To Rise From The Ashes
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Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and every associated to it belongs to JK Rowling. No profit is being made from this either.
A/N: Wow, thanks to all my reviewers! To answer Artemis1000's question, Harry would have to learn some Bulgarian, but his inability to speak the language at first would not be a big problem, seeing as a large portion of Durmstrang's students are foreigners too (other East European states, Austria, Germany). And, do not worry, Ivan, I have not forgotten about Harry's Parselmouth abilities.
Obronski will not be a villain either. There will be a couple of people whom will have good relations with Harry, and whom he could trust. Obronski will be one of them (Making Kakaroff a caring guy would be too OOC, in my opinion). His accent is also meant to be lighter than Kakaroff's.
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Chapter Four: Arriving
Do not vorry much, you vill get along well with the students, and no one vould cause any trouble for you
Staring into the depths of his Professor's sparkling violet eyes, which like an opened door, allowed Harry to revel in the amount of sincerity and kindness present. He so desperately wanted to believe what Obronski said was true, and for a long while, he did believe it. But what made him pour out all his woes and turmoil to the older wizard, Harry did not really know. Perhaps it was due to the fact that with that man's heartwarming smile, ever-present genial expression, crystalline violet eyes that shone with a fun-loving spark and obviously haggard but still cheerful attitude reminded Harry of what he had always dreamt of- an ideal 'father' figure. Certainly, he never had one, ever since his parents, whom he had no memory of had been murdered.
The Dursleys… Harry would never think of them as parental figures. They had probably resented him from the moment he was thrust upon them, and grew to treat him like a common servant, as though he was not related to them at all. Of course, not that he would wish to be one of their kin. Indeed, the thought of seeing Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon as true guardians- jumping into their lap and hugging them when he had a nightmare, for instance, was enough to make him throw up for days.
Whatever it may be, all Harry knew was that words were pouring from his mouth like a river- his loneliness, his fears that he would not be able to mix well with the foreign crowd, and just plainly his longing to be back in familiar territory. The Deputy Headmaster had stopped to give him a brief hug, before staring at him plainly as though to say, "I understand how you feel." That the man knew exactly what he was feeling comforted him, as opposed to being a frightening possibility.
"Do not vorry about not being able to make new vriends- Ve haff gotten along very vell, no?" The two continued on with their way, towards where exactly, Harry was not sure, having some difficulty navigating through the almost shin-high snow. They made an odd pair- a middle aged man and a child walking through the heavy snow when everybody present were all either in a pub holding a mug of warm butterbeer or huddling around the Quidditch store gawking stupidly at the latest broomstick, a Volkra-95 or something.
Honestly, a broomstick? Who would want to spend time a hundred feet in the air, when he could easily fall to his death, anyway?
On their way, Obronski would explain of how the school workings were. There were apparently three 'Houses', with the sorting carried out by a single random question targeted at the prospective student. How he or she answers it would determine the choice of House. School rules were also informed- some of them Harry felt were downright ridiculous, like no candy should be eaten on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.
Occasionally, when they passed some weird creatures among the pines that Harry had never thought exists, the Professor would point them out and offer him a detailed explanation. Harry supposed it was merely to keep the two of them from feeling bored, since they had been walking for an hour now. But still, he had to admit that some of them, the Lunadeer, for example, which looked like a doe-sized reindeer except with a white coat mottled with gray craters, had crescent antlers and appeared only when there was a full moon approaching, fascinated him.
They soon came to a stop at the sound of Obronski's cheerful voice declaring, "Here we are!" They had reached the foot of the belt of mountains. Ahead of them, in a small forest clearing was a large wooden hut. There was nothing strange or magical about it, except for the fact that joined to two poles on the roof were double strands of gold? No, to call them strands was too much of an understatement. They were both as thick as lampposts. These golden lines glowed strongly, especially in the gradually darkening sky. From both of them emitted an aura of power so strong it rolled off in waves and was actually becoming tangible with each step closer the duo took.
Even more unique was the number of carriages with rods that extended from their roofs, clinging on to the magical lines and being slowly pushed forwards by it. The carriages were huge compartments, with a generous amount of glass paneling- on the top and bottom too. Harry assumed they were to allow occupants to better enjoy to picturesque surroundings.
The glowing 'cables' held and moved the carriages, one carrying them towards the hut while the other moving them up as far as Harry could see, as it stretched towards the mountains, past snow-caps and clouds. The two 'cables' were probably joined together somewhere at both ends where he could not see them. When a carriage arrived at the hut, it stopped for about half a minute, before carrying on its way. One of them landed hovered a feet above where they were currently standing, and shook slightly, as though beckoning them to get in. Both he and the Professor stepped up, the glass doors snapping open with a hiss to admit them.
Each carriage apparently had two compartments, divided by a barrier with another door. The interior of each would put any royal horse-carriage to shame. Seats, located at each side, were plushy and soft, and embroidered with generous amounts of gold and silver threads. Flanking each of the large windows were small decorative curtains made from a silky material.
Those Durmstrang students sure know how to live it up.
Looking at Obronski, Harry could tell that he was trying his best not to nod off. "Professor, you could sleep if you want to. I will be alright myself." Said Professor rubbed his eyes wearily, before sighing dramatically, "A Professor's job is never done! So many things to prepare and do, even during the holidays."
Harry then brought up a matter he wondered why he had never asked just now. "Which subject do you teach at Durmstrang, Professor?"
"I'd thought you'd never ask. I teach the Dark Arts, not that anyone who knew me vell ever understood vy I do so." His last comment was more of a self-mumbling, and Harry did not pursue the matter. What he noticed was the Professor was now staring at his intently, as though trying to figure out how he should say something.
"Uh, Harry, I need to talk to you about some things," Obronski had a strange, self-berating and ashamed look on his face, "Let me start by congratulating you for being the first half-blood student in the history of Durmstrang. The school usually accepts only purebloods, but the Headmaster has made an exception for you. This brings me to my next point Harry," his ashamed look grew, but along with it a concerned expression, "There vill be some who may not take, uh, too kindly to your entry. They may also feel that you are inferior to them. Of course, not everyone will be like that, but I had better inform you first. Try to tolerate them, and do not give them a cause to harm you, do you understand."
He nodded, and Obronski now looked more relieved. Harry supposed that the Deputy Headmaster also believed a little in pureblood supremacy, thus his embarrassed look just now.
Not that I could blame him, when he himself probably grew up learning all about how purebloods are superior. I myself would not want this dirty blood flowing in my veins, if I could help it.
It would seem, however, that the Deputy Headmaster had other matters to talk to him about. And judging from the way he would rub his neck, and look around, as though someone else might suddenly materialize, it was not a topic he felt comfortable to speak about. "What is it, Professor, just say it", Harry urged.
"Wh-What do you know of the Dark Lord?" Voldemort… As he had expected, Obronski was bringing up the topic of his parent's murderer. Only the Dark Lord could inspire such fear in men, even when he was supposedly vanquished.
Harry had first heard about the dark wizard from Dumbledore, when the useless old fool informed him the truth about his parent's death. His interest however, was piqued when he saw a picture of the Dark Lord along with a whole sub-chapter on him in the book on Magical Potential. He had to admit, Voldemort, standing tall and sinisterly proud clad in a thick black hooded cloak, which was covered with a thin layer of steel plates and chainmail, and possessing a pale hard face certainly cut an intimidating image. That, along with his blood-red eyes that were as cold and emotionless as two chips of rubies, except that both of them shone with the intensity of headlamps from a car, added to his looking like Death itself emerging from the pits of Hell. It was also evident that Voldemort's true identity was itself an enigma. The chapter waxed lyrical on the extent of his power, but in the end was made up of nothing but rumors.
Harry thought that some of them were completely silly, like for instance that the Dark Lord was actually the Heir of Salazar Slytherin, co-founder of Hogwarts. Or that Voldemort, similar to a basilisk, had been born fully grown with all his powers. Honestly…what nonsense. Or that his serpentine 'pet', Nagini was actually a Naga-demon sent by the Dark gods to aid him.
Some rumors Harry supposed were true, for example, until he came along, anyone the Dark Lord wanted dead would be guaranteed to hit the coffins by a month, usually a week. But rumors or not, Harry had to admit, deep within his core, he felt a slightest, tiniest bit of respect and impressiveness for the dark wizard. Anyway, Harry was drifting off the point here. He returned his concentration to the Professor, informing him of what little Dumbledore had told him.
"I see… What I vant to tell you is that the Dark Lord had numerous supporters from Bulgaria, even Durmstrang itself. During those days, it was a crisis," Obronski shut his eyes and sighed, "The country was heading towards a full-blown civil var, then you came along. After the Dark Lord's defeat, the violence dipped a lot, and his supporters were less open, less volatile. But be varned, there are still many who support him- students too. Mention nothing of your past, or the Dark Lord in front of them, and keep a low profile. Can you do that?" Harry decided it was best to agree and allow his distressed Professor to relax a little.
"Thank you, Harry. I just, I just vant to prevent all these potential problems from occurring. I do not vant any trouble for the school like what happened in the past. I vill leave you in this compartment, read your schoolbooks, or take a nap, whatever you vant. If you need me, just enter my compartment."
Obronski got up, stretched his arms, and went through the door of the divisionary barrier, leaving a slightly confused Harry alone.
Looking out, the carriage had reached an altitude of only about a couple hundred feet. Perhaps it was meant to be slow moving. This would probably be a long ride, given the speed of the carriage, and that the magical lines still extended further than the eye could see. Finding nothing better to do, he un-shrunk the bag of school books and poured out the contents. He decided to just randomly browse through them.
Nearly an hour later, Harry got up and stretched himself. He looked out of the glass- The once majestic peaks now looked like eerie silhouettes bathed in silky darkness. Turning back to the pile of books, he wondered… if he should just take another peak at the thick black tome. His schoolbooks had been pretty boring. It was new to him, he would admit, but somehow attempting to transfigure a teapot to a cinderblock did not really interest him.
Get a grip on yourself, Harry! The stuff in that book teaches only how to injure and kill! Killed once already, isn't it enough, boy?
While his mind was raging in confusion, he spied the book, lying inside the bag, and could not resist the temptation. Only browsing through, he reassured himself. The spells there were harmful, yes, disgusting, yes, acceptable, no, but fascinating, most definitely; more fascinating that levitating a feather, at any rate.
The lexicon was very detailed, with life-like illustrations and even, strangely enough, advice to the reader if he or she failed to cast the curse. He browsed through all kinds of Burning Curses, including one, Corpus Inflammare, which seeing from the picture engulfed the victim with a globe of blue flame so hot that not even ashes of him remained. Harry supposed not all of them were deadly, reading about the Bone-Crusher Curse, which reduced a section of your victim's bones to ground dust.
Harry found the situation quite ironic, here he was surrounded by such a peaceful and tranquil environment, yet he had been reading a book which encouraged violence and death. But now, he faced a greater dilemma, after all that engrossed reading, there grew an urge within him to try one of the less harmful ones out, just to see how talented he was at magic.
He eventually settled for a Slashing Curse, and took his wand out from his robes, waving it with an 'S' movement before swiping it downwards, while muttering "Silex Vitiosus", only to see nothing had happened. Not even a wisp of smoke or a flash of light had been observed. Maybe he was just terrible at magic. Maybe he was nothing more, than, what was that, a squib. He reread through the steps, and after that looked at a small heading, "Where you might have gone wrong". One of them caught his eye:
Like all other spells classified under the Dark Arts, it would be worthy to note that emotions and intent play a very big part in the successful casting of the curse. You must want to really visualize and feel the effects of the spell occurring.
That was easy enough, as Harry simply have to remember his sweet daydreams about what he wished to do to Dudley and his little gang. Bracing himself again, he thought of Piers Polkiss, and how he just wished to inflict so many slashes on the fat lad that all his skin would be gone.
"Silex Vitiosus!" Harry watched, heart pounding, as a long gleaming thread of magic flew out of his wand, whip-like, coiling in the air. It was like an ultra-flexible blade; anything that came into contact with it would receive a very nasty gash. Also, it could be wielded like a whip by the caster to inflict extremely damaging wounds repeatedly. Harry apparently had not born this in mind, as he begun to twirl the blade of magic around with no care for safety, and received a major shock when the door opened to admit Obronski, with the blade swinging towards him.
What happened next was so swift that even Harry was not sure what he saw. All he could tell was the Professor whipping out his wand faster than Harry could say, 'Whoa!', and waving it in what looked like a reverse 'S' movement. Immediately, the temperature in this compartment dropped by nearly twenty degrees as a thick translucent blue fog emerge around Obronski. Harry's magical blade actually froze a foot from the Deputy Headmaster, slowly solidifying with ice. A second later, it shattered into a billion miniscule crystals.
The change in Obronski was very visible, one moment he had been a haggard looking professor with a kindly smile, the next, he was all tensed up, clutching his wand tightly with a stony look on his face, his eyes like that of a lynx, scanning the carriage for more possible dangers. He spotted what Harry had been reading, eyes bulging as he read the title.
Obronski seemed to be torn between chiding him, or just simply confiscating the book. In the end, he did neither, but sat down beside Harry and looking very grave. "Harry, the Dark Arts is one particular branch of magic that should only be practices under very close supervision. It is very easy to become corrupted by it and do yourself harm," his eyes were stern and hard, making Harry feel like a five year-old caught with his hand in the cookie jar, "I vill not confiscate your book, I vant you to promise me that you vill never attempt any of the spells in this and your Dark Arts textbook unless supervised by me. Can you do that?"
Feeling immensely ashamed of himself for forgetting the dangers of these curses, and guilt for nearly harming what was probably the closest he had to a kin, Harry readily agreed, shaking his head emphatically.
"Do not feel guilty, there was no harm done. That blue fog you saw was the counter-curse. Unless you have forgotten, I am the Dark Arts Professor", he said in mock arrogance which made Harry drop his gloomy look.
Seeming to remember what he came in for, he spoke again, this time unable to keep the excitement from his voice. "We are reaching soon, take a look for yourself."
Sure enough, a huge dark mass vaguely resembling a castle had started to come into view. They had arrived at Durmstrang.
The next chapter will all be about Durmstrang, I promise! And now, time to seek you readers' opinions about a certain matter (though you may call it a cheap tactic to gain more reviews :D).
When should Harry return to England?
A) In his third Year. Sirius would escape and enter Bulgaria to meet up with Harry, then bring him back to England.
B) In his Fourth Year. He would be reunited with Sirius in his third, but chooses to stay on in Durmstrang for his education, coming to England in his fourth to participate in the Tri-Wizard Tournament with the Durmstrang contingent.
Cast your votes people. Suggestions are more than welcome. Review!
Due to school re-opening, updates may be a little delayed, please bear with me here.
