Alright, so yeah, this is coming more than two days later. More like five days. But here's my defense: I had the chapter completely typed up, but what I didn't realize was that I was saving it in a temporary file. So I was done with it, and I was going to update it, but then I closed MS Word and my computer deleted the entire file, including my chapter. So, after this infuriating event, I'll be sure not to save any of my documents in temporary files, and for now, this chapter will probably be a lot shorter and a lot less detailed than the original one.

Disclaimer: same thing applies. All recognizable characters, places, events, et cetera, belong to JK Rowling, not to me. Any thing that is unrecognizable is mine, and I'll sue you for stealing it.

Chapter 27

Durmstrang

Harry didn't tell Ron and Hermione until they stood just outside Hogsmeade. He knew they would want him either to stay or to let them come along, and neither was going to happen. He had to find the Horcrux, and he had to do it without drawing too much attention to himself. The fewer people that came with him, the better.

"Hermione, I have a favor to ask," Harry said slowly as they walked towards Hogsmeade, where they would tell Viktor—and, as of yet unbeknownst to Ron and Hermione, Harry—goodbye.

"Mmm?"

"Will you take my classes for me for a week?"

She halted in her tracks. "Pardon?"

"Will you cover my classes for a week?"

Her eyes narrowed. "And where, pray tell, do you think you're going?"

"To Durmstrang."

Ron had stopped by now as well. He looked at Harry incredulously. "You're going to Durmstrang? What on earth could you possibly want there?"

Harry didn't meet his eyes. "It's a school of the Dark Arts. I want to be able to teach my students as much as I possibly can."

When Ron returned to Hogwarts, he would find a letter for him and Hermione awaiting them on his bed, explaining the real reason. He didn't want to lie to them, but he couldn't say anything in front of Viktor.

Hermione simply gaped, and for once, she seemed to be at a loss for words. It was Ron who began protesting first.

"But you haven't got any luggage! What're you going to wear for a week? And who'll be there to—"

"I've sent my luggage ahead," he said loudly over Ron's voice, "and I can take care of myself."

"I want to come with you," Hermione said.

"No."

"Why not?" she and Ron demanded simultaneously.

"Because I don't want to draw attention to myself, and plus, Durmstrang's headmaster only wanted one person to come."

"He wants as little out of ordinary as possible,'" Viktor explained apologetically. "It was hard enough to get him to let Harry come."

"Wait a second," Ron said, rounding on Viktor. "You knew about this, and yet you—" he jabbed his finger at Harry, "—didn't even tell us?"

Harry put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You would've tried to talk me out of it, or talk me into letting you go."

"You could've just said no!"

I could have, yes, at the beginning. But I wouldn't have held out, Harry thought. You have no idea how much sway you have over me. I couldn't tell you because I knew that I wasn't strong enough to refuse when you begged me to let you come. But all he said was, "I'm sorry, Ron. I'll see you in a week."

Hermione embraced him. "Goodbye," she whispered. "Be careful."

"Bye," Ron muttered rebelliously.

"Hold onto my arm, Harry," Krum ordered, "since you don't know where you're going."

"Bye, Harry!" Hermione said.

"Goodbye!" he answered as the black bands of Apparition began to encircle him. I miss you already.

And then Ron and Hermione faded, blackness engulfed him momentarily, and then he found himself standing at the side of an enormous lake. He looked around; the scenery that surrounded him was gorgeous. Mountains jutted out in the distance, forested terrain covered the ground on the other side of the lake, and brilliant morning sky was clearer than he'd ever seen it.

Then the cold hit him, chilling him to the bone, fighting its way inside his lungs and forcing the breath out of him. His ragged gasps rose in cloudy spirals above him, and goose bumps erupted on his arms. "It—it's freezing!" he stuttered, his teeth beginning to chatter.

Viktor handed him a thick fur coat. Where he had produced it from, Harry had no idea, but he accepted it gratefully and wrapped it around his shoulders. At once, instantaneous warmth began to spread through his body. The coat must have been enchanted to warm its wearer immediately.

Viktor started towards the other side of the lake. "Durmstrang, like Hogwarts," he explained, "is enchanted so that you cannot Apparate directly onto the grounds. There is also a spell cast so that no one can enter the grounds against the will of the headmaster."

Harry caught up with him eagerly. "Really? What if the headmaster doesn't know you're entering?"

His companion nodded. "That's the glitch. Only those whom the headmaster has strictly refused entry are barred. So it works against a few, but not most."

"But you could go through the names of… say the Death Eaters, and Voldemort, and forbid access?"

Viktor winced at the Dark Lord's name, but nodded nonetheless. "Exactly. So it does serve a good purpose."

Walking swiftly, they rounded the point of a hill, and Durmstrang Castle rose into full view. It was not nearly as tall or imposing as Hogwarts, but the surroundings made up for it; it stood on an island in the middle of a large lake. Surrounding the lake were trees, old trees that seemed to whisper to each other as they towered overhead, swaying in the breeze. "How do we get over there?" Harry asked, shielding his eyes as he stared towards the castle, silhouetted against the rising sun.

In answer, Viktor led the way towards the shore, and Harry made out a line of several small boats floating in the water a hundred yards from land. Viktor raised his wand and muttered a spell, and one of the boats began gliding towards them.

It was small and white and quite steady, not rocking like Harry would expect a boat to. Viktor got in after him and muttered another incantation, and this one sped him along towards the castle, dark against the morning sky.

Viktor led him up to the top floor in the top tower. "The headmaster asked that you be brought to meet him," he explained, ascending the first flight of stairs. Students of all ages looked at him strangely as he passed. He obviously was not Russian, for starters, or even Asian, and even here, many people recognized him by the scar he bore on his forehead.

It was not cold in the castle; either the walls blocked enough wind to keep it warm or his coat worked very well. He felt odd wearing a cloak indoors, but everyone else was as well, and they took no notice of it. Harry saw no ghosts or suits of armor, but beautiful, elegant tapestries adorned all the walls, depicting a wide variety of scenes. Spaced intermittently down the hallways were Russian flags; apparently, this school was very loyal to its country. Harry stopped to stare in front of a tapestry that displayed a man with a hand sprouting out of his head and two tiger heads for feet. Viktor pulled him along. "Don't ask," he said fervently.

Finally, they arrived outside a set of double oak doors. Harry was panting, but he made an attempt to look presentable as Viktor, who did not even seem to be slightly winded, rapped on the wood.

"Enter," a strong voice called.

The voice was half-familiar. Viktor pushed the door open and walked inside, beckoning Harry in and standing respectfully until his headmaster asked him to sit. The man emerged from the shadows, holding several books in one arm and leaning on a cane with the other. He had rather short, black hair, brown eyes, and his face looked startlingly familiar. Harry couldn't place it, but it seemed as though he had seen it before.

"Ah, Harry Potter," he said, laying the books on the desk. He limped over and extended his hand.

Two things flashed across Harry's mind as he shook it. Firstly, this man was young, far younger than he would expect a headmaster to be. He couldn't have been older than thirty-five, despite the limp in his leg. The second thing was: he had a British accent. It wasn't Russian or Bulgarian or even Asian. It was British, just like Harry's.

This alone disconcerted him. What was a foreigner doing running such a patriotic school as this?

"Please, do sit down," the headmaster invited him, taking a seat behind his own desk. "I'm Aidan Holinskii, headmaster of Durmstrang."

"Pleased to meet you."

Professor Holinskii smiled slightly. "You look confused, my friend."

"Erm… you're not… you're…"

"I'm… handsome? Intelligent? Bat-eared? Ugly? Smelly?"

"No, no," Harry said quickly. "You're… British."

He nodded. "I was raised in Britain, but my heritage is Russian."

Harry didn't believe him. If anything, he looked Greek. There was something funny going on with this man.

"Well, Mr. Potter, allow me to welcome you to my school. As a teacher from another school, you have all the privileges of a guest and a teacher during your stay here. I ask only that you don't stir my students to riot against me and that you don't use the bathrooms at the far end of the second floor. The plumbing is currently out of order. Otherwise, make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you, sir."

Harry didn't like the way Holinskii was looking at him. It was as though he were hungry for more information, but he concealed so much himself that he was not willing to tell. "Viktor," he said suddenly, turning to his pupil, "could you go downstairs and fetch Polikoff for me?"

"Yes sir." Viktor bowed and left with a swish of his cloak.

Holinskii was silent for a moment, and then he said, in a slightly softer voice, "Would you like to hear a secret, Mr. Potter?"

"I can't really answer that question unless I hear the secret, and by then it would be too late."

Harry didn't like this man. His manner was easy, friendly, and outgoing, but he concealed something, something that made him another person entirely. And it was that something of which Harry was afraid.

"Well, then, as I feel it is something you might like to know, I will continue to expound it to you. I am aware of the scrapes you have had with the Dark Lord."

"Who isn't?" Harry asked dryly.

"I know, after everything you have been through, you are the one most likely to defeat him."

Harry looked at him. "I'd rather not. I'd rather just hide on a beach in Jamaica and never have to see him again."

"I know you would. But I also know something that you don't."

Holinskii levered himself out of his chair with his cane and limped towards Harry. The latter wondered vaguely what had brought about his handicap; he was too young to be suffering failing joints.

"Do you know what a Horcrux is?" the man asked suddenly.

Harry felt his heart leap into his throat. Someone else knows, he thought frantically, and I don't know whose side he's on.

"I… no, sir." He didn't know why he was lying, but something told him that pretending ignorance was better than revealing the truth.

Holinskii laughed. "You're an abysmal liar, Harry," he informed him.

"Why, thank you."

Holinskii left him abruptly and stood musingly in front of a bookshelf. "Well, you know what they are. And from your eyes—" he turned his gaze to meet Harry's—"you have made the same deduction I have, and taken it a step further, even—you're hunting them down."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

"Oh, yes you do. That's okay, you don't have to tell me the truth, but know this—I can help you if you want me to."

At that moment, Viktor returned with a younger boy who looked slightly bemused. "Ah, Polikoff. This is Harry Potter. As there seems to be a shortage of bunks in Viktor's room, would you please see to it that Mr. Potter finds one in yours? You can show him to it now."

And then Harry found himself outside the door, with the oak swinging shut, left to contemplate what must've been the strangest conversation he had ever had.