Review Responses:

Nataly S. Potter: Yakov is a nice character, and Ivaylo is a bad-mood sort of person, but maybe he'll lighten up later, just maybe. Most schools in the United States start in August and end in June, but my school starts late in July and Ends in early June. I am still in school, and in my 10th year. My sister starts university next year, it's somewhat creepy for me. I think it's interesting as to how you started getting into Spanish, I've only seen the Harry Potter books in French and English before. Well, thank you for reviewing, and I'm sorry for the long delay in updates, finals are coming up, and with them tons of homework.

LordHeaven: Thanks for your suggestions in regards to accents, I'll start using them soon, if not in this chapter. Out of curiosity, how do you think Harry would react to Rakia? I like mountains very much, and would be very happy to see some of them in Bulgaria. I've always wanted to travel but, well, school is a drag, as always. Thanks for reviewing.

MinorMistake99: I can understand your animosity towards the students of Zotzion, and most of them aren't going to be all that friendly or trustworthy to Harry, as you will see in the chapter(s) to come. However, our opinions on Yakov will remain...well, not compared since I don't feel like revealing all of his character just yet; there is more to him than you might think grin. I'm extremely sorry about the near-month-long delay, school has become increasingly difficult; I have several papers all due soon, two projects, finals to study for, homework assigned in the dozen-page-groups, and the my job at the stables to deal with too...bleh. Unfortunately, until the holidays arrive, I might not be able to update as soon as I would usually, but I will try to make them longer; I don't think it will be too much of a problem, or rather, I hope. Thank you for reading and reviewing, as always!

To All Readers: I'm sorry for the delay, school and finals were horrible, then the stupid internet wasn't working, and then I got horribly sick, bleh! I know this chapter might not be much, but please, I've cranked it out in a last-minute-desperation to get something done before Christmas. I'm working on several other stories that I'm not sure whether or not I want to post, and dealing with all the holiday-wacky-relatives sort of thing going on. My deepest apologies and gratitude for your amazing patience, I'll try to pick up the pace. Sincerely, A.S.Leif

Chapter 15: The First Magister

There was absolutely no way Harry was going to be able to remember his way around this place; if only he had photographic memory... There were endless twists and turns, multitudes of spinning and towering stairwells that had railings seeming to be made of wire alone, and dimly lit halls reaching down into the heart of the chaotic castle that was Zotzion. Ivaylo kept up a brisk pace, first stopping by their rooms in Dareios' quarters in order to allow Harry to get his book bag and writing utensils; he didn't have any texts at the moment.

That done, they left and traveled to the far eastern side of the enormous, intimidating castle, arriving at last in a large, hexagonal room at the base of a winding tower, which was connected to another by one of those thin bridges Harry had seen upon his arrival at the school. In this room was a group of desks in the center, which the students arriving seated themselves at, all facing another, larger desk: the Magister's. On the walls were beautifully detailed rugs and ceramics on shelves, depicting objects and plants within the patterns. Harry tore his gaze away to look at the rest of the room. On various bookshelves sat bundles of herbs, small and large trinkets that buzzed with magical potency, old scrolls, and tomes that were bound in most black and brown leather. Too far away to see properly, Harry thought he saw a skull on one of the shelves...creepy.

As he was looking around and the other students seated themselves, he caught snatches of quiet conversation—in foreign languages of course. Waiting, he thought about the way the students held themselves in this class, so to speak. They didn't seem uneasy, or dead-silent, so the Magister probably wasn't too strict. I wonder what he'll be teaching us, Harry thought, just before the door at the top of a small staircase behind the Magister's desk opened. Out stepped a woman in her mid-thirties, with auburn hair that was more red than brown, naturally tan skin, an emotionless face, and eyes the color of tarnished gold. She was around Harry's height, if maybe half an inch shorter—tall none the less. Her robes were light, like Ivaylo's, showing a habituated feeling towards the weather, which was still bitterly cold in Harry's opinion.

The students fell silent at her entrance and settled their hands on their desks, empty of any object; Harry did the same. The Magister walked—though her long robes made it look to him like she was gliding—to her desk and read off the list of names, glancing at each face of whoever answered. Harry took note that the students did not speak until she had added a Bulgarian word after their name; more protocol, it seemed. "Potter, H." she called and then added the permission.

"Here." He answered in quiet English.

She glanced at him as one would look at a fly on opposite side of the glass: without interest, and small notice. He breathed an inner sigh of relief; at least she didn't hate him.

However, after the roll call was finished, she continued to speak in Bulgarian. Harry panicked; how was he supposed to understand what she was saying? The other students weren't having a problem, even the other new ones, which were a total of three others.

The others got out parchment and quills, so Harry did the same. The Magister stood up and walked over to an ink-black chalkboard and began to write; the students copied it down—thank Merlin, it was in English. "For those of you who have not taken the emancipation to educate yourself in the language of this university," she said while writing, her voice lightly accented, but otherwise empty of any interesting trait or emotion, "I am Magister Silviya, and this is the class of Magical Artifact Properties. In it you shall study the usefulness of various levels and powers in our endeared Shadowed Arts. Many of them cannot be used on their own, others can only be used so. To begin, the topic of today is the artifact of the Lezar Horn; which is? Clydesarok."

A dark-skinned wizard nearing twenty and sitting next to Ivaylo answered in a rather deep voice, "An artifact derived from the plant after which it is named, containing properties of various proportions, from gravitational abilities to enforcing the death of the mind."

Magister Silviya nodded and there was a flurry of scratching quills as the newer students rushed to write down the information. Harry, having forgotten to get out his ink, was in the process of retrieving it when she moved on to list the properties and what it was often mistaken for. He'd just uncapped his ink when he heard, "Potter?"

He looked up and found the Magister looking at him. "Yes, Magister?"

Her level gaze was strangely unnerving to Harry. "I asked you a question, Mr. Potter-" she repeated it again, but in Bulgarian.

Harry's cheeks flushed. "I don't understand Bulgarian, Magister."

"You should have thought of the consequences of ignorance before you applied, Potter." She said stiffly.

"I didn't-" he began to protest, but was silenced by glares from the other students and a cold look from the Magister.

"Excuses are not tolerated," she said, and turned to write on the board again, speaking in Bulgarian.

As she brought out a plant that looked like an extremely large, white and red thorn, Harry wondered, why, why didn't I pay attention in Herbology?

Two hours later, the class ended, though not by any bell Harry could hear. He sullenly packed his things up, having not understood a word the entire lesson, and unable to answer any of the questions she had put on the board, in English too. I have got to learn Bulgarian, he moaned in his head repeatedly. Ivaylo walked over to him.

"Your next lesson will be with Magister Dareios, in his quarters. Do not sit until he arrives, is that clear?"

Confused, Harry decided that it had to do something with the ever-constant Protocol that his sponsor had harped about yesterday and this morning. "Alright." Before he could ask for a quick idea of which direction to go, Ivaylo had left with others of his year. Dang it...

"Potter."

He turned around and saw the Magister looking at him. "Yes Magister?" he replied.

"Why are you here at Zotzion?" she asked flatly.

He blinked. "To study, Magister."

"Study what?"

"The Dark Arts, Magister."

She raised an eyebrow. "I see. Why?"

A lump of rebellion rose in his throat. "With all due respect Magister, that's my own decision and not for you to know."

For a moment he thought he'd gone a step too far, and it seemed like the bland Magister was going to blow up at him for disrespecting an elder. But she didn't. Her face went rapidly from pale to a slight tan, then back again, for a reason unknown to Harry himself. There was an awkward silence. "You will do well under Magister Dareios' tutelage, I think." She said finally, and walked back to her desk, leaving a thoroughly confused student to make his way