Harry Potter and the Blind Seer of Durmstrang

Chapter 10

Harry tore up the hill, away from the silent cemetery. He kept his cane, but did not use it as he ran through the grey twilight, instinctively now making for the castle, as if he had a homing beacon fixed on it. With one hand guarding his face from clawing branches and the other clutching a stitch in his side, Harry pounded onward.

The castle wall loomed before him and Harry stopped, hands on his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He leaned his back against the comforting solidity of the stone wall. Once his breathing had slowed, he followed the wall until he found the gate and Professor O'Carolan, who waited for him.

"Harry! There you are. I was beginning to wonder if I ought to send a search party," the professor joked.

"I did make it back, didn't I?" said Harry in surprise. "I guess I quit thinking about it."

"You're just in time for dinner," said Professor O'Carolan, speaking the password that made the enchanted door appear.

"Good," said Harry, keeping his voice as level as he could. "I'm starving."

In order to find a conveniently innocent subject, Harry asked, "Does Durmstrang have a Quidditch tournament?"

"We do indeed!" said Professor O'Carolan proudly. "You've perhaps heard of Viktor Krum, who played this year on the Bulgarian team at the World Cup?"

"Yeah," said Harry shortly.

"We will miss him this year while he is at Hogwarts," continued the professor, "but we have plenty of fine players still. I'll have to show you the stadium one of these days."

"Mmmm," agreed Harry, wondering if he would be allowed to play. Since watching Quidditch no longer held much appeal for him, he wanted to play if he could. They reached the Hogwarts common room and Professor O'Carolan bade him adieu.

It was only later, after Harry sat ensconced in an armchair before the fire in the common room, that he realized he had dropped the silk scarf in the old graveyard. He would have to go back to retrieve it, or O'Carolan might begin asking questions. The trouble was, he didn't know the word needed to get back into the castle. If he went out there tonight, he'd be trapped.

He'd simply have to wait.

That night, Harry dreamed again of the ancient graveyard. This time, he dreamed he was frozen, lying in place on top of a low, flat slab of stone, the letters of a name rough under the back of his head. He could see the sky with his dream-eyes, littered with stars between the irregular treetop. He heard breathing come close to him and someone stood over him holding a long, cruel knife.

Again, he heard a voice, indistinct but commanding, and heard again the cruel laugh, full of evil pleasure. He tried to move, to roll off the stone slab, but he was turned to ice on the cold, hard block. He awoke with a terrified gasp and lay trembling in his bed. For a long time, he could not find sleep again.

The next day, Harry had knitting class again with Professor Morrigana. The tiny hag had passed out metal knitting needles to each student in the previous class, along with skeins of yarn. She had tried to demonstrate the technique of casting on, but the utter disinterest of the class hampered her efforts. Today seemed to be going no better.

Harry pulled out his needles and the yarn, which had no color or definition, and half-heartedly tried to locate the end. He was distracted in his endeavor by Natalia slipping into the chair next to him. As the scent of the jasmine that she wore washed over him, Harry gave up entirely on his yarn and concentrated on breathing.

After class, during which Harry never did get his ball of yarn untangled, Natalia pulled him aside in the hallway.

"Natalia," he said, savoring the syllables on his tongue.