Review Responses:

MinorMistake99: Don't worry, I think school does that to all of us, lol. And you conveyed in your last review about being a faithful reader, for which I am thankful for; I had hit a slight writer's block, sometimes a death of a family member can do that—ack, bad joke, nvm. Basically, I wasn't quite sure, since I don't have this fic planned out already like my other stories, but now I know what to do, for the most part. Yes, the Harry bashing begins soon! Yay!

Sylvia Snape: first off, thanks for reviewing and your comments, I really appreciate them. You're on to something with the Parsletongue part though, I'll give you that, though nothing else. It will come into play, and it might become a...a little surprise for my readers as to how it does. grin. Harry's friends and Diega will come into play a little after Harry gets settled at Zotzion (well, as settled as he can be in a school for the Dark Arts, lol). Thanks for your review, as always.

Lordheaven: I know I sent a reply to you through e-mail, but I still want to thank you again for your advice, very, very much! I was wondering if you could tell me if I'm doing an OK job of writing down the way Bulgarians speak, I'm not all that great with accents. Thanks again!

Nataly S. Potter: Sorry about the short length, I had a bit of a writer's block the past week or so, I'll try to make the following chapters longer from now on out. I live in the United States, and have only lived in one state: Arizona. It can get extremely hot here, but if you go a couple hours north, it gets much cooler because there are more mountains. Where I live, we don't get snow, but again, if you go up north, there's some in winter. I also lived in Canada for a while, there it snowed a lot! But it often got too cold to snow! Arizona is beautiful at sunset and dawn, the sky changes into all these different colors, and the light is reflected onto everything else, it's almost like the sky is paint, and it's dripping onto the ground and houses below it. I'd like to see Brazil, I have a Spanish teacher who's gone there, and she's got pictures of her travels; I agree with you, it does look very beautiful. Thank you for reading and reviewing, as always.

One Phoenix: Thanks for reading all of my stories, I'm glad some people have the initiative to not just stick with one story that the author has written.

Uknowho: Glad that you like the characters, and thanks for reviewing.

A/N: Wow, half of page of responses! Okay, I think it's time to move onto the story, don't you? Lol. Thanks for reading, as always, --A. S. Leif

Chapter 14: Yogurt and Yakov

Harry rolled over in his sleep, exhausted from yesterday. He'd gotten up early, traveled to Zotzion, and stayed up until practically dawn, answering whatever questions he could that were thrown at him by Dareios. The Sponsor, of course, still was not convinced that Hogwarts had any idea about teaching, especially when it came to the Dark Arts. In his Sponsor's eyes, Harry had no talent for memory, and was not impressed by the knowledge of Bulgaria that the young wizard had been able to squeeze in before his arrival. I go from one place that everyone knows me, he'd thought as he'd gone to bed, to another where everyone already hates me...whoopee. At least in sleep he could get away from the world, into his dreams where no one bothered him, disliked him, stared at him, or questioned him. In his dreams he could relax; ignorance really was bliss.

Opening his eyes a tiny crack, he saw that it was approaching dawn outside, and stuffed his head under the pillow; he could probably squeeze another hour or two of sleep in before he had to get up. Oh was he in for a rude awakening—literally. Half of his brain registered the fact that his door had opened, but he automatically dismissed it as Remus, momentarily forgetting where he was. That would cost him, as a bucket of water was dumped over him. "AIYAA!" he yelped, springing out of bed in record time. Drenched and shivering, he glared at the cruel person who would choose to wake someone in such an inhuman way. It was the young boy, Sergei, who held the wooden bucket with his eyes filled with mirth, a slight smirk on his face. "Magister Dareios says he will not be your alarm clock, and if you did not wake when I opened the door, to wake you myself in warning."

"Y-you c-could-dn't of ch-chosen a-a warmmmmer w-way of doing i-it?" Harry growled through chattering teeth.

Sergei gave a wicked grin, "If you think that is cold, wait until you go outside for training in winter." With that he left, a bounce in his step as he shut the door.

Harry's wand fell from his freezing fingers when he tried to grip it, a third try let him succeed, and he cast a drying charm on himself, followed by one on his bed; unfortunately, it was still damp. Scowling, he changed into his uniform, and felt somewhat warmer, and thanking Merlin for the boots—they quickly defrosted his feet. As he got dressed, he looked around at the room he'd been given.

It was about the same size as his room at home with Remus, but circular and made of stone; the color theme was mostly dark blues and light tan. Most of the floor was covered by the incredibly-woven rugs similar to the ones he'd seen in Dareios' main room. There was also a small desk, a bookcase, and a wardrobe, all made of mahogany. Torches were hung on the walls, but the main source of light in the afternoon would be the large, arched window on the wall opposite Harry's bed. The bed itself was comfortable, and the covers were thick enough that he wouldn't freeze at night, though he wasn't sure if he would survive the mornings. Shaking his head, Harry grabbed his wand and map, pocketed them, and exited his room.

His door was one of several in the hall leading off of the main room; all of them were entrances to the other students' rooms, though two led to the bathrooms available for their use. Rubbing his hands together in order to warm them, Harry hurried out to the main room, where the others were already waiting, along with Dareios and Sergei. "Late again, boy." Dareios grumbled and his eyes narrowed. "Don't you brush your hair in the morning?"

"Er-"

"Protocol, boy!"

With an inner sigh, Harry placed a hand over his heart.

"Yes?"

"I do, Sir, but it's always messy—I got it from my father."

"I don't need to know your lineage, boy," Dareios said waspishly, "But you'll find a way to keep your hair in order; no scraggly appearances in my presence, understand?"

Harry nodded, "Yes Sir."

"Now, breakfast is served in twenty minutes in the main hall. Ivaylo will show you the way, but after today, you must find it on your own, we will not wait for you. He will also be showing you to your classes, the ones you do not have with me, and to the more important places in the castle. Again, after today, you must find your way on your own; understood?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good, Ivaylo-" His speech broke off into Bulgarian, so Harry did not understand a word. The dark-skinned wizard hesitated, but bowed and replied, accepting whatever it was that Dareios asked of him. Then the other students and Sergei left with Dareios, to somewhere other than the main hall, Harry presumed. Ivaylo stood observing Harry for several long minutes, and the younger teen barely kept himself from fidgeting in the silence.

"Let us go." Ivaylo said abruptly, his voice slightly deeper than Harry's, though without any hint of an accent of all; he led the way briskly out the door, not looking back to see if Harry was following, which he hurried to do.

The silence was not a comfortable one, so Harry tried to strike up a conversation with his new...school mate. "So...how long have you been at Zotzion?"

"Longer than you." Was the blunt reply.

Go figure, Harry grumbled to himself.

"Where are from originally? Bulgaria? Greece?"

"It does not matter."

Harry lapsed into silence until he could think of another question. "Do you like it here?"

"Again, it does not matter."

He sighed quietly. "I take it you're not much of a talker."

Ivaylo stopped and looked at Harry with hard eyes. "Listen, and listen well. I am not your friend, your ally, your confidante, or anything other than an elder student here. As Magister Dareios commanded, you will treat me respectively, and I shall eventually do the same, once you have proven yourself that you are worthy of being Magister Dareios' student."

"He wouldn't of chosen me-" Harry began angrily.

"He chose you because he was forced," Ivaylo interrupted. "The Elder won a bet against him, the price was that he Sponsored you. You were accepted within a week, as a joke, a form of amusement for the Elder and other Magisters," he snorted, "The rest of us were chosen after several months, even years of applying and testing. Until you prove yourself, I will be nothing other than a guide today and a student tomorrow; do you understand?"

Harry stiffened. "Yes, Ivaylo."

The taller student nodded, turned sharply around and continued walking. Harry wasn't quite sure if he'd made his first enemy or not as they traveled in silence. Occasionally, Ivaylo would point out a small landmark or room that would assist Harry in navigating through the large castle and its winding hallways; he hoped he would remember it all well enough to write down on his map, when in private of course—he remembered the tailor's warning.

Their brisk pace kept the chill of the stone halls at bay, even though Harry's breath fogged faintly in the air; Ivaylo seemed unaffected by the temperature, for all he had on was his uniform and a robe much thinner than Harry's cloak. At last they arrived in the hall that Harry had entered and been Sponsored in. There were fewer tables than at Hogwarts, but the setup was mostly the same. The Magisters' crests were placed on the walls behind where they sat, and a larger one depicting the Elders' crest was behind the largest chair at the table. The other tables had no indication of whether or not the sponsored students were supposed to sit at a certain place. When Ivaylo left him to sit at a table with the other students sponsored by Dareios, as well as a few others who did not have the same crest, Harry figured that it wouldn't matter where he sat.

Looking around and trying not to be too obvious, Harry found a table that didn't have too many people, and sat down at the emptier side, while trying to avoid the glances of the others seated at the table. They observed him subtly out of the corners of their eyes, while chatting with each other in Bulgarian, Greek, or Italian. If Harry hadn't felt like an outsider before, he certainly did now, especially when he saw the food.

He didn't really know what any of it was, there was a lot of bread, yogurt, fruit, and cheese, and the pitchers held liquids that he didn't recognize either. Might as well try it out, he thought, and took a few pieces of cheese and bread. Looking at one of his choices, the bread was cracked in places on the outside, but was incredibly soft—if coarse—on the inside. Taking a bite, flavor burst into his mouth. Now I see why they eat a lot of bread, he thought with a slight grin to himself.

"You should try the yogurt," said a soft voice with a Bulgarian accent that wasn't too thick, but still very noticeable.

Harry swallowed and looked up. Sitting across from him was a teenage wizard about his age, with light brown hair that was slightly mussed, friendly features, a rather thin, bony frame, and blue-green eyes that hid behind large circular glasses, along with a pointed nose, giving him an owlish, startled expression. A slim hand held a book, while the other was placing some cheese on his plate. "Umm... which one?" Harry asked; there were several dishes of yogurt. "Are they all the same?"

The teen smiled. "No, but I suggest zat you try the one in the blue dish—it's thinner than the others, and probably closer to vhat you're used to."

"Oh, thanks." Harry carefully spooned some of the yogurt into a bowl and took a cautious slurp (a/n: I'm not sure how else to describe the process of eating yogurt, lol.). His eyes widened slightly; he'd found a new favorite food. He swallowed. "This stuff is good!"

His new companion smiled again. "Bulgaria is known for many things, yogurt especially. I'm Yakov," he offered a hand to shake.

Harry took it, "Nice to meet you, I'm Harry."

"Nice to meet you too, Harry."

Harry looked at the other foods as he munched on the bread he'd taken first. After swallowing he asked, "What other things do you recommend?"

"Vell, ajran is a good drink—it's in the second pitcher, and the vhite cheese on zat platter," he nodded at a circular plate on Harry's left, "is also one of my favorites."

Harry looked curiously at the ajran he poured into his goblet. "If you don't mind me asking, what's in this stuff?"

Again Yakov smiled. "Drink, and vind out."

Harry took a cautious sip and contemplated it for a moment, while Yakov watched in amusement, his friendly eyes smiling behind his large glasses. "It tastes like...I dunno...yogurt."

"It is yogurt," he said, grinning, "Ajran is a mixture of vater and different... qualities of yogurt."

"I take it that Bulgarians like yogurt?"

He chuckled. "Yes indeed, along vith several other things, all of vhich you shall taste at later meals."

"So how long have you been at Zotzion?" Harry asked, taking another sip of the new drink, ajran—he wasn't sure about his opinion of it quite yet.

"This vill be my second year," Yakov said, sprinkling a powder over his bread. "I va born in Bulgarian, and lived in France for three years before this, and went to Courageuxbras Academy; vat of you?"

"Well, I went to Hogwarts before this," Harry explained, "And this is obviously my first year. Who were you Sponsored by?"

Yakov glanced at his sleeve, which was embroidered with a blue triangle, in which a white griffon reared, wings spread wide, ferocious beak open. Behind it was a crescent moon in silver, with two arrows crossed below. "By Magister Aleksandrina," he said quietly.

Looking up at the Magister table, Harry scanned the wall for the matching crest. It rested behind a stern-looking woman with curly brown hair, held back tight in a braid. Her thin lips did not seem to smile often, any more than her keen grey eyes did. "Is she..." Harry searched for a word. "Easy to work with?"

Yakov's smile was somewhat bitter. "She took me as a favor to my father, who vas an old friend of hers. When I came to Zotzion, she Sponsored me—no one else had offered."

Harry sighed. "We're in the same boat then."

His slightly-bushy eyebrows rose. "How is that?"

"Dar-Magister Dareios didn't want to Sponsor me, anymore than any of the others," Harry explained quietly. "Apparently, I was only Sponsored by him because he lost a bet to the Elder, or something like that."

"Who told you zat?"

"Another of my fellows, the one who's showing me around today. Apparently he doesn't quite like me—I'm not sure any of them do."

"Then we are definitely in the same boat," Yakov agreed with a smile. The other students began to get to their feet. "I suppose classes are about to begin, Harry. It vas nice meeting you." He offered his hand as they stood.

Harry took it and gave it a firm shake with a smile. "Same, Yakov."

His new—and probably only—friend left, following the others who bore the same crest on their robes, down a hall Harry hadn't learned yet. Someone cleared their throat behind him, and Harry turned to see Ivaylo waiting for him. "Come, I am to show you the way to our first class."

"What's that?" Harry asked as they walked briskly from the hall.

"You will see soon enough."

Harry held back a sigh; he was missing Yakov already.

A/N: Okay, so maybe not too much longer than the other chapters, but I'm getting there. I'll try to either do longer chapters or update along my usual once-a-week schedule; which would you, my dear readers, prefer? Thanks, as always, for reading, and I look forward to hearing from all of you! – A. S. Leif