"So? What's going on?" his father asked.

The healer stood up, stowing his wand in his sleeve and turning to face Sirius. "Well, it is as it appears. He has spots of wood on his body."

"That's all you've got to say? Why did it appear? How do we fix it?"

The healer shrugged. "I don't honestly understand what this is, much less have any idea how to cure it. I've never seen anything like this. Not even human transfiguration would so seamlessly weld the bark skin to his flesh. There is no 'removing' it; it is as much a part of him as his muscles and bones are."

"You're saying he has wood growing out of his body, and there's nothing you can do?" his father raged. "What am I even paying you for?"

"Sir, I understand your frustration, but-"

"It's alright," Harry said, sitting up from his bed and resting his palms on his thighs. The foreign feeling of the wooden section of his leg felt so strange beneath his hand. "Is it spreading? Can you tell if it is growing?"

The healer glanced at him, seemingly grateful for his interjection but embarrassed at having no answers. "I can't tell anything. I've never seen magic of this kind; it doesn't even respond as being magic to my diagnostic charms! The only thing I can suggest is that you keep a close eye on it, and perhaps to seek out experts outside the healing profession."

"Very well," Sirius ground out, signalling the guard at the door to escort the healer to the apparition point. Once he was gone, he turned to Harry. "I think perhaps we ought to keep you here, at least until we figure this out."

"What? No!" He was not going back to the regimented, hour-by-hour schedule of home study at Blackriver. "This really isn't that big of a deal. You know strange stuff happens all the time, I'm sure it will pass."

"Listen, kiddo," Sirius sat down next to him on the bed, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "I know you've got friends and you don't want to miss time with them at school, but this is your health we're talking about. You know I'm just worried about you. It's only one term."

No. There was no way this would stand. "Don't make any decisions yet," he ultimately said. "Give me a minute, I'll be right back."

His father furrowed his eyebrows, then chuckled as Harry stood up and walked into the bathroom. Inside, he slipped his wand out of his sleeve, carefully taking aim directly between his eyes, then focusing on his own likability, on what it means to be charismatic.

There was a muted purple flash, and Harry was taken aback with the immediacy that his magic leapt to his command. Spells - especially ones that he thought up - took time to craft, to shape, to form, to harness the energy required to manifest his intent.

This time, though? It was practically instantaneous, like the energy was already there just waiting to be molded.

'Enough!' he thought. There was time enough to wonder about that once he convinced Father to allow him to return to school. With his spell in effect, this would be a piece of cake.

He returned to his room, sitting back down. "You really should let me go back to school."

"Um, no, I think I 'really should' make sure that my son is healthy and safe," Sirius said, a trace of amusement in his voice. "It'll be no problem to arrange tutors here at the manor. And I'm sure Durmstrang will advance you with the rest of your year for when you go back in the autumn."

For a long moment, Harry simply goggled at his father. Why didn't it work? He'd cast the spell perfectly, he'd felt the spell's success! It should have worked!

He had to think fast. "You're not a healer, how will me staying here make me more or less safe than being at school?"

"I can hire a healer as well as I did tutors. It's hardly an imposition."

"Durmstrang already has healers, though. They- I can go see them, every week for a checkup. I'll have them send you reports!"

"C'mon, Blackriver isn't that bad, is it? I know Mundungus would be thrilled to have you back."

"I have friends there," he said quietly, tasting defeat but still refusing to accept it. "I have fun there."

"Tell you what, I'll make more time for you. It'll be like the old days, we'll go on adventures together. What do you say? Some musty old castle in Scandinavia's got nothing on us!"

"What are you two talking about?" Masha asked from the doorway. "Is Harry alright?"

"Father wants to keep me here, rather than let me go back to school," Harry responded in a blur of quick Russian, knowing she didn't speak English. "He says he needs to monitor my health."

"What's wrong with his health?" she asked, switching to German to include Sirius. "Is Harry sick?"

"It seems like there were unexpected side effects of his surge yesterday."

Harry, in blisteringly fast Russian, quickly filled her in on the changes to his body, lifting his shirt so she could see the patch above his ribs.

"And it doesn't hurt?"

"Not any more than the rest of me."

"I see. Why don't you run along and let me talk to your father?"

"Alright," Harry muttered, standing up and closing the door behind him before leaning against the wall in the hallway.

He couldn't believe his spell didn't work. What was the point of making himself more likable if he couldn't get his way?

Maybe… maybe the issue was with his father, not with the spell. If Harry's intention was to be more liked, how much of an effect would such magic have on someone that already loved him? It's not as though other spells had such general effects; just like how the Wit-Sharpening Potion that inspired him had such limited utility.

Still, it was an unexpected turn from what he'd thought was a predictable spell. Maybe… maybe when channeling chaos, he should start to expect the unexp-

The door opened and his father emerged, Masha in tow.

"Alright. After speaking with Masha, I'm willing to let you go back. She's agreed to escort you to the healer and make sure you send me an update every week. Every week, Harry."

"Yes! I will, I definitely will! Thank you!" Harry leapt into his father's arms, hugging him tightly.

Over Sirius' shoulder, Masha smiled and gave him a wink.

January 4, 1992

"Hey! Did you get my gift?"

"Yea, thanks very much, I loved it." Susan sent her a collection of coloured hair barrettes. "Did you have a good Christmas?"

"I did…" Susan said slowly, exhaling loudly. "I had a lot of fun. But… I feel like I shouldn't have."

"How come?"

Susan paused. "I miss Auntie."

Hannah reached out for her, and the two girls embraced in the middle of the corridor, sharing their grief. "I miss her, too," she mumbled into Susan's crimson locks.

"It's all so unfair," Susan whispered.

"Yea. Yea, I know."

They separated, facing each other from across the corridor. "So… how is it at your new house? Are the Diggory's nice?"

"I hate it there."

"Oh." Susan's eyes dropped to the stone floors. "I'm sorry."

"I guess it's alright at Lavender's?" Hannah forcibly tried to keep her tone light and free of any resentment, but judging by the way Susan continued to avoid her eyes she must not have succeeded.

"It's okay. You know, Lavender misses you, too. You always had fun when we used to visit her. Maybe you can come over during the summer hols and spend some time with us?"

"Yea. Maybe." Susan was correct; Hannah did have more fun at Lavender's than at Ernie's, the two having more shared interests than she and Susan. But try as she might, Hannah couldn't muster up much in the way of goodwill towards their old friend. It felt like… like Lavender was stealing Susan. Had stolen Susan. "I should probably get going. I'm meeting my roommates in the library."

"Okay. Bye, Hannah."

Her eyebrows raised expectantly when the door opened and he exited the infirmary.

"Everything checked out?"

"Yep!" Harry said, closing the door behind him and setting off, Masha falling into step beside him.

"Your father will be pleased to hear that."

"You never did tell me how you managed to convince him to let me come back."

She smiled and tousled his already messy hair. "I think he simply needed reassuring that there was at least one person in this castle making sure you take care of yourself."

Harry rolled his eyes, shaking off her hand. "I don't need another person trying to make me behave. I get enough of that at Blackriver."

"I think, by now, you know my only goal is to help you realise your potential. For now, agreeing to your father's conditions serves that purpose." She paused, as if noticing for the first time the direction they were walking. "Wait - where are we going?"

"I'm going to quidditch tryouts," he replied, pulling his broomstick from a pocket that'd been obviously magically expanded, holding it one hand with his wand in the other. "Would you cast a warming charm?"

"Quidditch tryouts?" Masha echoed, obediently casting the charm despite the obvious scepticism in her voice. "Surely you have better things to do. It's just a silly game."

"Sometimes silly things are fun," was his simple answer, smoothly flipping his wand so that the crooked end pointed right at his forehead. A purple flash lit the corridor, before Harry spun the wand back to right-side and stowed it within his robes. "Besides, even if it weren't, it'd still be worth trying. There's a reason Krum was the first student chosen."

Masha wasn't the sort of girl to admit defeat. "Just because ordinary wizards spend their time watching people muck about on brooms doesn't mean it's a useful way to spend yours. Grindelwald never-"

"I'm not Grindelwald," he interrupted, but then sighed and looked down at the broom in his hands. "Look, you're always talking about how I'm going to be a great wizard."

"You will be. You already are, it's just that-"

"-no one else knows it, right? So getting a chaser spot as a first year is a pretty good way to make an impression, don't you think?" Harry's focus drifted away for a few moments as Masha thought through the benefits and drawbacks of his reasoning, mumbling to herself before she finally agreed and wished him luck in the tryouts.

He made it out the doors before letting out the smile he'd suppressed in her presence. She was so predictable, the lies hardly took any effort at all!

Naturally, Krum was leading the tryouts, sorting the applicants by position, shouting at them to hurry up while it was still light out. First the beaters had their shot, then keepers, then finally it was the chasers turn to shine.

When Harry moved to join the aspiring chasers though, Viktor stopped him.

"A chaser? I don't know if you're strong enough," he said, no doubt remembering Harry's efforts during their practice session at the end of last term. "Have you given any thought to being a seeker? I will need a back-up this year."

"I think you'll be surprised how much I've improved."

"Alright. No time like the present," he said, whistling for the chubby Bavarian girl who'd stopped the most shots to take her place guarding the rings. Viktor pushed the heavy, leather-coated ball into Harry's arms. "Let's see what you've got."

Harry hopped onto his broom, launching himself into the air. He rocketed towards the rings, not bothering with any fancy flying. Heading straight towards where the keeper waited in front of the centre ring, Harry reared back and threw the ball with all his magically infused strength.

The idle chatter of the other applicants ground to a halt, a stunned silence descending over the quidditch pitch as the quaffle struck the keeper directly in the chest, knocking her off her broom and through the scoring hoop behind her.

"TEN POINTS!" Harry triumphantly crowed, doing a victory loop after his shot.

Krum seemed to shake himself out of a trance. "Is Schäfer alright?"

"She's got the wind knocked out of her. I'll take her to the infirmary if you want," one of the rejected beaters offered. Viktor nodded, and the student helped the girl up and started the walk back to the castle.

"Accio quaffle," Viktor said, catching the ball and lofting it back to Harry before summoning the back-up keeper to take Schäfer's place. "Let me see that again."

This time, he didn't even bother flying. Harry simply reared back and fired off another shot. The back-up, wary after seeing what happened the last time someone tried to block one of Harry's throws, lost his nerve and dodged at the last minute.

His aim was a bit off, the quaffle striking the edge of one of the scoring rings with such force it practically exploded on contact. Pieces of debris fell around the pitch.

"Reparo, accio," Viktor incanted, waving at him to land. Harry obeyed, and Viktor next pointed his wand in his direction. "Finite incantatem."

The magic washed over Harry, feeling foreign and unfamiliar. Viktor stowed his wand, tossed Harry the quaffle, and then hopped on his own broom and flew the length of the pitch. "Throw me a pass," he called out.

From the ground, Harry wound up and heaved the repaired quaffle. Krum had to move quickly to intercept it, Harry's aim being roughly ten paces to Viktor's left, but the throw easily travelled the seventy or so yards between the two of them.

The team captain slowly made his way back to the ground, quietly regarding Harry for several seconds before bluntly saying, "You're cheating. You weren't so strong before."

"Maybe I just practiced a lot over the holidays," Harry instantly shot back. "Besides, if I was cheating, your spell should've cancelled it out, right?"

Viktor cast several more charms, trying to suss out the source of Harry's strange and unnatural strength, but to no avail. Eventually, he gruffly nodded. "You're cheating, but doing a good job of it. Don't get caught."

Harry saluted. "Aye aye, captain."

Quidditch was going to be so much fun!

February 1, 1992

A frozen mist hung over the forest, masking all but the tallest trees from view, but that didn't stop Harry from staring longingly into the woods. Maksim returned from the winter holiday without good news, the rot infecting the Warden Tree having no muggle equivalent. Their investigation was - for now at least - at a standstill.

Additionally, given that Harry had to visit Healer Horacek twice a week now, he'd kept his eyes peeled for any new victims of the strange creature that attacked Mikhail. The 'night strider' (according to the strange voice) had also vanished. Maybe the Warden Tree was recovering on its own?

If so, that was almost a disappointment. Saving the school had promised to be quite an advent-

"Haraldson! Pay attention!"

"Huh? Oh. Sorry." Harry turned away from the window and refocused on the professor standing in front of his desk.

"Don't apologise to me. I want to see you carry out the exercise."

Harry looked down at his desk at the mouse inside its cage. "What exactly is a snuffbox, anyway?"

"It's used to store things, like any other box. That's not important. Your transfiguration, please."

Grumbling under his breath, Harry obediently drew his wand before reaching into the cage and pulling out the mouse.

'Bet you'd much rather be exploring also,' he silently told the little creature before focusing on the task at hand. Harry's difficulties with transfiguration had not lessened in his time at Durmstrang. In fact, the embarrassing truth was, he'd yet to actually transfigure anything.

It was a difficult branch of magic, and they were only first years, so to this point he'd managed passing marks through his homework and essays without losing too many points. It appeared that reprieve was at an end, however.

"Any time now, Haraldson," the teacher said, clearly growing impatient.

"Okay. Right." Harry raised the mouse with one hand, aligning his wand with the other. "A box. Okay."

Several seconds went by. "Can I see a snuffbox?" There were grumblings from students in his Assembly, and muted giggles from those who were not.

The teacher sighed, conjuring an example his desk. "See?"

He could do this. Harry was- he was a great wizard. Almost without thinking he drew on the forces of chaos, a purple swirl of energy gathering at the tip of his wand. Muttering to himself, he began to shape and form his intention. The mouse went completely still in his hand, then began to morph, sharp edges and hard material forming out of its tissue.

Several moments went by, and Harry held up a slightly misshapen box.

His teacher frowned, leaning forward slightly for a better look. "What did you- something's not quite-"

Harry let out a startled cry, dropping the box as it opened, revealing an array of razor-sharp teeth, snapping at his fingers. The box fell to the floor, then began to scamper away on its own volition, nipping at students' ankles as it made a break for freedom. Cries rang out from his classmates, and the professor bit out a hurried incantation to the general spell to reverse transfigurations.

The spell struck the living box and had no effect. It had nearly made it to the door now.

"Vzryv!" she barked out next, and this time her Blasting Charm had immediate effect, obliterating the malformed snuffbox, nothing but a scorch mark remaining on the floor. "What the hell was that, Haraldson?!"

"Why'd you destroy it?" he shot back. "I just did what you asked."

"That- that abomination was not what you were assigned to do!" she fumed. "Twenty points from Rasmussen! I'll be speaking with the Headmaster about this, mark my words!"

Whatever, Harry thought angrily. It wasn't like he'd done anything beyond what she asked of him.

More importantly, he'd finally leapt the hurdle. From his point of view, his first transfiguration had been an unmitigated success.

"Anything else?"

Dung fidgeted in his seat, tapping one foot on the floor for a minute or two, then switching to the other, trying to keep from drumming his fingers on the tabletop. He'd already chewed his fingernails practically to nubs, and he couldn't roll a cigarette.

Bloody magistrate and her bloody rules about smoking in her office!

It was the first meeting they'd had with her since the New Year, and Dung - clean for a full month - was struggling. It hadn't been so bad when the kid was back from school; Harry, troublemaker that he was, banished routine and boredom with every breath he took.

"There is one more thing. The first group of aurors has been recruited, I would like recommendations from your guards on who would be best to help training. I've set aside a small batch of gold from the discretionary fund to compensate their time."

But now that he'd returned to Durmstrang, Dung found it difficult to keep himself occupied. He'd been irritable, impatient, unfocused. It was the boredom; there was simply no excitement in his daily routine any longer.

"Why are we recruiting aurors?"

The silence that followed Sirius' question was brief, but noticeable enough that Dung refocused on the conversation in time to hear her response.

"It's been years, and the only organized form of authority are your mercenaries, most of them foreigners."

Sirius mulled over her reply. "And regular people see them as outsiders? Do they see me the same way?"

"Of course not," the magistrate quickly answered. "But you are not personally detaining them and sending them to prison camps. Russian aurors policing Russians is the best way forward."

"Very well. Put together a list of candidates, and after I take their oaths I'll arrange for their training." He and Dung both stood, but Sirius paused when the magistrate did not join them. "What? Is there something else?"

"It's just… you mean for the aurors to sign contracts with you? Like your mercenaries?" Sirius raised an eyebrow, nodding for her to go on. "Ministry employees are supposed to be loyal to the Ministry, to the nation."

"Have there been grave abuses carried out by my guards? Have I not used my power to bring order, to restore justice to a lawless land?"

The magistrate shuffled some parchment in front of her. "You have."

"Then allow me to remind you: within a matter of months of coming to Russia, my home was attacked and my son nearly killed. My companion was killed, all with the blessing and knowledge of Russian aurors supposedly loyal to their country. I won't allow corruption and anarchy to creep back."

For a moment, Dung thought she might argue, but she apparently thought better of it. "I understand," came her clear response, and Sirius nodded efficiently and left the room.

Dung eyed the magistrate closely before following, seeking deception but seeing only submission.

Merlin, he could go for a drink and a smoke.

February 26, 1992

It was quiet all around him, the only audible sound coming from the crunch of snow beneath his boots. He basked in the hushed stillness that came with fresh snowfall, plodding along through the forest at a casual pace.

The inky blackness made it feel much later than it was. Coming from Russia, Harry could manage the cold, but the hours and hours of darkness in Scandinavian winters was harder to grow accustomed to. Night fell before the last class of the day finished.

Krum, it turned out, was more of a taskmaster than the professors. He forced the whole team to wake up two hours before lessons began in order to get practice in, just after dawn. The grueling schedule was enough that Harry often found himself half-asleep by dinnertime, twice going to the wrong dining hall out of sheer exhaustion.

Thankfully, with the first match scheduled for the next morning, the team finally got a day off.

Harry walked through the forest without a particular destination in mind. He'd passed by the Warden Tree's grove not that long ago, wandering among the barren trees, trying to calm his restlessness by pushing deeper into the mute, wintry environs.

The problem wasn't him, it was Durmstrang. More than halfway through his first year, school wasn't at all like the stories Father told him about the excitement and fun he and his dad had at Hogwarts. Hours and hours of lessons, and they didn't even end with the classes! No, then there were essays and homework! Not even quidditch proved to be the panacea to the drudgery, thanks to Krum's obsessive leadership.

Coming to a halt, Harry turned around to face the direction of the school, though the trees and darkness masked the castle from view. Endless competition, all the time; even within his Assembly. He had Maksim and Masha, but she'd be gone next year. After that, the two of them would have six more years to go, six more years of lectures and books and dullness. Wasn't he a great wizard already? How much more did he have to learn here, especially when it seemed like he accomplished the most working his way, rather than-

Harry turned around again, peering into the omnipresent night. What was that? That sound… like- almost a rattle of sorts, but alive.

"Hello?"

Silence. Then, a light rustle, not quite the crunch of his own boots, but something that moved the snow.

Walking forward several meters, Harry peered vainly into the darkness. There! Some movement!

"Hey!" It was a- a person. Harry broke into a light jog, breath fogging the air in front of him, the wet condensed air freezing against his lips and nose. "Hey, what are you doing out here?"

The person was a girl, significantly younger than him and not even reaching Harry's shoulder in height. As he approached, it was obvious she wasn't dressed for this weather, clad only in a ragged, dark grey dress, her flesh blue and pale and smudged with dirt.

"Are you alright? How did you-" Harry abruptly went silent, tensing at the shadows that started moving in his peripheral vision. They weren't alone here. His voice dropped down to a whisper. "Stay close, I'll get you back to the castle in…"

He trailed off, close enough to finally get a good look at the stranded child. Harry's mouth opened, but no sound came out, and he stumbled backwards, falling to the ground, completely paralysed with shock.

The girl's long, stringy hair had masked empty eye sockets. Her skin wasn't blue with frostbite, but mottled with decomposition, arms stiff with rictus moving slowly towards him.

More tiny, childlike corpses shambled into view, surrounding him, their hands clawing, grasping with unearthly strength. Rotten vocal cords whispered raspy, rattling words in his ears.

"Rest. Tired, need rest. Rest with us."

They were so strong, tugging at him, tearing his cloak with their grasping hands. Harry frantically fought against them, trying to flee, but there was nowhere to run. They were all around him, on all sides, their hands tugging, immobilising him, pulling…

Pulling him down.

They were sinking, the frozen soil somehow yielding beneath the dead children. Harry felt the ground creeping up, rising to encompass his boots, his ankles. He fought back, but their strength belied their size, and try as he might he could gain no purchase. His knees were now encased in cold, wet dirt.

There was nowhere to run. He had to- needed to move his arm just a bit-

"Rest with us."

Grunting with exertion, Harry twisted his wrist within the creature-child's grasp, his wand slipping out of his sleeve into his still-restrained hand.

They were all, Harry included, waist-deep in the Scandinavian ground at this point. He bit out the incantation for the Knockback Jinx, not even bothering to aim. They were all around him, all over him, it wasn't as though he could miss!

The purple flash was blinding in the darkness, hitting the child directly in front of him, causing it to rear back and loosen its hold on Harry. With that tiny bit of freedom, Harry took a deep breath and cast again, feeling the soil reach his armpits.

Another purple flash, but this time it didn't stop, his jinx ricocheting off his target, then the next, then the next, bouncing off of the half-buried children like a pinball, each impact producing a bizarre effect.

One child's black, stringy hair turned golden-yellow; another's flesh started to melt away, dissolving into crumbly ash that disappeared into the night; another froze solid and still another was blasted backwards with such force that it carved a trench in the ground in its wake.

That was his opening! He had to get out of here! Taking advantage of the chaos his spell left in its wake, Harry pulled himself forward, using the furrow the propelled child created to crawl out of the ground, abandoning his cloak to the clutching hands of the remaining creatures.

Pulling themselves out of the ground, they followed him in quick pursuit. Harry got his legs under him and took off running, but the creatures were faster than he would've imagined. He could feel their fingertips, the ghost of their grasp rustling the back of his jumper and the heels of his boots.

What was this?! Where did they come from?

Thin, skeletal fingers grabbed his upper arm, before being blasted back with another Knockback Jinx. The delay, though, was enough for another to leap forward and wrap its arms around his knees.

Harry cast again, freeing himself, but the others were almost upon him. Turning to run, his boot - caked in mud from his near-burial - failed to find any traction and he fell to the ground.

A fortunate misstep, it turned out, for as he fell one of the creature - having leapt to tackle him - flew over his head, coming to an abrupt halt in mid-air.

Almost like it struck an invisible wall… or, or a barrier of some kind, like…

The castle's protections!

Purple flashes lit the night, Harry blindly casting against the horde of dead, decaying, childlike creatures as he struggled forward, as determined to find shelter within the castle's protections as they were to keep him out.

Hands reached out, pulling at him, ripping at his jumper. He was so close! Just a little more!

More and more creatures surrounded him. Where did they all come from? How were there so many?

"Al…most… there…" he ground out, fighting forward as they dogpiled him.

Harry tried to point his wand, but the creatures' hold on his wrist kept him from aiming anywhere but straight up. He felt the pulling begin again, the sensation of sinking once more.

It couldn't end this way! He was- safety was right there, just a few feet away!

But that distance may as well have been a mile, for the ironclad hold the creatures had on him was unrelenting. Harry, tired and exhausted from the struggle, felt weak and powerless. He was out of ideas. The earth reached his knees as he continued to sink.

His white wand, it's irregular end still pointing towards the sky, faintly let out purple flickers. Weak, intermittent glows, gradually strengthening into a regular drumbeat of pulsing amaranthine light.

No.

Not like this.

The greatest wizard since Grindelwald? A child born to prophesied power?

This would not be his end.

Harry's final jinx shot pointlessly upward, tracing a futile arc into the sky, immediately overshadowed by the surge of chaotic energy that exploded outward in a hurricane of confusing force.

Vines grew from the ground, latching onto some creatures. Others were immobilised in place, held by invisible power. Harry's breath, no longer fogging the air in front of him, now ignited it in puffs of hellish fire. The ground, previously snow-covered frozen soil, now was coated in a slippery, viscous grease that had several creatures losing their footing and falling over.

Taking a deep breath, Harry exhaled a stream of flames at the few still holding onto him, freeing himself from their grasp. His balance, ironically honed from weeks of monotonous quidditch drills, kept him upright as he scurried forward, passing through the invisible barrier representing the castle's protections before he fell to his knees, gasping for breath, the fire melting the snow on the ground in front of him.

He did it.

Casting a glance over his shoulder at the mindless creatures shambling forward, held back only by the energy of the wards, Harry shuddered in terror at the near miss he'd just survived. What was that? What were those monsters?

Now wasn't the time to dwell on such thoughts, however. His cloak lost, his jumper shredded, and his adrenaline fading, Harry's body shivered violently as he began plodding back to the castle.

The temperature, never high to begin with, had plummeted during his walk. By the time he reached the Warden Tree, his shivering ceased, limbs too numb to maintain feeling. This was trouble. He needed to do something. Drunkenly reaching for his wand with numb hands, it fell to the ground, fingers lacking the feeling to grasp it.

His fire-breath, shallowly applied, restored enough feeling for him to pick up his wand. There wasn't any other option. Turning his arm to aim at his body, Harry cast the abortive 'warming charm' he'd created the previous term, crying out as his flesh blistered beneath the heat of his spell.

Agony, searing agony flooded his being, but Harry staggered on. The torturous warming charm was enough to see him to the castle's doors, but his exhaustion was such that he lacked the strength to make it to either the infirmary or his… whichever dormitory Rasmussen was assigned this week.

He felt like all of his energy had been leached out of him. Coated in frozen mud, tufts of flame tickling his nostrils with his slow exhalations, Harry's wand fell out of his grasp as he slid down the stone wall just inside the entrance hall. His head swam, and the world faded first into blinding light, then utter darkness.

"Please! Don't leave me!" Harry cried, reaching out. "I'll be good, I promise!"

"Open your eyes…"

The woman, standing with her back to him, did not turn around, but instead continued to walk away. She spoke in reply, but Harry couldn't make out the words, could hardly make out her figure at all. He only knew she was important, that he couldn't lose her, needed her, needed his-

"Don't go, Mum! Please…"

"Awaken…"

The woman halted at his pleas, slowly turning around, only when she did, it was not the faceless woman he'd pictured his mother to be. No, her face was desiccated, her flesh rotting, a mirror image of the child-like-

"Not-Harald's son! Wake UP!"

Harry's eyes shot open, feeling an incredible weight on his chest, so heavy he could hardly breathe. The weight pressed down, and what little breath he had was exhaled in a rasping wheeze, a faint misty light escaping his mouth and flowing upwards…

To where a rotund, bulbous silhouette with pointed ears sat astride him, chortling with glee.

The night-strider had returned.

Prone on the hard, stone floor of the corridor, Harry's eyes darted back and forth, finally identifying his wand a foot away. His fingers twitched, but the night-strider inhaled deeply, and Harry found himself unable to move, head held in a three-fingered grasp, his life energy flowing out of him in gasping expirations.

"You have to fight!" the lilting, feminine voice whispered in his ear, but Harry hadn't been able to overcome the night-strider at his best; now, exhausted from his battle in the forest, burned and weak, he had no strength left in him. Another wheeze, and more misty light accompanied his defeat.

A flash of light, and a foreign incantation sounded. A jet of energy, a glowing midnight-black bolt smashed into the night-strider, rocking it from side to side after the impact. The creature's unnatural form bulged, shifting in grotesque and abnormal ways, then an instant later it exploded in a shower of gore.

Harry, too feeble to even wipe the viscera off of his glasses, heard but did not see booted feet approach.

"Scourgify," an almost familiar voice said, continuing in precisely spoken Russian, "How do you feel, Mr. Haraldson?"

With his vision cleared of the remains of the night-strider, Harry stared up at his rescuer, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. "Not so great, but a lot better than a moment ago. Thank you."

"Here, let me help you up." With assistance, Harry managed to get to his feet, though he swayed with the effort. "What remarkable luck, finding you here when I did."

"Sir?" Harry asked, somewhat confused.

"I've been meaning for us to have a chat, Mr. Haraldson," Igor Karkaroff said, brushing off some of the dirt collected around his shredded jumper.

"A-about what?" he mumbled.

"About the Volga Lord," Karkaroff said, but before he could continue, the darkness closed in once more and Harry's world went black.

A/N: A little bit of action in this chapter. I admit, it's a lot of fun writing a character who has "incredible luck" as a power haha.

The creatures Harry encounters at Durmstrang are all drawn from Scandinavian folklore. Naturally, more will be told in the next chapter, but if you have a hard time picturing them in your head, you can look up what "mara" and "myling" are.

The bit about transfiguration matters. I don't see how a chaos mage could carry out proper transfiguration of material/organisms. You're essentially infusing something with 'randomness incarnate'; it's going to end badly regardless how good of a wizard you are. The benefit to this, of course, is that it keeps me from having this Harry fall back on my battle tactics from ASAoV. Huzzah for novelty!

Stay safe, healthy, and happy! ~Frickles