A/N: Hello, everyone! Here's the next installment, which continues the three-pronged adventures of the Golden Trio, Draco and his new friends Luna and Dobby, and the boys at Durmstrang.
Updates will speed up during the next month, but not by that much – I'm starting up a new life in Singapore, and there's an entire new city to explore! But the Professor's Journey will go on, so be ready for updates. I've got most of the current year planned out, and there's a hell of a finale in store. If you liked the chaos of last year's final battle, then you'll love what happens this year – I guarantee it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Naruto
Chapter 24: The Dragons of Durmstrang
Draco's first day of classes seemed to stretch on interminably. He was constantly distracted by the weight of the little vial in his robes, and as soon as Professor Binns finished his lecture on the Werewolf Purges of the 1870s, Draco practically sprinted to the library. Madame Pince directed him to a shelf that contained dozens of almanacs on potion recognition, where he grabbed as many as he could carry. Then he found a small table tucked into a corner where he could work undisturbed.
There were some very helpful tables in the first book's appendix, which listed hundreds of potions and categorized them according to color, viscosity, odor, and a few other key properties. The potion he was working on was a deep, molten gold, and that cut down the possibilities a great deal. With the odorless nature of the liquid he was able to eliminate a few more options, but there he ran into a wall.
He spent the next hour learning everything he could about the potions on his short list, but he still didn't know how to figure out for sure which was in the vial. It was extremely frustrating, until Draco realized that he now knew how to brew ten potions that he had never heard of before. It seemed that Snape's little assignment had a deeper purpose than he had first thought. Still, that didn't bring him any closer to finishing his project.
A quiet disturbance at a nearby table caught Draco's eye. A trio of Ravenclaw fourth-years hovered around a student sitting alone, and it seemed like they were tormenting the girl with a persistence that would have rivaled Draco's back in the days when he ran around with Crabbe and Goyle. One had stolen her quill, and another was dripping ink on her notebook. The third Ravenclaw shifted to the left, and Draco caught a glimpse of pale blond hair, even lighter than his own. He recognized that hair – it was Luna Lovegood, the girl who had told him about thestrals.
Without thinking, Draco shoved back his chair and marched over to Luna's table. The older Ravenclaws were so intent on their bullying that they didn't notice Draco at first. He decided to emulate Umbridge, and coughed loudly. Finally they turned around, but before Draco could say a word, Madame Pince appeared like a wraith from around some corner.
"Shhh!" she hissed, flapping her bony hands at them.
Draco opened his mouth and said the first words that came to mind. "Madame Pince! I'm so glad you're here. See, my friends here were asking about advanced Arithmancy texts. It sounds fascinating, but neither Luna nor I have any idea where to find books like that. Do you think you could help them?"
Madame Pince stared at Draco, and then at the Ravenclaws, who were doing their very best to look inquisitive rather than guilty. The librarian pursed her lips shrewdly, then bore off the Ravenclaws as if escorting them to their doom. That left Draco alone with Luna, and he stared at her awkwardly, not sure what to say.
"Thanks," said the blond witch. "That was very kind of you."
"It wasn't a problem," Draco replied. "But, er… why did you just sit there and let them do that to you? Now you have to replace an entire notebook. You could have called Madame Pince yourself, and gotten them all detention."
Luna merely shook her head, eyes unnervingly wide. "It's alright," she said calmly. "They lose interest eventually. It's easier to wait them out."
Draco didn't believe that at all. If people thought you were weak, then they walked over you to get what they wanted. That's what his father had taught him all his life, and that's what Orochimaru proved when he killed people simply because he could. To be safe, you had to be strong. But somehow, Draco didn't think now was the time for that conversation.
"Why do they hate you so much? Aren't you in the same House?"
Luna twirled a lock of her hair quizzically, examining it as if it contained a mystery. "Their minds all work in straight lines. Mine doesn't. It makes them uncomfortable."
Draco shrugged. It made sense, although he was having trouble accepting that Raveclaws could be bullies. He had thought they didn't care about anything outside of their books.
"Your mind used to work in a straight line," said Luna suddenly, making Draco jump. He looked at her cautiously.
"What do you mean?"
"Last year you weren't nice at all." Draco spluttered a little bit at this bold statement, but Luna carried on, unperturbed. "You and your friends, the large ones, used to do the same thing to others that those Ravenclaws did to me. But you're different now. You stopped them when you could have just ignored them. Why?"
Draco felt uncomfortably like he was being interrogated, and those wide eyes were a tad too knowing for his taste. "I don't…" he stammered, "I just… I mean, we met in the carriage, and…"
"So if you had never met me, and you saw someone getting bullied, would you have done the same thing?"
"Of course not!" he burst out, then stopped, flustered. "I mean- that is, what I meant-"
Luna reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "Your logic is flawed," she said, smiling. "But that's ok. Even Ravenclaws don't get it right away. I'll help you, don't worry."
"Er… thanks?" Draco realized he had lost control of this conversation long ago. Talking with Luna was like treading water in the ocean – before you knew it, the undertow had pulled you far away from where you thought you were.
Luna took hold of Draco's hands and squeezed gently. "I think I must have been very lucky to meet you," she said earnestly. Then she left, leaving Draco speechless behind her. He stared around in a panic, hoping that no one had seen him, the heir to the Malfoy line, holding hands with a girl. But there was something… well, nice, about someone else thinking they were lucky to have met you. Draco couldn't remember anyone saying that to him before.
It was too bad, really, that Draco was in Slytherin and Luna was in Ravenclaw. The poor girl was still going to be bullied by her classmates – it wasn't like Draco could protect her all the time, after all.
Then Draco had an idea. His eyes lit up, and he almost tripped in his haste to gather up his things. There was someone he had to see.
The Hogwarts kitchens were like a rabbit warren, with hundreds of twists and turns. The tantalizing smells coming from every side also made navigation difficult, since it was hard to resist following your nose wherever it led you. But Draco had a self-appointed mission, and wouldn't let himself be distracted.
"Dobby?" Draco called hesitantly. There were dozens of House Elves milling around, scurrying around like industrious ants, but none of them were his friend.
"Here, Master Draco, sir!" Dobby appeared at Draco's elbow with a sharp crack, and the elf looked so happy to see him that Draco had to smile. It was deeply shaming to Draco when he thought about how he used to treat the little elf. He had ordered the loyal servant to iron his ears on multiple occasions, and yet when Dobby had a choice to go free, he had stayed to protect Draco. The more Draco lived on his own, the more he thought that maybe, just maybe, his father's philosophy was flawed. He didn't like to think about that, though, because it felt like he was being disloyal to the dead.
"How are you, Dobby?" Draco asked, fending off an exuberant hug with a laugh. He might be friends with Dobby, but a Malfoy did not hug. Dobby wore the same style of cut pillowcase that most House Elves used for clothing, but a gold chain glinted around his neck. On the end of the chain, Draco knew, was a pendant emblazoned with the family crest of the Malfoys. It was a treasured heirloom of his family, and Draco had given it to Dobby before leaving for the Hogwarts Express.
"Dobby is wonderful, Master Draco," the House Elf enthused, beaming happily. "Hogwarts is being such a nice place. But why is you visiting so soon? Not that Dobby minds," Dobby said hastily, "but doesn't Master have homework and things?"
"Homework is important, but I'll make sure to come visit you often," Draco promised, deftly snagging a cinnamon roll from a passing tray. The House Elf carrying the tray only smiled and shook her head, as if to say, "boys will be boys."
"But I'm here today for a special reason. Do you think you could do me a favor?"
Dobby's eyes shone. "Anything, Master Draco!" Then he paused, as if considering. "Well, not anything… Dobby won't kill Harry Potter, not even for Master Draco. Maybe the red-haired one, though…"
Draco fell over himself exclaiming that he didn't want to kill Ron, when he realized that the House Elf was shaking with suppressed laughter. "Dobby – you just made a joke!" he spluttered.
Dobby swept him a little bow that, if Draco hadn't known better, he might have called ironic. "What is Master's favor?"
"There's a girl named Luna Lovegood, a second year in Ravenclaw," Draco said, pushing aside Dobby's budding sense of humor for later contemplation. "She's been having some trouble with bullies, and I thought maybe you could help her out. I can't be there all the time, you see, because I have different classes and things…" not to mention, if anyone from Slytherin saw him protecting Luna, it might jeopardize his standing with them, which would hurt his ability to act as a spy for Dumbledore.
"What does Master Draco want Dobby doing to these bullies?" Dobby's anticipatory smile made Draco wonder if his own quest for revenge had possibly taught Dobby a few lessons. There was some definite mischief lurking in those wide, all-too-innocent eyes.
Draco shook his head hastily. "Nothing that might get you in trouble, Dobby. I think they mostly do things like stealing her school supplies, things like that. If you could just watch out for her, maybe return her belongings if it's necessary, that should be enough. Although…" Draco's mood darkened as a thought occurred to him. "If it ever looks like she might actually get hurt, then you have my permission to use your imagination. That sort of behavior ought to be… discouraged."
Dobby gave him a nod of complete understanding. "Dobby will be a watchful guardian," the elf promised, ears quivering earnestly. "He will be swift and cunning like a Malfoy, and anyone who bothers Miss Lovegood will be very sorry!"
Draco worried, for a moment, that he might have just created a monster. But if it was for a good cause, well… so be it.
Draco smiled warmly at the diminutive bodyguard. "Thank you, Dobby. I knew I could count on you."
Dobby executed an over-eager salute, almost knocking himself over. "Master's girlfriend will be safe, Dobby swears it!" Then he disappeared with a thunderous crack.
"Great, that's – wait! Girlfriend?! Damn it, Dobby, that's not what I-" Draco cut himself off quickly, realizing that the other House Elves were watching him yell into thin air. Later, he promised himself, hurrying out of the kitchens. Dobby and I are going to have a long conversation about this newfound sense of humor.
As Draco walked back to the Slytherin common room, Luna's words in the library came back to him. They still gave him the same warm feeling they had the first time, and he realized it was the same way he felt when Dobby had been so happy to see him. What was it Luna had said? Right – she was lucky to have met him.
"Lucky," he murmured, and with the word came a flash of insight. "Snape, you dastard! I know exactly what your bloody potion is!"
He rushed back to the library, ruthlessly ignoring his growing weariness. Sleep could wait – he had a diagnostic spell to look up, which would confirm his hunch. He would have to work fast, if he wanted to finish before his Potions class tomorrow.
oOoOo
Hermione finished reading their Defense Against the Dark Arts text the first night back, and so her friends knew what to expect when they entered Umbridge's classroom and were told to put away their wand. A groan rose from the other Gryffindors, who were still becoming accustomed to the idea that Defense classes this year wouldn't be at all like Professor Sarutobi's.
"Good morning, class," Umbridge chirped, her fluffy pink cardigan hurting Harry's eyes. When no one responded, she said it again. This time a ragged chorus answered her.
"That's much better. Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. At the Ministry, we know that a thorough grounding in all areas of magic is vital to a comprehensive education. That being said, it is appalling what you children have been exposed to in this class during previous years."
"Hey!" Dean Thomas exclaimed. "Professor Sarutobi was the best teacher we've ever had! We learned more in a single class from him than in a year from Quirrell."
Angry murmurs of agreement came from the other Gryffindors, until Umbridge silenced them with a loud cough. Her voice was falsely sweet, and dangerous. "As it is my first class and you have no way of knowing what I expect of you, I will cut you some slack. But be aware that while I am your teacher, you will raise your hand if you expect to talk. Is that understood?"
No answer. "I asked, is that understood?"
Harry joined in with the rest: "Yes, Professor Umbridge."
"Now, it is my duty to inform you that Hiruzen Sarutobi is a fraud and a criminal. He was never accredited to teach at Hogwarts, and the Ministry strongly suspects that he is working hand in glove with the mass murderer Sirius Black."
There was an even louder outcry than before. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the only ones to remain silent, and they shared worried looks. The situation was heating up faster than they had anticipated, and they hadn't even done anything. Umbridge tapped her wand on the desk, and a thunderclap echoed through the room, bringing silence in its wake. "Hands, children. Any forum for public discussion must follow regulations, or it becomes chaos."
Hands shot up instantly, which Umbridge ignored. Instead, her beady eyes locked on to Harry. "I hear he took particular pains teaching you, Mr. Potter," she purred. "Do you also believe he was an exemplary teacher?"
Harry shrugged. "He seemed to know a lot; I never would have guessed he wasn't accredited. I guess it just goes to show that you can't be too trusting." He tried not to sound ironic – it wouldn't do if Umbridge thought he was mocking her.
Her gaze sharpened, and Harry fought to keep his expression mild. It seemed like she wanted him to get mad at her, and the last thing Harry wanted to do was play into the enemy's hands. Eventually she gave up the staring contest, and went back to the lesson, ignoring the other hands until the Gryffindors put them down.
The lesson might have continued in silence, with Harry's classmates nursing their anger, if Hermione hadn't decided to ask a strategic question. "Excuse me, Professor Umbridge," she said, raising her hand high.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"It's about your course aims," she said. "There doesn't seem to be anything mentioned about actually using defensive spells?" She phrased the observation as a question, and used her most polite tone. But Harry almost laughed at the way the other Gryffindors suddenly snapped to attention and began to reread the sentences their new teacher had written on the blackboard.
"Of course you won't have to use the spells," Umbridge snapped. "Do you expect to be attacked in my classroom?"
Hermione knew better than to answer that question, but Parvati didn't. "But we were attacked, Professor! It happened at the end of last year-" she stopped suddenly, under Umbridge's expectant eye. But she raised her hand immediately.
"I'd wondered if that might come up," Umbridge mused quietly. "Tell me, class, what you think happened at the end of last year."
By this time the students were well schooled – they raised their hands. "Yes, Mr. Thomas?"
"None of us really saw what happened," he began, "except for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. But Professor Sarutobi carried Professor Sprout and Professor McGonagall into the room with us – they were Stunned! And Professor Dumbledore awarded them all Awards for Special Services to the School. And I heard one of the portraits say that they saved all our lives! So how can you say that we don't need to practice spells, when not even Hogwarts is safe?!"
"The Ministry is protecting you, that's how I can say that," Umbridge replied sharply. "There is a team of Dementors guarding us at this very minute."
"They were guarding Azkaban too," Dean pointed out hotly, "and Sirius Black still managed to escape!"
Harry cringed, expecting Umbridge to take Dean to task for being so confrontational. Instead, Umbridge turned once again towards him.
"Well, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge asked pointedly. "Do you share your friend's concern?"
"I dunno," Harry said dully, furious about having to play along with this odious creature. "My memories of that day are pretty much a blur. Madame Pomfrey says it's because of blood loss… But I trust you and the Ministry, Professor. If you say we should let the Dementors take care of us, that's exactly what I'll do."
He gave her his biggest smile, and hoped it didn't look too insincere. At the same time, he was conscious of the betrayed looks he was getting from Dean, Seamus, Parvati, and Lavender. It made him feel distinctly sick to his stomach, but there was nothing he could say to them right now.
Then Harry saw Umbridge's look of frustrated rage, and it puzzled him. Shouldn't she have been glad that he was agreeing with her? It gave her more credibility with the students, if the supposed hero of the battle sided with her. But it looked more as if Umbridge wanted Harry to deny her.
You want me to stand up to you, don't you? Too bad, you old toad… I'm not the wide-eyed idiot I used to be. If you want to fight, you can be sure I won't fight fair.
Ron and Hermione were busy shooting insistent looks at the other Gryffindors, trying to get them to shut up. Harry sat in his seat with his hands primly folded, book open to the first chapter. The lack of support from Harry, Ron, and Hermione took the wind out of everyone's sails, and they stopped arguing with Umbridge.
"Very well, children," said Umbridge in her sticky-sweetest voice, "we shall continue with the lesson."
After the Defense class broke up, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were swamped by their classmates, most of whom were extremely angry. With some difficulty, Harry kept them from talking until they were safely back in the Gryffindor common room.
"What were you three playing at?" Dean snarled. "Telling us to learn how to fight Dementors, then agreeing to everything Umbridge said… trying to make us look stupid or something?"
"I'm sure they had a reason," Neville said confidently. Harry was touched by this show of loyalty.
"Of course we did!" Ron exclaimed. "Do you think Umbridge is going to listen to anything we say? Arguing with her will land us all in detention, and it won't change a bloody thing!"
"Not only that, but she could even get your families in trouble with the Ministry," Hermione added. "I've researched her career, and she isn't very nice to her political opponents."
"I lied to her," Harry told his classmates patiently. "I remember perfectly what happened last year, and it sure as hell wasn't Sirius Black. But the Ministry ignored Dumbledore when he tried to tell them what happened, so I'm not about to waste my breath with Umbridge. Here's my advice: keep your heads down, like we did in class today. Do what Umbridge says, and don't get into trouble. But practice spells on your own time."
Finally, his classmates started to think it over. Neville, at least, seemed entirely satisfied. Dean and Seamus were still a little angry about the way Harry had acted during class, but Harry was sure that a few more days of Umbridge would convince them that he was only looking out for their safety.
"Even if we don't get to practice spells during class," Hermione said hesitantly, "we can work on them during our study sessions."
"And there's always Dueling Club," Ron pointed out, trying to sound as if he had just thought of the idea, when in fact this entire conversation had been planned out in advance by Hermione. "If Umbridge won't teach us, we'll have to teach ourselves. Just like Professor Sarutobi always said – never stop learning. Always be prepared."
That ended the conversation for that night – it might have helped that the first meeting of the Dueling Club was scheduled for the next day, directly after Charms. However, when they reached the Great Hall, Flitwick was standing in front of closed doors, looking as upset as Harry had ever seen him. "Club is cancelled today, and for the foreseeable future," he squeaked. "I'm appealing to Dumbledore, but I doubt he'll be able to do anything."
Harry shook his head. Umbridge was moving fast. The only positive thing about the Dueling Club being canceled was that anti-Umbridge sentiment was growing faster than he could have imagined. The Dueling Club had been enormously popular last year, from the very first meeting when Sarutobi had fought Snape. In the first week of school, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were approached by a number of older students who were upset that they wouldn't have a chance to duel them again.
"I was practicing all summer," Cedric Diggory complained. "I'm sure you three did the same, but I had a few tricks I wanted to try out."
"Maybe you'll still get a chance," Harry said carefully. "You never know what might happen."
Cedric looked at him sharply, then nodded. "I'll be waiting, then. At least Umbridge can't cancel Quidditch, so I'll be able to challenge you out on the pitch.
That night, Harry, Ron, and Hermione held a strategy session in the Common Room. Hermione cast a Charm that nullified all sound originating within the spell's radius – they could hear each other, but no one else could.
"I reckon it's time to start our own Dueling Club," said Ron immediately. "Everybody hates Umbridge, and they want to be able to defend themselves. All we have to do is show them how."
"We shouldn't move too soon," Hermione cautioned. "Not everyone would trust our word over the Ministry, and some people might join up only to betray us."
"Like Malfoy, only in reverse," Harry agreed. "I wouldn't put it past Umbridge to try recruiting students to spy for her."
"But the longer we wait, the more vulnerable we are!" Ron insisted. "The advantage always belongs to the side that attacks first. If all we're doing is playing defense, then it doesn't matter whether it's Umbridge, Orochimaru, or even Voldemort who attacks first – we're screwed no matter what."
"That's true," Hermione allowed, "but if we overextend ourselves, we're just as vulnerable. Do you really think we can take on an army of Dementors? If Umbridge gets the idea that we're training students in combat, Dumbledore won't have a prayer of keeping those monsters off the grounds."
"Hermione," Harry cut in, exercising his unofficial status as the leader of their team. It was something that Sarutobi had taught them – every team needed a leader, someone to shoulder the responsibility and have the final say in decisions. It made for quicker responses in a crisis. At first Harry had felt awkward filling that role, but Ron and Hermione had long since made it clear that they trusted him to do the right thing. He also knew how best to utilize their skills – Ron's genius for developing strategy, and Hermione's fearsome intelligence and ability to modify spells to adapt to changing situations. "Do you think, if we start up some kind of underground Dueling Club, that we could keep tabs on our members – magically, I mean?"
"I can think of a few ways," Hermione said, narrowing her eyes in concentration. "It'll take time, though."
"Fair enough. Ron's right, though – we can't wait for too long. Here's what I think we should do. Let's bring in the other Gryffindors, the ones we can trust. Neville, Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Parvati, and the twins. Oh, and Ginny, too. We can use Sarutobi's dojo. Since it's in our dorm, there's no chance of Umbridge finding out."
"I like it," Ron agreed. "No risk of exposure. We can start teaching our friends, and expand to members of other Houses once Hermione's sure we can minimize the risk."
Hermione squared her shoulders. "I'll spend some time in the library this weekend. Maybe I can find us a place to meet, once we bring in a larger group. It would look weird if Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws were always coming to Gryffindor Tower."
"Our first study group is tomorrow, right?" Harry confirmed. Ron nodded. "Good. This way we won't waste any time."
Hermione looked at the grandfather clock on the mantel above the fireplace. "Speaking of time…"
"Oh, right!" Harry exclaimed. "I was so focused on our plans, I almost forgot."
"Meet you outside in a minute," Ron said. "We shouldn't be seen leaving together."
Harry went up to the dorm so that he could retrieve his Invisibility Cloak. Hermione and Ron waited for him in the corridor, and once they ascertained that no one was around, they huddled together under the cloak and disappeared from sight.
As they walked through the halls towards one of the secret passageways out of the castle, Harry reflected that they had all grown over the summer. Fitting the three of them under one cloak was no longer as effortless as it used to be. Although they had never used the secret passageway to Honeyduke's before, Fred and George had briefed them about how to access it. The Marauder's Map might be acting as Hogwart's security system now, but since it didn't track students' movements, they would be fine.
It was pitch dark by the time they found their way out of Honeyduke's, and most of the shops in Hogsmeade were closed for the night. Only the windows of the Hog's Head still shone brightly. A few minutes more and the three Gryffindors reached the meeting place that Sarutobi had designated at the end of the summer: the Shrieking Shack.
"How do we get in?" Ron asked. "The door's all boarded up."
"I dunno," Harry said, stumped. "Sarutobi said our new teacher would meet us here. Maybe we should knock?"
"Aye," came a fierce whisper to their left. "Wake up the whole bloody neighborhood, why don't you? Daft fools!"
"Is that you, Mr. Moody?" Hermione asked.
The grizzled old Auror appeared in splotches of color as his Disillusionment Charm dispelled. "What do you think?"
Harry swept off the cloak. "I think Mad-Eye Moody would know what form his Patronus took when it saved us from the Dementors on the train."
Moody's blue eye whizzed and whirled before fixing on Harry with an approving wink. "Very good, Mr. Potter. Thanks to that ruddy Polyjuice Potion, you can't trust your own eyes anymore. My Patronus is a bear."
"And a big, fat, fluffy one, at that!"
Harry spun around and cried out joyfully, "Sirius!"
The infamous Azkaban escapee and the Ministry's most wanted criminal ruffled Harry's hair. "Hallo, Harry. Sarutobi decided Moody could use an extra hand teaching the three of you."
"What about the Dementors?" Hermione asked. "Isn't this a little reckless?"
"The Ministry doesn't really think I'm going to attack Hogwarts," Sirius answered. "They think Dumbledore is giving me aid. The Dementors are here to keep an eye on him, and to keep him from giving me shelter. So really, haunting the Shrieking Shack is the last thing Umbridge would expect me to do."
"Besides," Mad-Eye said gruffly, "we use a Portkey, and I scout the area before I let the puppy follow. One whiff of Dementors, and we're gone. This ain't my first rodeo, Granger."
Harry was distracted for a moment wondering when Moody had learned American Muggle slang.
"Come on, then," Ron said, trying to herd the group toward the Shrieking Shack. "Let's get training already!"
Moody waved his wand, and the boards keeping the front door shut leapt aside. "Not a bad idea, Weasley. It's time you three learned the Patronus Charm."
Hermione raised her hand. "I was reading about that-"
"-in the library!" Harry and Ron chorused, trading a quick high five.
"-and the author said," Hermione continued, undeterred, "that practicing the Patronus Charm doesn't always help when you're faced with the real thing."
"We're a step ahead of you," Sirius grinned. "Or rather, Dumbledore is. One of the House Elves found something hiding in a cupboard that will meet our needs precisely. Tell me, have any of you ever heard of a Boggart?"
Harry and Ron just pointed to Hermione, and shook their heads as one.
oOoOo
Late one Monday afternoon, Viktor attended his advanced Care of Magical Creatures class. At least, that was how it was written on his schedule. While Orochimaru might be training up an army at Durmstrang, he went to great lengths to preserve the illusion that he was running a school. Viktor assumed that it amused Orochimaru to design new classes built around different aspects of magical warfare, while keeping the old names.
This particular Care of Magical Creatures class, for instance, was devoted to the training of dragons. Orochimaru's stolen eggs had hatched, and now his eight lieutenants, the so-called Eight Dragons, had dragons of their own to raise. Every afternoon, the boys met in the windswept field just outside the castle gates, now known as the Dragon Pen, to give their charges some exercise. They worked with the dragons under the watchful eye of Charlie Weasley, once Orochimaru's prisoner, now a professor and Orochimaru's trusted expert on magical beasts and monsters.
The redhead watched the 5th and 6th Formers critically, never hesitating to call out when he thought that any of the dragons were being mishandled.
But then, as far as Viktor was concerned, it was the dragon that was mishandling him! As if to support this assumption, the week-old Hungarian Horntail at the end of the long, leather leash lunged to the right, nearly dislocating Viktor's right arm.
"Valiant!" he yelled indignantly, struggling to bring the irrepressible creature to heel. "Get back here!"
"Having trouble over there?" Boris called. He was grinning ear to ear, and scratching his dragon under the chin. Boris was raising a Ukrainian Ironbelly that he'd named Ivan the Terrible. However, Ivan had turned out to be an easy charge – all he wanted was food, sleep, and the attention that Boris was only too willing to lavish on his dragonet.
"He's as lazy as you are!" Viktor had exclaimed, feeling that the world was very much unjust. How did Boris get a dragon like that, and Viktor got a hell-raiser like Valiant? The Hungarian Horntail never stopped moving, and what had seemed almost cute in a day-old dragonet was quickly becoming exhausting – not to mention dangerous. Valiant was as willful as a bucking bronco, except broncos couldn't stretch their stubby wings and leave the ground in short bursts of almost-flight, dragging poor Viktor along in their wake. Nor could horses emit sudden burps of fire and smoke at their handlers, which Valiant did at every opportunity.
But then, every time the little dragon – although growing larger every day – truly pushed Viktor to the edge of his patience, it would sidle up beside him and nibble his fingers gently, gazing up at him with innocent eyes. Staying mad was impossible, no matter how hard he tried.
Most of Orochimaru's lieutenants felt the same way – the little dragons, although rambunctious and potentially lethal, were also dangerously cute. Looking around the Dragon Pen, Viktor could see that Orochimaru had wrought better than he knew: the bonds between the Eight Dragons and their fanged, fire-breathing partners were also cords tying them even more tightly to Orochimaru.
With a Hungarian Horntail and a Ukrainian Ironbelly, Viktor and Boris had the two largest dragons – Ivan was lazy and a glutton, while Valiant was stubborn and willful. Next were Sasha and Danila, Russian Fifth Formers who had been assigned Norwegian Ridgebacks. Like Sasha and Danila, the Ridgebacks became close friends, rarely venturing anywhere without the other. Their owners called them Tooth and Nail. Then there was Frederick, a Fifth Former from the Ukraine, who had the care of a Swedish Short-Snout named Stumpy. Frederick rarely talked, but he got top marks in all of his classes, and his dragon seemed to be markedly cleverer than the others.
Of the three Sixth Formers, Mikhail had once been the unquestioned leader. His status as Head Boy, his skill with the more destructive curses, and his implacable malice, had all made him a force to be reckoned with. But ever since Orochimaru had placed Viktor at the head of his new command structure, Mikhail's old followers had begun to realize that they might have a chance to rise to prominence. It didn't help that Mikhail had been given the smallest dragon of all, a Common Welsh Green he somewhat optimistically named Death. Mikhail had nearly thrown a fit when he learned that he wasn't getting the Horntail.
Eli and Matthias, the two other Six Formers and the final members of Durmstrang's Dragon Corps, had a Chinese Fireball and a Hebridean Black. Eli's Fireball was called Scorch, and Matthias had named his dragon Olaf, after a particularly mean uncle.
Every afternoon, the eight wizards gathered to play with their charges, and every afternoon they were amazed at how much their dragons had grown overnight. Looking at Valiant's wings, so much stronger than they had been, Viktor had to wonder when his dragonet was going to start flying. These classes would get a lot more interesting when that day arrived.
A muffled curse caught Viktor's attention, and he turned to where Mikhail was standing with his Welsh Green. Little Death had bitten the Head Boy's arm, tearing a few holes in his sleeve and shedding a few drops of blood. Charlie asked the boys to wear protective gear, but apparently Mikhail had decided not to put his on today.
"Stupid creature!" Mikhail snarled, raising his wand. "Cruci-"
Viktor barely had time to recognize that the Head Boy really was going to use an Unforgivable on his dragon, when a rough, callused hand caught Mikhail's in an iron-hard grip. Charlie Weasley twisted slightly, making Mikhail cry out in pain and drop his wand. The teacher caught it with his free hand, his face like a thundercloud.
Silence fell in the Dragon Pen, as the Durmstrang students tried to watch the spectacle without appearing to pay attention.
"Were you," said the redhead, "about to use an Unforgivable Curse on that dragon?"
"Let go!" spat Mikhail, squirming in an unsuccessful attempt to free his arm. "You don't get to touch me! I'm one of Lord Orochimaru's lieutenants. You're just some fool he kidnapped to keep our dragons healthy."
"You think you're bad?" Charlie whispered, though it carried far in the silence. "Sure, you know how to curse creatures who can't fight back. I would know that better than anyone. But we're not down in a dungeon anymore, you little punk. We're in my territory."
Charlie twisted Mikhail's arm behind his back and pointed at Death, who was watching the two humans with a confused look in his reptilian eyes. "You see that dragon?" Charlie asked rhetorically. "He thinks you're his mommy. Baby dragons in the wild roughhouse with their parents exactly like that. Sometimes they go too far, and mother dragons deal with misbehavior by strictly enforcing discipline. Not by torturing their babies."
Viktor saw Boris nodding in approval, and realized that he was doing the same. He patted Valiant absently on the snout. No one was going to torture his dragon! Charlie continued his lecture, maintaining the pressure on Mikhail's trapped arm.
"You are that dragon's mommy, Mikhail. And while you're in my pen, I am your daddy. I will teach you the correct way to raise my grandchild, even if I have to break every bone in your body. Do I make myself clear?"
There was a moment of tense silence, punctuated by a cry of pain as Charlie jerked Mikhail's arm upward. "Yes," Mikhail muttered sullenly.
"And is this your dragon pen, or is it your Daddy's pen?"
"…Yours."
"That's right." Charlie let Mikhail go, although not before pushing him off-balance, so he fell awkwardly. "Now get ahold of your dragon, and do it right this time. I'll keep your wand until the end of the lesson. You can have it back if I think you've learned something."
Mikhail maintained a stony silence for the next hour. Looking around at the other students, Viktor thought he detected some satisfied smirks, not always very well concealed. It was deeply worrying – these students, many of whom he had known for years, were already becoming accustomed to the violent competition that Orochimaru encouraged in his subordinates. They had all tasted power, and Viktor wasn't sure that any of the Durmstrang students besides Boris would be willing to give it up. Orochimaru's persuasion was undoubtedly effective – he was well on his way to winning the hearts and minds of the Dragon Corps. Once they were his entirely, the rest of Durmstrang's students wouldn't be far behind.
After the lesson, Boris came up to Viktor. "You know, that was the best lesson I think we've ever had. I can't remember the last time anyone so thoroughly embarrassed our beloved Head Boy."
Viktor had to agree, and he wondered if Boris had made the same observations about their teacher that he had. "You know," he said, looking around to check that they were alone, "Professor Weasley seems like a genuinely good person. And I don't know if you heard what he said before, but I think Mikhail might have tortured him on Orochimaru's orders."
A light came on in Boris' eyes, and he watched the retreating figure of their teacher with speculation. "Do you think-"
"-that he has reason to hate Orochimaru even more than we do?" Viktor answered. "Absolutely. In fact, I think we may need to visit his office soon."
"To talk about our dragons," Boris said with a knowing grin. "Nothing suspicious about that."
"That's right. We can't trust that Orochimaru hasn't gotten to him, and he certainly won't trust us, but we should still make the effort."
"Where there's life, there's hope," Boris agreed. "And you know what else? I've been thinking – don't start!" he snapped, seeing Viktor's amused grin. "I've been thinking about our dragons, and I realized – they haven't sworn an Unbreakable Vow…"
Viktor's jaw dropped. "Boris," he whispered, nonplussed. "You may have just been brilliant. I wonder if Professor Weasley, our resident dragon expert and unwilling prisoner of Orochimaru, might be able to offer some advice in that regard."
The two friends walked back to Durmstrang Castle, enjoying the unfamiliar glow of hope.