The Black Forest or the Secret Diary of Prof. S. Quirrell

June 16, 1990

Good Gods! Did I actually reference Mme. Hooch's balls?

Q

June 17, 1990

Why take the Hogwarts Express when an Apparate would do? Why do non-magic peoples drive their cars when a airplane would get them there faster? Actually, I don't really know why the non-magic folk drive when they can fly, but for myself, I need the time to gather my thoughts, peruse my notes and buy a packet or two of Bertie Botts Beans for a taste of home while I'm away. I've been told there's a Romanian knockoff brand, Fasoles de Botinski, but the concentration of flavors - borscht, vodka, Chernobyl beef - would only remind me of how far away I've traveled.

In my haversack, I've packed my wand (double-wrapped in Chinese silk), McGonagall's Vampires/Werewolves, Dracula, Romanian for Travelers, a small sum in shekels (times being what they are, Romania and Albania are the cheapest wizarding destinations in Europe) and one volume I lifted from the Restricted Section, Dark Creatures, A Philosophy. Restricted for its central premise that Dark Creatures have the same rights as we do and therefore have no right to interfere with them. Ever.

Foolishness, but fascinating. I could lose my position for espousing such a theory.

And where would we be if we didn't understand the necessity of the light's triumph over darkness? The logic is clear, be it by Bentham and Mill's principles or by Dumbledore's

I can't get over the feeling that I'm not alone on the Express, aside from my expected companions, the conductor and Mme. Rana, who sells the chocolate frogs (King Solomon again). My compartment is empty, but there's an uncomfortable tingling at the nape of my neck, as if right behind the wall...but I've looked - more than once - and there's no one.

Nerves. Nerves. Perhaps a drink at the Leaky Cauldron to calm them. A Sherry or a hot rum toddy, then to bed.

Hello again, hello, hello! Remind me drinking is bad. Bad. Bad. B A D.

Not evil. Alcohol = Dark Arts potion - Snape? Not sure. Conspiracy?

Ran into old bad Crockford at the Leaky Cauldron at dinner. Bought me a drink for talk. Bitch Crockford to get me drunk. Inebriated.

Told me "Simon, don't go" - called me Simon - who last call me Simon - Mother - no, that was boy. Rebekah - dead. Don't know.

She said Simon, there's something what's bad in it. In you. Or on you or it, I don't know. BAD anyway, something bad. To me?

She said Simon, you stay here where you're safe. Things is dangerous out there right now. Mug- Non-magic upheaval made it easier for the Dark Arts to thrive and spread."

Sounds perfect what I need. Dark Arts Defenses remember, Gods damn it! Me.

No, said, No. Too dangersuous. Have nother and see you'll see. Have nother and you'll understand. There's something bad. Nother one.

Drinks, drinks, drinks, drunk and dark. Bad. Bed.

Q

June 17, 1990

Why didn't Snape send me away with a hangover cure?

I'm expected to Apparate into Bucharest at noon (10 AM, London time), but I don't have the strength or the stomach for travel yet. I've sent an owl and hope it gets through.

When I woke up on the floor of Room 11 this morning, I found my book out and scribbled in, my haversack slung over my head and my fez, a gift from a Moroccan gambler grateful for some advice on roulette numbers, gone. A shame to be bareheaded on arrival in Romania, but one does what one must.

The mirror's entire commentary on my morning hair is unrepeatable here and enforces my reluctance to appear in public without head covering. The fluff on a troll mother's arse, indeed!

A little gruel, some eggs and I'll feel better. I only wish I understood why Crockford was so nervous last night. It's true the East is dangerous, but that's why I'm going. How else will I prove myself, while becoming respected in my field of study? Book learning is one thing, experience quite another (thank you, Snape, thank you).

"You'll change." I remember that now. "You'll change," she said. "I like you, boy, but when you come back, I don't know if I will no more. You'll change."

BUCHAREST

I arrived two hours late at the rundown pub, Vampir Surazator, the predetermined meeting place for myself and my guide. My contact, Vladimir Todorov, was still there, but asleep, the note I sent, unread and the owl picking distractedly t his hat.

I ordered a drink - weak tea - no hair of the dog that bit me, as they say, not after my journey. The mere thought still turns my stomach.

I wait for him to wake, gathering back my strength. A hour passes, then two. I'm peckish, a bowl of gruel with two eggs on top hardly a fulfilling meal and that's all I've eaten all day. I stand up to order and sandwich and suddenly -

"Scuzati!" Like a bolt of lighting, Todorov strikes, grabbing my arm. "Imi pare rau! Dormin'fund..."

To remain inconspicuous on the streets, I hadn't a translation spell, relying on my Romanian for Travelers. Here, however, it was expected, so I whispered, "Translatum."

"- trouble even in Bucharest as of late. These are dark times, sir, for Romania."

"But I thought - "

"What?" He stared at me, more confused than I. "What are you saying?"

Selfishly, I'd forgotten him and only cast for myself. "Translatum."

He frowned, then smiled. "I could have done that."

"I should have let you." I smiled back.

"No matter. As I was saying, dark times for Romania."

"And as I was saying, I thought it was good, what has happened in the non-magic world?"

"You sound like an ignorant sang' mol," he snorted. "Sure, under communism, things were hard. Supplies were impossible to come by, wizards were made to work in the outside world on farms and in factories, spells were lost and forgotten as the old ones died unable to pass on their knowledge. Only in Bucharest did a school of magic even survive and it's very small. Sang'mol parents, party members all, would not send their children to it. Under Ceausescu, some wizards and witches were even butchered by the Securitate. But this is nothing to what we will see. Eastern Europe will rise only to devour itself with thousand year old hatreds and prejudices and many of us will suffer alongside them.

It is written in the stars."

This is my guide then. An optimist, naturally.

"And how are things in England?" he asked.

"Fine. Good." I don't say Apparently, better than here, as it seems unnecessarily cruel, if not true.

'That is good. We may need you one day. I hope you will be there for us. There are dark times ahead.”

Satisfied with his pronouncement, he turned his attention to my plans. “Now, we must decide where you will go and how you will travel. I will owl various points of contact on your route so you are not lost along the way. There are many things in these forests and mountains we don't have the numbers to defeat or even keep in check. Even here in Bucharest, we have a coven of vampires who, although weaned to sucking blood bank supplies instead of biting living humans, sometimes cannot resist the temptation or find the banks unreliable - or empty. And so, we fight. It is sad, but you will soon learn, vampires can be insufferable.

He smiled, "Tonight you will dine with my people, eight generations of wizards have made us. The old man, my wife's great-great grandfather, remembers Prince Carol I. You will do well to talk with him before you go."

His people as he calls them are a pleasurable lot and his wife managed to magic a passable fish and chips. I haven't studied up on cuisine spells, as I know my home cooking by heart, but I could have learnt a few native dishes to even things out.

The old man eyed me wearily during the meal, while the children - there are three of them - cast Solutum Corrigae at my feet and giggled when I bent over to retie my boot laces.

When we'd finished and the children were hustled off to bed by their mother, I thought I would have my time with the old man. Instead, he talked low with Todorov in a language I couldn't place. They argued and pointed once or twice at me.

Finally, Todorov turned from the great-great grandfather and spat derisively on the floor. "He's tired, the old fool. You'll talk tomorrow."

The sky over Bucharest is not so different from our own and I find many familiar stars. But reading them, they warn no evil for me - they're almost encouraging. Why do they say something else to these people?

Q

June 19, 1990

I am here for two days and there's little left to do in Bucharest. Our community in the city is quiet, but Todorov insists that everyone, even the dark creatures, feel the pressure of something stirring among them, although no one can predict where it will strike.

Except Todorov, of course. He knows it's going to be in Romania.

At dinner (I insisted on something local -- sarmale cu varza), the table went silent at the arrival of the old man, shuffling in on bedroom slippers Todorov says he found during the second world war (non-magic). He did not sit, but stared at me, his gray eyes unreadable.

He spoke in heavily accented English. “It is true what they have old you, that I have known Prince Carol. I have seen many, many things. I have known many, many peoples. I have been many, many places.”

Everyone listened to him, even the children, although no one, save myself, understood a word he said.

“I know you from other times, boy, but I do not fear you. Where you will go, you will go and it is how it is willed. But if you stay here, what will happen will not happen. Go to your destiny, boy, and leave my people.

I am sorry I must be cold with you. I am a happy man, who loves his children, his grandchildren, his great-grandchildren, his great-great grandchildren. But my heart is full of you and I want no more of this pity. For I pity you. What is in your mind could change the whole world, but what is in your heart?”

Then he turned to Todorov at his right hand and said, in Romanian, “Send this one to Levin. If intellect can conquer that...Well, if he returns to us, he is welcome in our home. If he does not, it is as it must be.”

Although the sarmale cu varza were lovely, I could hardly taste them. What is in my heart? What kind of question is that? Does he mean to say I have no courage? No love? No loyalty? No ambition? Surely I have all these things and this mind -- he said I could change the world. Why would he pity me?

Todorov took me aside after the meal and apologized for the old man. “You know how they are, the ancient ones; they aren't living in the same century as we are. When you first came, I told him you were our visitor from England and he says to me, “No, not England.”

Todorov shook his head. “My wife's side of the family, they are all a little like him. But enough. Tomorrow, I'll take you to Levin. There are many dark things in those foothills and Levin too. But you are a powerful wizard for one so young and you will prevail as youth does. When you return, we will drink together at Vampir Surazator.”

I would like that very much, but the old man lacks confidence in my return. But I will return. I will. I didn't give up everything but knowledge to die in the Carpathians.

What's in my heart, old man? Nothing that will save me.

Q