The Darkness of the Soul

Harry took almost an hour to find the dining hall the next morning, but Girard was still there, as was a good selection of breakfast foods.

"Ahh, Mister Potter, I was afraid you had changed your mind about joining us."

"I'm sorry, Headmaster - its just taking me time to learn the new castle. I'm sure I'll be better in few days."

"I'm sure you will be as well. I'll walk you to Professor Karkaroff's study when you are done eating."

Harry started to wolf-down the food, but Girard stopped him. "No need to rush. I'm certain that Kirsten will be happy to have the extra time. To prepare, I mean."

Harry winced, and slowed down his eating. Girard talked while he ate, giving him an idea of how the school was organized.

They didn't have Houses that were as significant as what there was at Hogwarts, probably because there were more of them. For defense, they didn't have that many students in once place. The hair on the back of his neck rose as Harry heard him talk about splitting the students up more, so that they couldn't lose a quarter in an attack.

There were eight Houses, but Harry couldn't pronounce their names. It didn't seem to be as important, though, since they didn't have house points. They did have individual points, though, which Harry could deduct or add as he chose.

There was something like a sorting, but it didn't use a Hat. There was a sort of a gauntlet that students had to run, and somehow it chose what House they'd be in, and what they'd study their first year at the same time. First year students learned Potions and Poisons, History of Magic, and Curses and Charms, but they also had electives that were chosen for them. These electives might be Studies in Dark Arts, Strategy and Tactics, Muggle Interaction, or Workmaking. Harry wasn't really sure what the last one was, but this was more a lecture than a conversation, so he didn't ask.

Then he found out that Houses mattered more than he first thought. First off, he could assign House Detentions. He was supposed to do that, in fact, for some offenses. A House Detention meant that the whole house had to do something together, so that they'd be encouraged to put more pressure on the offenders.

Secondly, he couldn't assign House points directly, but that was just so that the House always knew who was bringing them down. They still totaled all the points, and the winner still got the house cup, although they called it something else unpronounceable. The losers got something worse, though, and it wasn't just having to see someone else's colors on the walls. They had to serve House Detention the whole next year with any other house that had detention.

This seemed to have some drawbacks, which were quickly apparent to Harry - the seventh years didn't have as much in the way of incentive to stay good, for one thing. He stopped eating long enough to bring that up, so he didn't lose the topic.

Girard nodded, pleased to see that the young man had been paying attention. He explained, "The seventh years from the house in last place, they have to serve a month of detentions after school finishes for the term. They had all just left when you arrived, in fact."

Well, that answered that. There wasn't much worse than a month of detentions, especially without anything else to do.

Talking to Girard, it developed that there was no equivalent to Hogsmeade. Durmstrang students were allowed to hike, fly, and swim outside of town, in the surrounding mountains and lakes, with a charm that would help them find their way back, but they weren't allowed or encouraged to visit any settlements. Well, Harry probably wouldn't have, anyway. He felt safe from the Aurors at Durmstrang, since the place felt strong enough to survive a full-scale invasion, but he wasn't sure if he was protected outside, as well.

After he was done, Girard led Harry up to Kirsten's office. Up, and way up. She was at the top of one of the shorter spires, only about two hundred feet off the ground.

When he entered her office, to her sharp command to "Enter!", he was amazed. Behind her desk was a beautiful window that curved with the wall of the building, letting in a brilliant light. Girard nodded his good-byes and left, while Harry entered.

Kirsten looked at him like he was some particularly venomous vermin, but didn't gesture to a seat.

"Would it be alright for me to sit down?" He asked, finally, after a long silence.

She nodded, and he sat.

"I really appreciate your doing this," Harry said, plowing on into the silence. He really didn't want to ask why she hated him, but he really wanted to know. She still didn't say anything, and he let the silence continue.

Finally, he couldn't take it any longer. "I'm sorry for inconveniencing you, Professor. I'll tell the Headmaster that I was too difficult a student, and I'll ask him if he can point me to a book or something - this was just too much to ask."

He started to stand, and she commanded. "Sit."

He sat.

She was looking at him more appraisingly, now, and less like she would commence to step on him. "I've told Girard that I will teach you, and teach you I will." She paused.

Harry sensed she was waiting for something from him. "Thank you. I appreciate your help."

"We will be working on German, Russian, and Latin. Most of our students speak at least one of these languages. Once school starts, I will expect you to sit in with my sixth and seventh year language classes - you will learn Goblin and Troll, as well as other useful tongues."

Conversing with Kirsten seemed disjointed. She wasn't really talking with him - just making statements, towards someone who happened to be in the room. She didn't acknowledge anything he said after his initial outburst, she just plowed on.

Harry was having trouble keeping everything straight - she tried to start him with Latin conjugation, which he'd never been good at, but she kept trying, anyway. Tomorrow he'd have German, which he hoped wouldn't have so many confusing ways to change each word.

The whole time, he was conscious of a heaviness in the air, like an oncoming storm. Whatever Kirsten had against him, it remained unsaid, but it was in the room with them, and he could feel its almost tangible presence.

When he left, it was a breath of fresh air, and Harry bounded down the staircases, leaping over anything that looked questionable. He came to a screeching stop at the bottom, almost running into Viktor, who was walking the halls, whistling.

The Bulgarian Seeker looked as happy as Harry had ever seen him. He had a scroll clutched in his left hand. When he saw Harry, Viktor let out a great shout, and he grabbed him, swinging him around. Harry was stunned.

"Uhh, Viktor, I like you and all, but not quite like this."

Viktor put him down. "I am just so happy, I could sing!" Harry was quite sure he didn't want to see that, but didn't think he could get out of earshot quite fast enough.

"What's so great, Viktor?"

"I have waited for many years, but now, the girl of my dreams, she is in my grasp." He pointed to the letter. Harry closed his eyes. He had a feeling that he knew what was coming. "Yes, it is mine Herm-own-ne." He still couldn't get her name quite right. "She says that she may visit me this year, here at Durmstrang. I am so glad that I did not give up hope. Come, friend, have a drink with me."

He pulled Harry along to the Dining Hall, and Harry realized that it was already late in the afternoon. He'd lost all track of time when he was in his language lessons - not in a good way, but with the same timeless quality that a class with Professor Snape had held.

It looked like most of the Professors at Durmstrang ate lunch late. The same group was at the table as yesterday, except for Kirsten. There were wine bottles together with the ale at the table, and Viktor passed one to Harry. He wasn't sure he was quite used to the casual way that Durmstrang included alcohol with every meal, and he supposed that it would take him some time to get used to. Well, it wasn't quite every meal - he hadn't noticed anything alcoholic at breakfast.

He passed the bottle on to Jurgen, who hissed back at him. "No thank you. I never drink wine." For some reason, the odd Potions professor seemed to think this was hilarious, and Harry decided that he would really have to watch his own alcoholic consumption.

"Viktor, you seem in unusually high spirits today," Girard observed, and Viktor nodded enthusiastically in response.

"Yes, yes," Viktor affirmed. "I have been waiting for this since my youth. My Herm-o-ninny will be mine. I have a letter from her, right here. She is pleased with the way I have guarded her friend, and she cares for me."

Harry felt a yearning every time he heard Viktor mispronounce her name. The previous summer, he had begun to think that there was a possibility for him and Hermione to live happily ever after. Apparently, he had not been alone in thinking that - otherwise, the well-meaning professors of Hogwarts wouldn't have needed to convince her to leave him for the year. They thought that by breaking his heart, they would protect him from death. It might have worked, but his heart was surely broken beyond repair now. If Viktor was right, then Hermione had decided to move on.

He was silent, and Viktor clapped him on the back. "I am a lucky man, no?"

"Very lucky, Viktor. I know I've never been as lucky as you. If you'll excuse me, I think I need to work on something for Kirsten." He stood, and walked out. Viktor almost didn't seem to notice, as he was intent on sharing his news with the others at the table.

The days passed, and that was all that he could say about them. He spent each morning with Kirsten under her stare. He learned enough Latin, Russian, and German to ask where the bathroom was and to order dinner, but that was about the limit - between having to figure out the conjugation for each language and trying to understand the alphabets, he felt horribly confused, but he had nothing else going on anyway.

In the late afternoons, after what passed for lunch in the castle, he'd go to Girard's office, and read through the Abridged History of Durmstrang. He didn't feel the sense of curiosity that he had in Dumbledore's office - Girard's contained locked cabinets, and everything not locked up was in such neat order that he couldn't consider disturbing it.

His evenings, after dinner, were entirely his own, and he spent them reading his textbooks. There were ten of them, spread throughout the different years, with some years having more than one book. He had both English translations and the originals for each book, and he used a translation charm to help him figure out the differences.

He was amazed at the depths of what Durmstrang's Dark Arts classes covered. He was accustomed to Hogwarts, where it overlapped with both Magical Creatures and Charms, but here, it seemed to overlap everything. There were studies in history, strategy, tactics, and potions. He found a charm that would force Polyjuiced people back to their normal form, which he endeavored to learn. He also learned more about the theory behind many of the curses than he'd ever cared to.

This existence inside his books lasted for almost a week before it started to drive him crazy. He knew that he couldn't stop his language courses, and he still felt compelled to learn what he could about Durmstrang, but he was absorbing almost nothing in his evenings, and he figured he had learned enough to start the class. Fortunately, Girard had already given him a set of lesson plans and course schedules, so he didn't have much preparation that really needed to be done until his first set of examinations in November.

He still needed something to fill his time, though, and his old Hogwarts pastimes of flying, raiding the kitchen, or fighting evil didn't seem available. Thinking about Hogwarts gave him an idea, though. He was still getting lost around the castle, and more than once he'd wished that he had something like the Marauder's Map. There was no reason he couldn't have one, he realized, he'd just have to make his own.

He still had a few weeks left before school started, and he felt that he probably knew as much about most charms as any Hogwarts student could be expected to. He had done some investigation into how the Map worked before, when trying to figure out how to get it updated to show the blockages in some of the secret passages and to omit a few places that he'd like to keep secret, like the room of requirements. The spells required were tough, but not too time-consuming, which probably wasn't too surprising, given that the Marauders weren't the most studious gang in history. It might take months to actually create it, but little of that was time spent in a lab or his office, most of it was just time spent wandering the halls and learning his way around, so he could transfer his memories of the passages to the map. If nothing else, it gave him a reason to risk the trick steps each night.

Wandering the castle gave him a great sense of freedom. No one was trying to keep anything from him, that he could tell, and he felt like the master of his new domain. He was lonely, but if he didn't talk about it, he could almost forget his loneliness - and since he hardly talked to a soul, that wasn't terribly hard.

He was almost starting to dread school starting. He was surprised when he saw the ship depart one day in late August, but the Headmaster confirmed his thoughts. The ship had gone, run by Viktor, to pick up the students.

A new term lay ahead of Harry, and strange emotions filled him. He was filled with some anxiety for how it would go, regret for the loss of his free time, and sadness for the loss of his years at Hogwarts. More than any of these, though, he was filled with a sense that he was, for better or worse, totally on his own.