Chapter Seven

The Voice of Reason

:.:.:

Needless to say, sleep had not been an option after decoding the egg's clue. In fact, I found myself seated on the ship's starboard railing until the sun began to untuck itself from behind the horizon line, despite the snow which now coated the grounds. It would have coated the ship's deck too, had it not been for Sasha's Charm to prevent such an incident. But anyway, even when it came time for breakfast, the blokes ascending from below deck, I didn't move — didn't even say a word. That was until Grigor had scurried over, appearing rather disheveled.

"Demetria," he began tentatively. "I must ask a favor from you." And in reply, I simply nodded for him to continue. "Vell, this Yule Ball…it is soon, yes? And I thought…vell vould you —"

"Sure, Grig!" I came off quite overly enthusiastic, hence Grigor's widened eyes and slight flinch backward, but I couldn't help it. Finally, I no longer had to worry about finding a date to that sodding ball! And the only reason I hadn't considered Grigor sooner was because I just figured everyone but myself had already acquired their dates.

Grigor recovered from my near-shouting and told me rather excitedly, "Oh, thank you, Dem! Just make sure it is someone good looking, eh?" And with a nudge to my shoulder, he was off, catching up with the rest of the gents on their way to the castle. All I could do was sit there in mild shock. One of my own best mates hadn't even asked me to the ball…in fact, I was fairly certain he'd just asked me to ask some bird for him! But how could I possibly do so when I had yet to find my own date?! Son of a banshee…

It wasn't long before I decided I did want some breakfast after all. So I made my way off the ship and trailed far behind my fellow students before making it to the Great Hall, which recently acquired elaborate Christmas decorations. But no sooner had I done so, did a certain redheaded duo appear to block my entrance.

"Move, Weasleys," I demanded. It was true I was no longer angry with George, but it was also true I shouldn't have been getting so close to them…or to anyone else who wasn't related to someone and/or destined to become a Death Eater. But especially not those two. I wasn't sure why, there was just something about them. But rather than tell them that, it was much easier to pretend I was still mad. "I have nothing more to say to either of you."

"Now, don't you reckon you're just…over-reacting…just a bit?" George seemed to be far more careful with his words after the last ones he tripped over got us into this situation.

"Especially since I didn't do anything wrong," added Fred with a charming smile.

"Absolutely not," I told them both with a stone-cold expression. "Now move or I'll hex you both into next week."

And though reluctant, the twins stepped aside with a look of defeat, and I strode past them and over to my usual spot at the Slytherin table. And already seated and eating, were the same blokes I'd been sitting with…plus a rather pug-faced girl with short, jet black hair, one arm through Draco's.

"Draco, it's been a while," I greeted, taking my seat across from him, the girl, and Adrian, and beside Finn and Viktor. Grigor had also joined our side of the table recently, sitting beside Adrian. "Who's your bird?"

Draco's expression turned sour for a split second, before clearly putting back on the forced smile. "She's not my bird," he said it rather exasperatedly, as though it were the hundredth time…and maybe it was. He unlatched his arm from the girl's and explained. "This is Pansy Parkinson — my date to the Yule Ball, and nothing more." The last part was directed toward Pansy.

But all she did was smile. "Oh, Drakey, you under-estimate our love," she cooed, and I thanked Merlin I hadn't eaten anything yet, because it surely would've come back after hearing that.

"Well at least you've got a date," I groaned. Adrian seemed to perk up a bit at this, even Draco's expression practically spelling out his regret of asking Pansy when he could've asked me. "Without a dance partner to open the ball, it looks as though this Champion's faking an illness come time."

"Demetria, if you truly need a date so desperately, I'm sure Pansy would understand," assured Draco, his eyes wide in urgency.

"No, Pansy would most certainly not understand!" she argued, shoving her arm back through Draco's.

"You know, Demetria," Adrian began already flashing a small, winning smile. "I haven't asked anyone yet, and I'm rather light on my feet…"

"Adrian, would you really go to the ball with me?" There was actually excitement laced within my tone. Although thanks to Grigor, the 'finding a date' situation was technically still not over. But it's much less stressful when the date is not for yourself.

"Oi! That's my line," Adrian's face was serious, but he was teasing and I couldn't help but smile. "Demetria, would you be my date to the Yule Ball?"

"Of course, Adrian, you're a life-saver!" I told him, completely relieved. Although…there was actually still one problem…related to the ball, at least: I needed a —

"My pleasure," he said, genuinely grinning from ear to ear. "So what color dress do you plan on wearing?"

— dress.

"Er, I'll have to get back to you on that. Right now, I've got to —" But as I racked my brain for an excuse to leave, I remembered I did have one…which after grabbing Finn's wrist to check his watch, I realized I was late for. Sure enough, looking over at the staff table, Dumbledore was no where to be found. "— Shite." was all I said, and under my breath, before shooting up from the bench quickly leaving the Great Hall. I was supposed to meet Dumbledore in his office at eight o'clock to discuss the incident from the previous day. I just hoped 8:30 worked just as well for him.

I located the Headmaster's Tower with relative ease, having remembered it's location from Fred and George's tour. However, upon reaching the location where the large, stone gargoyle should have been, I found the gargoyle already gone, the spiral staircase revealed. Dumbledore must have left it open for me, because the twins had told me a password was required in order for the gargoyle to move. Nonetheless, I climbed up the steps until I came to the Headmaster's actual office. This was one location not included on the Weasleys' tour.

It was a large, circular room with many windows and many portraits, probably of previous headmasters and headmistresses. A portrait of Albus Dumbledore himself hung above and behind his desk. The room also held home to a number of spindly tables upon which were set delicate looking silver instruments that whirred and emitted small puffs of smoke. There was also what appeared to be an incredible collection of books, and even a rather large and brilliantly red phoenix which Dumbledore was tending to. But just as I was about to walk deeper into his office, a voice stopped me from doing so…and it wasn't Dumbledore's.

"I am sorry, Dumbledore," came my own headmaster, Karkaroff now in view as he strode over to Dumbledore. "but I have told you this before — I know nothing of which you speak."

"I am well aware of what you've told me, Karkaroff," The choice of words themselves sounded frustrated, but Dumbledore did not. His tone was that of quite the opposite actually. "I suppose I'm just finding it hard to believe that in all four years Miss Harris has been enrolled as your student, this has never come to your attention."

I didn't realize my nearly drowning was such a turn of events around here.

"Perhaps this is because an incident such as this has never occured during those four years," replied Karkaroff sharply. And though I couldn't make out their expressions from the distance (and also because I was keeping out of sight), I imagined Dumbledore had shot him a rather unapproving one because Karkaroff quickly apologized. "Apologies, Albus… I simply — Nothing has ever lead me to even consider this, you understand. Even now, this can be no proof. And you have wished to bring Harris in to see if she knows this? My dear friend, perhaps you are doing the looking too closely."

Considering they never even mentioned whatever it was they were discussing, I almost thought they knew I was listening. And despite my best efforts to attempt and decode their conversation as silence lingered in the air, I remained unsuccessful. And that was when Dumbledore spoke again.

"Perhaps…you are right, Karkaroff."

No, he's not! The voice in my head practically screamed. This requires further discussion!

But even if Dumbledore hadn't agreed, the conversation would have ended right there regardless. Because, as though he'd heard my thoughts, Karkaroff turned to find me standing at the top of the staircase. "Demetria," he said. And if he was at all surprised, he hid it well. "how long have you been standing there?"

"I just arrived," I lied with ease, pretending to move a foot from the last step. "Sorry I'm late, Professor Dumbledore."

Both headmasters made their way toward me, though only Dumbledore offered a small smile. "Quite all right, Miss Harris," he assured. "I only wished to check on your condition. How are you feeling?"

Oh, brilliant. Now I wasn't even going to get to speak with Dumbledore about whatever he just spoke to Karkaroff about! Maybe if I'd actually arrived on time… "Good as new." That wasn't a lie though.

"Pleased to hear it," said Dumbledore genuinely, a twinkle in his blue eyes behind those half-moon spectacles. "We are counting on you to open the Yule Ball very soon, after all."

"In a matter of days, in fact," Karkaroff suddenly grew rather anxious. "Demetria, you are prepared, are you not?"

"Yeah, 'course, sir," And he visibly relaxed upon hearing so. When the silence returned, I decided to make my departure. "Well if I'm not needed, I s'pose I'd best be going."

"Yes, of course," said Dumbledore. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon, Miss Harris."

I merely smiled in reply and turned to make my way down the stairs. And I supposed it was time my list of priorities needed a bit of re-arranging considering Karkaroff was right — the ball was only a few days away. So where in the bloody hell was I supposed to get a dress?! And then it hit me — I did have one hope.

Rather than run about the castle like a hippogriff without a head, I decided to wait until lunch time to locate my one chance at a dress. So when the bell sounded throughout Hogwarts and across its grounds, the blokes and I marched across the snow and into the Great Hall, and I broke off from the herd to do so. Making a bee-line for the Gryffindor table, my eyes immediately began scanning for flaming red hair. And then I found it — her — Ginny.

"Hi, Ginny," I greeted brightly. I know, I know, I cut her brothers off and not her. But I needed Ginny, and she was easily the best — and sort of the only — female friend I had.

She was seated around a group of her friends who all appeared rather taken aback. But Ginny responded casually, mirroring my grin. "Hey, Demetria, what brings you to this side of the hall?"

"The Yule Ball actually," I told her, Ginny's expression falling.

"I'm not sure I can help you there, then. I can't go unless someone older asks me and no one's done so."

"Ace!" I exclaimed, and her disappointment shifted to confusion. "No, I mean — Would you like to go with a mate of mine?"

"Are you serious?!" she fervently asked me. All I had to do was nod. "Yeah, that would be great!" The girls seated around Ginny all whispered to one another, the envy evident in their faces.

"So you'll need a dress, right?" I pressed.

"Oh, right." And once again, Ginny appeared crestfallen. At first, I was unsure as to why, but I seemed to recall Draco mentioning something about the Weasleys and their financial issues.

"Well I need one too, and I'm rubbish at dress shopping because — Well, I've just never had to. So d'you want to go together?" But just as Ginny opened her mouth, probably to tell me she couldn't afford a new dress, my own words stopped her's. "I'm buying you a dress, Ginny Weasley, and don't even try telling me not to."

For a moment, she looked as though she might. But only a moment more, and Ginny's face was glowing again as she got up from her spot on the bench. "Well then we'd better get going."

"Don't you have classes?" I asked with a knowing grin. Not that I truly cared.

"Professor Binns won't even know I'm gone," she replied slyly, and we made our way out of the Great Hall. "C'mon, I know a secret passage to Hogsmeade." As did I, once again thanks to her twin brothers.

We spent the walk up to the third floor talking about Grigor, who was now Ginny's date to the Yule Ball. Or well, I talked and she asked about him. And once we came to the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor, Ginny gave the password — "Dissendium." — and the hump on the witch opened to reveal a short slide. Ginny signaled for me to go first, and when I did, I found myself in an underground tunnel with only one direction to take. Ginny joined me in said tunnel shortly and we began walking.

"Just how long will this take, exactly?" I asked curiously.

"I believe it's about an hour on foot," she replied.

"Then I guess it's a good thing we left early."

"Well that, and you shouldn't pass up an oppertunity to miss History of Magic," she said and we laughed.

"I s'pose it must be a requirement to be painfully boring in order to be a History of Magic teacher then, because the one back at Durmstrang certainly is," I shared.

"D'you have the same classes as us over there?" inquired Ginny.

"I should think so," I said. "Although…I reckon Hogwarts doesn't offer Dark Arts?"

"You mean Defense Against the Dark Arts?" she asked innocently. "Yeah, we've got that! The position's cursed though — we haven't been able to keep a professor for it. Mad-Eye Moody's teaching it this year, but I'm sure he won't last."

"Yeah? We don't have Defense Against…" I tried explaining again. "The class is just Dark Arts."

"Oh…" She seemed unsure of what to say next for a moment. "So d'you learn to…use Dark magic?"

"Merlin, no!" I assured, and it seemed to ease her. "In fact, I'm sure it's rather similar to your class. They just teach us about the magic itself, not the defence part. But, well…I s'pose the defence is sort of implied."

"That makes sense," she reasoned contentedly. "Is that your best class?"

"Well, I mean, I'm sort of one of the top students at my school…" I admitted rather modestly. "But if I had to choose my best class…it would probably be Potions. I was actually moved to the fifth year Potions class."

"Wow, you really are good," Ginny seemed genuinely impressed. "You may have to lend me a hand with some of my Potions homework sometime."

"You're, what, a third year?" I assumed and Ginny's nod confirmed it. "That won't be a problem. Feel free to ask anytime," And she mirrored the grin I offered her. "Is Defense your best class?"

"Yep," she said, popping the 'P' at the end. "But I feel like all witches and wizards are supposed to be good at it, y'know? Like it doesn't really require any skill. Potions, Transfiguration — not everyone's good at things like that."

"Maybe they are, but that doesn't make it any less skillfull," I convinced. "That's what Aurors are best at, isn't it? D'you reckon any witch or wizard could be an Auror?"

"I s'pose you're right about that," she said, another grateful smile coming through. "Y'know, Demetria, you really ought to just transfer to Hogwarts."

I had been so afraid someone would suggest that. "I really don't think my grandad'd approve," I tried to explain. "We're all each other has left and — Well, he really just wants me to follow in his footsteps. That's why I'm going to Durmstrang in the first place."

"Oh, I see," said Ginny. "So where did your parents go?"

The very same place I honestly wished I could have gone. "Here — Hogwarts."

"Then maybe you could try reasoning with your grandad," she suggested. "Tell him you want to go where your parents went. I know it's probably not my place to say this but…well, I think you should be able to go where you want. Your grandad'll still love you no matter what."

He'll still love me if I turn out to be a Gryffindor refusing to become a Death Eater, befriend the so-called "enemies", and go on to become a professional Quidditch player?

If all that were true, I just couldn't imagine my own grandfather loving me anymore.

:.:.:

It took us, as it turned out, exactly an hour to reach the cellar of Honeydukes and casually slip out and into the streets of Hogsmeade. Although it felt much shorter of a time thanks to Ginny's commendable ability to keep a conversation flowing. And as it turned out, we had quite a lot in common. Aside, of course, from the fact that she was rather excited about the dress shopping, among other differences. But this difference was one I was thankful for, considering I would've had little next to no idea what I was doing had I been there alone. And by 'there', I meant Gladrags Wizardwear — a shop I'd passed many times, but never actually been inside. When Ginny and I walked in, it was nearly deserted.

"I know everything looks an ickle bit flashy or quirky, but trust me, that's not all there is," she assured me, and I followed her toward the back of the store which had been devoted solely to dresses. She immediately was magnetized to a rack of many different colored fabrics and began looking through. "D'you have any idea what you're looking for?"

"Karkaroff said something red," I told her. My eye then caught sight of a rack seemingly dedicated to dresses with an incredibly distasteful amount of sequins. "And nothing too…blinding."

Ginny looked over and followed my gaze to the rack, chuckling. "Karkaroff said that?"

"No, that one was from me." I wondered how disgusted my face must have looked for Ginny to continue laughing at it. But all I could think was, what have I gotten myself into?

:.:.:

"I love it!" I gushed at my reflection in the mirror of a dressing room. I'd been trapped in it for practically the entire time. "This is the one! Let's get it!"

But Ginny stood, unconvinced and smirking, in the door frame. "You do realize you've said that about every dress you've tried on?"

"I have not!" I insisted, placing both my hands over my chest to feign shock. "And I mean it — I really do love this one!"

"No, you don't," she saw right through me. "You just want to get out of here."

"Well can you blame me?" I dropped the act and really looked at myself in the mirror. It felt like the millionth red dress I'd tried on and it felt like they were all the same. If it were up to me, I would've walked out with the first one I tried on. But Ginny insisted none of them were "the one". "How did you find yours so fast?"

"Woman's intuition," she shrugged and walked off. "Try on the next one and I'll see if I can find any other red ones!"

I shut the door and slipped out of the dress I had on. Reluctantly, I reached for the next, shimmied into it, and then just…stopped, and stared at my reflection. I think I knew what Ginny meant now. There was just something about this dress — the line of sequins diagonal across the bust, the way it hugged my waist, the way it opened in the back with the two straps, the single beaded strap in front…

"Demetria, what's wrong?" asked Ginny from the other side of the dressing room door, worriedly. I suppose she was expecting my usual complaint or fake praise, because she opened the door, probably expecting me to have dropped dead. But her expression shifted to that of admiration upon seeing me. "See! Now that one's a keeper!" But once again, she took my silence as a bad sign. "Well, you hate it but at least you're honest this time."

But just as she was about to walk off again, I stopped her. "This is the one," I said softly.

At first, Ginny looked as though she didn't know whether to believe me or not. "D'you mean that?"

I gave my first genuine smile — and answer — since I started trying on dresses. And that seemed a good enough answer for Ginny who beamed back. I reached up to take the hair tie from my head, the high ponytail I'd been sporting all day falling away. I hadn't magically straightened my hair that day, so my natural curls fell just past where the dress began.

"You should curl your hair like that for the ball," Ginny fervently suggested.

"I didn't curl it," I told her.

She sighed longingly. "You're so lucky your hair's naturally like that. All I've got is this," And she held up a lock of her pin straight, red mane. "I didn't know you straightened your hair, Dem. Quit trying to be something you're not." She was only joking, because she smiled and playfully swatted my arm, but there was so much more truth to that than she knew.

:.:.:

Durmstrang students' nationalities consisted of Norwegian, Ukrainian, Russian, and Bulgarian. Even the very few stragglers, such as Finn and myself, possessed one — if not more — of said nationalities. Now, my point was that in each of those countries, the twenty-fourth of December was the big celebration day rather than the twenty-fifth. Granted, it was a bit strange the first time after spending countless Christmas Days with Grandad and Tinker. But I adapted quickly, and celebrated Christmas Eve with my Durmstrang brothers and all of their traditions. So it was no different when this December twenty-fourth came. Instead of spending it eating with everyone else in the Great Hall, Karkaroff spoke with Dumbledore and I spoke with Dobby about decorating and using the kitchens for our own traditional twelve-course meal that night. Naturally, both Headmaster and house-elf agreed to it. After all, we were only a small group so we didn't get in the way of the elves' cooking, and it was certainly better than having it on the ship.

"Miss Demetria," Dobby approached me after the twelve courses and as we were all just about to leave. "in case Dobby does not see Miss Demetria tomorrow, can Dobby give Miss Demetria her present now?"

I smiled down at the elf and his big, green eyes and told him, "Dobby, you're free now. You can call me Demetria."

"Dobby is sorry," he said innocently.

Kneeling down to be at his level, I couldn't help but release a giggle at him. "And yes, you can."

That put a huge smile on his face as he revealed a small package from behind his back and handed it to me. Upon unwrapping it, Dobby excitedly watching, I found a pair of thick, crew socks. And a mismatched pair, at that. One sock was bright red with a pattern of broomsticks; the other sock was green with a pattern of Golden Snitches.

"Dobby has made them himself, Demetria!" he told me gleefully. "He has bought the wool out of his wages, Demetria!"

"Aw, Dobby, I love them!" I happily told him. And honestly, I did. They were much more exciting than the pair I always borrowed from Viktor to use as slippers. "Thank you." And I placed a kiss upon the top of his head, his eyes practically leaking with happiness, before I got up to leave with the others.

The Great Hall was empty as we passed it, making our way on to the snowy grounds and on board the ship. Karkaroff retired to his cabin while the gents and I descended below deck and began the gift-giving portion of the evening. Viktor and I sat on his bottom bunk with Grigor and Finn on Grigor's own bottom bunk across from our's. We'd tossed the corresponding packages to one another, and began unwrapping.

From Viktor, a record of a Muggle band I was fond of called The Beatles; from Grigor, a box of my favorite candies; from Finn, a Tutshill Tornados scarf.

The thank-yous and hugs went around the group, everyone seeming really pleased with one another's gifts. But just as the excitement began to die down, all light sources nearly blown out, the hatch opened and Fred Weasley dropped down.

"Evening, gents," he said casually before spotting me. "Demetria, a word?" And with that, he'd climbed right back up above deck and though I would've much rather been cuddling up in my bunk, I followed suit.

"What is it, Fr — ?"

"Demetria, why're you doing this to us?" Fred's words cut into my own. "Especially George?"

"I'm not especially doing anything to anyone," I told him.

"That may be, but he's taking it much harder than I am," he explained gravely. "And you're clearly having no problem talking to me now."

"You're right, I'm not, and that's the problem."

He didn't understand, his expression showed that. But I didn't expect him to understand. I didn't even want him to. "Dem, what're you on about?"

"I just — I really can't explain it," I said it so finitely that I just hoped the conversation could end there. But, of course, that wasn't the case.

"Well try," he insisted, all joking and lightness vanished from his eyes. "Because I'm not about to let the closest person to me in the world mope around on Christmas like a lost puppy."

I'd never seen him so serious, and it sort of scared me. I had to tell him something. "My granddad doesn't want me socializing with blood traitors." That wasn't my real reason, but it was true.

For a moment, Fred only stared at me. And all I could do was stare back. Maybe it would've actually sounded better if I told him the truth. Because with the truth, he'd know I was trying to protect the both of them. But I was beyond relieved when the words out of Fred's mouth were not mean in the slightest. "Why d'you let him tell you how to live your life?"

But I wasn't about to have this conversation. "Goodnight, Fred." I turned to walk away, and his voice came again.

"You need to stop running away from this," he told me seriously. "You can't even talk about it. Look, I dunno what the situation is — maybe he's got something to hold over you," Well yeah, my dead parents' approval. "But I do know you, and I know you're strong enough to break away from whatever hold he's got on you. Demetria, I'm not telling you to do this for me, or for George… I'm telling you to do this for yourself," And then, as if he hadn't just given me the speech of a lifetime, Fred casually slung both legs over the railing and winked…but with a genuine smile, and not his usual crooked, mischievous one. "Goodnight, Princess."

Perhaps the worst part was that he was completely right. And you know things are bad when Fred Weasley becomes the voice of reason…