As Harry was about to start exploring the castle, a tiny black owl landed outside his window with a letter in its beak.
He quickly opened the window, and the owl fluttered in, dropping the letter on his desk before flying out again. Harry picked up the letter, noticing it had no sender.
Mr. Potter,
please come immediately to the Headmaster's office. There are some organizational matters to discuss.
Yours sincerely,
Alexander Turin
(Deputy Headmaster)
Harry made his way, grateful that Professor Iwanow had shown him the way to the Headmaster's office earlier. When he arrived downstairs at the Ceremonial Hall, he looked around and turned left into the East Wing. After a few steps, he reached a door with a golden plaque reading 'Headmaster's Office'. Harry knocked politely and waited.
"Enter," called Headmaster Ivan Karkaroff in Russian, and Harry stepped in.
The Headmaster's office was simple but imposing, filled with books lining the shelves. In the center stood a massive mahogany desk, behind which sat Ivan Karkaroff. In front of it were two intricately carved wooden chairs, and Harry took a seat in one of them, prompted by Karkaroff's nod. Through the enormous window behind Karkaroff, Harry caught a glimpse of the castle courtyard and resolved to start his exploration soon.
Karkaroff wasn't exactly fat, but he had a sturdy presence. Whether it was muscle mass or not, Harry couldn't tell, as his robe obscured much. He also had a beard, neatly trimmed to two millimeters. His eyes were dark with some wrinkles under the lids. He had long hair, loosely tied back.
"Mr. Potter. Welcome to Durmstrang Institute. I assume you had a pleasant journey and were shown to your room?" he asked.
Though Harry didn't see what was pleasant about a five-minute trip with a Portkey, he still answered positively. "Thank you, Headmaster. The journey was uneventful, and my room was indeed shown to me."
"Good. Now, let's attend to the other organizational matters. The professors have provided me with a list of the topics you've missed and need to catch up on," Karkaroff explained, handing him a thick envelope containing several parchment sheets.
"Thank you, sir," said Harry, taking the envelope.
"Durmstrang is different from Hogwarts, Mr. Potter. I hope you're aware of that. We won't tolerate lazy students. Every infraction will be dealt with severely. So, it's best you stay out of trouble," the Headmaster said sternly, giving him a sharp look.
"Furthermore, you must keep the secrets of this institute. That means you must never disclose the location of this castle or discuss the curriculum or other internals of the institute with outsiders. To ensure this, you must sign this magical contract," Karkaroff continued, handing him a hefty-looking parchment.
Harry quickly read through the contract, making sure it contained only what the Headmaster had told him. Afterward, he signed the document, and Karkaroff took it back.
"Onto the last point. Durmstrang doesn't indulge in the nonsense of competing houses. Instead, each student will be assigned a Trustee who is responsible for them. If you want to know your grades, go to your Trustee. If you have other problems, go to them as well. If you wish to leave the school for an excursion, you must inform and register with your Trustee," he explained. "In your case, Professor Kiro is responsible for you, Mr. Potter."
"Understood, sir," said Harry.
"Good. Professor Kiro should be here shortly to introduce himself to you as well. Do you have any other questions?" he asked.
"Actually, sir. What did you mean regarding my desire to leave the school for an excursion?" Harry asked.
"Students are allowed to leave the school for excursions to the city or similar anytime. You just need to inform and register with your Trustee and tell them where you'd like to go. 'Enter!'" he explained, raising his voice toward the door.
Harry was excited. At Hogwarts, he wouldn't have been able to go to Hogsmeade until his third year—and only there. Durmstrang gave him the opportunity to leave the school earlier. Harry couldn't wait but was interrupted from his thoughts by the entering Professor.
Professor Kiro wore a long black robe with a red belt around his waist. Attached to it were several small knives, a long sword, and two wands, allowing the professor to quickly access each weapon. He was tall and clearly muscular. He had long, dark brown hair, tied back in a ponytail similar to Headmaster Karkaroff's. He had sharp, angular features and looked at Harry sharply with ice-blue eyes. Under his left eye, he had a delicate, white scar that was about four centimeters long, starting at the nostril and sloping slightly upward toward the eye. Harry wondered how the professor had acquired it.
"Mr. Potter, this is Professor Kiro. Ivailo, this is Mr. Potter," Headmaster Karkaroff introduced them.
The professor nodded at Harry, and he himself said, "Pleased to meet you, sir," nodding slightly in his direction.
"You'll find my quarters in the West Wing of this floor, Mr. Potter. Come to me if you have any problems or concerns. Otherwise, we'll see each other for your sword fighting lessons every Saturday for the first four hours," he said in a stern tone, also handing him a parchment sheet. Harry glanced at it briefly and saw that it was his schedule.
"Do you have any other questions?" Karkaroff asked again.
"No, sir," replied Harry.
"Alright, you may leave now."
Harry stood up, nodded to the two men once more, and left the Headmaster's office.
After the conversation, Harry stuffed his schedule and the envelope into his messenger bag and decided to explore the castle grounds. He made his way through the immensely large Ceremonial Hall and into the courtyard. It was snow-covered, so Harry couldn't see much, but he assumed there must be a green area in the middle and paths around it, as he only saw tracks at the edge of the courtyard.
Harry crossed the courtyard and wanted to see what was inside the building but couldn't enter as the doors were locked, and he wasn't sure if he was allowed to unlock them with Alohomora—probably not.
He walked back through the Ceremonial Hall and slowly climbed the stairs again. Along the way, he encountered scattered students walking around in smaller groups. But so far, he hadn't seen anyone who seemed to be his age.
When Harry reached the fifth floor, he didn't stop but continued up to the sixth to get an idea of the library.
On the last steps, the staircase turned into a spiral staircase, and Harry suddenly found himself in the largest library he had ever seen. Even Hogwarts couldn't compare to this.
Whether in the West or East Wing, the sixth floor was one gigantic, vast room. In order to support the ceiling, there were ornate pillars at regular intervals. The bookshelves lined the front and back walls, about four meters high and extending far into the room. Harry couldn't see the end of the library either to the right or left. Between the bookshelves were windows that went from floor to ceiling, flooding the room with light despite the high shelves. The windows offered a breathtaking view of the entire island, and in the distance, Harry could see the sea. In front of the windows were tables, and in the middle stood large, round tables.
Despite the holidays, many students were currently in the library. Either they sat alone in quiet corners or in small groups at the large tables. Harry strolled slowly past the massive bookshelves, looking at the signs to get an overview of what was where.
Harry knew he would probably spend hour after hour in this library.
At six o'clock sharp, Headmaster Karkaroff rose and warmly welcomed his students. He once again admonished them all to abide by the rules and to focus on the material, as the intense phase of the last semester was now beginning, and it literally concerned their grades. Only then did the food appear, and quiet conversations broke out throughout the room.
The Ceremonial Hall was quite similar to the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The professors sat as usual at the very front, elevated above the students because their table was on a podium. Then there were five long tables where the students sat. Harry didn't know if there was any rule about where to sit and cautiously sat with a group of students who looked to be his age.
"You're new, right?" asked the blond boy sitting directly across from him with a peculiar accent. He had short hair, blue eyes, and a round face.
"Yes, I just transferred from Hogwarts here," said Harry, introducing himself. "Harry Potter."
"Potter? My sister told me about you, you were also in Slytherin. But she didn't tell me you were leaving Hogwarts," said a girl sitting next to the blond boy. "By the way, I'm Victoria Greengrass. Welcome to Durmstrang," she added with a mischievous smile.
Harry was surprised but noticed the striking resemblance to her sister Astoria. She had long, blonde hair that cascaded like silk over her shoulders. Dark brown eyes and delicate features. "Thank you. Nice to meet you. At Hogwarts, hardly anyone knew I had the desire to transfer," he said and smiled at her.
"I'm also pleased. This rude boy next to me is Klaus Albrecht," she introduced, and Harry looked back at the boy, who, as Harry suspected, was from Germany. He nodded in greeting and grinned cheekily at Harry.
"Klaus Alexander Albrecht VI," he said somewhat arrogantly. "Hogwarts isn't really all that great," he hinted.
"I agree with you. And that's exactly why I transferred. May I ask, are you from Germany?" Harry asked him.
"Yes, me and my two guys here are from Germany. Cologne, to be precise," he confirmed and gestured to two boys nearby. "Benjamin Schuster and Frank Friedrich," he introduced, and the two boys nodded as their names were mentioned.
Harry nodded back at them and began to fill his plate. The selection was less than at Hogwarts but still sufficient. He went to pour himself a glass of juice when he was surprised to find wine on the table as well.
Frank Friedrich started laughing at Harry's expression. "Don't overdo it with that. The professors will kill you, just to resurrect you afterward and then kill you again," he joked cheerfully. Friedrich had dark brown hair, green eyes, and a pointed nose.
"Are you good at dueling?" Albrecht asked.
"I think I'm decent," said Harry.
"Good, which course are you in?" he asked.
"Course? Isn't there a closed class system here?" Harry asked, puzzled.
"No. We're about 100 first-year students. Each subject already needs five classes just for the first years. The lesson units have numbers, so we just call our classes courses," he explained. "Do you already have your schedule?"
"Yes," said Harry, taking out his schedule from his bag. He hadn't had time to take a proper look at it yet. He had a 40-hour week split over six days. At Durmstrang, it seemed normal to have classes on Saturdays.
Monday: Potions 3, Potions 3 (1403 / Sorokin) / Transfiguration 4, Transfiguration 4 (2308 / Kasakov) / Creation 1, Creation 1, Creation 1 (3333 / Berg)
Tuesday: Dark Arts 1, Dark Arts 1 / Dark Arts 1, Dark Arts 1 (3001 / Rosier) / Herbology 5, Herbology 5, Herbology 5 (GH 2 / Perez)
Wednesday: Charms 3, Charms 3 (2430 / Juric) / World Politics 5, World Politics 5 (1211 / Larsen) / Transfiguration 4, Transfiguration 4, Transfiguration 4 (2308 / Kasakov)
Thursday: Herbology 5, Herbology 5 (GH 2 / Perez) / History 1, History 1 (1007 / Balkken) / Potions 3, Potions 3, Potions 3 (1403 / Sorokin) / Dark Arts 1 (3001 / Rosier)
Friday: Creation 1, Creation 1 (3333 / Berg) / Projects 2, Projects 2 (2723 / Rauendahl) / Charms 3, Charms 3, Charms 3 (2430 / Juric)
Saturday: Sword Fighting 2, Sword Fighting 2, Sword Fighting 2, Sword Fighting 2 (Courtyard / Kiro) / Every even calendar week at 10 p.m. Astronomy (6000 / Tangen)
"Hmm"Unfortunately, we don't have Dark Arts together. That's the subject where we duel the most. Professor Rosier is great," Albrecht told Harry.
"Rosier? I didn't know there was a second magical family with that name," Harry said, surprised. Romulus Rosier disappeared without a trace in 1978. No one knew what had happened to him. His son Ivan Rosier took over as head of the Rosiers shortly after his disappearance but died himself a few years later during the attack on the New Year's Parade in London. He was a Death Eater who, after his death, had no surviving relatives, thus marking the end of his bloodline.
"Second family? The Rosiers come from England, just like you. That up there is Professor Romulus Rosier," he said, pointing to an older man at the teacher's table with a black robe that fit snugly. Long, black hair, straight features with few wrinkles. For someone who was considered dead in England, Romulus Rosier had aged well. He sat at the table with a posture that exuded pure confidence and sternly observed the rows of students.
He immediately knew his parents would kill for this information. But more likely, they would send him back to Hogwarts because of it. So Harry swore in that moment not to blab at home and never to mention the name Rosier. As far as Harry knew, Romulus Rosier was one of the first Death Eaters to join Voldemort. According to his grandfather, the two even went to Hogwarts together. But why had Rosier left? Did Voldemort know he was here? Was he looking for new recruits for Voldemort within Durmstrang? Harry would be particularly careful around Professor Rosier.
"We only have two classes together, Potions and Sword Fighting," said Albrecht, bringing Harry back from his thoughts.
"At least," said Harry. "What does Professor Ivanov teach? He's not on the schedule."
Albrecht, Friedrich, and Schuster started laughing. "Professor Ivanov? That guy is the janitor," Schuster answered disdainfully.
Okay, so Harry hadn't made himself unpopular with a professor. He looked up and down at his table, and his eyes lingered on a girl who must have been looking at him before because when Harry looked in her direction, she quickly looked down at her plate.
She had long, black hair, which she had intricately pinned up. Two strands had already come loose and fell loosely down, giving her a casual look. Her eyes were dark blue and shone like two sapphires. Her features were rather gentle and absolutely symmetrical. Her skin had a lighter tone and stood in stark contrast to her hair—which only made her even more beautiful in Harry's eyes.
She seemed to be sitting alone and began to poke at her food lightly. Although nothing could be seen on her face, Harry still had the impression that she was lonely.
Before Harry could say anything, some students got up and headed for the door. Albrecht also stood up and looked at him invitingly. "We should go. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."
Harry stood up and followed Albrecht out of the Ceremonial Hall. On the way, he looked over his shoulder once more to catch a glimpse of the black-haired girl, but she was no longer at the table, and Harry couldn't pick her out in the crowd anymore.
Arriving on the fifth floor, the four boys went to their wing and headed to their rooms. When they reached Harry's door, he said goodbye to them and watched as they continued down the hallway to their own rooms.
Harry quickly packed his school bag for tomorrow and hurried to bed.
The next morning, Harry got up early, showered, got dressed, and hurried down to the Ceremonial Hall for breakfast. Upon arriving, he looked around again and decided to sit next to a redhead girl who was about his age.
"Morning," he said and poured himself a cup of tea.
"Morning," she replied in Russian but with a strong French accent. Her hair was slightly wavy, and she had brown eyes.
"Harry Potter," he introduced himself.
"Zoé Laurent," she said and bit into her toast. "I heard you transferred from Hogwarts. Why?" she asked.
"For me, we didn't learn enough there. Why don't you go to Beauxbatons?" Harry asked her.
"The girls there are too conceited for me," she said with a crooked grin as Harry spread his toast.
"What do you have next?" he asked.
"Potions, and you?"
"Herbology," she said, sounding somewhat sad, and got up. "My way to the greenhouses is a bit longer. See you later," she said and left.
Harry finished his toast and saw that Albrecht also left the hall. Harry quickly got up and discreetly followed the boy. They went to the first floor and then to the left into the East Wing. Harry noticed that the doors here were numbered. It started with 1001 on the right side and continued with 1002 on the left side. Harry quickly figured out the system behind the room numbers. The first digit stood for the floor, and the last three for the room. That was good to know. Durmstrang didn't offer as much potential to get lost, but it was always better to know the system.
He fell back a bit behind the other boys and strolled leisurely behind them. Arriving at room 1403, he entered and chose a seat in the middle. Klaus and his friends sat at the back and chatted quietly.
The room slowly filled up, but to Harry's disappointment, the seat next to him remained empty. Only five minutes before the start of class, a lanky boy rushed in, glanced around, and then sat next to Harry.
"He had short, black hair that stood up in all directions similar to his own. His eyes were blue, and he had pronounced features. Despite his hasty behavior, he exuded a certain arrogance that only an aristocrat possessed.
He took his belongings out of his bag, and at that moment, Professor Sorokin entered the classroom.
"Good morning, class. Today, we will be working on the Cheerfulness Potion. I expect that by the end of this class, everyone can submit a decent sample of their potion," said the professor, and Harry noticed that the others opened their books and started selecting their ingredients. So Harry also began preparing his potion and was relieved that he knew this potion by heart. He and Nico had once brewed it secretly in their mum's laboratory, then slipped it into their sister's tea. Tiara laughed for hours afterward, and Harry and Nico had to take care of the dishes that day.
"Why are you adding the Canary Roots before the Mint Leaves?" his seatmate asked, slightly confused. "The book says it's the other way around... And where is your book anyway?" he asked, scanning Harry's table.
"If you add the root first, it can soften a bit and have a better chance of affecting the potion. This makes the potion stronger in the end, and you don't have to dose it as high," Harry explained.
"Wow. You're a potion freak. Sorokin will love you," he said, grinning cheekily at Harry. But then he demonstratively took his Canary Roots and added them before the Mint Leaves. Then he turned back to Harry and said, "Dimitri Makarov."
"Harry Potter," he replied, pondering where he knew the name Makarov from. The two turned back to their potions and continued brewing. It wasn't until the end of the lesson that Harry remembered where he knew the name from and what it meant.
Makarov was the Minister of Magic of Russia. At first, nothing wild. But in Russia, a minister is elected for life. And for eight generations now, the Russians had always chosen the eldest son of the minister to be their new minister, almost making the Makarovs a royal dynasty.
The bell rang, and they all began to pack up their things. Harry brought his sample to the front, and Professor Sorokin nodded briefly at him. "I've been watching you, Mr. Potter. It seems you're quite capable," the professor said, then turned away, and Harry went to his table and took his bag. Makarov seemed to be waiting for him.
"What's next for you?" he asked as they left the room together.
"Transfiguration," said Harry, looking at him questioningly. "Ditto," he grinned. "Then we can go up together."
"May I ask if you're related to Minister Makarov?" Harry asked the boy.
He smiled slightly, and they walked up the stairs together. "Yes, he's my father," he confirmed.
"Do you know about the Russian population?" he asked back.
"Nah, not directly. But one does come across your name when one deals with influential people," Harry explained to him. They had arrived at the right room and sat down together again in the middle of the room.
"Influential people, huh? Should I be careful around you?" he joked.
"Sure. One day, I'll seize world domination, but shh," Harry replied, putting his index finger to his lips. "That's not supposed to be known yet."
Makarov laughed and shook his head. "Alright, Potter. I'll be your right hand, okay?"
"I can agree to that," said Harry, winking.
He looked around and saw Zoé sitting in the front row with a few other girls. When she turned around briefly and saw Harry, he smiled at her, and she returned the smile before turning back to the front. Next to him, Makarov whistled loudly and laughed.
Shortly after, Professor Kasakov stepped into the classroom, and it became quiet. "Potter! Where did Hogwarts leave off in Transfiguration?" the professor suddenly asked.
"We've only just started, sir. Transforming matches into needles and rings into nuts," Harry said honestly.
"Then I hope you're capable of more. Because we didn't dwell on such trivialities for long," said the professor sternly.
"Tell me, why did your professor start with that, and why did you specifically have to transform a match into a needle?" he added sternly, approaching Harry's table.
"The art of Transfiguration merely changes the appearance of the object or creature, not its properties. At the beginning, it's easier to transform small objects into similarly small objects. Matches and needles are very similar if you disregard the material. Our professor probably wanted to make it easier for us. Once you've mastered such transformations, you should try larger objects. Or make the objects to be transformed artistically at the end. After all, Transfiguration is largely about visualization. If I want an ornate ring, I have to imagine it that way," Harry explained calmly.
"Good, Potter," Professor Kasakov said and reached for Harry's book on the table. "Transform this into a ring—artistically," the professor said and placed the book back in front of Harry. With this, the professor demanded that Harry transform a large object into a much smaller one. The principle is the same as with the match, only more demanding and impossible for untrained students.
Harry focused for a moment and then cast the spell. He watched as the book slowly shrank and changed its texture. In the end, there lay a small, delicate silver ring in front of him with a small emerald and small diamonds around the emerald.
Professor Kasakov nodded briefly in Harry's direction before instructing him to transform the ring back into a book. Harry also did this without any major problems.
"The same goes for all of you. Transform your books into rings. I don't care if they're artistically designed or not," Professor Kasakov said to the entire class, looking back at Harry.
"The list of transfigurations for this year, did you receive it, Potter?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. I've also already had a look at it and don't expect to encounter any major problems," Harry replied respectfully.
"Good. Keep practicing according to your list. Or start on your homework. I don't want to see you sitting idle in my classroom," the professor said, turning around. He tapped his wand on the board, and the instructions for their homework appeared.
Makarov nudged Harry lightly under the table with his elbows. "Such 'big' transfigurations, we've only started today as well. I think the professor wanted to show you up, and you skillfully brushed him off," he said, chuckling quietly, then turned back to his book.
Harry was proud of himself and started the essay with renewed vigor. The lesson ended without any major incidents, and Harry made his way to lunch with Makarov. One of his friends, Alexander Kusmin, joined them there.
Later, he sat alone in Transfiguration, waiting for Professor Berg. Harry had seen Makarov's professor at lunch and immediately knew that this teacher was not to be trifled with. She reminded him a bit of Professor McGonagall.
The first lesson was a complete disaster, and Harry knew he would have to put a lot of work into this subject. Professor Berg gave him a test at the beginning to see if he had prepared. Harry assumed he had answered some questions correctly, but not everything. As he wrote, the professor continued with her lesson and only briefly glanced at his test toward the end of the second hour.
"You're far behind," she said shortly and reached into her desk drawer. She pulled out a list and handed it to him. "There are some readings on it that I highly recommend. Furthermore, on the back, there's a list of all the homework assignments already given. I expect you to catch up on these by the end of the school year and submit them to me."
Harry felt like the professor was waiting for him to object, but he wasn't going to give her that satisfaction. Harry saw it more as a good opportunity to catch up on the material. As he turned around to go back to his seat, he saw the black-haired girl sitting way in the back, almost hidden in the shadows. He briefly considered approaching her but didn't want to further antagonize Professor Berg.
In the last lesson, Harry listened and took notes that he could barely understand himself. When the bell rang, he turned around and saw that the girl had already disappeared. So Harry made his way alone to his room to put away his things. Then he went upstairs to the library and settled into the section that dealt with Transfiguration.
A little later, Harry started on the first homework assignment he had to make up for Transfiguration. He had to admit, the list of readings from Professor Berg was good, and Harry felt like he was making progress.
"Working hard, huh?" a voice came from behind him. He turned around and saw the black-haired girl standing there.
"I recommend not just rewriting paragraphs from the books. Professor Berg will notice that and fail you completely, no matter how good you've become by then. Try to understand it and then write it in your own words," she said.
"Thanks," Harry replied. "Are you all alone up here?" Harry asked her.
"You are too," she replied. "But I actually just wanted to borrow something new and continue reading in my room. So, enjoy yourself," she said and turned around. "See you tomorrow."
"Until tomorrow," Harry said, watching her leave the library with a book in her hand.
Harry tore up the parchment with the Transfiguration essay and started over, opening his textbook again and continuing to read. He didn't fully understand the subject yet, which is why he had actually started rewriting paragraphs from his textbook.
The next morning, he met Makarov outside his door. Surprised, Harry realized that the Russian boy lived across from him. They went down to breakfast together.
"How are you getting along so far?"
"Surprisingly well. I'm not worried about the subjects that Hogwarts also teaches. I'm doing well in those. Transfiguration yesterday was... a challenge," Harry confessed.
Makarov burst out laughing. "Berg is hell! You'll never be able to please her," he said, grinning.
"Good to know," Harry said dryly. "Do you happen to have Dark Arts now?" Harry was really hoping for a yes.
"Quite coincidentally, yes," he said as they entered the Ceremony Hall. "We should compare our schedules sometime. This is already the third class we have together."
They sat down at one of the tables and began breakfast. Harry handed Makarov his timetable, and the two of them realized they had six courses together: Potions, Transfiguration, Dark Magic, Herbology, World Politics, and Sword Fighting.
"World Politics is great! You not only learn about the history of your own country but also that of other countries. For example, I never realized that Greece had a war with Bulgaria in the 11th century. The wizards almost killed each other. But the Swedes mediated. Don't ask me how that came about," he said, laughing and raising both arms.
"Sword fighting is damn exhausting, and Dark Magic is okay, except for the problem that Rosier's daughter is in our class," Makarov continued.
At this information, Harry perked up. Romulus Rosier had a daughter? A daughter his age?
Harry looked at Makarov questioningly. "His daughter?"
"Yes. Calypso Rosier. She's a real piece of work," Makarov explained due to Harry's raised eyebrow. "She thinks she's somebody just because her father teaches here and gets along with the headmaster. But in reality, she's just a little arrogant, spoiled girl. The only compliment I'll give her is that she's insanely good at dueling. Her father showcases her in every class to show us how bad we are—she's never lost. Before the holidays, she sent a third-year to the infirmary. The poor guy went under without a sound."
"She attacked a third-year?" Harry asked, surprised. He hadn't thought that many rules were broken at Durmstrang.
"No, in the Dueling Club. Once per semester, we hold a competition to see who the best duelist is. It's allowed to fight someone up to four levels below or above you. And Rosier completely destroyed the third-year. But well, with that father..." he explained somewhat disdainfully. "You Brits had problems with the Rosiers, didn't you? Supposedly, they were followers of your Dark Lord," he said hesitantly.
"Rosier's son, Ivan Rosier, was a Death Eater. He's considered missing in Great Britain. I don't know how he can sit here publicly, and no one at home notices," Harry replied. But secretly, he knew why no one at home knew. No one who saw themselves on the 'white' side would ever even think of going to Durmstrang.
"The Rosiers are definitely people you don't want to mess with... But we should get going, Potter," he said, and they made their way together.
Arriving upstairs, they found a place far back in the last row. Harry observed who all came into the room and saw the black-haired girl enter. But unlike in Transfiguration, she didn't sit with him in the last row; instead, she went all the way to the front on the left side and sat down at an empty table. As if she felt his gaze, she suddenly turned around, and their eyes met.
Makarov's elbow hit his ribs, and Harry flinched, giving him a dirty look. "What was that?!" he whispered.
"You're flirting with the enemy. That's Rosier. I thought I'd better save you," he said matter-of-factly, and a wave of shock went through Harry.
She hadn't seemed arrogant to him at all. Not at all. Last night in the library, she had even helped him. Harry had rather felt like she was lonely. As he looked back in her direction, all he could see was her back, and Professor Rosier entered the room with firm steps. Suddenly, the same atmosphere and silence prevailed as in the dungeons of Hogwarts when Professor Snape was nearby.
"I hope you all made good use of your holidays," came Professor Rosier's soft and threatening voice.
"Potter," he said then in a louder and more demanding tone. "Come forward. Rosier."
As Harry stood up, he saw Calypso Rosier also stand up and go forward.
"I hope Hogwarts taught you how to duel," the professor said, a bit too mockingly for Harry's taste. He had been to Hogwarts himself; he had sent his son there. He knew that wasn't the case. But what he didn't know was that Quirrell had taught him a few things. Harry just hoped that was enough for Calypso Rosier. Because if Harry failed now, he would be fair game at Durmstrang. He had to make a statement. Just like he had done in his dormitory at Hogwarts. He had to be quick. Rosier wouldn't expect him to be able to duel. He had to outsmart her with a quick maneuver and then render her combat ineffective.
Harry knew he only had this one chance.