Twisting her robe between her fingers, Hermione studied Harry carefully. He looked tired and listless and she hoped that now, he would start to open up. She was determined to help him break out of his misery but in order to do that, she needed to know more.
All things in the light.
"Harry…." The green-gray eyes focused on her when she spoke. She pushed herself to continue, avoiding Ron's questioning gaze. "How many…well, you know…personalities do you have?'
His eyes bore into her mind, as he responded slowly. "Four, not including myself." He put the empty glass of potion down on the bedside table. "The number's stable and has been for a couple of years."
Then, he seemed to sober, as if allowing them to venture another question despite the fact that he might resent them.
"Are you aware of the other's presence?" Ron asked, taking his turn at the inquisition and shifting his chair closer to Hermione's.
This time, Harry's eyes seemed guarded and he kept his face emotionless. For a moment it seemed as though he wouldn't answer, but then, he looked away, almost as if he were embarrassed. "Sometimes I'm aware; like yesterday in Paris' case. I could hear and see what was going on…it's like watching television from far away."
"What's a 'tevenison'?" Ron asked, blankly.
"It's a muggle creation – like watching people move inside a box." Hermione explained impatiently. "And it's not a 'tevenison' it's a 'television'." Her voice had gotten haughty and bossy again. "Anyway, Harry, please continue. If you can see what they're doing, then - "
" – not all the time. Sometimes they come unexpectedly. Like…like Maje does." He looked as though he were trying to find the right words to say. "It's hard to explain, so just try to understand."
Madam Pomfrey came and took the glass away while the two nodded. "Who's Maje?"
"He's the oldest personality." Harry said, watching now as the nurse came back with a small bottle and a syringe. She positioned herself next to him and began to prepare his arm by rubbing alcohol on it where she planned to poke him.
Ron's next question distracted Harry from the small pinch of the syringe biting through his flesh. "There's a girl personality…isn't there?" There was a catch in his voice and Harry looked up, only to quickly look away again, in embarrassment.
Ron moved forward, his hands absently going out to rest on his knees. "It was on the first day…she…"
"Yes, there is a girl personality." Harry finally grumbled, irritably.
"Liliana?" Hermione put in, remembering Paris' words.
Harry nodded. "Liliana."
Ron let out his breath in a rush. "She was the one who spoke to me on your first day, wasn't it? That's why you didn't remember me introducing myself to you. I thought it was weird," Ron said, more to himself than to either of them, "I knew you couldn't possibly be ga - "
"- I managed to regain consciousness when I finally realized that she'd taken over. I apologize in advance if she ever embarrasses you again." Harry interrupted hastily. His sallow cheeks had reddened slightly, and Hermione glanced at the two of them, clearly amused.
Madam Pomfrey put a stopper on the bottle containing the blood and the red liquid sloshed around when she lifted it to eye level, peering at it critically.
"Can I go, now, ma'am?" Harry asked, hopefully. There was a throbbing pain in his gut but he was tired and hungry and wanted nothing more than to escape the Hospital wing which seemed to be his second unofficial place of residence in the school.
"You most certainly may not." She snapped. "Bless me, you're in a state – have you forgotten to take your pills?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione stiffen, and he did his best not to look at her, for fear of getting scolded yet again. "I-I must have." He stammered, feeling himself start to lose confidence.
"Well, you will stay here and take your supper with me. What happens if you suddenly lapse again? It won't do to have the whole school know, now, will it?"
Harry's shoulders slumped at her words as reality of his condition sunk in once again. His mind remembered how for most of his life, he had been locked away, hidden, from society. He just wished he were normal, but it would never be. So he nodded, as usual, resigned to his fate.
Madam Pomfrey turned to his friends. "As for you two, you'd best get down to dinner or you'll not get some tonight."
Reluctantly, Ron and Hermione got to their feet shooting Harry apologetic looks. "Take care mate," the red haired boy said, inclining his head. "I'll see you up in the dormitories."
"Yes, see you." Harry told him. He was suddenly hit with an unexpected feeling as he spoke. His body suddenly felt hollow, like his insides had decided to disappear, and it was all he could do to stop himself from crumpling in a heap. Horrified, his arms went out to hug his middle, his hands shaking.
Ron and Hermione mistook his gesture as a sign of pain because of his earlier complaints of a stomach ache. But at the nurse's disapproving look, they slowly made their way out of the room.
As soon as they had gone, Harry did fall over, gasping. "Madam – what…?" His panic was setting in deep, and he found he could not control it. The uncomfortable feeling continued to spread, all the way to his fingertips so that he could not control even his hands. He turned wide eyes to the nurse.
Though the feeling was not painful at all, it was certainly disconcerting and he was rapidly wishing for the pain he had felt before au lieu of the strangeness he was feeling now.
Her hand went out to his forehead, which had started to sweat and said soothingly, "Relax, my boy – just ride this through. It'll be uncomfortable for a while, but you'll soon feel better, trust me."
It was easier said than done, and it took the boy a while to steady his breathing and calm down. Soon, the hollow feeling began to turn numb, like his inner organs had been returned but had done so in a mush.
For a good half-hour he lay there, staring at the ceiling of the hospital wing. It was a plain white color, dimmed by the lack of sufficient lighting. The hospital ward had once again become lighted with candles, casting shadows on the walls.
By the time Madam Pomfrey came to check on him, his stomach was back to normal, albeit his nerves weren't. He was served a simple meal and checked again before she deemed him ready to leave.
He sat up, oddly disoriented as he stood. He supported himself by putting his hand on the bed. "Can you please tell me the side effects before you give me a potion like that again?" He grumbled and the nurse merely smiled sheepishly. Sighing, he steadied himself looking like he was about to collapse. "Did you find anything out with the results of the blood sample?"
She shook her head. "It will take time, dear. I will let you know when we do find something out."
Feeling drained, Harry nodded.
Her hands went out to cup his cheeks in a motherly fashion. "You will be fine, Mr. Potter. You live your life as you have for the last couple of weeks. But something will be different: this time around you will have friends to support you every step of the way."
He smiled wearily, as she took her hands from him. "Doesn't it feel better, letting some of the secrets out?"
For a moment, Harry contemplated her words and realized that she was right. But, there were many things he was not yet willing to share with his new found friends.
Time.
He needed time.
In time he would tell them.
As he let go of the bed, he took a deep breath. "Thank you, ma'am. I feel much better."
"And the stomach ache?"
"It's gone." Was his confirmation.
She nodded. "I want you to promise me you'll stick to your diet. You know the consequences…"
"I promise I won't do it again." Harry told her. He was about to say more, but his eye was caught by a dazzling pink light. Blinking, he turned his head in its direction. On his beside stood the small lantern that Hermione had bought for him – well, for Paris – and the fairy on the inside had woken.
Forgetting his conversation with the nurse, he crept forward to see, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Inside, the Fragile Fairy's wings had unfolded and were now beating at the wind slowly, gracefully as the little figure turned in a circle, the light changing from a pink color to a light green.
Harry watched, fascinated, bending down to watch. The light changed to a dazzling yellow. He shielded his eyes at the brightness. As if sensing his discomfort, the color dimmed to a soft, pulsating glow. Taking his hand away, Harry tapped the glass experimentally.
The fairy drew closer, following his finger. "Hello." He whispered.
He jumped back when a faint, tinkling voice replied, "Hello." Back. She hovered next to the glass, watching him with her clear glass eyes, tinted with a hint of blue.
Amazed, Harry moved forward again. "Can you….hear me?"
The girl nodded, swinging around lazily.
Excited, Harry asked, "What's your name?"
"Don't have one." She replied. "Not yet no…"
"Oh."
"Are you my owner?" She asked.
He nodded.
Madam Pomfrey had come around to see as well. "Owners usually name their fairies." She said. "You've got a very beautiful one."
And indeed he did. The small figure had long thin red hair, and her wings were emanating a soothing blue color. He sat down on the bed, not taking his eyes off her.
"Well, what name would you like?" He asked, finally.
"Me sir? I can pick my own name?" Her tiny voice sounded incredulous.
Harry shrugged. "Well, I'd rather call you something you like."
She zoomed around her lantern a couple of times, her color switching from blue, to red, to yellow and then, back to blue. "I can't think of one, sir." She said finally, coming to a stop and settling onto the bottom of her jar. "Can you choose one for me? One that's nice and pretty…"
Harry picked up the lantern. "How about…Abcde? (Pronounced AB-SID-DEE) It's easy and simple to remember…I had a friend named Abcde once but…." He trailed off, waving his hand as if the rest of his sentence was irrelevant.
"Abcde, sir?"
"Do you like it?"
"It's wonderful!" She said, quite eagerly.
He grinned, getting up carefully, afraid to rattle her around. He should have known, of course, that she would not be affected given the state of her capabilities. When he looked at her next, she was happily somersaulting slowly in her spot.
Madam Pomfrey clasped her hands in front of her. "Would you like to spend the night, Mr. Potter?"
He tore his eyes away from Abcde, who at the moment, had taken to flying around her lantern in circles furiously, so that it looked like there was a small tornado of different colors within. "No, thank you. I told Ron I'd be up shortly – I don't want anyone to worry." He shot her a strained smile. "Thank you for everything…I wouldn't know what to do if you…." He left the rest unsaid, the implication of his sentence quite obvious: if she wasn't around, he'd have let slip the nature of his condition too early in the game.
She nodded in response, needing no words to express her welcome.
"Well…good night then." Harry said, turning his back with a glance over his shoulder.
His black robes swished at his feet when he pulled them together. His handsome face was shadowed slightly by the dim lighting. For a moment, Madam Pomfrey thought she was looking right at James as she so often had long ago. But this person was not James. His eyes spoke of Lily as well and she felt her heart twist at the thought of them so brutally murdered with just the flick of a wand and erased off the face of the earth.
Her response was delayed. "Good night, dear."
(0-0-0-0-0)
Sandoor Chek always poked his nose into other people's business. And today was no different.
"What are you reading there, Potter?" His beaky face came closer to the book that Harry was holding, and his bushy hair blocked the words of the page.
Irritated, Harry pulled it away from him. "It's just a book." He found himself growling.
Three years into his stay at Durmstrang and he still could not get used to the amount of homework that was piled on them day after day. He was stuck with his nose in a book for the most part, trying to catch up. Unlike other wizards his age, he had had no basis of any spells having not seen many of them before in his life.
The family he had stayed with back in England had tried their best to keep the fact that he was a wizard a secret. He was most glad that those days were over. For the moment, he had exams coming up and he was worried he would not pass – Professor Dimitrov usually came up with impossible-to-do spells. He hated Transfigurations.
Chek didn't seem to care for Harry's snap. "Why not come play Quidditch?" He asked. "Exams aren't for another two weeks."
"That's exactly the point, Sandoor." Harry sighed. "I'm even behind in Muggle Studies so I've got no time to play around." For the most part, Muggle Studies had been a breeze – after all, for ten years of his life he had lived with them with no contact from the wizarding world. Still, he was having trouble deciphering some Slavic words.
"Fine." Chek sighed. "Any more reading, and your glasses will swell to twice their size."
Harry put down his book, exasperated. It seemed that no matter how obvious it was that he did not want to be disturbed, he would be. "Please leave me alone, Sandoor. I'm trying to figure this out."
Chek smirked, pushing away. "All right, suit yourself." He said, lumbering away. As he left the dormitory, Harry let out a sigh of relief.
The dark-haired teenager sat cross legged on his bed, the dark brown sheets neatly folded up by the foot of it, his pillows supporting his back. He would have liked to study with other students, but apparently, the other students did not want to study with him. So he was reduced to holing himself up in his room for his study time.
His room mates were hardly ever there, and for the most part, left him alone. Finally, in the quiet he would be able to concentrate.
That silence was shattered though as he heard someone call, "Chek, don't tell me you've been inviting that freak to play with us again!"
"Well, we needed another player." Chek protested. "He's not so bad."
"What are you talking about?" The voice asked, angrily. "I don't care how well he flies! He's a psychopath: he'll probably turn into that horrible child, again."
Harry felt as if he had been doused in freezing water, as he sucked in his breath. No doubt that was Mihail out there. Wand hovering over his book, he listened.
"I'm warning you, Chek: watch out or everyone will think you're a freak too." Mihail said.
"Well, if you ask me, you're all being stupid." Chek said, just as angrily. "He's not dangerous." And as to what was said after that, Harry had no clue as they walked away from the door.
A freak.
He could hear the word echoing in his mind again and again, taunting him; mocking him. It used to make him cry, that word. Now, it was just an annoying thing that flitted about his consciousness every now and then.
Eyes hurting behind their frames, he closed the book and rubbed at his temple. He had been reading for three hours straight and he deemed it time to have a break. While everyone else was outside enjoying the fresh spring air, he was reduced to the library and the solitude of his bedroom.
Shrugging on his robe, he climbed up the stairs and turned the hallway leading out of their dormitory hall. He planned to do some practice in The Square, a garden-of-sorts where students were allowed to rehearse their magical techniques during their spare time.
As he pushed his way out of the barrier separating their dormitory hall from the others, he felt the familiar tingling feeling run up and down his body as the scanner confirmed his identity before he stepped out.
More than once, students had been caught in the barrier, trying to sneak into another dormitory hall, and it hadn't been pretty.
It was when he was halfway to The Square that he realized he had forgotten to take his wand with him that he turned back, only to hear the words "Arachne Tangora" come from the shadows.
It was as if a huge spider had decided to weave his web across the hall and Harry had walked right into it. He was frozen in his spot, his arms and legs stuck to the sticky substance that was holding him in place and he feebly tried to release himself.
"We got a Potter bug!" A boy crowed, excitedly, coming around to face him. He was taller than Harry, and older. However, unlike him, this boy was popular and adored by almost everyone.
Emil Tsankov stood back, admiring his spell.
"Tsankov! What are you doing?" Harry demanded, but his voice was muffled by the strings that were attached to his face.
Tsankov merely laughed. "Pest control!"
His friends laughed. Among them, stood Chek who had turned pale, and beside him Mihail, who was grinning. They all held their brooms in their hands, and the box that held the Quidditch materials.
Struggling uselessly against his bonds, Harry felt his cheeks flaming with embarrassment. "Okay, that's very funny: so you've caught the bug – let me go now."
But Tsankov was of a different idea. "Stinguore!"
A stinging pain laced through Harry's body, and he cried out from it. A few sniggers went up from the group. "I'm afraid that pests must be destroyed." He sighed. He repeated the spell, liking the way he made Harry twist with hurt.
"That's enough!" Sandoor cried, suddenly, eyes wide.
"Oh be quiet, Chek!" Mihail snapped. "We're only having a bit of…" He trailed off when they heard footsteps approaching and realized why Chek had become rigid.
Eyes watering from the lingering pain, Harry glanced up to see none other than Snape, making his way toward them. His long, greasy hair, reached past his shoulders, and every article of clothing he wore was a dark black.
"What is going on over here?" He asked quietly, surveying the web and the one who had conjured it. Then his eyes fell on Harry, who was watching him pitifully.
"Potter just walked into it, sir." Tsankov said, easily. "The dolt didn't even see it – and no wonder with glasses like those."
Again, there was a ripple of laughter. Snape's mouth turned up in amusement.
"Hexing classmates, Mr. Tsankov?"
"No, sir. Just trying to practice for the upcoming exams."
Again, Snape's eyes met Harry's. "I see. Well, it seems you have mastered this one. Potter, you have detention with me this Saturday night."
"What!" Harry cried. "What did I do?"
"Your evidential lack of defense is pathetic." Snape sneered. "Maybe you like walking around without a wand, so you can help clean the room without it either. Or maybe you haven't learned a proper blocking spell?"
Bristling, Harry struggled against his bonds. The raw edges of anger burned within him and he felt nothing but loathing toward Tsankov, who was grinning triumphantly. Snape seemed unruffled by the glare that was sent his way.
It was so unjust! "He suddenly attacked me out of nowhere!" He shouted, angrily. "If he wanted to practice, he should have gone to The Square!"
"Don't cry," Snape said, causing the rest of the boys to laugh at his taunt. It only caused Harry to get angrier. "I suggest you find a way down, or else you'll be there all night. Boys," he directed his attention to the others. "Dinner is waiting."
"So long, freak." Mihail hissed, as they passed. Tsankov waved his wand in salute to that, and march off, alongside Snape.
They left him, hanging in the hall.
Harry watched them go, wishing he had his wand. But what then? He could not hex a teacher, no matter how much he wanted to.
But the others he could….
He wanted revenge.
0-0-0-0-0
It was late when Harry woke next. Usually, he would be the first to rise as he was a natural early bird, and he was surprised to see that the curtains to his four-poster bed were pulled tightly closed around him. Just on the outside of it, he heard soft murmurs and slight shuffling sounds.
A feeling of claustrophobia took him, and his hands came out to rip the curtains back and out of the way. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the three faces of Neville, Seamus and Ron staring at him.
"All right there, Harry?" Neville asked, nervously. "Did we wake you?"
Harry forced himself to breathe and nod. "I'm okay."
"You don't look it." Ron said, smirking. "It looks like you saw a ghost."
Harry swung his legs up and over his bed. "If the ghost resembles you, I'd have every reason to be scared." He joked, and was surprised to hear the rest of his room mates snicker while Ron took it in stride good-naturedly.
When Harry had found his glasses and put them on, he asked, "What time is it?"
Ron bent over his suitcase, putting in an extra sweater. "It's almost noon. We brought you up some breakfast because you missed it."
"What are you doing?"
"Most people left to go home for the holidays yesterday, and we're leaving today." Ron said.
"Oh."
"It's supposed to be a vacation," Seamus muttered angrily, throwing his toothbrush into his luggage rather savagely. "Trust Snape to give us homework during it!" His toothpaste soon followed, just as angrily, before the case slammed itself shut and locked. "What will you be doing here at school for the holidays?" The question had been directed to Harry who was watching them pack sullenly. "Why aren't you going home?"
Harry's answer was immediate; quiet and monotone. "I don't have a home."
There was a slight pause before Seamus asked, "Well, where do you live then…you know, outside of school?"
Harry shrugged. "I used to live with my aunt…and then with a family in Bulgaria…"
"There's a rumor that you attended Durmstrang." Neville put in. "What's it like?"
"It's not a rumor, it's true." Harry told him, feeling uncomfortable with the sudden interrogation. "Durmstrang is not as big as Hogwarts." And it brings bad memories, he left unsaid. "…I guess you could say that they are stricter in some aspects. You get detention just for sleeping in – and we had homework every night with no exceptions." His lips curled into a half-sneer. "If you think Snape is bad now, you haven't seen anything yet. If you ask me, he seems a bit gentler when he teaches here."
A silence fell over them again at his dark words. Everyone had their suspicions of the Potions Master and they all had to agree that he had gotten much worse since Harry had transferred to their school. Normally, Snape would dole out detentions. Now, he seemed to seek reasons to blame every bad fault on the Gryffindors taking off house points and slipping into a terrible mood whenever Harry was around.
It had gotten so bad that everyone – including the Slytherins – were treading carefully in his presence.
"Anyway," Harry said, quietly, "Durmstrang is in the past. I hope Snape remembers that."
They continued to pack in silence, each bursting with questions to ask but all afraid to do so. It was quite clear to them that their newest roommate was not in the mood to answer anything more, and that that particular subject was closed.
Stomach growling, Harry was reminded of the food that they had so graciously brought up for him. Unfortunately, none of it was on the required diet that he had been placed on, so he had to refuse the bacon and scrambled eggs. Instead, he rummaged through his own trunk and took his bottle of pills out, slipping them casually into the sleeve of his sleeping garb before he made his way to the washroom telling them that he wanted a shower.
Ron saw the small act, and was reminded of the night before – as fascinating as it had been, he didn't want a repeat of what had happened.
Coming out of the washroom half and hour later feeling refreshed, dressed and still very hungry, Harry ambled back to his bed to fix it up.
Unlike everyone else, his things were neatly stacked onto his dresser table and his book bag was stored safely under his bed instead of lying haphazardly all over the place. The walls around his four-poster bed were empty of any Quidditch posters or photo frames. The only photo he had was a small one that stood on his dresser next to his books of his parents who were waving enthusiastically at the camera.
When everyone had finished packing and had set the room back into some semblance of order, the four trooped down the stairs toward the common room where several others stood with their baggage. Hermione was already there but she didn't look happy.
Upon seeing them, she burst out, "All everybody does is use me!"
They cast each other blank looks at her outburst. "I'm tired of giving people the answers to everything! From now on, they'll have to do their own research!"
Ron's cheeks had turned pink at her words and it was obvious that he was taking her outburst personally. "Why are you yelling at me for?"
She stopped, confused. "What? I wasn't - "
"Yes you were!" He said, angrily. "You were looking right at me!"
Hermione blinked. "I wasn't yelling at you!" She cried. Then, tears filled her eyes. "Oh, forget it, Ron! You just made everything worse!" With that, she grabbed her trunk with great force and slammed her way out of the portrait hole.
"Mental, that one." Ron breathed, his face now pale.
"She's on her rag." Seamus said, cheekily. "You'd better go comfort your girlfriend there, Ron."
At that statement, Ron spluttered incoherently while his room mates hooted cheerfully, following in Hermione's stead, disappearing outside the portrait door.
Sighing, Ron turned to Harry, who, try as he might, could not keep the smile off his face. "I'd best go or the train will leave without me…have a Happy Christmas Harry."
"You too, Ron. And you should catch Hermione while you're at it."
Ron smirked. "Yeah. See you in two weeks."
One moment, the room had been fairly crowded. In the next, Harry was left standing all alone. Despite that fact, he felt relief wash over him: no prodding questions, no curious stares and best of all, no hiding. However, the thought that he was alone in the castle with his instructors dampened his high spirits.
With a sigh, he resigned himself to go down to the dining hall, lest he lose his chance at lunch too and his demanding appetite would not hear of it.
The great hall was set up as usual, the ceiling overhead having been charmed to display the beautiful setting sun, a few birds flitted across the sky. The teachers were all sitting at the head table, as usual, and the house tables were set up with a few students tucked in to their meal.
Up ahead, Harry caught sight of Cecil, sitting by himself at the end of the long Hufflepuff table, and just as he was going to make his way to join him, a voice spoke.
"Mr. Potter, do you intend to stand there gawking and blocking everyone's path?" the silky smooth voice of Snape made Harry's hair stand on end.
He had half the mind to tell Snape to take another route – the dining hall was not that small – but he held his tongue, stepping aside quickly. He'd be damned if he apologized to the likes of the Potions Master. At the same time, his hunger was overwhelming and he clutched the bottle of pills that lay in his robes as he Snape pushed past him, looking like a great black bat.
He was surprised when Snape stopped and turned to face him. "Here for the holidays then?"
"What's it to you?" Harry snarled, defensively.
Snape narrowed his eyes and said nothing, turning abruptly and resuming his walk down the aisle. He took his usual seat with the other Professors, taking the opportunity to stare down at the boy over his hooked nose.
Harry decided against sitting with Cecil and took the nearest seat at the Gryffindor table, eager for the same old meal. He was joined toward the end of his lunch later, by a girl who looked winded and wet.
"Hello, Potter – or may I call you Harry?"
Through a mouthful of his bread, Harry said, "Sure, that's fine…" He couldn't help but be skeptical of her. Most girls only wanted autographs and tended to flirt. He self-consciously pushed his glasses up to settle more comfortably on the bridge of his nose.
"You may not know me," She began, sticking her hand out in introduction, "I'm the Quidditch Captain, Angelina Johnson. I was just out with our team practicing and Professor McGonogall spoke with me about you. How do you feel about trying out for our team?"
For a moment, Harry wondered if this were all a big joke. "I…what?"
"McGonogall says that you might make a good Seeker: she says Madam Hooch praises your ability to fly very highly."
Squirming in his seat, Harry dropped his fork. "I don't know…."
"I'll be looking forward to it." She told him, shaking her head and sprinkling him with little droplets of water that flew from the end of her dark ponytail. "Please think about it."
He could not help but wonder if she was playing a trick on him. He did not have long to brood on the matter, however, because just as she was going to get up and leave, his owl came through the windows of the hall, bearing with it a letter.
It was past mail time, so when Harry caught the rolled parchment, he was worried. He could not imagine who would write to him. Certainly not his relatives, and he had not made any friends back in Bulgaria who would care enough. So, curious, he broke the seal and unrolled the sheet.
Dear Harry,
You are invited to my office on Saturday, December 24, promptly at 7:00pm. A very special Christmas gift is going to be delivered to you then. May you have a very restful vacation and until then, the very best.
Regards,
Professor Albus Dumbledore
Now utterly confused, Harry turned his gaze to the Headmaster, but the elderly man did not look in his direction once.
He met Snape's gaze instead, and it seemed to be staring right through him. Quickly re-rolling the parchment, Harry got out of his seat. What was going on?
To Be Continued…….
Abcde, Sandoor Chek, Mihail, Emil Tsankov, and Professor Dimitrov are my own characters.
AN: I did some research in all the books as to what Durmstrang was like – I got a very limited amount material so I made the rest of it up. I hope it's plausible. Again, please leave me another review! Because of your reviews I wrote so much faster. The next chapter should be out again soon, so please check my profile page for the dates to the next update! It'll come all the faster if you just click that little button down there! Thank you so much!
