A/N: Hello everyone! I'm back, and I promise not to let another year go by before I update! This past year has been a little crazy, but now I've finished my senior thesis and I'm heading out into the real world, where I intend to write, write, and write some more. Once the summer actually begins, I'll be following an official schedule of one update per week, although I will be alternating between stories, and sometimes I'll probably update more than once per week (if you were following me last summer, then you know that when the ideas are flowing, I can update fairly fast). So anyway, please don't lose faith in me, because there's a lot left to do!
A quick word before we start off: as you know, the next year will combine elements from Year Three and Year Five of canon, since Umbridge AND the Dementors are going to be mucking things up at Hogwarts. What you should also keep in mind is that, because Peter Pettigrew escaped a year earlier, Voldemort is also going to kickstart his plans earlier. Which means that the next part will also include some elements from Year Four in canon, some of which will be revealed or hinted at in this chapter. So basically, things are getting crazy, even if the pace of the summer seems a bit slow. Don't worry – things will heat up soon enough.
Finally, I am happy to announce the arrival of the first Naruto One-Shot showing the changes that happen in Konoha as a result of Sarutobi's "death." I've got a basic plot outlined and some ideas that are firing up my imagination, but so far all I've written is the teaser to set the stage. If you'd like to read this one-shot, then simply review with a valid PM address and I'll send it to you. If you can't/don't want to review, don't despair – you'll just have to wait until I start posting this as its own story.
Now on with the show!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Naruto
Chapter 19: Evil Stirring
Harry dreamt, and knew he was dreaming. He was sitting in an armchair in a richly furnished room, though a thick layer of dust coated the surfaces he could see. A fire burned hungrily in a stone fireplace, cutting through the chill. Harry tried to move his head to look around, but found that he couldn't. The eyes he was seeing with were not his own, nor was the body he seemed to inhabit.
There was a shuffling sound, and a form entered Harry's field of vision. It was a man he'd never seen before, who halted before the armchair and sank to his knees, bowing deeply.
"My Lord," he said reverently. "I have inspected the house and grounds – we are alone."
He raised his head, giving Harry a clear view of his face for the first time. The man was short and squat, and his eyes had a shifty, desperate tint. His fingers twitched periodically, and with his prominent buck teeth he reminded Harry of nothing so much as a rat.
"Well done, Wormtail," said a bone-chilling voice, high and shrill. It took Harry a second to realize that the voice seemed to come from his own mouth. It was a strange sensation, to be sure. But strange things happened in dreams, and Harry was curious enough to want this one to continue. This dream was oddly detailed, and he felt certain that these two men were important. From the wand in Wormtail's hand, they were definitely wizards, and their desire for secrecy set Harry's warning bells ringing.
The voice continued, and something in its tone, something dark and violent, tugged at Harry's memory. "Nagini is hunting somewhere on the grounds. When she returns, you will need to milk her again. I require another draft of the potion, for the journey here has wearied me."
"Yes, Master," Wormtail said, bowing again. "I will serve to the utmost of my ability."
"As you have," the voice agreed, sounding amused. "You showed intelligence in searching me out, even if the decision was based entirely on your own cowardice." The voice ignored Wormtail's sputtered protest. "I am also impressed by your initiative in finding the woman from the Ministry. Bertha Jorkins had information that will prove very useful. It's a pity her mind broke under the strain; we could perhaps have learned even more from her. But now, at least, it is only a matter of time before my most loyal servant is once again at my side."
"I'm loyal," Wormtail said sullenly, shifting slightly on a woven rug that was dusty and discolored with age. "I don't see why we need to wait. With the information Bertha gave us, we could set the plan in motion immediately. I could do it easily. Why wait?"
The voice grew colder, sharper. "Be careful, Wormtail. Initiative is good, but only in moderation. You have rendered me faithful service, and you shall be rewarded. But never believe that you are the only person of value to me. Everyone has his part to play, and every part has its proper time. I have waited eleven years, and I will not allow undue haste to ruin my plans now. Hogwarts has never been more vulnerable, but its protections remain strong – overcoming them will take cunning and skill the likes of which you do not possess."
If he had been in his own body, Harry would have gasped. These two were planning an attack on Hogwarts! He calmed himself with the mental exercises he'd been practicing for the past year, and focused on studying this "Wormtail" fellow as closely as possible. When he woke up from this dream, he would need to record as much information as he could so that he could report to Sarutobi and Dumbledore. Harry only wished he could get a look at the person whose eyes he was seeing through, since he was clearly the one in charge of this plan.
Wormtail bowed so low his head touched the floor. "O-of course, My Lord. It shall be as you wish."
"Quite," the voice responded drily. Then Harry felt the body he inhabited shift slightly as if shocked.
The voice spoke a different language now, one that used sibilant hissing instead of words, but Harry found that he could understand the meaning perfectly.
"What is this? A Muggle is standing outside?"
Wormtail, on the other hand, looked completely confused. "M-my Lord?"
"Ah, Wormtail, it appears we have a guest," the voice said, reverting to English and recovering its earlier composure. "According to Nagini, an old Muggle is standing outside the door, listening to every word we say. Go open the door; invite him in."
Wormtail scrambled to his feet, and left Harry's line of sight to reach the door. There was a creak, and then a gruff voice spoke out, unable to hide a quaver of fear.
"You two are trespassing on private property. L-leave before I call the police!"
"Oh, I'm afraid the Muggle police would not be of much help to you," the voice said. Then, magically, the armchair swiveled, and Harry got his first and last glimpse of the poor Muggle who had stumbled on this clandestine meeting. He had straggly white hair, a walking cane supporting an injured leg, and a rough, weather-beaten face that contorted with horror at the sight of whatever was in the chair.
The voice spoke triumphantly, the words ringing with an undercurrent of savage glee. "Avada Kedavra!"
Those words triggered a memory, and suddenly he knew where he had heard the voice before. Deep in the bowels of Hogwarts, after overcoming the obstacles set by the Professors to protect the Sorceror's Stone, when he had come face to face with Quirrell for the last time. Just so that voice had spoken, commanding Quirrell to kill him… the creature in the armchair, the creature Harry seemed to be inhabiting, was Lord Voldemort.
No sooner had Harry realized this than a jet of green light erupted, catching the unsuspecting Muggle in the chest. He crumpled to the floor, mouth still frozen in a silent scream.
Harry's scar exploded with pain, white light consuming his vision.
Many miles away, safe in his bed in the unassuming house located at Number 4, Privet Drive, Harry Potter awoke, jolting upright as his heart threatened to beat right out of his chest. He clapped a hand to his forehead, which still throbbed with a vengeance. Images flashed through his mind, images of a small, runty man, an old Muggle, and a deadly green light…
Harry shook his head, trying to bring some semblance of order to his thoughts. He'd been dreaming, but the details were eluding him, like water draining from a sieve. But there was something there, something important…
It was the memory of the voice that reminded him, the voice that seemed so utterly alien and cruel. "Avada Kedavra!" That was when Harry knew – he had dreamed about Lord Voldemort. He had watched him commit a murder, only Harry had watched it through Voldemort's eyes. Bile rose in his throat, and Harry had to draw on every bit of his willpower not to throw up.
As he had done in the dream, Harry relied on the meditation techniques he had learned from Professor Sarutobi to clear his mind. Once his heart rate was back to normal, he jumped out of bed and went to his desk. He had to inform Dumbledore about his dream – the Headmaster needed to know that Voldemort was on the move.
Harry bit back a curse. Now was the worst possible time for Voldemort to come out of hiding, since Orochimaru was still at large. He had never seen the body-stealing villain himself, but Harry knew that Orochimaru was behind Lucius Malfoy's insane attack on Hogwarts at the end of last term. It had taken all of the training Harry had received from Sarutobi, the best efforts of his friends and Hogwart's most powerful professors, and a good deal of luck, to defeat Lucius and the power he had been given by Orochimaru.
After Harry had woken up in the Hospital Wing, recovering from a stab wound in his abdomen, Sarutobi had explained about his former student, who was beginning a bid for power in the Wizarding World. From the sound of it, Orochimaru made Lucius look like a playful kitten, and Harry trembled to think what form his next attack would take.
If Voldemort was truly planning to come out of hiding, and if, as the dream suggested, he had followers ready to do his bidding, then things were about to get truly dangerous. It might even mean war.
Only a year ago, Harry would not have understood what that meant. But after killing a man to protect his fellow students, and after hearing that Hagrid and Sirius had almost died in an all-out battle in the Forbidden Forest, Harry had a taste of what war would bring to the wizarding world. More people would die, and next time his friends might be among them.
Never before had Harry truly understood the value of Sarutobi's training. He only wished that Sarutobi could clone himself a hundred times, so that every student in Hogwarts – no, every wizard in Britain – could receive the same training as himself, Ron, and Hermione.
Harry put the finishing touches on his letter to Dumbledore, filling in as many details of the dream as he could remember. He could remember Wormtail's face fairly well, and he remembered something about another person, a "loyal servant," but that was all. He prayed that it would be enough.
After fishing an owl treat out of a marked tin, Harry took his letter to Hedwig. He stroked her soft neck feathers while she gobbled the treat, and smiled at her sadly. "Good girl. Are you ready to fly? This has to get to Dumbledore, as fast as you possibly can. Make sure he gets it, all right?"
Hedwig hooted softly, standing stock still as Harry affixed the folded letter to her right leg. He opened the window and watched as his beloved familiar took off, gathering speed to disappear into the pre-dawn glow.
Since he was already up, Harry decided to go outside and wait for the sun to rise. There was no chance he could fall asleep again, not after the dream he'd just had, and he was antsy enough that he felt the need to be doing something.
Harry crept through the house, trying not to wake his relatives. Once on the lawn, he ran a few laps at a fast pace to warm up his muscles. Though early summer, the morning air was still cool, and a slight wind made it feel cooler. Harry wasn't legally allowed to practice magic because he was still underage, but he could practice the martial arts forms that had constituted a large part of Professor Sarutobi's training. It wasn't very satisfying when he compared it to the training he'd received every day at Hogwarts, but it was better than nothing.
Harry was no expert, but a year of training, sometimes practicing hours in a day, had made his body accustomed to the strange motions. His balance was good, and his body was beginning to respond with speed and skill to the commands of his mind. Harry began to move through a series of basic forms, enjoying the calming sensation of the familiar motions.
His mind wandered as his body operated on auto-pilot, and he didn't even register the slight change in temperature as the sun rose over the horizon. Harry was doing his best to be patient, but the days with the Dursleys were driving him crazy. Less than a month ago, Harry had killed the father of a fellow student, and learned that the Wizarding World faced a greater threat even than Voldemort. Now he was back at Privet Drive, slaving for his relatives and suffering through the ridiculous diet that Petunia had imposed so that Dudley could lose weight.
The lack of sweets was making Dudley and Vernon more irritable than ever, and Harry was their preferred punching bag. But after the events of the school year, Harry couldn't even muster up any hatred for them. He only felt disgust and contempt. They were little people with petty minds, but compared with Lucius Malfoy after his transformation, they were little more than annoyances, like buzzing flies or wet socks.
Harry yearned to be somewhere else, anywhere else, training with Ron and Hermione and improving his skills for the battles that lay ahead. But instead he was trapped here, magic-less, unable to do anything more than meditate and work on his form. Meanwhile Orochimaru was God knew where, regrouping for a second strike, and somewhere out there Voldemort was stirring as well. It was enough to drive Harry mad.
There was one question that consumed Harry: what was Sarutobi doing? The Professor had told Harry, Ron, and Hermione that their training would continue in the summer, but a week had already gone by with no word from him. Harry had owled his friends, and they had no explanation. Sarutobi was busy with something, and so they had no choice but to wait.
"What are you doing?" Dudley's voice shattered Harry's concentration, and he whirled around in shock. He had been so deep in thought that he hadn't heard his cousin approach across the lawn. Harry winced, picturing Professor Sarutobi's expression if he could have seen Harry surprised by someone as completely lacking in stealth as Dudley.
"I'm training," Harry said shortly, in no mood for a longer conversation. But his cousin was evidently looking for a confrontation, because he kept walking forward, malice in his piggy eyes.
"You look stupid," Dudley observed, with the air of someone making a brilliant pronouncement.
"Look who's talking," Harry shot back furiously, before he could help himself. Then he winced. As much fun as it might be to provoke Dudley, it would only make trouble in the long run. For one thing, Uncle Vernon would go berserk if Harry hurt his precious Diddums. Harry knew enough about his own limits to realize that his rudimentary martial arts knowledge wouldn't do much to stop his uncle if enraged. He was only twelve years and eleven months old, after all.
Harry could protect himself with magic, but that would draw the attention of the Ministry and create a completely new level of trouble. The smartest thing was to avoid Dudley, and ignore his attempts to start trouble.
But that was easier said than done. Dudley's mouth scrunched up in an ugly frown after Harry's insult, and he lunged forward with his fist extended in a clumsy right hook. Acting on instinct, Harry blocked with his left arm, then shifted his stance to grab hold of Dudley's wrist with his left hand and his elbow with the right.
He bent his legs and pulled forward, using his shoulder for leverage. Taken by surprise and completely off-balance, Dudley went crashing to the ground. He hit the lawn hard, the impact knocking the air out of his lungs so he couldn't cry out in pain.
Harry cocked his head to one side, allowing himself a small smile at the sight of his cousin flat on his back, gasping for breath like a landed fish. It was petty of him, he could admit that. But damn, did it feel good.
"What the devil do you think you're doing, boy?!" Uncle Vernon's voice shattered the silence of the early morning, causing Harry to hunch defensively.
Shoot.
Harry whirled to see Vernon leaning out of the kitchen window, his uncle's face a deep, angry purple. Thick veins stuck out of Vernon's beefy neck.
"I didn't do anything," Harry said, feeling oddly calm. His mind was already planning a few steps ahead – if Vernon had seen him hit Dudley, then retribution was sure to follow. As soon as Vernon came out to the lawn, Harry could dodge past him and get inside. Then he just needed to reach his wand, and hopefully threaten Vernon with magic.
But if Vernon had only seen the last few seconds, there was still a chance that Harry could talk his way out of this. "Dudley tried to hit me from behind," Harry called out, not looking away from his uncle's angry gaze. "I dodged, and he tripped. I think he got the wind knocked out of him."
Vernon snorted, disbelieving. "I think you should enroll him in boxing lessons or something," Harry said, trying to sound unconcerned. "He's fat enough that the older kids at Smeltings might try to bully him. The way he is now, he wouldn't be able to defend himself. You know how older kids hate a weakling."
It seemed Harry had pushed his luck too far. Vernon gave a great roar of outrage, and disappeared from the window. A second later the front door burst open, almost knocked off its hinges, and Harry's uncle marched onto the lawn like an angry bull. Harry sighed, preparing to dodge if Vernon tried to hit him.
When Vernon was only yards away, there came a sudden burst of smoke that obscured Harry's line of sight. When it cleared, Harry's heart leaped in his chest. It was Professor Sarutobi.
The former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor stood mere paces from Vernon, who was gaping like a fish. "It might be best if you calm down," Sarutobi said quietly. "Try to control yourself before you do something you might regret."
"I- wha- how dare you?!" Vernon sputtered. "Popping into our lawn – in broad daylight, for God's sake – what if the neighbors saw?"
"I couldn't care less about your neighbors," Sarutobi responded, taking slow, measured steps forward. His tone grew colder, dangerous. "What I care about is the well-being of my student. And I can assure you that if you ever lash out at him in anger, if you lay so much as a finger on him, I will kill you in the slowest, most painful way that I can imagine. Do you understand me?"
For a moment it felt like Sarutobi was generating some kind of force field, an almost palpable wave of malice that made it hard for Harry to breathe. He could only imagine how Vernon felt, who was the target of Sarutobi's terrifying attention. His uncle was white as a sheet, unable to utter a word. He jerked his head up and down, eyes wide and petrified.
"I have no patience for fools or abusers of children," Sarutobi stated calmly, and suddenly there was a peculiarly shaped knife in his hand. He twirled it casually, and brought it to rest delicately against Vernon's neck. Vernon tried to jerk away, but Sarutobi held him completely still with one hand on his shoulder.
"In the future, you will make sure that no one in your household lifts a hand against Harry. I will be monitoring you with my magic, at all times. If you violate this very simple instruction, there will be no second chances. I will kill you. Slowly. Now get out of my sight, and take your son with you."
Vernon's knees buckled, and when Sarutobi released him, he barely kept himself from falling down. "C-come along, Dudley," he stuttered, and father and son ran back into the house.
Harry stood there gaping, unable to believe what he had just witnessed. Sarutobi turned around, and gave an embarrassed cough. "Ah, Harry… I apologize for not coming sooner. I had… well, a bit of a situation."
"That's all right, Professor," Harry said awkwardly. "Um… you didn't have to do that. With Uncle Vernon, I mean."
For a second, Sarutobi's eyes twinkled as brightly as Dumbledore's. "I know," he said with a savage grin. "It was just funny."
Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. Sarutobi sighed, and became more serious. "That wasn't entirely about you, Harry," he said, looking very old and tired. "In my village, I was once forced to leave a child to grow up on his own. He had no one protecting him, and due to circumstances beyond his control, almost everyone in the village hated him. There was nothing I wanted more than to give him my protection and support, but to do so would only have put him in more danger. That is why seeing how your uncle treats you makes me so angry – it reminds of all the times I wanted to make someone's life better, but instead brought only suffering. If I can intimidate your relatives into treating you a bit better, then that's at least one small thing that I can do."
Harry wondered what had happened to this boy that Sarutobi was talking about. It was clear that his Professor cared for him very much.
"I don't want to waste any more time," Sarutobi said abruptly. "I am here to give you your instructions for the remainder of the summer."
"Are we going to start training again?" Harry asked eagerly.
Sarutobi nodded. "Yes. You, Ron, and Hermione will resume training immediately, although for the next few days I may be too busy to see to your instruction personally. However, I have managed to find a replacement whom I believe will be suitable."
"Who is it?"
"A dangerous criminal," Sarutobi said, winking slyly at Harry. "You know him as Sirius Black."
Harry grinned from ear to ear. Already this summer he had seen advertisements on television warning Muggles about the "crazed murderer" Black, who had apparently escaped from a mental asylum. Harry knew that meant that the Ministry still blamed Black for the attack on Hogwarts, which meant that his Godfather was still on the run. Knowing that he was safe, and that Harry would get to see Sirius soon, was the best news Harry had heard in months.
"Is it safe?" he asked, suddenly worried. "He hasn't come out of hiding or anything, has he?"
"He is safe," Sarutobi assured him. "The Headmaster has provided me with several Portkeys, which are keyed to you and your friends. They will take you directly to Mr. Black's current location, where he will continue your instruction and ensure that your instincts do not grow dull from inaction. He is well hidden, from magical eyes as well as mundane, and you need not fear for his safety. While you are with him, the Ministry of Magic will not be able to detect any spells that you cast, so you can practice without fear of reprisals."
For a moment, a deep frown spread across Sarutobi's face, carving deep furrows in his wrinkled cheeks. "What with the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher coming from the Ministry, I worry that you will face many challenges in the upcoming year. Mind that you approach this training with the utmost focus."
"Of course, sir! But…" Harry's spirits fell a little, and his voice trailed off. "Are you… not going to teach us at all?"
"I hope I will be able to," Sarutobi said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "But first, I have a project of great importance to attend to. Be at ease: all will be made clear to you in time."
Then Sarutobi took something out of an inner pocket of his white robe. It was a necklace with a dangling medallion in the shape of a stylized leaf. "Put this on, and wear it under your shirt," Sarutobi told him, handing the necklace to Harry. "It's a Portkey that only you can use, as it's magically keyed to you. Every morning at 9am, the Portkey will activate automatically, taking you to where you will be training. It will send you back here at 5pm. All you have to do is wear it next to your skin, and the necklace will take care of the rest."
Harry clipped the necklace on carefully, slipping it under his baggy oversized shirt that he'd inherited from Dudley. "Thank you, Professor," he said earnestly.
"There is no need for thanks," Sarutobi said breezily, waving his hand. "Just train hard. This may be the calm before the storm, but make no mistake – the storm is coming."
Then he disappeared, leaving Harry alone in the Dursleys' yard. Harry touched his shirt, feeling the imprint of the leaf medallion against the fabric. He smiled tightly, a tight ball of joy rising in his throat. Yes, there was danger out there, and it was growing with each day. But he was safe, Sarutobi hadn't forgotten about him, and he was going to spend the majority of each day with his godfather and his best friends.
As far as Harry was concerned, life was just fine, and he couldn't wait for tomorrow.
oOoOo
The library at the Durmstrang Institute was much like the rest of the school: cold, somewhat dark, and forbidding. The walls were stone, and the bookshelves were made of a marble carved with magic, and spelled to a deep midnight blue. It was an intimidating place, and many students preferred to come to the library only when it was absolutely necessary. But to Viktor Krum, the library was a place of peace, a haven away from the gawking eyes and awkward stares of the younger boys. There wasn't a student in the entire school who didn't know Viktor's name, or that he was the youngest professional seeker to start for an international Quidditch team. He was idolized by some, hated by others, and envied by all. But even though a majority of the Durmstrang Institute could cite all of his statistics from the past season, none of them knew Viktor Krum, the person.
But Viktor hadn't always been famous. When he was growing up, his duck-like walk and perpetually grumpy looking face made him a target for bullies. He got into more fights than he could remember, because he wasn't about to let others walk all over him.
It wasn't until Viktor first discovered flying that he knew what real freedom felt like. He was at home in the air in a way that he'd never been on the ground, and his affinity for flying was obvious to anyone with an eye to see. A talent scout had come to Durmstrang and seen him fly, and the rest was history. Barely a year later and he was a member of the Bulgarian national team, and a rising star in the Quidditch world.
But the fame, while heady and often intoxicating at first, was not what drove Krum to keep playing Quidditch. He tolerated the attention of his fans, because it was the right thing to do, but occasionally it drove him crazy. None of these people would know his name or give a damn about him if he couldn't fly a broom – in fact, they would probably jeer at him in the street for his bow-legged stance or the way his nose looked like it had been broken several times before.
When the attention at school became too much, Viktor retreated here, to the library, where he could lose himself in a book and avoid his clinging fans for a while. The librarian, a crusty old wizard named Chavdar, didn't know a Bludger from a badger, and chased away anyone causing disruptions in his library.
Some of Viktor's most pleasant memories of Durmstrang centered on the library, where he explored unknown worlds and facets of magic his teachers had probably never even thought about.
"Viktor!" a voice shouted from the entranceway.
Viktor cringed, recognizing that voice and knowing what was about to ensue. Sure enough, Chavdar appeared instantaneously, as if summoned by the loud shout, with wand in hand. "Silence!" the old wizard said, an unvoiced threat apparent in his tone.
Viktor let out a sigh of relief, glad that Chavdar was apparently in a good mood. Otherwise, he would have cursed first and scolded later.
Viktor shook his head, wondering at the stupidity of his best friend. But then, expecting Borislav Poliakoff to be anything other than loud and obnoxious was a waste of time. Some people didn't change, and Boris was one of those people. For as long as Viktor had known him, the boy had always spoken just a little too loud, and had a gift for saying the wrong thing.
But he was brave and loyal, and he had been Viktor's best friend long before he had ever seen a broom. The two of them had weathered many obstacles together, and their friendship was as strong as ever. Some people might have been jealous if their friend was becoming famous, but Boris took it in stride. He said that it was about time something good happened to Viktor, and that fate owed him because he had been born so ugly. That particular conversation had ended, as so many conversations between them did, in a playful duel that had set both of their beds on fire and gotten them detention for a week.
"I'm sorry, Chavdar," Boris said hurriedly, his voice at a more reasonable volume. "I need to talk to Viktor. It's an emergency."
Viktor stood up, starting to get a little worried. His friend might be a bit of a slob, with a weakness for wine and women that had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion, but he knew when to be serious.
Several years ago, when many of the upper students were attempting to revive the teachings of the Dark wizard Grindelwald, it had been Viktor and Borislav who led the students in showing the aggressors the error of their ways. During those days, before they had established their superiority in a series of illegal – and potentially deadly – duels, Viktor had learned that Boris was a steady hand in a fight, and someone to rely on.
So whatever it was that was making his friend look so worried, Krum knew it couldn't be good.
"What's the matter?" Krum demanded, leading Boris back to his table. Boris didn't sit down, but he dropped his bag on the table with a clunk.
"Little Nikki disappeared," Boris said shortly. "His bunkmates looked everywhere on the grounds, but they couldn't find him. He's gone."
"What?!" Krum barely kept himself from shouting. Nikolai, or Little Nikki as he was known, was one of the magically talented orphans who called Durmstrang their home. Karkaroff, the Headmaster of Durmstrang, had made it a priority years ago to seek out any orphans in the surrounding countries who had magic and no place to live. He offered them a home in Durmstrang, and in return the orphans carried out vital tasks like tending the fires, washing dishes, and cleaning. It was an arrangement that benefited both parties, because unlike Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Durmstrang did not have an army of House Elves to take care of the day-to-day logistical problems of running a school.
Only a few days ago, word had reached the older students that a first-year orphan named Deyan had disappeared. Everyone had thought he had simply run away – maybe he had found the lifestyle too difficult. It wasn't unheard of, so aside from sending out search parties, the teachers and students didn't know what else to do. Durmstrang was no place for weaklings, after all, so even if they found him, they might have to send him away again.
But now, there were two first-years missing. And while Viktor could possibly believe that one student had run away, two was stretching the bounds of possibility. There were other potential answers that were much more likely, and none of them were good.
"What do you think?" Krum asked, his mind turning over the possibilities. "A rogue vampire?"
Boris shook his head, but it was not a denial. "It could be…" he said, the worry plain in his voice. "Mikhail authorized emergency procedures an hour ago, before sending word to the Headmaster. The grounds are off-limits, and all students will travel to classes in groups until Karkaroff says otherwise."
Viktor nodded, pleased that the Head Boy, Mikhail, was not wasting time in reacting to the crisis. Whoever or whatever was snatching children, it had to have powerful magic to breach Durmstrang's defenses and move about unseen. Krum knew that Karkaroff had a good relationship with the local vampire clans, but a rogue vampire was always a worry. A school full of magically talented children was a tempting target for a monster that couldn't control its bloodlust.
"We should organize the older boys to take shifts at night guarding the dorms," Viktor said quietly. "There are too many magical creatures that are at home in the dark. And if it hasn't been done already, bring some of Nikki's clothing to the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. He might know of a tracking spell."
As Poliakoff nodded, Viktor couldn't help remembering the last time they had planned together like this. They had been preparing to fight a group of Sixth Formers, much older students who felt that Grindelwald's legacy still belonged at Durmstrang. Then, as now, Viktor had felt scared, and uncertain about the future. But Durmstrang was his home, and he would protect it. And he knew that Boris would be with him every step of the way.
"Do you think they're still alive?" Boris asked slowly.
Viktor couldn't lie to him. "I don't know. But I do know that this isn't the end."
He wasn't sure how he knew. But he did, just as surely as he knew the exact moment to pull up out of a dive before crashing into the ground. All of his instincts were screaming at him, telling him that Durmstrang was in terrible danger.
"Things are going to get much, much worse."