Prologue
So, you appear to have figured me out then. Took your time.
Anyway, as the author pays me (in intangible cookies) greatly for this part, I feel obliged to write something. After all, that's what the contract says.
Firstly, I want to clarify something. My descendant is a strange fellow, but certainly was no psychopath while he was in Hogwarts. Thomas was always talking about reshaping the world. He wanted to rule the world, but for the good. Iron out the Fudges and Dumbledores of this world. He knew it would be difficult, as did I. I encouraged him, gave him the benefit of my wisdom. However, Dumbledore and the ministry put up a strong fight, and combined with the incompetence of his troops, 'Voldemort', as he became known, was hindered.
Secondly, he is losing his aims. Often fighting for revenge, and battling those who want the same as he. He took on the pseudonym created by his nemesis as a way to persuade the wizarding world that he is an inhuman creature, rather than a man who was Hogwarts best student, a head boy in his time. I can't, despite my still strong mind, rationalize the man with the boy. If only he'd come for my advice... He used to, always. Every time he needed help, I would give it. I fashioned him into my protegee of sorts. By the time he finished Hogwarts, he was powerful and talented, and I would be lying if I claimed that was entirely my doing, but it was more mine than any of the professors. Have I created a monster?
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Author: Jacobim Von Styluss
Disclaimer: Nope, nope, not mine, it belongs to a very nice woman called Jo. Shame really, if it was mine, I wouldn't have to worry about college. I have a headache. Ah well...
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Grillkrup did a little more organizing before Harry's business was finished; it seemed rearranging little things on his desk was his way of coping with minor stress. It says a lot about the situation then, that the desk was in a different place by the end of it, the walls had been repainted and the entire place had been thoroughly cleaned.
'Somebody needs to find him a new way to deal with stress. This is a bit worrying,' thought Harry, despite being impressed at Grillkrup's ability to redecorate, handle business, and look nonchalant all at the same time. He didn't even leave his chair.
But this is irrelevant. Anyway, Grillkrup had arranged for a worker to travel to the hotel and pick up their belongings. Since Harry, Dudley, and Petunia needed to be somewhere safe, they asked grillkrup to prepare transport to Bulgaria. They needed to settle in before the start of term, anyway.
They were starting to discover, also, that the Durmstrang Institute of Magic was not similar to Hogwarts at all. Firstly, to graduate, one had to progress through grade bands to complete a course. Once a course was complete, that subject was taken off their timetable, and the student has a free period, to be filled with another subject of the student's choice. Viktor Krum, rather notably, passed beginners broomflight in three minutes, selected advanced broomflight as an elective to replace it, and passed that one week later, thirteen minutes into the first lesson. According to Grillkrup, this was the current record, however both subjects were single grade bands whereas many subjects had up to five bands.
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"Wow, this continental food is awesome!" declared Dudley, after taking a bite of his spicy lunch.
Aunt Petunia rolled her eyes, and Harry said, scowling, "Dudley... you do know that's just curry. It's Indian. You had it at home all the time. I should know."
Dudley flicked up a questioning eyebrow.
"I cooked it, remember?"
"Didn't taste as good as this," mumbled Dudley through a mouthful of rice.
Harry snarled at him and stormed out of the room.
Petunia sat down on the bed and massaged her forehead. Tensions were running high, and Harry was snapping at all sorts of things which Dudley was too clueless to realise he was saying. She would have followed him, but he needed time on his own.
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Mikhail Ivanovich was a quiet person. He always was, and thus he could be found wandering the streets of... wherever he ended up. Currently, this was Thessaloniki, Greece. During the school, year, he lived in Bulgaria, on campus. In previous summers, he lived in England with his Aunt Sophie. However, his tyatya (his endearing title for his Aunt) earned a good living, and thus was easily able to fund the purchase of a picturesque apartment, near the magical area of Thessaloniki.
He currently was wandering, loosely with the purpose of grocery shopping, but often trips such as these would take him an hour or more, simply because he was curious by nature. He explored every nook and cranny of the city, knowing all the shortcuts in a week flat. His aunt often joked he knew the cities better than any taxi driver. Then again, she never much liked taxis.
Mikhail's wandering had taken him to a fairly nice hotel, not too far from his apartment. He had done all his shopping, which he bitterly regretted a few seconds later when a furious figure stamped out of the door of the hotel, and smashed straight into him. "Oh god, I'm sorry," said the black haired figure, whom lost most of the furious expression, to be replaced by one of mortification. Mikhail could make out tear tracks down his face, but did not mention them.
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Harry stomped out of the hotel, still furious about Dudley; so furious that he didn't even notice the tears flow. However, as he pushed through the doors,
SLAM!
He walked straight into a kid about his age with shoulder length chocolate-brown hair, carrying a couple of bags. "Oh god, I'm sorry," he yelped, without thinking. And then nearly slapped himself. 'You're in Greece, you moron,' he thought, his worries seemingly confirmed by the strange look he was getting. He tried to think of a Greek phrase that he actually knew but his efforts were unsuccessful. However, his fears were ungrounded anyway, as the teen spoke English, with a faint Russian accent. "Don't worry about it," the boy murmured, "But could you help me pick this up?" he continued silkily.
Harry shook himself from his stupor, and nodded. Once it was all picked up, the other teen extended his hand to Harry, saying "Mikhail Ivanovich. I go to Durmstrang. Are you starting this year?"
Harry blinked, slightly stunned. Remembering to take the stranger's hand before long, he replied "I'm Harry. How did you know I was a wizard? And yes, I am."
"A few reasons. One, you are very near to the wizarding complex, two, I can-" he said, before stopping himself. "Sorry, forget I said anything. Anyway, it wouldn't matter if you weren't, most of the eastern countries know all about the wizarding world, they just don't tell Britain or America. Otherwise, we'd be surrounded by celebrities after cheap facelifts. Over here, and also in Switzerland, some muggles know of us, not all, but if a patient has cancer, that is incurable to a muggle, we will try and help. We like to help the muggles, and they have agreed not to exploit our services."
"That makes much more sense than Britain," replied Harry.
"I know," smiled Mikhail. "I lived there."
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It was strange, mused Hary that already, after only a couple of hours, Mikhail and he were already fast friends. He was a little cautious at first when the boy asked him to his apartment, but he figured that he was safe in Greece, and that Mikhail was sincere. Besides, he had nothing better to do.
"So, what's your favourite type of music?" asked Mikhail, returning from the kitchen area with a mug of coffee each. The conversation was like this, entirely light-hearted. Mikhail had asked no questions about why he was crying, and Harry didn't ask what Mikhail was going to say earlier, when he was talking about how he knew Harry was a wizard. They would get to that conversation later, but for now, they were simply building their budding friendship.
"I dunno, I suppose I got into load of rock stuff over the past few weeks, and I know I can't stomach pop, rap and dance. Classical's pretty decent, despite my limited experience. How's about you?"
"Rock, mostly. I'm like you, I just can't stand most modern music except for metal, punk, and things like that. I used to live in the north of England, there was a really good festival near Leeds, I've been to that a few times. Never stayed the full weekend though."
"Festivals last a whole weekend?" Harry asked. "That's awesome!"
"A lot of them do. There's a few good fests in England, and another in Germany. Nothing else is really worth it unless you can get over to the US for Warped."
"I'm gonna have to go to one of them soon. Maybe stay for the full weekend..."
"Take a load of food," Mikhail advised. "Otherwise you'll be totally ripped off." He then started on another topic.
"So," Mikhail started. "What lessons are you looking forward to?"
"Defence probably, and maybe potions. My old teacher despised me, and let my schoolboy rivals sabotage my potions. Biased as hell. I'm glad I'm out of that school, now. The teachers were awful. Potions, as I said, had a spiteful teacher. The percentage of students who pass History at Owl & Newt level, is, well let's just say a single digit figure for both levels. Also, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher didn't complete one year of a five year course, in his own subject. Not his fault, but it still means he hasn't got a clue what he's doing."
"You won't get that at Durmstrang. All the teachers are monitored, retrained, the lot. That way, if any of them are incompetent, mistreating students, or misbehaving in any other way then they are thrown straight out."
"That sounds great!"
"Yeah, although not for the teachers. In fact, the Care of Magical Creatures got thrown out towards the end of last year. He'd been dealing with the illegal creature traders." His eyes darkened towards the end of this statement. Harry, wisely, didn't mention this or his change in tone.
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Harry had never drunk before, but he was starting to be a little more adventurous around his new friend, more so than ever with Ron and Hermione. It was just as he thought; those two strove for normality. Harry was not normal and was proud of it. Thus, he was doing what he wanted, instead of what others wanted. Mikhail, it seemed, was fine with this. "Hey man, I don't care what you do, so long as it don't hurt others." His words were a little slurred due to the bottle of vodka each they'd just downed. "Get pissssed, that'ss fine, that'ss funnnn" thunk!
Mikhail had passed out. Harry is his wonderful world of drunken inanity, decided to once again wake somebody up via cold water.
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"AARRRGGGGHHH!"
'Evidently, Mikhail doesn't appreciate being wet, pissed, and tired,' mused Harry. He also had a rather impressive bruise on his forehead from hitting the table, which Harry healed quickly.
"I'll get you!" he grumbled, before grabbing a pillow, and starting a pillow fight.
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Seven O'Clock, the next morning, and Harry had a massive headache. His chest also felt a little strange. His head flopped over, and he saw an empty vodka bottle. 'That explains the headache,' thought Harry idly. Then he fell back to sleep.
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Beep-Beep! Groaning, and not even opening his eyes, Harry took his phone from his pocket. "What!"
"Harry! Where are you?" asked his aunt.
Harry's eyes snapped open. "I dunno... Oh wait..." As his memories came back, so did his hangover. "A friend's," he replied. "Don't worry, I'm alright."
He snapped the phone shut, moaning in pain and rubbing his forehead.
"Whozat?" mumbled Mikhail. He opened his eyes. "Oh, hey Harry."
"Morning. Got anything for hangovers?"
As Mikhail stumbled through to the kitchen on a potion hunt, Harry looked round the apartment. A photo here and there, mostly of a particular woman, who bore a faint resemblance to his new friend. He knew this to be his Aunt, who he considered his mother. When explaining why, last night, he got no further than saying his parents weren't dead, before clamming up. Harry didn't push the subject. However, his curiousity was eating at him a little, 'He'll tell you when he knows you better,' Harry admonished himself.
In an attempt to curb his curiousity, he wandered around the apartment, finally noticing a beautiful box, made from carved mahogany, and about fifteen centimetres each side, but only three up. Harry ran a finger along the embellished contours, gazing at the mark made on the varnished wood, before rubbing it off with his sleeve.
"Hey!" Snapped Mikhail, "Stay away from that!"
"Sorry, but you didn't tell me you didn't want me touching that," replied Harry, a little snappish himself. The hangover was still there. Mikhail tossed him a potion, and after downing it in one go, spoke again; "Sorry, that was the hangover snapping at you. It's just that the box is absolutely beautiful."
Mikhail's glare slipped off his face, and he bit his lip for a few seconds while gazing at the box, before he spoke up again. "I know," he whispered.
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"You know," said Harry, "That was a fantastic pillow-fight last night. But what I really wanna know is where did we get -" Harry got up, rummaged around on the carpet through all the cushions.
Mikhail looked at his feet – his only body part still visible under the huge amount of pillows – with amusement, and sipped his coffee. Three minutes later, Harry came up for air, declaring "Three hundred & forty two, without counting the mangled ones."
"And the point of counting them was – what?" asked Mikhail, his eyes still full of suppressed mirth.
"Dunno, just wanted to know why you had enough pillows to fill every dorm in Hogwarts."
"We used a multiplier charm, remember?" Mikhail said, straining his brain. He was sure there was something strange about the multiplier charm, he just couldn't place it. He tried to push it to the back of his brain, but it still niggled.
"Oh yeah. Wait, why did we put Sustanis Magicka charms on them? They wouldn't need to last longer than a few minutes, because it's just a pillow fight."
"We didn't..."
"What the hell?" Both stared at the cushions, in slight horror and total confusion.
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"Okay, so we've established that we did not cast a Power Sustaining charm, nor did we keep recasting them during our sleep,"
Harry butted in. "After all, that would be crazy. And quite worrying to think that you could grasp your wand and cast random spells, while completely pissed. Either way, I'm just glad they stayed, because otherwise I'd have been sleeping on the floor."
Mikhail was looking at him funny. "What?" asked Harry, a little self conscious.
Mikhail shook his head, as if trying to recall something. "No, sorry, I just thought I'd realised something. It's gone now."
"Jesus, I'd better get back to the hotel, my relatives will be worrying."
"Alright, but you know where to find me. In fact," He rummaged around in a drawer for a while. "Take this," he said, handing over a key. "That's my spare. Don't lose it, but if I'm out when you call, just let yourself in." Harry smiled at him. "Thanks, mate."
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The next few weeks passed quickly. The Headmaster of Durmstrang had been made aware of his new charge, and had given said charge his room in the college. This new charge was none other than Harry Potter and when he sent a letter saying he would be visiting Durmstrang, the Headmaster had sent the potions teacher, Robert Lorne, to show him around the school.
Harry liked the man, he was clever and witty, and a very quick thinker. Harry respected that. It appeared Robert was familiar with all subjects taught, to an extent. He showed his young charge around the separate departments, giving quick demonstrations of some of the 'toys' that the DADA teacher used, such as a prototype sneakoscope which had different settings, some of them meaning that intent would set off the machine, other settings meaning dark magic would be the cause of the alarm.
Rob sniggered. "Simon'll be pissed to hear I've shown you a few of his faves."
"I've already seen some of them during my fourth year. However, I've never seen a modified Sneakoscope before."
"That's 'cause he just made it. Clever bloke, Simon, he only started teaching late last year. He doesn't look like he cares about teaching much, more about having fun. You'll learn from him, though. He slips the lessons into his pranks and jokes. Once, there was a real brat who'd thought he was rubbish, Sime had the little tit pink skinned, neon green haired, and stuck to his chair. The class laughed at him all lesson, but nobody dared explain what they were laughing at, in case he got them as well. He would've, as well. The funniest part was apparently when he dismissed the class, and walked out. The kid was stuck there for a few hours, screaming his head off. He's been demoted a grade now, for not realising that it was a simple F.I. to get rid of it."
"F.I.?"
"Finite Incantatem. Standard notation in your notes. Geez Harry, didn't they teach you anything there?"
"Not much, not since Remus, anyway. He was third year. Umbridge hated practical, and also anything which would speed up the process of actually writing, so we had to write everything out in full, and copy it into our notes. Totally pointless, after all we were copying from our own books. Moody was just a psycho."
During this conversation, they had been wandering the halls, towards the potions section, which was actually in a seperate wing of the school. When Harry asked why, Robert replied, "In case of potions accidents. Potions change all the time, and some explosions can't be stopped by the wards. Wards don't update to block the latest potion, you know. Hogwarts' wards are ridiculous, what happens if they get a real powerful explosion? After all, Snape is a known researcher, and he's always messing around. The wards are holding out on power alone, but each explosion chips away at it. It can't be long now before the whole place comes down."
"On top of the git."
"Yes, on top of the git."
"In that case, I look forward to it."
Robert sniggered.
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Harry was glad to see the summer pass without great incident; he found the last weeks hugely enjoyable. He spent a great deal of time in Mikhail's flat, while his relatives lived in the hotel for the rest of the holidays. He did, however teach them a few charms, meaning that whenever the puppy peed on the hotel carpet, they got away with it – thanks to scourgify.
It was at one of Harry's days sleeping at Mikhail's place, in fact the last night before they set off for school (they were arriving early, so Harry could get settled in), when Mikhail woke in early morning and turned over to see that Harry had left his side of the double bed. It was a one bedroom flat, so they shared a bed (their friendship is totally platonic) – and upon turning, saw Harry's outline, silhouetted in the window.
"What is it?" he said, quietly.
Harry startled, and blushed at being caught lost in his thoughts. "Nothing, nothing."
Mikhail got out of bed, and strode over to the window. He sat beside Harry on the sill, put an arm round the boy and said "Come on, you can tell me Harry."
Both boys were in their boxers, but didn't mind. Harry and Mikhail had bonded over the past weeks, developing a strong friendship, more trusting then ever before for Harry, and they could both let themselves be themselves around each other.
"I, just, well promise you won't hate me..."
"You know I won't hate you for anything, Harry. Come on, what's got you so worried?"
"Well, I think I'm..." Mikhail gave Harry a reassuring squeeze of the shoulders, and Harry gathered his courage and said, "I'm gay."
"When did you realise?" Mikhail's voice was soft and understanding.
"I dunno, it's been steadily over the past few months. I didn't really notice anything much during my last few weeks at Hogwarts, but I look back on it, and the way I thought changed a little. I've probably been this way for months, even years. I never found myself too attracted to a girl. I thought I had a crush on Cho Chang, but I think I really wanted a girlfriend, somebody caring and understanding. She was pretty, and my mind fell for her, not my heart. I would have known I was gay before then, but I didn't think about it because the wizarding world doesn't mention gaiety much. I don't know for sure, but in the muggle world more people seem to address the topic. The wizarding world, at least in England, is medieval, and nobody had really realised it could be an issue.
Also, my ex-friends were very uptight. I didn't notice, because at Privet Drive my relatives were more so, to the point of fanaticism. Ron and Hermione seemed very laid-back, but I guess when you're in the dark, everything seems brighter when you get out."
"That's true," nodded Mikhail. He continued; "People sometimes call me gay, because I have a crush on a guy. But love is love, why should it matter who loves whom?"
"Oh..." said Harry. "So you don't mind me being gay, then?"
"No, of course not. I told you I wouldn't hate you, and to be honest, it doesn't surprise me."
Harry's head snapped up. "It doesn't?"
"Nah, it was just a guess, but considering the fame, and the lack of any reasonable relationships... girls really had to be falling over themselves."
"They didn't!" Protested Harry.
"I find that hard to believe, you're hot as hell. You just didn't have the confidence. When you don't have the confidence in yourself, you assume..."
"You think I'm hot?" Harry squeaked, blushing.
"Harry, you've kept your celebrity status though more than just existing, trust me on this. Why do you think that the papers ever cared about your relationships?"
Harry didn't have a response for that, and turned his head away.
"Who was it who finally made you're mind up on it, Harry? You must have got a crush on a guy..."
Harry blushed even more. "No one, I just realised."
"I doubt that."
Harry scowled, "Who made your mind up then?"
"Viktor." Mikhail replied promptly.
"Viktor?"
"Krum."
"WHAT? Jesus, what is this, celebrity connections? You're my best mate and you're in love with an internationally famous Quidditch player."
Mikhail smirked. "I guess I'm just drawn to the photo ops," he joked. "Nah, really, I just can't help it, he's so hot. I have this vision of us flying away on his broomstick, my head resting on his shoulder and my arms around him. It's a really soppy romantic thing, but... I love the idea."
Harry cracked up.
Mikhail glared at him, affronted. "I know it's a bit silly, but Jesus, Harry. Don't worry about my feelings!"
"No, no," Harry gasped out. "It's not that, it's just... Do you know how dirty that sounded, you talking about riding his broomstick?"
Mikhail stared at him, until his lips twitched. Soon, both boys were in hysterics.
Harry snorted. "Brings so many definitions to the term 'Morning Wood'!"
They carried on laughing, until Mikhail shouted;
"Better make sure I've got broom polish around."
They giggled like madmen, occasionally gasping out dirty-minded innuendo, before collapsing in a sniggering heap on the bed.
"Night Harry."
"Night Mikhail."
"By the way, Harry, who was it you had a crush on?"
But Harry was already asleep. Or so he pretended, anyway.
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AN – So, there you have it. Another chappie.
Special thanks go to AubreyElla for the betaing, and SaffronCyanide for helping with character design.
I quite liked this chapter, it had some (I think) humour in it, some of the recent chapters have been a little all-plot-no-fun, at least to me. This one was pretty fun to write.
I got a review stating that it was against the rules to post extensive review responses – thus, they are on my livejournal. My LJ is on my profile as my homepage. EVERYBODY has a response, (except for those reviewing since the new Review Reply feature was introduced – if I haven't responded, tell me – I love to give feeback, and I hate to forget) 'coz I'm nice like that, see? However, if the review was 'Good chappie' or something along those lines, the response won't be too long. Still go looksie if you're one of those, if you like. There'll be something, even if it's just "Thanks!" By the way, ALL unsigned reviews will be answered on my LJ – I can't use the respond feature if you aren't signed in.
Much love goes to my readers, and especially those who review! You're all brilliant every time. Please review, and flames will be either thoroughly mocked, or used for marshmallow toastage.
I can't promise a really fast new chappie. I just don't have time for writing much. Being a bloody perfectionist, if I hate something, it takes a lot of editing before I post. Anyway, I'm hardly a brilliant author, you know! Writing is bloody hard!
Right, any of you here want to read a little more of my stuff? Chorus of joyous Yes' fails to materialize. Never deterred, our intrepid author continues in his quest to advertize his other fiction
Check out the Consumate Vs Profile. I'm an author on it, as is Eryn Galen, writer of Road Trip, and AubreyElla, writer of Promising Opportunities. I'm the co-author of Mind the Petunias, with Eryn, and Redefine by me and Aubrey is to be posted eventually. Aubs is working on a couple of chapters, because we want to get a headstart, so to speak.