To Rise From The Ashes

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Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series belongs to JK Rowling. I own nothing at all.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys! Title slightly changed yet again. I felt the previous was too similar to another story I've read.

Shadowed Rains: Other exiled!Harry stories? I've read Jyrnn's "Wisdom From The Dark", which is where I got the inspiration to write this from. Too bad it is abandoned just when Harry reaches Durmstrang. You might also want to hope over to Schnoogle (FictionAlley) and check out Hannah Marder's "The French Correction". It's a fifth year AU (which runs parallel to OOTP) where Harry is expelled at his hearing and goes to Beauxbatons. Excellent writing, and it's still a WiP!

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Chapter Three: Unfamiliar

It was a horror- a real horror well and true. When Harry was pushed into the plumes of the dark green flames, he'd half-expected himself to suffer some burns. What he got was far more horrifying to him. It felt as though someone had tossed him into the middle of a tempest, or a whirlwind.

All he could tell was him sliding down an imaginary pipe which twisted and turned in all directions, at breakneck speeds. During that 'ride' which could hardly count for one, he swore he passed a large number of other fireplaces, all with ordinary flames crackling. It had been what seemed like an hour or so before he suddenly plunged out of another dusty fireplace, flying through the air and landing most ungracefully.

Harry wondered what other methods of transportation wizards possessed, before feeling a tad depressed- He had been kept away from his rightful world, a world where he, Harry James Potter really belonged. No matter what the reasons, Harry felt that he should have been raised by a Wizarding family. Furthermore, this was a world where he was respected and adored by the millions, where any teenage girl would willingly slave for him just to get an autograph. This was where he belonged, not the Muggle world he was despised and humiliated.

Another thing that bothered him was the fact that he was a half-blood. Dumbledore had told him how purebloods despised the others, and that he should learn to tolerate them in general, but that did not keep him from feeling ashamed of his heritage. He should have been a pureblood, as was his father. Even after knowing the truth about his parents, Harry could not help but feel a little resentment towards his mother, Lily Evans, for being part of the less desirable stock.

The knowledge of being a half-blood made him feel incomplete- like he did not truly belong in either the Muggle or the Wizarding world. Harry sorely wished that he could get rid of the Muggle blood flowing in his veins, which, in his opinion were remnants of his links to horrible creatures, otherwise known as Dursleys.

For the first time, Harry stared up at his surroundings. He was in a rather quaint looking pub, with only about four or five occupants, sitting on high hard-backed wooden stools while clutching their fur-coats tight, huddling over steaming mugs. Harry was soon joined by an irate-looking Kakaroff, who dusted his expensive robes, muttering about the state of the Floo system.

He turned to step out of the pub, before looking back and remembering about Harry. "Vellcome to Bulgaria, Mr. Potter. Ve are currently in Sofia, ze capital, and this is Plovdiv Alley, ze heart of Vizarding East Europe, and ze fourth largest Magical district in ze vorld." Harry's first impressions of the man hadn't been too good, but at least Kakaroff knew to familiarize him with this new world, instead of plunging him through everything. He silently approved.

"I haff been told you vill start your first year at Durmstrang next month," at the mention of 'Durmstrang', his voice had taken a proud tone, "Ve thus haff things to purchase, as vell as to explain ze school guidelines-"

"Igor!" A rather plump looking man of medium height burst into the pub, his mop of unruly honey-brown hair, not unlike Harry's, were flecked with snowflakes. He had started to converse with Kakaroff rapidly in an indiscernible language that Harry can only assume was Bulgarian.

This man looks much friendlier than that Kakaroff.

Kakaroff now had a solemn expression on his face. "Harry, I haff to rush back to Durmstrang for a meeting with ze Board of Govenors, I vill leave you with Obronski," Kakaroff bent down to Harry's height, "Listen to him, he vill offer you much advice. You vill be brought to ze hostels tonight." The Headmaster furrowed his eyebrows in concentration for a moment, then disappearing in the next instant with an almighty 'Crack!'

It did not really bother Harry, who was drawn to the kindly look than the newcomer had on his face. The newcomer extended a gloved hand, which presumably, was to protect against the cold. "My name is Alejandro Obronski, though you can simply call me Professor. I am the Deputy Headmaster at Durmstrang," at the sound of the school, Harry's face fell even further, again reminded of how he was to spend three years in a strange land. The Professor had noticed it, "Do not look so upset, you will find that it is quite easy to adapt to life at Durmstrang. There are students of various nationalities in our school, from East European to German and some British too. Come out, come out, it is much cooler outside", he gestured towards the exit and leading Harry out of the tiny pub.

Stepping out into the Bulgarian winter, Harry momentarily lost his gloom and nervousness, a smile threatening to show on his face as he watched dumbstruck at the numerous crystals of pure ice falling like a curtain all around, enveloping the district in a white blanket. The euphoria of his first experience of falling snow numbed his body to the cold.

Professor Obronski chuckled at the sight of Harry jumping up and down, collecting snow on his outstretched hands, before removing his coat of ox-fur and draping it over Harry's mild frame. You vill be allowed to remain at the school hostels before term starts. That vill let you familiarize yourself vith the grounds," he walked them both towards a line of stores, "But for now, ve haff much to purchase."

They first entered what was unmistakably a bookstore, what with a large glass display window adorned with books from Wizarding makeup to a weird looking sport on brooms. He could only tell as much from the pictures as he did not understand an ounce of Bulgarian at all. The interior was cozy and warm, with little chandeliers of actual flames floating in the air above. The books were neatly categorized and shelved, and there were little blue pouffes around a coffee table on which patrons could sit and browse through their prospective purchases. His Deputy Headmaster stepped out towards the counter, and chatted with the owner, a wiry man with a bookish look who then vanished towards the store's rear, presumably to get his school books.

Obronski called out to him while waiting, "Vy don't you check out some of the books. They haff in-built Translation Charms. Just saying 'English' will suffice."

Harry decided to do a little exploring, walking through the maze of newly polished shelves. A few patrons stared at him outright, pointing to his scar and conversing in angry mutters. Harry thought it would be better to stray farther from them. Wandering on, he eventually came to the farthest end of the shop, where patrons obviously did not think much off, seeing how dusty and moldy the shelves here were. He casually picked out a battered leather-bound book, coated with so thick a layer of dirt that it had obviously not been touched for years, and adorned with only an illustration of a bloodstained wand. Harry staring at it for a while, before intoning, "English", causing the book to shimmer lightly, as though there was strong heat in front of it. The unfamiliar words soon disappeared, with a readable title now appearing- 'Where True Power Really Lies' by Andriy Dolohov.

Flipping open the thick book, he was struck by its first words, "The greatest power of all lies in the control of life and death, the ability to breathe new life into those passed off, and to wield the hand to damn a person to eternal suffering. Since the former is not possible, we can assume that any man who has the ability to take the life of another at will regardless of their strength possess the greatest power above all. The world does not exist without change; life does not exist without death. Why not learn to hasten death for your enemies?

The rest of the book were nothing but spells, complete with realistic looking moving pictures, that would probably only be used in war, though there are some particularly grotesque ones, such as the Entrail-Expelling Curse, which showed a man lying in a pool of ruby red, his innards splattered on the walls nearby, or the Mutilation Curse, in which a very graphic picture showed a thin long arc of light, looking nothing more than a glowing thread, searing through the air and wrapping around a victim, who the next second fell over, upper torso separated from the lower, which a green-faced Harry thought he would never ever attempt. But still, despite all, there was a nagging feeling in his mind, and Harry eventually decided to purchase it after some consideration.

In the time the storeowner had taken to retrieve copies of his schoolbooks, Harry had selected another two dusty tomes, one being about Magical potential, while the other, written by one Konstantin Illiarov-Black, dealt with Blood Purity, which Harry found he was very interested in.

As he was walking towards the counter, a flustered Obronski rushed to him, his gaze always dropping to his wristwatch once in a while. "Ah, there you are, Harry. Quick, it vill soon be dark. I vould have to bring you back here another day. Come on," he then took notice of the old books under Harry's arm, "Vy don't you put them together vith your schoolbooks. I vill pay for them first, and deduct the cost from your vault when ve visit it next time."

Half an hour later, the duo trudged through the snow-encrusted grounds of the Alley, carrying a stack of books, one heavy pewter cauldron, a large parcel of potion ingredients which ranged from Asphodel to Boomslang skin, all of which were charmed to weigh as much as a feather and shrunk to quarter of their original size. His search for a wand lasted only about a minute; Harry had quickly chosen, or rather, was chosen by a holly wand with a core of phoenix tail feather, which unusually enough was one of the maker, Gregorovitch's foreign imports due to a dwindling of his personal stocks.

The cold, refreshing environment, coupled with a hours of rushing around, which had earlier prevented him from dwelling on his banishment now faded away. It has probably only been three hours, and here he was, already beginning to feel homesick. He missed Britain, he missed Privet Drive- with it's small but comforting park, picturesque lake despite the people. Loneliness and unfamiliarity is a bad combination, and Harry suddenly wished he was back at the Dursleys, even if they do treat him like a mule. How could he possibly last three years feeling like this? Out of curiosity, and mainly to take his mind of such depressing matters, he stopped his soon-to-be Deputy Headmaster, silently enquiring, "Just where is Durmstrang, Professor, and how are we getting there?"

The Professor stared at him for a moment, as though he could tell what was really on Harry's mind, before kneeling down to his height, and pointing at the distant stretch of white-capped mountains, basked by the reddish-orange glow of a setting sun. Even he had to hold back his breath, as his mind registered the full extent of nature's beauty. "Do you see those mountains? Durmstrang is located on the summit of one of them. We vill reach the school by, vat is the Muggle equivalent- ah, cable-car," then dropping his tone to a softer and more reassuring one, pale gray eyes flashing with warmth, he continued, "You will love Durmstrang- The scenery, the environment, the freedom, zey are inimitable. Do not vorry much, you vill get along well with the students, and no one vould cause any trouble for you."

He lied. At least about his last words, as Harry would eventually find out.


I will elaborate more about Plovdiv Alley when Harry revisits, not to worry. I promise the next chapter would be longer, as it will touch on Harry and his first experience of the famous school.

Harry's natural curiosity has seen him stumble upon the Dark Arts, and the same inquisitiveness will see him fall deeper and deeper into realms of the forbidden. Also, blood purity is a topic which Harry will regard as very important.

If you like the story and want to read more, drop a review, and tell me what you think about it. It can't take that long right? If you dislike it, also review and offer me some constructive criticism.

Usual rules, more reviews, faster updates.

Lucullus