Review Response:
MinorMistake99: I believe it's fun to give anyone a hard time, and you're quite right, no one is going to be awed by the noble, evil-slaying Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived. In a bittersweet way, Harry always did want for people not to care about his fame, heheheh. I am a bit confused as to your last question; did you want me to argue with your roommate?
Nataly S. Potter: Viruses are annoying, aren't they? I'm sorry you have them, and sorry for the long wait for an update. I'm planning on finding a way to get Harry to understand Bulgarian, though you are right, it will take some time for him to understand the classes. Do you still live in Brazil? What's it like there? Unfortunately, I haven't ever left the North American continent, but am hoping to eventually.
APS: Glad to hear from you again!
Slivblue: You will eventually hear about Ron and Hermione, if maybe from their p.o.v, but you will hear of them via letters, and maybe a visit or two. However, it might not be for a while, since not all Universities accept students as quickly as Zotzion, in fact, you'll see why Harry got accepted so rapidly soon enough. Thanks for reviewing.
One Phoenix: Thank you for your support, in truth it helped me start thinking of this chapter, and thanks for reviewing as well.
Chapter 13: The Sponsor
After two minutes, Harry stopped in his tracks with a sudden thought. The tailor had been here a while, he knew who Harry's sponsor was, so he would know where to find him! Rushing back, Harry skidded through the tailor's door; the older man looked up. "You again, eh? Forget something?"
"Iwaswonderingifyoucouldtellmewheremysponsor'sroomsare...Sir," Harry said breathlessly.
The tailor raised an eyebrow. "I might speak English, but I'm not that fast at it."
"Sorry, Sir." Harry said, blushing. "I was wondering if you could tell me where to find my sponsor; you see, he told me to be at his quarters in two hours, but that was about an hour ago, and I still don't have any idea where I'm going, Sir."
The tailor scratched his chin. "Usually I don't help newcomers out, letting them find their way is more educational for them." A knot tied in Harry's stomach. "But not many of them are polite, so I suppose I can help you out this once."
"Thank you, Sir." Harry said with relief, making a mental note to be polite to every person he met.
Going over to his desk, the tailor pulled out a quill, ink, and a blank piece of parchment, which he made a rough sketch on. There were three altogether, with labels in small, slightly messy, handwriting. He made a small 'x' on one room, and pointed at it with a knobby finger. "This is your Magister's greeting room, the rest he can show you at his leisure. To get there, go out of this room, take a left after the second stairwell, travel down that way for about five minutes until you come to an archway that has a chip on the left side, walk down that hallway until you get to the entrance hall you arrived in first." He traced the path with his finger as he spoke. "Go down this staircase, take the fifth right, then go past the first seven doors, take a left at the fork, and knock on the first door you see after seven hallways. Got it?"
Not really, Harry thought, but answered, "Yes, Sir, and thank you, very much."
The tailor nodded and briskly handed him the map. "Don't let anyone see you with that, lad," he advised, "Or you'll regret ever asking me for help."
He nodded. "Yes, Sir."
"Off you go then."
Hurrying, Harry held the map out in front of him, but kept it close, and made his way down the increasingly chilly hallways. Despite the tailor's directions, he got lost about three times, but each time he was able to find his way again, thanks to the map, even if it was a little crude. Nevertheless, Harry clung to it like a lifeline. There would be no way he would have been able to find his Sponsor's rooms if the tailor hadn't agreed to help him.
As he stopped at the door after the seventh hall, Harry felt a rush of accomplishment, and knocked confidently on the door after tucking the map into his sleeve.The door openedopened, revealing a young man probably about three years younger than Harry—rather young for a student. He had black hair that was streaked with silver and honey brown eyes. His skin was pale, and his nose proudly arched. He looked Harry over, raised an eyebrow, then called something over his shoulder in Bulgarian. Moments later, Harry's Sponsor hobbled over, eyes narrowed. "You're late, boy." He snapped, thrusting the door open wider as the younger wizard went back inside.
Harry blinked; he couldn't have possibly spent an hour coming back from the tailor's! "But Sir I-" he began, only to be grabbed roughly by the arm and dragged inside.
"No excuses," the old man growled, shutting the door behind Harry with a glare. "Can't even find your way in an old castle," he harrumphed under his breath and let go of Harry's arm as he walked over to the entrance of another room. Harry stayed where he was, calming his temper and unsure if he should follow. The wizard glanced over his shoulder. "What are you waiting for, boy? Get your backside over here! I don't have all day, you imbecile!" Hurriedly, Harry followed his Magister, growing increasingly irritated with the old man. The room they went it was like a parlor room, which was decorated in brown and olive green, with black couches, large rugs done in great detail with washes of geometric shapes and mixes of dark blues, beiges, maroon, green, and bronze, and looked to be hand woven. There were tapestries on the walls, at least ten feet long and six feet wide, depicting scenery of Bulgarian mountains and magical creatures. The fireplace was dark grey rock, and sculpted out of it were serpents and dragons. It was a large room, with a vaulted ceiling, and crystal globes illuminating it; the walls had slight curves to them, but did not make a circle, more like a square with its corners rounded off. Harry was amazed at the detail in the rugs and stood staring at them for a moment, but apparently a moment was too long.
"What are you staring at, boy?" the Magister snapped, "Haven't you ever seen a rug before? Most likely better than anything you English can make, that's for certain!"
Harry stiffened at this insult to his citizenship, but remained silent, remembering his mental note to be polite.
"A question entails an answer boy!" the old man said irritably, leading him over to the couches. But as Harry opened his mouth, he continued, "And permission to speak is required as well!" He sniffed. "Don't they teach you manners, wherever you came from? Hand over your heart, boy, don't you know protocol?"
Obediently, though angrily, Harry placed a hand on the left side of his chest.
"Well? Speak up!"
"I have seen a rug before, Sir." Harry said stiffly. "And the English can make plenty of good things, Sir."
The Magister rolled his eyes. "That's all you had to say? One sentence defenses will not convince anybody! Really, what in the world do they teach you over there? How to fill your heads with sawdust? Bah!" Harry gritted his teeth and said nothing. The Magister seated himself, but made no motion for Harry to do so, so the young wizard remained standing. "You will address me as Sir or Magister, understand, boy?" he said gruffly. "But for future reference, others know me as Magister Dareios; you remember that boy, I won't have a fool for an underling." Harry opened his mouth, but closed it and nodded instead. Dareios took no note of his efforts of respect, but merely looked at theother younger wizard, who nodded and vanished into another room. "This is one of the three rooms in my quarters that you are allowed to go in," Dareios continued, not even looking at Harry. "The others are the room that will be assigned for your use and the study. If you want touse a library, go find one in the University. I won't waste my time showing you around; get someone else to help you."
A moment later, the young lad came back in with three other wizards and one witch, all whom wore robes bearing Dareios' crest. They formed a neat line and bowed slightly to their Sponsor, who nodded in return, looking at them with considerably more liking than he did Harry. The witch had golden blonde hair and copper brown eyes, fair skin, a slim frame, and calm features. Two of the wizards were twins, bothhad short, spiky black hair with auburn highlights, solid builds, and both were considerably taller than Harry, at least six foot five; the only real difference between them was that one had brown eyes and the other had black—not much of an alteration. The last sponsored wizard was dark skinned, with clear grey eyes, broad shoulders, a small, neatly and closely trimmed beard, a hard expression, and wore his black hair in many small tight braids, each with a black bead at the ends.
"Anastasia-" the girl nodded- "Matthias-" the brown-eyed twin- "Nikodemus-" the second twin- "And Ivaylo." The dark wizard barely inclined his head, eyeing Harry with dislike. "They are your fellows, and you will treat them with respect as you will me." Dareios said something to them in Bulgarian, and they each replied. After he thought for a moment and nodded, they left, either back to their rooms or whatever they were doing. The youngest wizard remained behind. The robes he wore bore a different symbol from Harry's, but it had Dareios' dragon emblem on the sleeve. "This is Sergei," Dareios said, nodding to the young teen. "He will show you to your room when we are done, now come and sit down."
It was a great relief to rest his feet, but Harry managed to keep in his sigh; Dareios would most likely berate him for expressing comfort in any shape or form. The Sponsor in question was looking at Harry with hard eyes, and Harry got a good look at his Magister. He had a grey beard that reached down to his shoulders about, accompanied by smooth silver hair that reached his collarbone. His eyes were an extremely dark blue, so dark that they bore a close resemblance to a starless midnight sky. There were deep crows feet at the corner of his eyes and craggy lines at the edges of his mouth; both spoke of hard times seen and ages of knowledge. However, it was hard to tell just how old Dareios is, and Harry certainly wasn't about to ask him.
"What languages can you speak?" Dareios asked abruptly.
Harry blinked. Languages? "English, Sir." He replied.
"Anything else?"
"Er...no Sir."
"Bah, they don't teach you anything down at those 'schools' of yours." He grumbled; Harry's cheeks flushed in anger. "What subjects did you learn about?"
Annoyed at the insult to Hogwarts, Harry thought of every subject he could that he'd learned even the slightest bit of. "Potions, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, History, Astronomy, Charms, Defense, Muggle Studies, Divination, and Herbology, Sir." He said. Okay, so he hadn't actually taken the Muggle Studies class, but he knew enough about it to pass for one who had studied it.
Dareios sniffed. "All in one year?"
"Each year, Sir."
"Bah, too many subjects! You need to focus on a tight group! Get knowledge of the topic into your mind! Defense? Humph, defense won't win a duel; divination? It does nothing for anyone. Who needs to know the location of stars? Or what has passed? Bah, that school of yours knew nothing of teaching."
Harry fumed inwardly. "I learned a bit of Occlumency too, Sir." He said, not really knowing why.
Dareios glared at him, though there was a bit of curiosity in his gaze. "Protocol boy! You don't speak unless spoken too!"
"Yes, Sir." Harry said, fighting not to grit his teeth.
Dareios pulled his robes slightly closer around himself. "I will not be your soul teacher, thank Demetirov; no, other subjects will fall to some of the Magisters. However, I will be the one who trains you in what you learn, I will be the one whom decides when you are ready to progress, when you are ready to be tested, when you are allowed to go off campus, and when you are ready to graduate." He cleared his throat. "However, that will be some time in coming, and even though I would rather consider you ready now to be done with you, I value my own reputation more, and will not go down in history as the man who had a famous dunderhead for a student; is that clear?"
"Yes Sir." Harry replied, a knot in his gut. Dareios didn't like him, that was obvious, but why? Why did the Elder make him sponsor Harry? Why did Dareios have to be so...well, stiff and annoying? All Harry really knew was that this was going to be one annoying, long, hard process. He wondered when he would finally be able to research Horcruxes, if ever.
"Now, we will start tonight by reviewing what you know of the Dark Arts, Bulgaria, and Zotzion..."
I'll make it, Harry thought rebelliously, even if it takes a decade, I'll make it, and make Voldemort and Snape regret ever messing with me.