The Darkness of the Soul

Harry's wandering through the grounds had not gone without notice. After his points for House Martello, the Houses had all started competing. They each wanted to be sure to see him coming. He caught first-years shadowing him on his walks, and then running off to report if he started to head towards their dorms.

The Professors that noticed mostly seemed amused. Haakon mockingly criticized him for giving out Strategy advice, but then asked him to look more closely for anything that might be a problem for the school - unauthorized portkeys or animals, for example. Juergen and the Herbology Professor, Hristina Hakic, both asked him to look out for anyone trying to harvest plants from the Gardens, as unauthorized potion creation was one of the school's major problems.

He noticed something else marking him as well. There was a brown owl in the sky, which seemed to watch him wherever he went. He didn't know whose owl it was, so he wasn't sure whether he should be concerned or not.

Girard was one of the few who didn't seem enthused by his walks. Harry didn't feel comfortable explaining his reasons for trying to find every square inch of the school, so he passed it off as being a way for him to clear his head. Girard responded by adding more work for Harry to do by asking him to help out with Viktor's Quidditch practices.

Spending more time with Viktor was very nearly the last thing that Harry wanted. The more the Bulgarian Seeker talked about Hermione, the angrier Harry got. His anger was partially directed at Viktor, who was oblivious, but mainly at Dumbledore's crowd, whom he considered responsible for his estrangement with Hermione. Even flying didn't help, since he was rarely out Viktor's sight.

The Quidditch Pitch was across the river, outside the castle grounds proper, although it apparently had the same sort of protections as inside the school. It wasn't very different from Hogwarts', except that the ground wasn't nearly as grassy. It was closer to mud, with a few tufts of grass and a few outcroppings of rock. There was also less light in pitch, as the nearby mountains provided shade during most of the times of day that the teams practiced.

The teams were almost entirely composed of fifth-year and higher students, except for the Seekers, who were almost entirely third-year students. Apparently, they often started good flyers out as Seekers, and changed their positions when they got bigger.

With eight teams, the practice schedule was grueling. Harry found himself having less and less time for his wanderings, and was afraid he was going to have to cut them short entirely. He was having more and more trouble finding anything new, anyway, as many of the passages he found just connected to each other or were blocked.

On an October evening, only about a week before the Halloween Ball and the first Quidditch match of the season, it finally occurred to him that he needed a better system of making sure he'd found everything. He looked at the map he had so far, and started trying to find wide-open spaces, places that weren't connected to anything.

He found a few places that were still largely blank on his map, which he figured might prove fruitful to search. He wasn't sure if any of them were widely used, since he hadn't even started enchanting the people-watching portion of the map, but they looked like they might contain something.

The first one, he was embarrassed to find, was a series of secret passages that led behind about half of the girls' shower rooms, with well obscured peep-holes. He wasn't sure if he should report them or not, but settled for leaving them off the map. He was sure that the Marauders would have disagreed with his decision, but felt that he would be crossing an important line if he included them.

The second area that he found seemed to lead to the Restricted Section of the Library, but it also had a dusty passage that was an offshoot to the side. Down this passage, he found a large stone door with a dingy brass plaque on it.

The plaque was labeled, if he understood the German correctly, as the Highly Restricted Section of the Library. The door had no knob and no keyhole. The hinges were not visible, and there seemed to be almost no distance between the bottom of the door and the floor. Once his map was done, he might be able to find a way in, using the charms to find the password, but that would take some time.

Harry had to wonder about the existence of this door. Even teaching here, he had some difficulty in using the Restricted Section of the Library. The normal Librarian, Master Yosh, might have been possible to hoodwink, but he didn't have access to the Restricted Section. That section had its own Librarian assigned from the Faculty - this year, it was Kirsten, and she had been less than receptive to any requests from him for books.

Granted, the Restricted Section was probably less necessary here. Many books that he remembered having to sneak out of the Library at Hogwarts, like Most Potente Potions, were in the main section here. Even books that were far too dark for Hogwarts at all, titles he would have expected only to find in Malfoy Manor or Knockturn Alley, or possibly on Snape's nightstand, were readily available for student checkout.

The Restricted Section held books that were so Dark, that not even the excessively permissive policies of Durmstrang could permit them, and books that contained secrets that were better kept unseen. From what Harry could tell, it also contained any books about prophecy or divination that were more specific than tales of dark strangers or stormy nights.

All of this made him wonder - what was so secret that it needed a Highly Restricted Section?

The hair on the back of his neck was standing up, and Harry decided that he had better move on. None of the Professors had mentioned this section, and he was sure that he had not been meant to find it.

.~.~.

The last week in October was a busy week at Durmstrang. The school's mid-semester examinations were to be held all week the first week in November. Harry had to structure the examinations himself, and Girard's notes weren't much help. They indicated that he was to rely heavily on practical examinations, which required that he dedicate time for each student. With the hours that Harry was keeping, he'd started always having a Glamour ready, so that his students would always see him looking fresh, instead of the haggard wreck he felt like.

Harry was probably as tired as the students were by the time the examinations were over. Girard had already criticized him for being too generous, and he felt the strain of trying to pound lessons into students despite themselves. He knew, as Girard told him, that only by putting them under extreme strain would they learn. He also knew that his role was to be their teacher, not their friend, and he wouldn't serve this important role if he allowed them to squeak by with poor performance. He also knew, though, that he was being far tougher than his best teachers had been. He remembered learning from Flitwick, McGonagall, and Lupin; he could articulate the lessons that they had taught, could remember specific days. He couldn't remember a thing from Snape's lessons, except that wolf's bane and aconite was the same thing, and that wasn't a pleasant memory.

Strangely, where Albus and Minerva's gentle admonitions in the prior year had only made him more insistent on teaching through pain, Girard's suggestions that he be rougher on his students made him realize how little effectiveness he must have had, and how much better a teacher he could have been had he listened.

Unfortunately, this realization did little good in his present position. He was responsible for upholding Durmstrang's traditions, and Girard had made it clear that his examinations needed to be considered truly hellish to be considered a success.

And so, at the end of the week, Harry found himself with a pile of examinations and notes on student performances, trying to figure out how to score students who had merely tickled a giant rat, instead of setting it on fire as had been suggested.

He sat at his desk, head in his hands. He heard a voice, and was surprised. He hadn't heard the door.

"Your examinations are giving you trouble, yes?"

It was Kirsten. She was dressed to kill, and he wasn't sure how she'd gotten into his quarters. He was more than a little surprised at her tone - he was waiting for the knife-edged sarcasm to cut into him, but she seemed to be genuinely waiting for an answer.

"Yes," he said, reluctantly, knowing that anything he said might be used against him.

She seemed disappointed when he didn't elaborate, and the silence stretched uncomfortably for a time. He broke it, finally. "I know that I've got good practical experience, but that doesn't mean I'm a good Professor. I'm not giving up, but I wish I knew how to do this better." He'd said more than he'd meant to, and he flinched, waiting for the cutting reply.

It didn't come. "I'm sure you are doing quite well. Your students, some of them complain, which is good. You are not too soft. Others, the good students, they look forward to your classes. This is good, too. Any Professor should hope for this." There was almost a yearning in her eyes, and she flinched as he saw it. He saw a kindred thought in her mind - she, too, had just opened herself up for abuse.

He sought to change the subject. "Are you going to the Quidditch match tomorrow?"

She seemed taken aback, and a guarded look came back into her eyes. "I'm not certain. Last year, I went to every game. This year, things are different. I am very busy, I do not think I will go."

Harry wasn't sure what he'd done to put her on guard, so he sought to find something else to talk about. He wondered why she'd come, but didn't want to sound like he was complaining that she was there. "I'm sure it's rough, teaching so many different subjects. I'm amazed that you can keep them all straight; I mean," he hastened, seeing that she might take offense, "I know I'd be lost. You always seem to know who everyone is and what they're working on, though."

"Thank you," she nodded, and he breathed easier. The silence stretched on, though, and he feared to say anything to break it. Finally, she took a scroll out from her belt. "I have a letter for you. My uncle ran into a friend of yours, and he thought he would pass it along. I understand that it is not good news. If you need to talk about it, I will listen."

Harry was frankly astounded at the offer, and his jaw hung open. Before she could take it back, he responded. "Thank you, I really appreciate it. There's no one here that I've really felt I could talk to, and it means a lot for you to say that."

"What about Viktor?" She seemed to spit out the words.

He was a little confused. "He's okay, I guess, but talking to him... well, please don't tell him this." She nodded. "When I talk to him, I'm reminded of a lot of things I'd rather not think about. It isn't his fault, but he's probably the last person I'd talk to about bad news, or problems with classes, or anything like that."

She seemed amazed. "Really? I thought that you were good friends?"

"We were sort of comrades, years ago, because we'd gone through some tough times together. After that, I hadn't said two words to him until he came to offer me the job this summer."

"But, he's in love with your friend, Hermione." She pronounced it right, which Harry found amusing. "There must be some connection through that?"

"Not really," Harry shook his head, but tried to stop short of spilling quite all the secrets of his heart. "I haven't seen Hermione since she left... I mean, in over a year. I haven't even gotten a letter from her. The last time we talked, I didn't think that she'd end up with Viktor. I'm happy for her, though, if it's the right thing for both of them."

He ached to open the letter, and also ached to end the conversation. She didn't seem to sense this, though. She looked up at the cage on the wall. "Is that your owl?"

Durmstrang didn't have the kind of Owlry that Hogwarts' had, which Harry approved of. He didn't like having the whole school know when he got mail, or having people able to see if he sent something. Not that he'd done any of that since Hedwig's return, but he still appreciated the possibilities.

"Yes, that's Hedwig. She's been mine for over eight years, now. She was a gift from a dear friend." His eyes glazed.

"And what about that one," she pointed towards the open window, and Harry saw the brown owl perched on the windowsill.

"I don't know," he was surprised to see it here, but didn't feel the sense of unease that he'd usually learned to trust to tell him of danger. He did start to wonder, though, if his room had just become some kind of train station, with guests popping in as they felt like. "I've seen it around - I think it's a friend of Hedwig's."

"If it's not your bird, it probably shouldn't be here."

"Probably not," Harry said, reluctant to endanger the animal. It looked straight into his eyes, as if pleading with him. He felt a sense of peace from it, like it was the least dangerous guest he could possibly have. "But I don't think it's dangerous, and I'd rather not get it in any trouble. I mean, I'd be happy to consider it mine, if that makes any difference."

The owl cooed, softly, and stepped farther into the windowsill.

"I'm sure it will be alright, Harry." Kirsten almost smiled at him, and then shook her head. "I'll leave you to your letter. Let me know if you want to talk."

She walked out the door, and he was left there with the scroll, wondering what had brought on this drastic change.