Gift fic for r_becca!
Happy Birthday! (See my next post for the end.)
Title: Two Days at Durmstrang
Author: irislock
Pairing: Ginny/Harry, Ginny/Gellert
Rating: PG
Word Count: 13,800
Summary: Home for Christmas holidays, Ginny is called on an errand to Durmstrang. Harry doesn't want her to go.
Author notes: Thanks to my wonderful beta, magglenagall for the insightful and speedy work. This story is in much better shape because of her. Any remaining errors are entirely mine.
Ginny made her way down the stairs, deftly avoiding the creaky step near the bottom. She didn't want to wake anyone, but her efforts seemed pointless when she stepped into the kitchen and saw him there, slumped over a steaming mug with his chin in his palms.
“Harry! What are you doing up?” she whispered. “It's awful early.”
“I know,” he said, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. “But I wanted to see you off.”
He looked sleepy, and rumpled, and utterly adorable. It made her want to drag him back upstairs and into her bed, an urge she'd resisted for two nights already.
“Here,” he said, offering her the cup. “I made you some tea.”
She sat down across the table from him and took a sip. It was perfect - not too hot, with just a drop of honey.
“Thanks.” She smiled at him, and his foot found hers underneath the table. He began rubbing his toes over her ankle, just above her shoe. This happened a lot during mealtimes at the Burrow.
The affection suggested by his foot was not mirrored in his expression. Chin planted again on the palm of his hand, he was overtly pouting.
“I just don't see why it has to be you.”
She sighed and took another sip of tea. “Harry, you know why. Professor McGonagall thinks it’s more meaningful if Hogwarts students are represented, and I'm Head Girl. She said it was a natural choice.”
“Wouldn’t it be a ‘natural choice’ for the Head Boy to go too?” Harry protested. “And where's Damian? Having a lie-in, I reckon.”
He was being purposefully ridiculous. “Sleeping at St. Mungo's at half four in the morning isn't exactly a lie-in, Harry. He broke thirteen bones when he fell. It'll take a while for them to regrow.”
“I grew more than that in one night,” he reminded her.
“I know, love. But he broke bigger bones, ones in his leg and back. Those take a bit longer to heal.”
“So,” said Harry, “why not just postpone the trip until he's better?”
“Durmstrang’s end of term feast is tonight,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“And why do you have to do it at the feast?”
“Because all of the students will be there. It’s just one award to the whole school for Special Services to Hogwarts. The names of the students that came to help rebuild Hogwarts over the summer are engraved on it. It’s very nice…looks a lot like yours.”
He ignored her last comment and continued his questioning. ”Why not do it at the end of year feast next spring? Maybe Kingsley would let me take off to go with you.”
Ginny smiled at him. He was being persistent in the most endearing way. “I wouldn’t count on that; he’s been keeping you busy.” She shrugged. “I’m not looking forward to it. From what I understand, there are only a few hours of daylight there this time of year. But McGonagall said it would be best not to let it wait. She’s trying to foster greater international magical cooperation, or something like that.”
He didn't look mollified, but he seemed to have finally run out of questions. He actually looked a little forlorn, and she was moved that he seemed so glum at the prospect of her absence.
Finishing her tea, she put a warm hand over his. “Harry, it's only two days. I'll be back tomorrow night. And then we'll both be here at the Burrow for the rest of Christmas hols.”
“I know,” he said pathetically. “It's just that you've only been home a few days, and it's been really nice.”
He was right. It had been nice, especially with Ron staying at Hermione's until Christmas Eve. The entire Weasley family would descend on the Burrow Christmas Day, but for now, there were just four of them in the house. Her parents had gone out of their way to give her and Harry time alone together, at least during the day.
“I don't want you to leave.”
She raised an eyebrow, and he seemed to realize his mistake.
“That was different. I was going off to find Voldemort. You're going to...to...Durmstrang, where there are big, muscly blokes who play Quidditch.”
“Is that what you're worried about?” she asked incredulously. “That I'll...meet someone? Really, Harry, I have better sense than that.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “I already have someone.”
He squeezed back, and at last smiled a little.
Ginny's hand on the Weasley clock was moving toward “You're late!” as the half hour struck, and she stood to leave.
Harry stood too and held out his arm. “I want you to take this,” he said.
“What?” Confused, she reached for his hand, but instead of feeling his warm, slightly calloused fingers, it was a soft, fluid fabric. “The Invisibility Cloak? Why?”
“To hide from your ardent admirers,” he replied, attempting a laugh.
“But -”
“I don't know, Ginny. I just have a weird feeling about this. Durmstrang isn't like Hogwarts. It's creepy. Grindelwald went there.”
“And Tom Riddle went to Hogwarts.”
“Yes, but Durmstrang didn't have Dumbledore. They're much more tolerant of the Dark Arts, even now.”
“But Harry,” she protested. “You met the students from Durmstrang last summer. Some of them were really friendly and not so anti-Muggle. You remember Stan and Vladimir and Nicholas? They were nice.”
“And muscly.”
An exasperated sigh escaped her lips.
“Okay, okay,” he said, gesturing in surrender. “Yes, they were nice. But there are still Death Eaters out there, and some of them may be hiding out around Durmstrang. I'll just feel better if I know you have it. It will protect you.”
She started to correct him and tell him that she didn't need protecting, but that wasn't strictly true. Just over six months ago, her mother had protected her from Bellatrix Lestrange, and she'd been grateful for it. Feeling proud for acting more mature than she felt, she took the cloak from him with a kiss.
“Thanks,” she said. “I'll take good care of it.”
“I'll tell you what Dumbledore told me: 'Use it well.' “
*
The journey was long but uneventful. Professor McGonagall proved to be a pleasant travel companion. On the train from Hogsmeade to the coast, she gave Ginny a brief tutorial on the history of Durmstrang and notable achievements of its graduates. She also provided valuable information about etiquette, the food, the weather, and their schedule. Finally, she gave Ginny a phrasebook for translations.
"What’s this for?” she asked.
“As I’m sure you are aware by now, Durmstrang students are a diverse group coming from many countries. It's typical for each professor to put a Translation Charm in place at the beginning of a lesson so that all students can understand, but for informal situations, students speak in their native languages, and you may find that helpful.”
It hadn't even occurred to her that language might be a problem; the Durmstrang students she'd met over the summer had accents but spoke excellent English. She glanced through the phrasebook and began to worry. If someone spoke to her in a foreign language, how would she even know which one it was?
Professor McGonagall spoke again. “Don't worry, Miss Weasley. The new headmaster, Professor Petrenko, speaks impeccable English, as do many of the other professors - and a few students, too. You will do well.
"Besides,” she continued, “Ancient Runes is compulsory, and many of the written announcements and communications are in Runic. That's one reason I was so pleased you could accompany me: I've been told your Runes work is outstanding.”
They boarded a ship for the final leg of the journey. It seemed the new headmaster was just as protective about the secret location of Durmstrang as Professor Karkaroff and his predecessors had been.
Professor McGonagall seemed to relax a little; she spoke openly of how difficult it was to rebuild not only the structure but reputation of Hogwarts after the events of the previous spring. “I'm getting too old for this,” she remarked at one point.
“Oh, Professor, don't say that. You've done an amazing job. No one could've done it better.”
The professor suddenly looked tired and very old to Ginny's eyes.
“Albus could've,” she said. “I know it was his time, and what happened had to happen, but -” she turned away from Ginny and watched out the small window as the ship descended into the watery depths of the ocean, “- it was a terrible loss,” she finished in a tone barely above a whisper.
There had been rumours, of course. She'd never given them much credence. But something about the grief and loneliness in the professor's expression made her wonder.
They were in a small compartment on a ship that, as far as she could tell, had no other travellers, only crew. Forgetting for a moment that they were student and professor, she reached out a hand and touched Professor McGonagall on the shoulder.
“Were you...” she began, but then thought better of it. “We all miss him,” she said instead.
Wiping the corner of one eye, Professor McGonagall turned to look at her.
“Yes, well,” she said, her voice gaining strength, “to answer your question, no, Albus and I were not.” She laughed weakly. “We had that in common; Albus and I were both bitterly disappointed by our first love, but it wasn't each other.”
She sighed. “We were just very dear friends and colleagues. Though it didn't stop him from being highly frustrating at times. He could be so infuriating and secretive - as I'm sure your Mr. Potter would agree.”
Ginny blushed at having Harry called her Mr. Potter. It didn't go unnoticed.
“I feel sure that the two of you will fare much better in matters of the heart.” She pulled a great sheaf of parchment from the bag she had with her. “Now, please excuse me, but I have some Hogwarts business to attend to.”
Ginny spent the remainder of the journey studying the phrase book and catching up on some Ancient Runes homework she'd brought along. She'd also brought The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore by Rita Skeeter. It was background research for an essay she was working on for her Muggle Studies class. She'd become interested in Professor Dumbledore's efforts toward Muggle protection, and though Rita Skeeter was hardly the most credible source of information, the book was quite popular. Ginny thought she should at least read it and see what all the controversy was about. However, she didn't like the thought of anyone seeing her with the book in public, so it was packed at the bottom of her bag.
When the ship emerged onto the surface of a lake, the sky was light, and she could see a castle in the distance. A horse drawn carriage brought her and the professor to the entrance of Durmstrang, where they were welcomed by Professor Petrenko. There followed many introductions, tea (a strong, bitter tea, not at all like what she'd had earlier) in the Headmaster's parlour, and a tour of the castle.
All of the students they passed in the halls looked very serious. Most were male, and she noticed more than a few that bore a strong resemblance to Viktor Krum. They marched more than walked through the corridors. The laughter and energy that echoed in the hallways of Hogwarts between classes was notably absent. Though many saluted Professor Petrenko, no one spoke, or even made eye contact with her or Professor McGonagall.
An escort whom she did not know and who spoke very little English was assigned to show her and Professor McGonagall to their quarters. They ascended a staircase to a singular corridor, and the escort, whose name was Bruno, said, “You vait. Only Professor.”
He opened the dark wooden door and allowed Professor McGonagall to walk ahead of him. Ginny stood there quietly for a moment, wondering how long it would take. Looking around, she noticed another door just to the right of the corridor. This door was almost the same colour as the surrounding stone, though it looked much less substantial.
She wondered if the professors here cast Silencing Charms in addition to Translation Charms because it was eerily quiet. She couldn’t hear any footsteps, or voices, or music. She was all alone.
Curious, she opened the smaller door and looked inside. It seemed to be a closet or cupboard; it was lined with shelves that were populated with dusty bottles, most of which were empty. It didn't look as if anyone had used the room in a very long time. She closed the door and resumed her waiting near the stone railing at the top of the stairs.
Then the door opened. At first she thought it was the door to the corridor and her escort was returning. But it was the door to the small room, and a handsome young man with blond curly hair was walking through it while looking down and adjusting his robes. She was too dumbstruck to move, and he walked straight into her.
“Oof!”
“Oh!”
He said something she didn't understand, and she reached into her pocket for the phrasebook Professor McGonagall had given her.
“I'm sorry, I don't know what you said,” she spluttered, fumbling through the pages. “Just let me find -”
“You are British?” he asked, with a mild accent.
“Ye - yes,” she replied. “Are you?”
He smiled, an expansive smile that showed his white teeth to full advantage. “No,” he chuckled, “but I haff relatives in England. I haff visited several times.” His accent was more noticeable now that he had said more, but he was easily understandable, and he was the first person who had smiled at her since she arrived.
“Why were you hiding in that room? I just looked in there and didn't see anyone.”
The pupils of his bright blue eyes grew large, and he seemed taken aback at her question. Maybe it was too bold a thing to ask. “I'm sorry,” she offered, “I know it's not my business.”
He relaxed at that, and then leaned toward her slightly. “I just Apparated,” he whispered. “Against rules. It can be secret, yes?”
She nodded. “Sure. I didn't know you could Apparate on the grounds. It's not allowed at Hogwarts.”
“Hogwarts?”
“Yeah. Where I go to school. In England. Well, Scotland actually.”
“You are not Durmstrang student?”
“No. I'm just visiting for the feast tonight. I'm here with my headmistress. She's presenting an award to your school.”
“How very nice,” he replied, smiling again. He was definitely the friendliest person she'd met today.
“So,” she said conversationally, “I'm Ginny. Ginny Weasley.” She bowed, as was customary, and held out her hand.
“Is nice to meet you Ginny Veesley. I am Gellert.” He bowed too, which was fortunate because then he couldn't see the scowl on her face. The only Gellert she'd ever heard of was Gellert Grindelwald, and from what Harry had told her, he'd been very advanced in age when he died recently. This wizard was young and attractive. Perhaps it was an old family name he'd had the misfortune to inherit.
She felt his hand in hers, and it was... wet. When she looked down, though the light was dim, she could see blood on his hand.
“Oh, you're bleeding! Are you all right?”
He withdrew his hand quickly into his robes. “Yes, vill be fine. I must haff cut it on some glass in Potions. But now I made mess of you. Here.” He offered her a handkerchief with his other hand, and she wiped the blood off.
“Let me see,” she said, reaching for his hand. “Is it still bleeding?”
“I think not. Vill be fine. Am sure you don't vant to see more blood.” He seemed a little shy, and his reluctance was almost charming.
“Trust me, I've seen plenty of blood before. I don't mind - or would you rather go to the infirmary?”
He snorted. “Is just a scratch - no infirmary.” His voice was suddenly hard, and she half expected him to just walk away and go wherever it was he was going. But he stayed there, and she realized that she still had his handkerchief. She drew her wand and cleaned it.
“You are very talented vitch,” he said, tucking the handkerchief back into his robes. She noticed his robes were a slightly different style than she'd seen on the other students. Maybe his parents had to buy them second hand like hers did.
“Thank you. Do you have a last name, Gellert?”
“Helsingbore.”
“Well, it's good to meet you, Gellert Helsingbore.”
He smiled. “Are you vaiting for someone?” he asked.
“Yes. My escort told me to wait here while he showed Professor McGonagall - my headmistress - to her quarters. I guess I'll be staying somewhere else.”
“You are staying overnight?” He made it sound like Durmstrang didn't have many overnight visitors.
“Just tonight. We go home tomorrow.”
“Ah. Ve do not haff lot of space for visitors. Vill put you in dungeon room,” he replied. He didn't seem to be joking.
“Really? I have to stay in the dungeon?” The alarm in her voice must have been noticeable, because he reached his hand out, the non-bloody one, and touched her arm.
“Vorry not. The rooms are not haunted. Just a bit small.”
She wanted to ask why they chose the dungeon for visitor's quarters, but just then she heard footsteps along the corridor. Gellert had heard them too.
“Your escort is coming. I must go.”
“Oh, okay.” She turned her head and listened as the footsteps got closer. “Well, I hope -”
She turned back around, but he was already gone. Odd, she thought. He couldn't have got down the stairs without her seeing him. She peered into the small room that he had come out of, but it was again empty.
*
Her room was indeed in the dungeon, at the very end of a long, narrow corridor.
“Room is here,” said Bruno. It was the first he'd spoken to her since he told her to wait upstairs. “Bath is there; second door on right. Vill be back in one hour to get you for lunch.” He bowed, and turned on his heel to leave.
Gellert was right: it was quite small. So small that the door swung out of the room instead of into it. Certainly the ceiling was higher, but she found herself wondering if the room was much bigger than Harry's cupboard under the stairs. She wished he were here to ask.
The bed took up most of the room, and it was simply made with a down coverlet and a soft pillow. The mattress was hard, though, and the headboard was fashioned from dark wood into which was carved all manner of grotesque scenes: trolls bludgeoning elves, vampires seducing young women, men transforming into werewolves, even one unlucky person receiving a Dementor’s Kiss. It didn't seem very conducive to sleep.
The light, on the other hand, wasn't good for anything but sleep. The only light in the room was a faint glow cast by a small lamp on top of the wardrobe, hardly more luminous than a candle. Luckily she had her wand, or reading in here would be impossible.
Her single bag was waiting in the room, and she began to unpack. Standing at the side of the bed, she could hang her robes in the wardrobe without taking a single step. She had just cast an Anti-Wrinkle Charm on her dress robes when a knock on the door startled her.
“Gellert!” she exclaimed when she opened the door. “What are you doing here?”
“I did not like to think of you down here alone. Is - uncomfortable, yes?”
“No, it's fine,” she lied. She didn't want to offend him or complain. “Just fine. I, erm, I... don't like big rooms.”
He laughed at this. “I see. You are talented and kind.”
“Aren't you supposed to be in class or something? I don't want you to get in trouble because of me.”
“Is okay. Am already in trouble. Would prefer your company instead of boring history lecture.”
She blushed a little at this and breathed out a sigh of what she only now recognised was relief. Though she wouldn't admit it, she didn't really like the thought of being down here alone.
“Ah!” he said, and his face lit up. “Haff present for you.”
“What? A present? I don't need -”
He held up a finger to silence her, and his cloak brushed her arm as he walked into the room. Close to him in this small space, she discovered that he smelled wonderful. It was a scent she couldn't name, a little spicy, but it was nearly intoxicating.
She watched his back as he used magic to secure two iron sconces to the wall above the bed and lit them. Brilliant flames bathed the room in light.
“You may not like big rooms, but you must like light in small room. This is not as goot as fireplace, but better than just lamp, I think.”
She nodded. It was much better.
“Are you varm enough?”
“Yes,” she said realising that, for all of its impersonal stone and dimness, the castle wasn't cold. At least that was something. “That's very kind, Gellert. Really, you didn't have to.”
“I know. Fires are only allowed for magical purposes. But, this is the proper way to treat guests. And,” he added, “I like you.”
She smiled and blushed again. “Only because I'm a girl, and I don't walk around all the time acting like I've just smelled rotten eggs.” She furrowed her brow and lifted her lip just a little in imitation of the students she'd seen earlier.
He laughed again. “Is true. Durmstrang girls are very serious.”
“I can be serious, too,” she said. “ I just try not to make it look so painful.”
He laughed.
“How's your hand?” she asked, suddenly remembering his earlier injury.
“Goot,” he replied, showing it to her. “I told you vood be fine.”
He had long, slender fingers, rather like Harry's, but she noticed that unlike Harry's, there was no dirt under the nails. No calluses either. He wasn't a Quidditch player.
He sat down on the bed, which seemed a little presumptuous, but he just said, “Continue vit vat you ver doing. I vill just hide down here vit you.”
“What are you hiding from?”
He shook his head. “No. Haff already told you one secret. Enuff for now.” His eyes shone in the warm torchlight as he said this.
Shrugging, she resumed her unpacking. Gellert picked up the copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard she'd tossed on the bed.
“Vy you haff this book for children?”
“It's for Ancient Runes. I'm supposed to be translating it for class.”
“Oh,” he said, thumbing through the pages. After a moment, his eyes grew wide.
“There is legend,” he said in a low voice, “that this one is true.”
She looked at the page, and the mark, a circle inside a triangle bisected by a line, that was on the first page of the story.
“The Tale of the Three Brothers? You know that one?”
“Of course. Some say that there really is a vand more powerful than all others, and a stone that can bring back the dead, and a cloak that can keep you hidden, even from death.”
“Hmmm,” she demurred. She knew more about the Peverell brothers than she would ever tell, and it made her a little nervous even to talk about the fairy tale.
“I haff been conducting research,” he continued, and this concerned her. Under no circumstances did she want anyone tracking Harry down, thinking he had the Elder Wand or Resurrection Stone or the Invisibility Cloak. Which, come to think of it, she had for the moment. She didn't like talking about it, but she thought it important to discourage Gellert.
“Well, I've done some extensive research on it myself, and I can tell you that it's just a legend. There are powerful wizards - and witches - but there is no Most Powerful Wand. There are Pensieves to help you remember the dead, but no way to truly bring the dead back. And a Disillusionment Charm will hide you, but no cloak can shield you from death.”
“How do you know?” he asked, and she could tell she had his full attention now.
“Is secret,” she said, smiling mischievously.
“Let's talk about something more interesting,” she ventured, not giving him time to question her further. “So, tell me Gellert, do you like Quidditch?”
He didn't look pleased about the change of topic, but he didn't protest. She was right that he didn't play, but he was a fan. His team was the Heidelberg Harriers. The time passed in easy conversation about sport, and school, and eventually, her family.
“My dad works for the Ministry of Magic; he's just been promoted to Secretary of the Wizengamot. It's good for him. He worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office for years.”
Gellert snorted. “Misuse of Muggle Artefacts? Who cares about such things?”
“He does. And so does the Ministry. You wouldn't believe what some wizards try to do with Muggle objects. And, it's important not to let Muggles know about the wizarding world, isn't it? His office does its part to uphold the International Statute of Secrecy.”
“Hmph,” he said, waving a hand in front of him as if swatting a fly. “If it ver up to me, all Muggles vood know about the vizarding vorld. They vood know of our power and superiority; ve vood not haff to stay hidden and keep ourselves secret.”
Ginny was not surprised to hear this. She knew that many wizards and witches, especially Slytherins and Durmstrang students, agreed with him. They had thought Voldemort drastic in his methods but not faulty in his ideology. She'd had more than one intense discussion about this with Stan and Nicholas, two of the Durmstrang students who had helped at Hogwarts over the summer. Still, the intensity of his voice was magnified in this tiny room. She watched the quickened pulse in the vein on his neck as he spoke.
“Vait,” he said as though something were just now occurring to him. “Your father - he is not - not -” his voice lowered to a harsh derisive whisper, “- Muggle, is he?”
“Of course not,” she said automatically. “Muggles can't work for the Ministry. No, we're one of the oldest pureblood families in England. But we are, I don't know what you would say - friendly maybe - to Muggles. One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the most brilliant witch I know.” She started to add that she had dated a Muggle-born, too, but decided that was too much information.
He looked incredulous, like perhaps she'd sprouted an extra head or something, but he wasn't saying anything so she pressed her case further.
“Obviously, Muggles can't do magic, but they've invented some pretty clever ways of getting things done without magic, and, well, we're just really not that different.” She'd heard her father say those words so many times, but saying them herself, she realised, she really believed them.
“I disagree most strongly! Muggles are dirty, ignorant, uncivil -” He stopped in mid-sentence at a knock at the door.
“Miss Veesley? Bruno here. Is time for lunch.”
She started for the door, but Gellert held her arm. “No! I cannot be seen in here! Do not let him in!” The contempt she'd seen on his face seconds ago had vanished and he looked near panic.
She thought of the Invisibility Cloak, but she didn't want leave it with him.
“I'll be right there!” she called out to Bruno.
“Everything goot, Miss Veesley? I hear voices.”
“Everything's fine. I was just -” she cast about for an excuse “- dictating some notes.”
“Can you do a Disillusionment Charm?” she whispered to Gellert.
His face lit up with relief. “Yes! Thank you. I knew you vere smart.” He kissed her on the cheek and, tapping his wand on his head, disappeared. “Even if you do like Muggles,” he added, and she could hear the smile in his voice.
She straightened her robes and patted the pocket to make sure the cloak was still in there before she opened the door to Bruno.
*
She sat at the end of the head table next to Professor McGonagall, who spent most of the lunch hour engaged in conversation with the headmaster. Left to her thoughts, Ginny kept replaying the conversation she'd had with Gellert. He was such an interesting bloke: intelligent and charming, but with deeply-held prejudices that should have earned her dislike immediately. There was something about him, though, that intrigued her. It wasn’t just his easy good looks or the fact that he was polite and thoughtful. He seemed both honest and secretive, confident and shy. Maybe she was drawn to his contradictions. And he smelled so good.
She kept looking out at the tables searching for him. Durmstrang had fewer students than Hogwarts, so it should have been an easy thing to spot him in their Dining Hall, but he wasn't there. Or else he was still under the Disillusionment Charm. As she was looking, Vladimir and Nicholas waved to her from their table.
After lunch, Professor Petrenko informed her that she was welcome to sit in on some afternoon classes, and the Quidditch team had invited her to their practice at three o'clock. “There is not much sun here in vinter,” he explained, “so the Quidditch team must practise when they have light.”
“But I didn't bring a broom,” she said, disheartened at the thought.
“She can borrow a school broom,” said a voice at her ear. She turned to see Vladimir at her side. He had dark curly hair and deep set brown eyes. He was quite tall, an advantage for him as Seeker on the team.
“Now ve'll see if you're really as good as I've heard,” he said.
“I was thinking the same thing about you,” she quipped. There had been much talk of Quidditch over the summer, but they’d never found the time to play.
“I've got Runes next. You can come with me.”
She spent a very enjoyable hour in Runes followed by a distinctly gruesome one in Potions. Durmstrang students made many of their Potion ingredients, and the day's lesson included dissecting rat brains to make a pituitary extract. That was bad enough, but then she had to boil the flesh from the carcasses so the skeletons could be used to make bonemeal.
When a loud gong signalled the end of the lesson, she breathed a huge sigh of relief, which was a mistake as the air had the pungent odour of singed hair.
“Sorry,” said Vladimir as they left the classroom. “Most classes are not so, um -”
“Awful?” she supplied.
He grinned. “Yeah. You made it through the entire class, though. I am impressed. You are tougher than you look. I know this from vorking vit you at Hogwarts, but I had forgotten.”
“Thanks,” she said. She had the uneasy feeling that he was flirting with her, and she smiled to herself. Harry had nothing to worry about, though. Vladimir was nice, but she wasn't attracted to him.
They walked over to the Quidditch pitch, where he showed her the locker room used by the opposing team. “You're the only girl,” he told her. “You can change in there.” He told her where she could find practice robes and the school brooms.
“Fantastic. Thanks, Vladimir.”
Never had she been so happy to be flying on a pitch. After the long journey, the strangeness of meeting Gellert and those disgusting rat brains, it was a welcome diversion. For the next two hours, the team worked hard. Nicholas was Keeper for the team, and she managed to get seven Quaffles in past him.
When it was too dark to continue, Stan, the captain, signalled the end of practice and everyone made for the locker rooms. Ginny showered and dressed quickly and had just returned the borrowed broom to its cabinet when she detected a spicy fragrance in the air. She turned around.
He was sitting on one of the benches next to her boots.
“Gellert? What are you doing in here?”
“You fly -” he said some word she didn't understand “- beautifully, like a bird.”
“You were watching me?”
“Yes. I cannot help it. I hope is okay. I just - I cannot stop vatching you.”
Coming from anyone else except Harry, that would have earned a Bat-Bogey Hex. But as she looked at him - what was it? Did his cologne have some special power? Was it his blue eyes that were looking at her so intently? Or the honest, open expression on his face that told her he had just spoken the plain truth and made himself vulnerable? Whatever it was, she wasn't angry. She was... flattered. She felt the first flutterings of attraction in her belly, and though she knew it was wrong - she loved Harry and didn't want to be with anyone else (didn't she?) - she couldn't make that warmth go away.
She could, however, ignore it and try to summon some indignation. “Just how long have you been watching me?”
He smiled. “I came to pitch after practice started. Came in here vile you vere in shower.”
“You watched me shower?”
“No! Of course not! I am proper gentleman. I just vant to talk to you.”
“About what?” she said. She sat on the bench and busied herself by pulling on one boot.
“Muggles. I vas vondering vy you like them so.”
Finished with her laces, she straightened and looked at him. “And I was wondering why you don't. I wonder if it's something you're taught. Most of the Durmstrang students I've met don't like Muggles any more than you do. It's like you blame them for the fact that the wizarding world has to be secret. But it's not their fault.”
“It is! Throughout history, Muggles haff shown great distrust of magic. People haff been imprisoned, tortured, even killed because they were suspected of being magic. Some of them vere Muggles! Look at what Muggles vill do to each other just to keep magic from their vorld!”
This much was true, but she didn't want to say that. She leaned down to put on her other boot.
“It is not right,” he continued. “The vorld is upside down. Muggles control everything vile ve are forced to have secret schools, secret governments underground, secret transportation, secret everything! And -” he pointed his finger at her “- they do not even do goot job! People haff not enuff food, Muggles fight and kill each other in vars. You see? It is us who haff power, who can do things Muggles cannot even dream of. Ve should haff control - of the governments, the schools, everything!”
“But Gellert, wizards do terrible things to each other too. And to others - look what we've done to elves, and centaurs, and goblins - didn't you learn about all those Goblin Wars in History of Magic? Even Muggles have suffered; think of all those innocent Muggles Voldemort killed.
“If wizards openly tried to take control, don't you think Muggles would resist? And then there would be more violence and death? Hasn't there been enough? Merlin, we just finished fighting Voldemort because he thought the same way you do. It won't work.”
“Who is this Vol - Vol - how do you say?”
“Voldemort. You know, only the darkest wizard since Grindelwald. Killed at the Battle of Hogwarts last May. Surely you know this - where have you been for the past year?”
He looked a little shaken. “Taking care of my grandmother. She vas very ill, and I vas not here last year. I just returned one month ago after her funeral. She lived in country; ve did not get much news there.”
“Oh, I'm so sorry,” she said and felt remorseful for the hard tone she'd taken.
“Well,” she explained, “That's why my headmistress is presenting an award here tonight: because some Durmstrang students came to help with the aftermath of the war in England.”
They were both still sitting on the bench. “Can you tell me about this var?” he asked quietly.
“Oh, Gellert, I really don't like talking about it.”
“But I am interested. I like to hear about you and your life.” He smiled and leaned a little closer. “Perhaps you are right about Muggles. Maybe if you tell me about this var, I vill change my mind.”
His entreaty seemed sincere, and if there was one thing she liked, it was a challenge. Maybe she really could change his mind. It was getting late, though, and she was expected to accompany Professor McGonagall to the feast.
She stood. “Can we talk about it later? At the feast? I really need to get back to the castle and get ready.”
He looked like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure how.
“Aren't you going to be at the feast?”
Shrugging, he stood too. “I don't know. I am supposed to haff a detention tonight, and I am behind on a lot of vork.”
“Detention? On the night of a feast? What professor would do that to you?”
“Professor Vercanz. He is evil like that. Does not like feasts himself so he makes up detention for students.”
She was outraged on his behalf. “Well, maybe if I ask the headmaster, he could excuse you this once...”
“No!” he exclaimed, and he suddenly looked very anxious. “Is nice of you, but no.” He paused for a moment, thinking.
“I vill try to be there.” He took a step closer and gazed at her with a curious expression. “I vood like to talk more vit you, Ginny.”
Suddenly there was no space between them and her head was filled with that intoxicating scent of his.
“Maybe ve haff feast right here...vit only us?” His voice was barely a whisper, and he leaned forward ever so slightly as he closed his eyes. He was going to kiss her, she knew it.
She reached her hands up to grasp his shirt under his robes, not sure if she was going to push him away or pull him closer, but she was momentarily distracted by a lump on his chest. He opened his eyes as she examined the pendant under his shirt. She knew immediately what it was - she'd seen dozens of them in the Department of Mysteries in her fourth year. He was wearing a Time-Turner.
The air in the room changed instantly, like the fog lifting from Trelawney's room after one of her lessons.
“You have a Time-Turner?” she asked.
“Yes. I haff fallen behind in classes after being gone so much to take care of my grandmother. I use this to get to extra classes.”
This was a perfectly reasonable explanation, but it couldn't quell the growing suspicion she felt.
“Or spy on visitors?” she asked as lightly as she could manage.
“Not until today.” He grinned hopefully.
She attempted a chuckle, but it didn't make it past her lips. Suddenly, she was very eager to be away from him.
“I really need to go. Professor McGonagall is waiting for me.”
He seemed to sense her apprehension but kept his place directly in front of her.
“I am sorry, Ginny. I vas not trying to keep it from you.”
“Oh, no? Isn't this just another one of your secrets? How many do you have?”
“Please, do not be angry. I can explain everything.” He was almost pleading with her.
“Some other time,” she said, her voice harsh. “I have to go.”
“Okay,” he said, a little less desperately. “I vill see you later.”
She stepped around him and headed toward the door, hand firmly on her wand inside her robe pocket.
*
Dinner was a formal and predictable affair. This time she was seated next to Bruno. He was slightly more conversational at dinner, and he taught her the correct pronunciation of some of the more cryptic Bulgarian words in her phrasebook. She didn't see Gellert anywhere, but she hadn't really expected to.
During the dessert of delicious poached pears, she asked Bruno what Professor Vercanz taught.
“No professor vit that name.”
“Really? There is no Professor Vercanz here?”
He shook his head. Professor Petrenko, who was sitting on Bruno's other side, had evidently heard the question.
“There was a Professor Vercanz here a very long time ago. Taught Arithmancy. But he retired over fifty years ago. Why do you ask?”
Fifty years ago? “Oh, I came across the name while I was reading. But I must have got my dates confused.”
Now that she had the headmaster's attention, she couldn't keep from asking the question that had been foremost in her mind for the past hour.
“Professor, do you ever issue Time-Turners to students?”
Sitting to her left, Professor McGonagall spilled wine down the front of her dark green robes.
“No. Never.”
“But I -”
He gave her a hard look, that, were it not for years in Professor Snape's class, should have made her wither. “It is forbidden for a student to be in possession of a Time-Turner. Their use is strictly regulated by our magical ministry much as it is by yours. It is against both school policy and magical law for them to be used on school grounds.”
Professor McGonagall elbowed Ginny sharply in the ribs, as if she needed a reminder that she had breached the bounds of etiquette.
She mumbled an apology to Professor Petrenko, who nodded in acceptance, but made it very clear that the discussion was over.
Later, she told Bruno she wouldn't need an escort back to her room and snuck away from the festivities, puzzled by what Professor Petrenko had told her. If no Time-Turners were allowed at school, then how did Gellert get his? She realised that, when she had been with him, there had not been another soul around. The unsettling feeling she had in the locker room began to grow.
Walking toward the staircases that led to the dungeon, she passed the library. At first she kept walking, wanting only to get to away from the feast to the comfort of her room. But her room wasn't really a sanctuary. Gellert knew where she was staying, and that horrible bed was anything but comfortable.
She turned and saw a familiar sign on the stone wall in front of her. It was a circle enclosed by a triangle bisected by a line - the sign of the Three Brothers' tale - and, she remembered, Grindelwald's mark.
Grindelwald. Gellert Grindelwald. Oh. Oh, no. It couldn't be, could it?
But, it could. Things were starting to make sense. The Time-Turner, the out-of-style robes, him not wanting to be seen, his attitude about Muggles. If it was Grindelwald who had travelled to her time, then all of it fit perfectly. But how could she be sure?
She made her way back to the library, intent on confirming her theory. It was open, thankfully, but deserted. All of the students were still at the feast, and that was just as well. She really did not want any company.
It didn't take long to find what she was looking for. Within an hour, she had searched through a century's worth of information and discovered that there had only been four students named Gellert enrolled at Durmstrang, and none of them had the last name Helsingbore. Gellert Grindelwald had been the most recent, and he had been expelled when he was sixteen years old.
Hastily, she returned the records to their place on the shelves. The uneasy feeling in her stomach became a wave of nausea as she pondered what to do. She knew from talking to Hermione that time travel was very tricky business, and she had no idea how many times he had done it. Was the first time she saw him the first time he'd used it? Was it even his to begin with? She recalled the blood she'd seen on his hands this morning.
She did know that the first rule of time travel was that you weren't supposed to be seen. He probably had not expected to see her at the top of that staircase. As far as she knew, she was the only one who had seen Gellert, and it was probably best to keep it that way.
She couldn't risk telling Professor McGonagall - or Professor Petrenko - what had happened. For one thing, they might not believe her. She had no proof that she'd met anyone named Gellert today. Or, worse, if they did believe her, they might want to take action. And that could be very serious indeed.
Anything done now could alter the past - or the present. While the idea had appeal - what wouldn't she give to have a reality where Fred was still alive? - the law of unintended consequences made it strictly forbidden. She knew that a present where Fred was alive could be the same reality where Harry was dead, or had never been born.
She'd never liked time travel stories. It made her head hurt trying to keep the chronology of everything straight. She needed to get back to her room where she could think things through. Even that was frightening; what if Gellert was waiting for her there?
She pulled the Invisibility Cloak from her pocket and draped it over her, remembering Harry's words: “It will protect you.” She hoped with all her being that it was true.
Read the rest
Title: Two Days at Durmstrang
Author: irislock
Pairing: Ginny/Harry, Ginny/Gellert
Rating: PG
Word Count: 13,800
Summary: Home for Christmas holidays, Ginny is called on an errand to Durmstrang. Harry doesn't want her to go.
Author notes: Thanks to my wonderful beta, magglenagall for the insightful and speedy work. This story is in much better shape because of her. Any remaining errors are entirely mine.
Ginny made her way down the stairs, deftly avoiding the creaky step near the bottom. She didn't want to wake anyone, but her efforts seemed pointless when she stepped into the kitchen and saw him there, slumped over a steaming mug with his chin in his palms.
“Harry! What are you doing up?” she whispered. “It's awful early.”
“I know,” he said, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. “But I wanted to see you off.”
He looked sleepy, and rumpled, and utterly adorable. It made her want to drag him back upstairs and into her bed, an urge she'd resisted for two nights already.
“Here,” he said, offering her the cup. “I made you some tea.”
She sat down across the table from him and took a sip. It was perfect - not too hot, with just a drop of honey.
“Thanks.” She smiled at him, and his foot found hers underneath the table. He began rubbing his toes over her ankle, just above her shoe. This happened a lot during mealtimes at the Burrow.
The affection suggested by his foot was not mirrored in his expression. Chin planted again on the palm of his hand, he was overtly pouting.
“I just don't see why it has to be you.”
She sighed and took another sip of tea. “Harry, you know why. Professor McGonagall thinks it’s more meaningful if Hogwarts students are represented, and I'm Head Girl. She said it was a natural choice.”
“Wouldn’t it be a ‘natural choice’ for the Head Boy to go too?” Harry protested. “And where's Damian? Having a lie-in, I reckon.”
He was being purposefully ridiculous. “Sleeping at St. Mungo's at half four in the morning isn't exactly a lie-in, Harry. He broke thirteen bones when he fell. It'll take a while for them to regrow.”
“I grew more than that in one night,” he reminded her.
“I know, love. But he broke bigger bones, ones in his leg and back. Those take a bit longer to heal.”
“So,” said Harry, “why not just postpone the trip until he's better?”
“Durmstrang’s end of term feast is tonight,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“And why do you have to do it at the feast?”
“Because all of the students will be there. It’s just one award to the whole school for Special Services to Hogwarts. The names of the students that came to help rebuild Hogwarts over the summer are engraved on it. It’s very nice…looks a lot like yours.”
He ignored her last comment and continued his questioning. ”Why not do it at the end of year feast next spring? Maybe Kingsley would let me take off to go with you.”
Ginny smiled at him. He was being persistent in the most endearing way. “I wouldn’t count on that; he’s been keeping you busy.” She shrugged. “I’m not looking forward to it. From what I understand, there are only a few hours of daylight there this time of year. But McGonagall said it would be best not to let it wait. She’s trying to foster greater international magical cooperation, or something like that.”
He didn't look mollified, but he seemed to have finally run out of questions. He actually looked a little forlorn, and she was moved that he seemed so glum at the prospect of her absence.
Finishing her tea, she put a warm hand over his. “Harry, it's only two days. I'll be back tomorrow night. And then we'll both be here at the Burrow for the rest of Christmas hols.”
“I know,” he said pathetically. “It's just that you've only been home a few days, and it's been really nice.”
He was right. It had been nice, especially with Ron staying at Hermione's until Christmas Eve. The entire Weasley family would descend on the Burrow Christmas Day, but for now, there were just four of them in the house. Her parents had gone out of their way to give her and Harry time alone together, at least during the day.
“I don't want you to leave.”
She raised an eyebrow, and he seemed to realize his mistake.
“That was different. I was going off to find Voldemort. You're going to...to...Durmstrang, where there are big, muscly blokes who play Quidditch.”
“Is that what you're worried about?” she asked incredulously. “That I'll...meet someone? Really, Harry, I have better sense than that.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “I already have someone.”
He squeezed back, and at last smiled a little.
Ginny's hand on the Weasley clock was moving toward “You're late!” as the half hour struck, and she stood to leave.
Harry stood too and held out his arm. “I want you to take this,” he said.
“What?” Confused, she reached for his hand, but instead of feeling his warm, slightly calloused fingers, it was a soft, fluid fabric. “The Invisibility Cloak? Why?”
“To hide from your ardent admirers,” he replied, attempting a laugh.
“But -”
“I don't know, Ginny. I just have a weird feeling about this. Durmstrang isn't like Hogwarts. It's creepy. Grindelwald went there.”
“And Tom Riddle went to Hogwarts.”
“Yes, but Durmstrang didn't have Dumbledore. They're much more tolerant of the Dark Arts, even now.”
“But Harry,” she protested. “You met the students from Durmstrang last summer. Some of them were really friendly and not so anti-Muggle. You remember Stan and Vladimir and Nicholas? They were nice.”
“And muscly.”
An exasperated sigh escaped her lips.
“Okay, okay,” he said, gesturing in surrender. “Yes, they were nice. But there are still Death Eaters out there, and some of them may be hiding out around Durmstrang. I'll just feel better if I know you have it. It will protect you.”
She started to correct him and tell him that she didn't need protecting, but that wasn't strictly true. Just over six months ago, her mother had protected her from Bellatrix Lestrange, and she'd been grateful for it. Feeling proud for acting more mature than she felt, she took the cloak from him with a kiss.
“Thanks,” she said. “I'll take good care of it.”
“I'll tell you what Dumbledore told me: 'Use it well.' “
*
The journey was long but uneventful. Professor McGonagall proved to be a pleasant travel companion. On the train from Hogsmeade to the coast, she gave Ginny a brief tutorial on the history of Durmstrang and notable achievements of its graduates. She also provided valuable information about etiquette, the food, the weather, and their schedule. Finally, she gave Ginny a phrasebook for translations.
"What’s this for?” she asked.
“As I’m sure you are aware by now, Durmstrang students are a diverse group coming from many countries. It's typical for each professor to put a Translation Charm in place at the beginning of a lesson so that all students can understand, but for informal situations, students speak in their native languages, and you may find that helpful.”
It hadn't even occurred to her that language might be a problem; the Durmstrang students she'd met over the summer had accents but spoke excellent English. She glanced through the phrasebook and began to worry. If someone spoke to her in a foreign language, how would she even know which one it was?
Professor McGonagall spoke again. “Don't worry, Miss Weasley. The new headmaster, Professor Petrenko, speaks impeccable English, as do many of the other professors - and a few students, too. You will do well.
"Besides,” she continued, “Ancient Runes is compulsory, and many of the written announcements and communications are in Runic. That's one reason I was so pleased you could accompany me: I've been told your Runes work is outstanding.”
They boarded a ship for the final leg of the journey. It seemed the new headmaster was just as protective about the secret location of Durmstrang as Professor Karkaroff and his predecessors had been.
Professor McGonagall seemed to relax a little; she spoke openly of how difficult it was to rebuild not only the structure but reputation of Hogwarts after the events of the previous spring. “I'm getting too old for this,” she remarked at one point.
“Oh, Professor, don't say that. You've done an amazing job. No one could've done it better.”
The professor suddenly looked tired and very old to Ginny's eyes.
“Albus could've,” she said. “I know it was his time, and what happened had to happen, but -” she turned away from Ginny and watched out the small window as the ship descended into the watery depths of the ocean, “- it was a terrible loss,” she finished in a tone barely above a whisper.
There had been rumours, of course. She'd never given them much credence. But something about the grief and loneliness in the professor's expression made her wonder.
They were in a small compartment on a ship that, as far as she could tell, had no other travellers, only crew. Forgetting for a moment that they were student and professor, she reached out a hand and touched Professor McGonagall on the shoulder.
“Were you...” she began, but then thought better of it. “We all miss him,” she said instead.
Wiping the corner of one eye, Professor McGonagall turned to look at her.
“Yes, well,” she said, her voice gaining strength, “to answer your question, no, Albus and I were not.” She laughed weakly. “We had that in common; Albus and I were both bitterly disappointed by our first love, but it wasn't each other.”
She sighed. “We were just very dear friends and colleagues. Though it didn't stop him from being highly frustrating at times. He could be so infuriating and secretive - as I'm sure your Mr. Potter would agree.”
Ginny blushed at having Harry called her Mr. Potter. It didn't go unnoticed.
“I feel sure that the two of you will fare much better in matters of the heart.” She pulled a great sheaf of parchment from the bag she had with her. “Now, please excuse me, but I have some Hogwarts business to attend to.”
Ginny spent the remainder of the journey studying the phrase book and catching up on some Ancient Runes homework she'd brought along. She'd also brought The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore by Rita Skeeter. It was background research for an essay she was working on for her Muggle Studies class. She'd become interested in Professor Dumbledore's efforts toward Muggle protection, and though Rita Skeeter was hardly the most credible source of information, the book was quite popular. Ginny thought she should at least read it and see what all the controversy was about. However, she didn't like the thought of anyone seeing her with the book in public, so it was packed at the bottom of her bag.
When the ship emerged onto the surface of a lake, the sky was light, and she could see a castle in the distance. A horse drawn carriage brought her and the professor to the entrance of Durmstrang, where they were welcomed by Professor Petrenko. There followed many introductions, tea (a strong, bitter tea, not at all like what she'd had earlier) in the Headmaster's parlour, and a tour of the castle.
All of the students they passed in the halls looked very serious. Most were male, and she noticed more than a few that bore a strong resemblance to Viktor Krum. They marched more than walked through the corridors. The laughter and energy that echoed in the hallways of Hogwarts between classes was notably absent. Though many saluted Professor Petrenko, no one spoke, or even made eye contact with her or Professor McGonagall.
An escort whom she did not know and who spoke very little English was assigned to show her and Professor McGonagall to their quarters. They ascended a staircase to a singular corridor, and the escort, whose name was Bruno, said, “You vait. Only Professor.”
He opened the dark wooden door and allowed Professor McGonagall to walk ahead of him. Ginny stood there quietly for a moment, wondering how long it would take. Looking around, she noticed another door just to the right of the corridor. This door was almost the same colour as the surrounding stone, though it looked much less substantial.
She wondered if the professors here cast Silencing Charms in addition to Translation Charms because it was eerily quiet. She couldn’t hear any footsteps, or voices, or music. She was all alone.
Curious, she opened the smaller door and looked inside. It seemed to be a closet or cupboard; it was lined with shelves that were populated with dusty bottles, most of which were empty. It didn't look as if anyone had used the room in a very long time. She closed the door and resumed her waiting near the stone railing at the top of the stairs.
Then the door opened. At first she thought it was the door to the corridor and her escort was returning. But it was the door to the small room, and a handsome young man with blond curly hair was walking through it while looking down and adjusting his robes. She was too dumbstruck to move, and he walked straight into her.
“Oof!”
“Oh!”
He said something she didn't understand, and she reached into her pocket for the phrasebook Professor McGonagall had given her.
“I'm sorry, I don't know what you said,” she spluttered, fumbling through the pages. “Just let me find -”
“You are British?” he asked, with a mild accent.
“Ye - yes,” she replied. “Are you?”
He smiled, an expansive smile that showed his white teeth to full advantage. “No,” he chuckled, “but I haff relatives in England. I haff visited several times.” His accent was more noticeable now that he had said more, but he was easily understandable, and he was the first person who had smiled at her since she arrived.
“Why were you hiding in that room? I just looked in there and didn't see anyone.”
The pupils of his bright blue eyes grew large, and he seemed taken aback at her question. Maybe it was too bold a thing to ask. “I'm sorry,” she offered, “I know it's not my business.”
He relaxed at that, and then leaned toward her slightly. “I just Apparated,” he whispered. “Against rules. It can be secret, yes?”
She nodded. “Sure. I didn't know you could Apparate on the grounds. It's not allowed at Hogwarts.”
“Hogwarts?”
“Yeah. Where I go to school. In England. Well, Scotland actually.”
“You are not Durmstrang student?”
“No. I'm just visiting for the feast tonight. I'm here with my headmistress. She's presenting an award to your school.”
“How very nice,” he replied, smiling again. He was definitely the friendliest person she'd met today.
“So,” she said conversationally, “I'm Ginny. Ginny Weasley.” She bowed, as was customary, and held out her hand.
“Is nice to meet you Ginny Veesley. I am Gellert.” He bowed too, which was fortunate because then he couldn't see the scowl on her face. The only Gellert she'd ever heard of was Gellert Grindelwald, and from what Harry had told her, he'd been very advanced in age when he died recently. This wizard was young and attractive. Perhaps it was an old family name he'd had the misfortune to inherit.
She felt his hand in hers, and it was... wet. When she looked down, though the light was dim, she could see blood on his hand.
“Oh, you're bleeding! Are you all right?”
He withdrew his hand quickly into his robes. “Yes, vill be fine. I must haff cut it on some glass in Potions. But now I made mess of you. Here.” He offered her a handkerchief with his other hand, and she wiped the blood off.
“Let me see,” she said, reaching for his hand. “Is it still bleeding?”
“I think not. Vill be fine. Am sure you don't vant to see more blood.” He seemed a little shy, and his reluctance was almost charming.
“Trust me, I've seen plenty of blood before. I don't mind - or would you rather go to the infirmary?”
He snorted. “Is just a scratch - no infirmary.” His voice was suddenly hard, and she half expected him to just walk away and go wherever it was he was going. But he stayed there, and she realized that she still had his handkerchief. She drew her wand and cleaned it.
“You are very talented vitch,” he said, tucking the handkerchief back into his robes. She noticed his robes were a slightly different style than she'd seen on the other students. Maybe his parents had to buy them second hand like hers did.
“Thank you. Do you have a last name, Gellert?”
“Helsingbore.”
“Well, it's good to meet you, Gellert Helsingbore.”
He smiled. “Are you vaiting for someone?” he asked.
“Yes. My escort told me to wait here while he showed Professor McGonagall - my headmistress - to her quarters. I guess I'll be staying somewhere else.”
“You are staying overnight?” He made it sound like Durmstrang didn't have many overnight visitors.
“Just tonight. We go home tomorrow.”
“Ah. Ve do not haff lot of space for visitors. Vill put you in dungeon room,” he replied. He didn't seem to be joking.
“Really? I have to stay in the dungeon?” The alarm in her voice must have been noticeable, because he reached his hand out, the non-bloody one, and touched her arm.
“Vorry not. The rooms are not haunted. Just a bit small.”
She wanted to ask why they chose the dungeon for visitor's quarters, but just then she heard footsteps along the corridor. Gellert had heard them too.
“Your escort is coming. I must go.”
“Oh, okay.” She turned her head and listened as the footsteps got closer. “Well, I hope -”
She turned back around, but he was already gone. Odd, she thought. He couldn't have got down the stairs without her seeing him. She peered into the small room that he had come out of, but it was again empty.
*
Her room was indeed in the dungeon, at the very end of a long, narrow corridor.
“Room is here,” said Bruno. It was the first he'd spoken to her since he told her to wait upstairs. “Bath is there; second door on right. Vill be back in one hour to get you for lunch.” He bowed, and turned on his heel to leave.
Gellert was right: it was quite small. So small that the door swung out of the room instead of into it. Certainly the ceiling was higher, but she found herself wondering if the room was much bigger than Harry's cupboard under the stairs. She wished he were here to ask.
The bed took up most of the room, and it was simply made with a down coverlet and a soft pillow. The mattress was hard, though, and the headboard was fashioned from dark wood into which was carved all manner of grotesque scenes: trolls bludgeoning elves, vampires seducing young women, men transforming into werewolves, even one unlucky person receiving a Dementor’s Kiss. It didn't seem very conducive to sleep.
The light, on the other hand, wasn't good for anything but sleep. The only light in the room was a faint glow cast by a small lamp on top of the wardrobe, hardly more luminous than a candle. Luckily she had her wand, or reading in here would be impossible.
Her single bag was waiting in the room, and she began to unpack. Standing at the side of the bed, she could hang her robes in the wardrobe without taking a single step. She had just cast an Anti-Wrinkle Charm on her dress robes when a knock on the door startled her.
“Gellert!” she exclaimed when she opened the door. “What are you doing here?”
“I did not like to think of you down here alone. Is - uncomfortable, yes?”
“No, it's fine,” she lied. She didn't want to offend him or complain. “Just fine. I, erm, I... don't like big rooms.”
He laughed at this. “I see. You are talented and kind.”
“Aren't you supposed to be in class or something? I don't want you to get in trouble because of me.”
“Is okay. Am already in trouble. Would prefer your company instead of boring history lecture.”
She blushed a little at this and breathed out a sigh of what she only now recognised was relief. Though she wouldn't admit it, she didn't really like the thought of being down here alone.
“Ah!” he said, and his face lit up. “Haff present for you.”
“What? A present? I don't need -”
He held up a finger to silence her, and his cloak brushed her arm as he walked into the room. Close to him in this small space, she discovered that he smelled wonderful. It was a scent she couldn't name, a little spicy, but it was nearly intoxicating.
She watched his back as he used magic to secure two iron sconces to the wall above the bed and lit them. Brilliant flames bathed the room in light.
“You may not like big rooms, but you must like light in small room. This is not as goot as fireplace, but better than just lamp, I think.”
She nodded. It was much better.
“Are you varm enough?”
“Yes,” she said realising that, for all of its impersonal stone and dimness, the castle wasn't cold. At least that was something. “That's very kind, Gellert. Really, you didn't have to.”
“I know. Fires are only allowed for magical purposes. But, this is the proper way to treat guests. And,” he added, “I like you.”
She smiled and blushed again. “Only because I'm a girl, and I don't walk around all the time acting like I've just smelled rotten eggs.” She furrowed her brow and lifted her lip just a little in imitation of the students she'd seen earlier.
He laughed again. “Is true. Durmstrang girls are very serious.”
“I can be serious, too,” she said. “ I just try not to make it look so painful.”
He laughed.
“How's your hand?” she asked, suddenly remembering his earlier injury.
“Goot,” he replied, showing it to her. “I told you vood be fine.”
He had long, slender fingers, rather like Harry's, but she noticed that unlike Harry's, there was no dirt under the nails. No calluses either. He wasn't a Quidditch player.
He sat down on the bed, which seemed a little presumptuous, but he just said, “Continue vit vat you ver doing. I vill just hide down here vit you.”
“What are you hiding from?”
He shook his head. “No. Haff already told you one secret. Enuff for now.” His eyes shone in the warm torchlight as he said this.
Shrugging, she resumed her unpacking. Gellert picked up the copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard she'd tossed on the bed.
“Vy you haff this book for children?”
“It's for Ancient Runes. I'm supposed to be translating it for class.”
“Oh,” he said, thumbing through the pages. After a moment, his eyes grew wide.
“There is legend,” he said in a low voice, “that this one is true.”
She looked at the page, and the mark, a circle inside a triangle bisected by a line, that was on the first page of the story.
“The Tale of the Three Brothers? You know that one?”
“Of course. Some say that there really is a vand more powerful than all others, and a stone that can bring back the dead, and a cloak that can keep you hidden, even from death.”
“Hmmm,” she demurred. She knew more about the Peverell brothers than she would ever tell, and it made her a little nervous even to talk about the fairy tale.
“I haff been conducting research,” he continued, and this concerned her. Under no circumstances did she want anyone tracking Harry down, thinking he had the Elder Wand or Resurrection Stone or the Invisibility Cloak. Which, come to think of it, she had for the moment. She didn't like talking about it, but she thought it important to discourage Gellert.
“Well, I've done some extensive research on it myself, and I can tell you that it's just a legend. There are powerful wizards - and witches - but there is no Most Powerful Wand. There are Pensieves to help you remember the dead, but no way to truly bring the dead back. And a Disillusionment Charm will hide you, but no cloak can shield you from death.”
“How do you know?” he asked, and she could tell she had his full attention now.
“Is secret,” she said, smiling mischievously.
“Let's talk about something more interesting,” she ventured, not giving him time to question her further. “So, tell me Gellert, do you like Quidditch?”
He didn't look pleased about the change of topic, but he didn't protest. She was right that he didn't play, but he was a fan. His team was the Heidelberg Harriers. The time passed in easy conversation about sport, and school, and eventually, her family.
“My dad works for the Ministry of Magic; he's just been promoted to Secretary of the Wizengamot. It's good for him. He worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office for years.”
Gellert snorted. “Misuse of Muggle Artefacts? Who cares about such things?”
“He does. And so does the Ministry. You wouldn't believe what some wizards try to do with Muggle objects. And, it's important not to let Muggles know about the wizarding world, isn't it? His office does its part to uphold the International Statute of Secrecy.”
“Hmph,” he said, waving a hand in front of him as if swatting a fly. “If it ver up to me, all Muggles vood know about the vizarding vorld. They vood know of our power and superiority; ve vood not haff to stay hidden and keep ourselves secret.”
Ginny was not surprised to hear this. She knew that many wizards and witches, especially Slytherins and Durmstrang students, agreed with him. They had thought Voldemort drastic in his methods but not faulty in his ideology. She'd had more than one intense discussion about this with Stan and Nicholas, two of the Durmstrang students who had helped at Hogwarts over the summer. Still, the intensity of his voice was magnified in this tiny room. She watched the quickened pulse in the vein on his neck as he spoke.
“Vait,” he said as though something were just now occurring to him. “Your father - he is not - not -” his voice lowered to a harsh derisive whisper, “- Muggle, is he?”
“Of course not,” she said automatically. “Muggles can't work for the Ministry. No, we're one of the oldest pureblood families in England. But we are, I don't know what you would say - friendly maybe - to Muggles. One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the most brilliant witch I know.” She started to add that she had dated a Muggle-born, too, but decided that was too much information.
He looked incredulous, like perhaps she'd sprouted an extra head or something, but he wasn't saying anything so she pressed her case further.
“Obviously, Muggles can't do magic, but they've invented some pretty clever ways of getting things done without magic, and, well, we're just really not that different.” She'd heard her father say those words so many times, but saying them herself, she realised, she really believed them.
“I disagree most strongly! Muggles are dirty, ignorant, uncivil -” He stopped in mid-sentence at a knock at the door.
“Miss Veesley? Bruno here. Is time for lunch.”
She started for the door, but Gellert held her arm. “No! I cannot be seen in here! Do not let him in!” The contempt she'd seen on his face seconds ago had vanished and he looked near panic.
She thought of the Invisibility Cloak, but she didn't want leave it with him.
“I'll be right there!” she called out to Bruno.
“Everything goot, Miss Veesley? I hear voices.”
“Everything's fine. I was just -” she cast about for an excuse “- dictating some notes.”
“Can you do a Disillusionment Charm?” she whispered to Gellert.
His face lit up with relief. “Yes! Thank you. I knew you vere smart.” He kissed her on the cheek and, tapping his wand on his head, disappeared. “Even if you do like Muggles,” he added, and she could hear the smile in his voice.
She straightened her robes and patted the pocket to make sure the cloak was still in there before she opened the door to Bruno.
*
She sat at the end of the head table next to Professor McGonagall, who spent most of the lunch hour engaged in conversation with the headmaster. Left to her thoughts, Ginny kept replaying the conversation she'd had with Gellert. He was such an interesting bloke: intelligent and charming, but with deeply-held prejudices that should have earned her dislike immediately. There was something about him, though, that intrigued her. It wasn’t just his easy good looks or the fact that he was polite and thoughtful. He seemed both honest and secretive, confident and shy. Maybe she was drawn to his contradictions. And he smelled so good.
She kept looking out at the tables searching for him. Durmstrang had fewer students than Hogwarts, so it should have been an easy thing to spot him in their Dining Hall, but he wasn't there. Or else he was still under the Disillusionment Charm. As she was looking, Vladimir and Nicholas waved to her from their table.
After lunch, Professor Petrenko informed her that she was welcome to sit in on some afternoon classes, and the Quidditch team had invited her to their practice at three o'clock. “There is not much sun here in vinter,” he explained, “so the Quidditch team must practise when they have light.”
“But I didn't bring a broom,” she said, disheartened at the thought.
“She can borrow a school broom,” said a voice at her ear. She turned to see Vladimir at her side. He had dark curly hair and deep set brown eyes. He was quite tall, an advantage for him as Seeker on the team.
“Now ve'll see if you're really as good as I've heard,” he said.
“I was thinking the same thing about you,” she quipped. There had been much talk of Quidditch over the summer, but they’d never found the time to play.
“I've got Runes next. You can come with me.”
She spent a very enjoyable hour in Runes followed by a distinctly gruesome one in Potions. Durmstrang students made many of their Potion ingredients, and the day's lesson included dissecting rat brains to make a pituitary extract. That was bad enough, but then she had to boil the flesh from the carcasses so the skeletons could be used to make bonemeal.
When a loud gong signalled the end of the lesson, she breathed a huge sigh of relief, which was a mistake as the air had the pungent odour of singed hair.
“Sorry,” said Vladimir as they left the classroom. “Most classes are not so, um -”
“Awful?” she supplied.
He grinned. “Yeah. You made it through the entire class, though. I am impressed. You are tougher than you look. I know this from vorking vit you at Hogwarts, but I had forgotten.”
“Thanks,” she said. She had the uneasy feeling that he was flirting with her, and she smiled to herself. Harry had nothing to worry about, though. Vladimir was nice, but she wasn't attracted to him.
They walked over to the Quidditch pitch, where he showed her the locker room used by the opposing team. “You're the only girl,” he told her. “You can change in there.” He told her where she could find practice robes and the school brooms.
“Fantastic. Thanks, Vladimir.”
Never had she been so happy to be flying on a pitch. After the long journey, the strangeness of meeting Gellert and those disgusting rat brains, it was a welcome diversion. For the next two hours, the team worked hard. Nicholas was Keeper for the team, and she managed to get seven Quaffles in past him.
When it was too dark to continue, Stan, the captain, signalled the end of practice and everyone made for the locker rooms. Ginny showered and dressed quickly and had just returned the borrowed broom to its cabinet when she detected a spicy fragrance in the air. She turned around.
He was sitting on one of the benches next to her boots.
“Gellert? What are you doing in here?”
“You fly -” he said some word she didn't understand “- beautifully, like a bird.”
“You were watching me?”
“Yes. I cannot help it. I hope is okay. I just - I cannot stop vatching you.”
Coming from anyone else except Harry, that would have earned a Bat-Bogey Hex. But as she looked at him - what was it? Did his cologne have some special power? Was it his blue eyes that were looking at her so intently? Or the honest, open expression on his face that told her he had just spoken the plain truth and made himself vulnerable? Whatever it was, she wasn't angry. She was... flattered. She felt the first flutterings of attraction in her belly, and though she knew it was wrong - she loved Harry and didn't want to be with anyone else (didn't she?) - she couldn't make that warmth go away.
She could, however, ignore it and try to summon some indignation. “Just how long have you been watching me?”
He smiled. “I came to pitch after practice started. Came in here vile you vere in shower.”
“You watched me shower?”
“No! Of course not! I am proper gentleman. I just vant to talk to you.”
“About what?” she said. She sat on the bench and busied herself by pulling on one boot.
“Muggles. I vas vondering vy you like them so.”
Finished with her laces, she straightened and looked at him. “And I was wondering why you don't. I wonder if it's something you're taught. Most of the Durmstrang students I've met don't like Muggles any more than you do. It's like you blame them for the fact that the wizarding world has to be secret. But it's not their fault.”
“It is! Throughout history, Muggles haff shown great distrust of magic. People haff been imprisoned, tortured, even killed because they were suspected of being magic. Some of them vere Muggles! Look at what Muggles vill do to each other just to keep magic from their vorld!”
This much was true, but she didn't want to say that. She leaned down to put on her other boot.
“It is not right,” he continued. “The vorld is upside down. Muggles control everything vile ve are forced to have secret schools, secret governments underground, secret transportation, secret everything! And -” he pointed his finger at her “- they do not even do goot job! People haff not enuff food, Muggles fight and kill each other in vars. You see? It is us who haff power, who can do things Muggles cannot even dream of. Ve should haff control - of the governments, the schools, everything!”
“But Gellert, wizards do terrible things to each other too. And to others - look what we've done to elves, and centaurs, and goblins - didn't you learn about all those Goblin Wars in History of Magic? Even Muggles have suffered; think of all those innocent Muggles Voldemort killed.
“If wizards openly tried to take control, don't you think Muggles would resist? And then there would be more violence and death? Hasn't there been enough? Merlin, we just finished fighting Voldemort because he thought the same way you do. It won't work.”
“Who is this Vol - Vol - how do you say?”
“Voldemort. You know, only the darkest wizard since Grindelwald. Killed at the Battle of Hogwarts last May. Surely you know this - where have you been for the past year?”
He looked a little shaken. “Taking care of my grandmother. She vas very ill, and I vas not here last year. I just returned one month ago after her funeral. She lived in country; ve did not get much news there.”
“Oh, I'm so sorry,” she said and felt remorseful for the hard tone she'd taken.
“Well,” she explained, “That's why my headmistress is presenting an award here tonight: because some Durmstrang students came to help with the aftermath of the war in England.”
They were both still sitting on the bench. “Can you tell me about this var?” he asked quietly.
“Oh, Gellert, I really don't like talking about it.”
“But I am interested. I like to hear about you and your life.” He smiled and leaned a little closer. “Perhaps you are right about Muggles. Maybe if you tell me about this var, I vill change my mind.”
His entreaty seemed sincere, and if there was one thing she liked, it was a challenge. Maybe she really could change his mind. It was getting late, though, and she was expected to accompany Professor McGonagall to the feast.
She stood. “Can we talk about it later? At the feast? I really need to get back to the castle and get ready.”
He looked like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure how.
“Aren't you going to be at the feast?”
Shrugging, he stood too. “I don't know. I am supposed to haff a detention tonight, and I am behind on a lot of vork.”
“Detention? On the night of a feast? What professor would do that to you?”
“Professor Vercanz. He is evil like that. Does not like feasts himself so he makes up detention for students.”
She was outraged on his behalf. “Well, maybe if I ask the headmaster, he could excuse you this once...”
“No!” he exclaimed, and he suddenly looked very anxious. “Is nice of you, but no.” He paused for a moment, thinking.
“I vill try to be there.” He took a step closer and gazed at her with a curious expression. “I vood like to talk more vit you, Ginny.”
Suddenly there was no space between them and her head was filled with that intoxicating scent of his.
“Maybe ve haff feast right here...vit only us?” His voice was barely a whisper, and he leaned forward ever so slightly as he closed his eyes. He was going to kiss her, she knew it.
She reached her hands up to grasp his shirt under his robes, not sure if she was going to push him away or pull him closer, but she was momentarily distracted by a lump on his chest. He opened his eyes as she examined the pendant under his shirt. She knew immediately what it was - she'd seen dozens of them in the Department of Mysteries in her fourth year. He was wearing a Time-Turner.
The air in the room changed instantly, like the fog lifting from Trelawney's room after one of her lessons.
“You have a Time-Turner?” she asked.
“Yes. I haff fallen behind in classes after being gone so much to take care of my grandmother. I use this to get to extra classes.”
This was a perfectly reasonable explanation, but it couldn't quell the growing suspicion she felt.
“Or spy on visitors?” she asked as lightly as she could manage.
“Not until today.” He grinned hopefully.
She attempted a chuckle, but it didn't make it past her lips. Suddenly, she was very eager to be away from him.
“I really need to go. Professor McGonagall is waiting for me.”
He seemed to sense her apprehension but kept his place directly in front of her.
“I am sorry, Ginny. I vas not trying to keep it from you.”
“Oh, no? Isn't this just another one of your secrets? How many do you have?”
“Please, do not be angry. I can explain everything.” He was almost pleading with her.
“Some other time,” she said, her voice harsh. “I have to go.”
“Okay,” he said, a little less desperately. “I vill see you later.”
She stepped around him and headed toward the door, hand firmly on her wand inside her robe pocket.
*
Dinner was a formal and predictable affair. This time she was seated next to Bruno. He was slightly more conversational at dinner, and he taught her the correct pronunciation of some of the more cryptic Bulgarian words in her phrasebook. She didn't see Gellert anywhere, but she hadn't really expected to.
During the dessert of delicious poached pears, she asked Bruno what Professor Vercanz taught.
“No professor vit that name.”
“Really? There is no Professor Vercanz here?”
He shook his head. Professor Petrenko, who was sitting on Bruno's other side, had evidently heard the question.
“There was a Professor Vercanz here a very long time ago. Taught Arithmancy. But he retired over fifty years ago. Why do you ask?”
Fifty years ago? “Oh, I came across the name while I was reading. But I must have got my dates confused.”
Now that she had the headmaster's attention, she couldn't keep from asking the question that had been foremost in her mind for the past hour.
“Professor, do you ever issue Time-Turners to students?”
Sitting to her left, Professor McGonagall spilled wine down the front of her dark green robes.
“No. Never.”
“But I -”
He gave her a hard look, that, were it not for years in Professor Snape's class, should have made her wither. “It is forbidden for a student to be in possession of a Time-Turner. Their use is strictly regulated by our magical ministry much as it is by yours. It is against both school policy and magical law for them to be used on school grounds.”
Professor McGonagall elbowed Ginny sharply in the ribs, as if she needed a reminder that she had breached the bounds of etiquette.
She mumbled an apology to Professor Petrenko, who nodded in acceptance, but made it very clear that the discussion was over.
Later, she told Bruno she wouldn't need an escort back to her room and snuck away from the festivities, puzzled by what Professor Petrenko had told her. If no Time-Turners were allowed at school, then how did Gellert get his? She realised that, when she had been with him, there had not been another soul around. The unsettling feeling she had in the locker room began to grow.
Walking toward the staircases that led to the dungeon, she passed the library. At first she kept walking, wanting only to get to away from the feast to the comfort of her room. But her room wasn't really a sanctuary. Gellert knew where she was staying, and that horrible bed was anything but comfortable.
She turned and saw a familiar sign on the stone wall in front of her. It was a circle enclosed by a triangle bisected by a line - the sign of the Three Brothers' tale - and, she remembered, Grindelwald's mark.
Grindelwald. Gellert Grindelwald. Oh. Oh, no. It couldn't be, could it?
But, it could. Things were starting to make sense. The Time-Turner, the out-of-style robes, him not wanting to be seen, his attitude about Muggles. If it was Grindelwald who had travelled to her time, then all of it fit perfectly. But how could she be sure?
She made her way back to the library, intent on confirming her theory. It was open, thankfully, but deserted. All of the students were still at the feast, and that was just as well. She really did not want any company.
It didn't take long to find what she was looking for. Within an hour, she had searched through a century's worth of information and discovered that there had only been four students named Gellert enrolled at Durmstrang, and none of them had the last name Helsingbore. Gellert Grindelwald had been the most recent, and he had been expelled when he was sixteen years old.
Hastily, she returned the records to their place on the shelves. The uneasy feeling in her stomach became a wave of nausea as she pondered what to do. She knew from talking to Hermione that time travel was very tricky business, and she had no idea how many times he had done it. Was the first time she saw him the first time he'd used it? Was it even his to begin with? She recalled the blood she'd seen on his hands this morning.
She did know that the first rule of time travel was that you weren't supposed to be seen. He probably had not expected to see her at the top of that staircase. As far as she knew, she was the only one who had seen Gellert, and it was probably best to keep it that way.
She couldn't risk telling Professor McGonagall - or Professor Petrenko - what had happened. For one thing, they might not believe her. She had no proof that she'd met anyone named Gellert today. Or, worse, if they did believe her, they might want to take action. And that could be very serious indeed.
Anything done now could alter the past - or the present. While the idea had appeal - what wouldn't she give to have a reality where Fred was still alive? - the law of unintended consequences made it strictly forbidden. She knew that a present where Fred was alive could be the same reality where Harry was dead, or had never been born.
She'd never liked time travel stories. It made her head hurt trying to keep the chronology of everything straight. She needed to get back to her room where she could think things through. Even that was frightening; what if Gellert was waiting for her there?
She pulled the Invisibility Cloak from her pocket and draped it over her, remembering Harry's words: “It will protect you.” She hoped with all her being that it was true.
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