Firebird's Son: Book I of the Firebird Trilogy Chapter 27: Durmstrang, a harry potter fanfic

A/N: Chap 26 review responses are in my forums. A warning for those who hate the quidditch-intensive chapters-this is a quidditch-intensive chapter.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Durmstrang

It was obvious within the first ten minutes of their first practice that Angelina Johnson was going to be running the show. Cedric made a few opening remarks, flashed his smile and cheered the team on, and then Angelina started discussing their training plans. Moreover, she and the rest of the team seemed perfectly okay with it, so Harry did not mention anything about it either.

In the meantime, Cedric acted as the team's spokesman, and in this role, the man positively sparkled. He seemed to know exactly what to say to the reporters no matter how difficult or inane the questions were. And the reporters—especially the witches—just ate it up with abandon.

Fortunately for the team, Cedric actually was a very good Keeper—not as good as Wood, but better than any other Keeper at the school since Harry's former Quidditch captain graduated to go and marry the woman who had successfully poached him in his fifth year.

The first game was going to be at Hogwarts against a very powerful Durmstrang team. According to the papers, Durmstrang was the clear favourite because the team's Seeker was already playing on a professional team and was being touted as the next messiah of Quidditch. However, Durmstrang did not allow non-students and alumni past its wards, ever. The first game would be in little over a month, after which they would play every two weeks or so through mid-February. The top four teams would then play in an elimination round to decide the two teams for the championship of the International Junior Quidditch League.

Angelina, as the team's unofficial captain, quickly recognized that they could not afford to learn on the job, so to speak, and so scheduled almost daily scrimmages against the reservists. The practices were long and gruelling, but also incredibly productive, since it gave Angelina and Katie and chance to form a good working relationship with Stephanie Barlow. Harry, too, had to adjust to Alicia Spinnet's replacement since Angelina made it clear she expected him to be more than just a Seeker. Rather, he was going to act as their defence and unofficial "fourth" Chaser, a tactic employed to great effect by the Irish National team at the last professional championship game.

When he was not practising Quidditch, Harry struggled to keep up with quite possibly his most difficult year of study so far. By early October, he realized that things were going to be different from his first year as a "Free Student" as the fourth years and above were called.

The main differences, of course, were Potions and Muggle Studies. In Third year, the students took Pre-Potions, a class which taught proper handling of magical substances and the underlying theory of potions. It was a difficult class that required loads of rote memorization. Actual Potions was ten times worse since it was so easy to have disastrous accidents. Within the first week, Harry understood why Potions was not taught to the "controlled" First and Second Year students. Additionally, he came to understand why Snape wanted him paired with Longbottom.

Though Neville was his friend, the boy was a disaster with a cauldron. In their first two classes, he had destroyed two by accident despite Harry doing everything he could to prevent it. Neville himself was as upset about it as Snape was, cursing himself and hitting his own head as if he were a bad crup.

"I just don't understand it!" Neville finally said. "I did fine in Pre-Potions!"

"I honestly think it's your magic, Neville," Harry finally said. "When you handle the ingredients, you're bleeding magic through your fingers."

Neville slumped. "So what can I do?"

"We'll talk to Professor Snape and see if he has any suggestions."

This, of course, was easier said than done, since Snape tended to order everyone out with a snarl when classes were done. Harry, feeling brave and remembering that, despite his angry appearance, Snape still helped him over the summer, lingered in the class despite the order. Neville waited at the door, looking worried.

"I said get out," Snape said.

"Professor, I had a question," Harry braved. "I think the reason Neville is doing so badly is because he's bleeding his magic through his fingers into the ingredients."

Snape sneered, but instead of dismissing the claim, he said, "Longbottom, get in here and show me your wand."

Glancing at Harry for support, the other Gryffindor did as instructed and removed his wand. "Perform a lighting charm," Snape ordered.

Neville incanted, "Lumos!" and a faint light appeared.

Harry, though, was staring not at the light, but at the welling of magic in Neville's hand, while only a small sliver went into the wand. "The wand's a horrible match," he said. "It's causing Neville's magic to…back up, I guess, in his hand."

Snape shook his head. "That's the only reason why his magic would bleed through his fingers. Longbottom, you cannot continue potions until you have a better matched wand. Write to Dame Augusta and ask to be fitted to an appropriate wand. After that, you may continue your lessons. If you do not, then you will be summarily dropped from the class with a Troll and will not be permitted to take your OWL, which, if I may remind you, is required to continue upper division classes."

Neville's eyes had widened to saucer-size with that and he turned to run out of the classroom to immediately write to his Gran.

"Five points to Gryffindor for identifying the problem, and likely saving all our lives from the walking disaster the boy represented," Snape said to Harry. "Now get out."

"Professor…"

"For Merlin's sake, what is it, boy?"

"Why did you and my mother not stay together?"

If Harry had punched Snape in the stomach, caught his hair on fire and then kicked his balls, he could not have looked more surprised and horrified as he did with that question. "Lupin," he finally snarled.

"No, sir. I mean, not entirely. It was Sirius Black who first told me. I've heard so many bad things about her, I just… I'm just trying to understand."

"That is a subject I do not wish to discuss with you, or any other," Snape said coldly. "Please leave now."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, sighing bitterly.

~~Firebird~~

As bad as Potions was, Muggle Studies was a nightmare. If not for the Ordering Potion Harry and the rest took their very first year, Harry doubted he would have been able keep up as the class began what would have been a two-year process in Muggle Schools: their General Certification of Secondary Education.

Between practices, scrimmages and classes, Harry barely had time to breathe, much less do anything on his own. He noticed that Ron, Neville and Seamus were just as bogged down in classes, but he had Quidditch on top of that. He rarely looked for Luna any more on the map—not because of Dumbledore's warning, but just because by the time he made it back to his bed he was too tired to stay awake.

And so, working and studying, it should not have been a surprise that the first Saturday in November came faster than any of them were prepared for.

~~Firebird~~

The fourteen players of the Durmstrang squad arrived Saturday morning on board a bizarre ship that looked like a mixture of a classic British cutter and a child's toy. It popped up out of the Dark Lake without a drop of water on its deck, and at the helm stood the headmaster of Durmstrang himself, Igor Karkaroff.

The students of Hogwarts were on hand to greet their visitors, as were several reporters from both England and the magical state of Bulgaria. It was considered bad luck for the visiting team to see their opponents before the game, so Harry and his teammates were in their school robes and spread through the student body with their year and housemates.

The Durmstrang players looked to be all upper-division, Sixth and Seven years at minimum. Even more unusual was the fact that all the players were boys. Though Harry didn't follow professional Quidditch with the passion Ron and Seamus did, he knew from them that there was not a single all-male team in the professional circuit, while there were several all-female teams.

They were uniformly broad-shouldered, though their heights did vary. Interestingly, the shortest player was also the most famous. Harry recognized Viktor Krum's face from their training Omniocular sessions. He was also of lighter build than the other players, which was normal for Seekers. Even so, he looked strong and walked with a confident swagger.

He was also bonded from what Harry could see of his magic—twice over.

The Hogwarts students applauded the guests while Dumbledore and Karkaroff greeted each other with nods and warm words that were not reflected in their forced smiles. These men had no love for each other. Of that much, Harry was sure.

The visitors went straight to the pitch to begin their warm-ups and acclimate to the new playing area. Harry was watching them walk away when Angelina snuck up beside him. "What do you think?"

"I think they're going to be like Slytherin our very first game," Harry said.

Angelina nodded. "Yeah, me too. Come on, let's get the team together and get ready."

~~Firebird~~

Harry wasn't sure how they did it, but by the time the Hogwarts Dragons got to the pitch, the stands had been expanded into a solid stadium of seats surrounding the pitch, seating easily five thousand or more.

More impressive was the fact that almost every seat was filled. Wizarding photography was banned because of the effect flashes could have on players, but Harry could see an entire box of reporters with Omnioculars pointed at them, many on tripods to keep them steady. Cedric greeted each player in the changing room, saying a few encouraging words and smiling. With Harry, he put his hand on the younger boy's shoulder and said, "Remember, as good as Krum is, he's no better than you are. Just do your best and I know you'll make us proud."

A moment later, Cedric had moved on to the Slytherin beaters. The cynical part of Harry's mind—the part that knew intrinsically that life was unfair and that he had a future mapped out ahead of him that he did not particularly want—knew that Cedric was just saying the words. And yet, the part of him that was a lonely fourteen year old boy was made warm and happy by the encouragement.

Moreover, as he watched Cedric make the rounds, he saw others sit a little straighter as well. Gregoria Goyle actually blushed a little, though it was hard to see behind her whiskers. It dawned on Harry then that, even if Angelina was the unofficial captain of the team, Cedric really was a leader of sorts. He didn't call the plays, but somehow he made everyone smile and feel more confident.

That confidence lasted all the way through the first five minutes of the game, up until Krum body-checked Harry and sent him flying off his broom. Nor was it accidental contact—he saw Krum's dark eyes set over a long, hawk-like nose boring into him before the Durmstrang player checked him with his shoulder and sent him clean off his broom.

Harry fought for air as he fell, but he knew from their long training sessions that ICW-regulation Quidditch did not allow outside interference. If he fell and broke anything, he was out of the game. If he died—well, that was definitely it for the season.

He silently summoned his broom, seeing the magical tether just like his first year. He'd not had to do it, nor had the mindfulness to try, since then. But desperation fuelled his magic and his reflexes.

The broom soared into his hand with a painful slap against his gloves. He spun his legs over and pulled up just a foot from the grass of the pitch. He still struggled to breathe and saw a strange halo on the edge of his sight, much like after he had a vision, but he was still up.

"All right there, Harry?" Angelina said as she flew up behind him.

"Got my eggs scrambled a bit," Harry admitted. "That wasn't accidental, was it?"

"Not in the least," Angelina said. "We're getting a penalty shot. Hang back by Cedric to catch your breath."

Indeed, as she spoke the other Chasers were gathering before the Durmstrang Keeper for their penalty shot. Krum flew in a circle high above the Durmstrang goals like a vulture. Cedric looked concerned when Harry arrived. "Okay there?"

"Yeah, I'll live." Indeed, the pressure in his chest was easing a little, replaced instead by a deep, painful throb. Still, he could breathe better.

"That was some pretty impressive broom work, there," Cedric said. "How did you summon it to you from half-way across the pitch?"

Harry shrugged. "I can see the tether. You know that first time when you say 'Up!'? It comes because it forms a magical tether. I just pulled on it and hoped."

"Thank Merlin you did," Cedric said with a pale grin. "Magic knows I wouldn't want to play Seeker against that madman." So much for encouragement.

Hogwarts made its shot and normal play resumed. Twice more Krum dove as if to check Harry, forcing the smaller Seeker to give way before his superior mass and muscle, and each time it opened a hole in the Gryffindor defence that allowed a Durmstrang score. Even as he gave way, Harry knew exactly what the other Seeker was doing, but knowing what was happening didn't let him change it. As much as he hated to admit it, Krum was simply a better Seeker.

Harry did his best to try and disrupt the Durmstrang Chasers, and to a certain extent he was successful, but unfortunately Krum was just as, if not more so, successful in disrupting Angelina's Chasers.

The one bright spot of the game, though, were the two Slytherin beaters. After Harry was checked, the two felt entitled to take the shackles off and went full-tilt at the Durmstrang players, knocking out a Chaser and one of the opposing beaters with vicious blows that not even the Weasleys could have, or even would have, pulled off.

It just wasn't enough, though. Angelina and her Chasers kept the score within twenty points for nearly four hours of play until Harry spotted the Snitch. He dove for it, moulding himself to his broom and taking his normal angle of approach.

Viktor Krum also saw the Snitch, but did not attack at Harry's angle. Instead, with shrewd, beady eyes the opposing Seeker positioned himself a few yards beyond the Snitch's position. As it always did, the Snitch sensed Harry's approach and darted away—right into Krum's waiting hand.

Harry pulled up, stunned speechless, while Krum smirked. "Zank you, little one," he said in thickly accented English. "Perhaps eef you beg, I vill autograph your broom." He laughed as he flew down to join his wildly celebrating team.

"Well, that bloody well sucked," Stephanie Harlow said as the team assembled on the pitch floor.

"Not Harry's fault," Cedric said as he joined them. "Krum pulled that trick against the Italian scrimmage team over the summer too. It's a big risk—if the Snitch goes to him, he comes out smelling like a god. If it twitches any other direction, he depends on his broom skills."

Harry just shook his head. "How could he know to be right there?"

"Because Durmstrang farms its players out to the Bulgarian national team for training, and he's been playing since he was old enough to sit on a broom,"

"And he's better than you," Gregoria said pointedly.

"Greg…" Cedric began.

"No, she's right," Harry admitted angrily. "He was better than me. He was bigger, stronger, more experienced than I was, and he just played better. I'm going to have to get better too, or we're doomed."

"You are the youngest Seeker of any of the schools we're playing," Angelina said, having already researched their opponents. "But don't worry, just man up and get ready for the next game. Durmstrang was projected to beat us by a hundred and fifty points—they only won by sixty. Now, come on, let's go shower and get ready for the press conference."

That was another difference between being a "free" student, and a lower year. Harry no longer had to walk back to the castle to change. However, it was as strange showering with Cedric, knowing his tastes, as it would have been showering with the girls. Nor was a lot of effort put into separating the two locker rooms. Students were expected to shower and then change in the anteroom of the showers, while they shared a common locker room itself.

The end result, though, was a lot of exposed flesh. Harry fought not to stare at the girls as they walked out of the showers clad only in their knickers and bras, with their hair wrapped up in their towel. Evidently hair-drying charms when applied right after the shower made their hair too fuzzy. Harry was fully dressed in his trousers and shirt before he left the showers—he only put on his socks, shoes and robe in the locker room proper.

It was difficult not looking at the girls as they casually bent over to pull on their skirts, especially when he saw, just for the moment his eyes strayed, that Stephanie's knickers were nearly transparent. The only thing that saved him was Gregoria walking out in the same state of dress. That was enough to kill any lascivious thoughts in his head.

The post-game conference was actually held in the Great Hall, with two tables for each team. Krum sat on the inside end of their table, next to a smirking Headmaster Karkaroff. Dumbledore took the seat opposite next to Cedric.

Although Durmstrang won the game, the reporters, even those from other countries, seemed instead to concentrate on how the team won, rather than the fact of their win. "So, Professor Karkaroff, do you normally encourage your players to body-check fourteen-year-old opponents as if it were a professional game?" a reporter from the Francois Magique asked in accented but passable English.

"I encourage my players to win," Karkaroff said brusquely. "The Durmstrang Institute gives the finest education money can buy. Witches and wizards come from all over Europe to attend. They come because we teach our students to be successful."

"And what of accusations that Durmstrang openly teaches the Dark Arks, and requires all students to learn the Unforgivable Curses to pass."

Karkaroff sneered. "Bulgaria has yet to ratify that ICW resolution," he said. "Therefore such curses are not considered Unforgivable."

"I'm sure you have extensive experience of such spells, given your allegiance to Voldemort during the last British touch-up," the French reporter continued.

Karkaroff stood, incensed, but it was Dumbledore spoke. "Monsieur Delacour, I am absolutely certain you know of Headmaster Karkaroff's pardon, seeing as you were there thirteen years ago when it occurred. For you to bring it up in this fashion is unbecoming."

The report smiled wryly. "A subject, of course, which I'm sure you know a great deal about, Monsieur Dumbledore. I ask this, then. The Hogwarts team was not expected to do well in this game, and in fact many odds-makers consider the Hogwarts Dragons, which is a relatively young team comprised of four sixth years and three fourth years as their starters, a bit of a long shot. And yet Durmstrang was only one goal ahead when Mr Krum caught the snitch. Tell me, did you find Hogwarts more of a challenge than you thought?"

Karkaroff, momentarily mollified, sank back to his seat. Krum, as captain, stroked his chin. "Zey played vell. Zee Chasers vere better zan we thought and zeir beaters were some of zee best I have seen. I zink zey will do better than you haf given zem credit for."

"And what of your counterpart in Mr Potter?"

Krum smirked. "He is learning."

Delacour sat, but unfortunately Rita Skeeter stood. "So tell us, Cedric, how it feels to suffer through such a devastating defeat!"

Cedric flashed his sparkly smile and said, "Ms Skeeter, I'm not sure what game you were watching, but the game we played was not a devastating defeat. We lost, yes, and that is frustrating, but certainly not devastating. Durmstrang fielded a strong team, and we played right along with them the entire game. That's not devastating to me, it's a sign that we still have room to improve, but it's also a wake-up call to the other teams not to dismiss us, either."

Rita waved her hand, as if his answer was irrelevant. "And Mr Potter? Poor Harry, how hard was it to be crushed in such an underhanded and vile fashion?"

Harry looked down his table to see Viktor smirking back. "Er, well, I'm not sure I'd call it underhanded or vile. He didn't hit me from the back—I saw him coming and just couldn't get out of the way. Was it a low blow? Sure. Was it a foul? Absolutely. But it also established his dominance in the air. I couldn't assume my normal flying because of the risk of another body check. It was a smart, strategic foul, and the sign of a solid, experienced player. I didn't lose the Snitch out there because he was cheating. I lost because he was the better player, plain and simple."

Krum's smirk change a little bit, to a more speculative gaze. "And what are you planning on doing about it?" Rita asked.

"Why, get better, of course," Harry said with a Cedric-worthy smile. Several in the audience laughed, while Rita merely frowned and sat down.

Delacour stood again. "Monsieur Potter, while it is true that you lost the Snitch, I and many others were quite impressed by your play. However, something occurred early in the game that caught those of us in the business completely by surprise. Can you tell us how you were able to wandlessly and silently summon your broom back to your hand whilst in the midst of a two hundred foot free-fall?"

The question hung in the air like the tolling of a bell, silencing all the other whispering in the room. Even Harry's teammates looked at him, surprised at just how the question was worded, wondering if they themselves could do the same.

Harry scratched his chin, trying to remember what he told Cedric. "You know when you first take flying lessons, and you tell the broom 'Up'? Well, when you do that, the broom forms a tether to your hand, and it's that tether that pulls the broom into your hand. I just grabbed a hold of that tether and yanked on it and hoped it worked. I wasn't sure it would, to be honest, but I was pretty desperate."

Delacour stared at him, lips slightly parted as he processed the answer. "So, you somehow sensed the tethering charm of the broom, and were able to manipulate it?"

"Well, I suppose. Looks a bit like a stretch of knitted white wool."

"Monsieur Delacour," Dumbledore said, "while it is no secret, we in England have not felt a need to specifically advertise the fact that Mr Potter is an Aether, but nonetheless it is true he can see magic."

"A male Aether?" a woman said in a grating American accent. "Is such a thing even possible?"

"Oh, we have records of it happening before," Dumbledore said. "While rare, it is not unheard of. However, that is not why we're here. Do we have any more questions about this most excellent game?"

Questions continued for another ten minutes before it broke up. Afterward, as the two teams walked back to the lake where the Durmstrang ship waited, Krum singled Harry out. "Harry Potter," he said. "Do not feel bad for zis loss. You played vell. I zink if we play again, it vill be a fun game, no?"

He offered his hand, something rarely if ever done in the magical world. Startled but pleased, Harry took the hand in his. Instantly their magic clashed before melding into a neutral stasis. "It was an honour to play you," he said to the older boy. "Maybe next time I'll check you."

"Not a good idea, not enough mass yet," Krum said, laughing. "But ven you are older? Yes, maybe so. Good bye for now, Harry Potter."

With that, Krum joined the rest of his team on the magical ship, which pulled away from the make-shift pier that ran out from the shore before somehow diving into the water and disappearing entirely.

Author's Note: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.