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Durmstrang


Far away in the northernmost part of Scotland, as far as you can go on the mainland, in a small village called Faere Dhu, there was a farm house, dark in the night. A man stumbled up the walk to the door and fell upon the step. He sat on the porch and held his head in his hand, dizzy from drink in the village pub, his eyes wet with shame. He’d been sober three years - three years. But there had been a funny rumor he’d overheard - two women in funny cloaks talking in the city of Wick, where he’d gone that afternoon for the supplies they needed for the autumn harvest… They’d been speaking in low voices in the apothecary, where he’d gone to pick up tonic for his wife, and he’d heard a name he had not heard in nearly twenty years.

“...Minerva McGonagall, the deputy headmistress, will be stepping in while the headmaster is away…”

“The Head Girl? The one in Gryffindor? Friends with that Potter bloke, the Quidditch player.”

“One and the same. She’s from about here, you know… Grew up somewhere not too far away from where we stand this very moment.”

“Acting as headmistress! A girl from Caithness county!”

He’d returned home, memories flooding him, gripping the wheel of his automobile quite tightly and he’d found himself stopped and parking outback the old pub in Faere Dhu and going inside for a pint. He’d wiped his face with his handkerchief, ridding his forehead of the sweat that had built up, and ordered a second pint when he gulped his first down too fast, hands shaking as he returned the thick glass to the table top.

“I should’ve asked where she was teaching,” the man lamented to the bartender when he was three deep and feeling a bit pissed, the drink blurring his eyes as he rocked upon the stool. “Should’ve asked how I could’ve gotten in touch… I’ve meant to find her for years, you know… meant to find her…” He paused, looking at the empty glasses that clustered about his elbows on the bar, “Oi, Micah, what’ve I done?”

The bartender, Micah, sighed and wiped up a bit of the beer that sloshed over the brim of the cup. Micah was years younger than the man on the stool, he had no idea what he was talking about - no details had been given. “Old man Dougal, you need a ride home?” Micah asked several hours later when the bar was closing up for the night and the man was still wallowing about in his drink.

“Nay,” the man slurred, his accent always thicker when he drank. “A walk would do me a world of good.” And he slid off the stool and stumbled his way to the door, leaving behind the money to cover his bill. He’d fallen his way all the way home, Dougal McGregor had, until he’d landed on his porch and there he lay now, staring up at the stars, being flooded by a hundred thousand memories of years long, long, long since passed.

“Aye a fool I was,” he murmured. “Not but a fool.”




Regulus Black sat in the window of his bedroom, staring out at the grey sky, hugging his knees. “Master Regulus, Kreacher is done with his chores that Mistress has set him, does Master wish to play at Gobstones with Kreacher?” the elf stood beside him, staring up, his ears back against his head, staring up at him hopefully.

Regulus shook his head, “No, Kreacher, I don’t want to play Gobstones, but thank you.” Regulus rested his chin on his shoulder.

The elf scrambled up onto the seat and put his little hands on Regulus’s knees. “Does Master Regulus wish to talk about what is bothering him with Kreacher? Kreacher is feeling concern for Master; poor Master has been feeling so very sad for all of the summer holiday, Kreacher is telling by Master’s way of staring out that Master is feeling sad…”

Regulus murmured, “Don’t worry about me, Kreacher.”

“But Kreacher must worry about his Master,” Kreacher said, “Master is Kreacher’s friend.”

Regulus didn’t answer.

Kreacher sat down on the seat beside Regulus and stared out the window, too.

Regulus sighed.

Kreacher sighed - only because his Master Regulus had and he wanted Master Regulus not to feel alone, and so he tried very hard to feel what Regulus was feeling, to share some of the burden of his sadness.

He heard the front door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place slam closed downstairs. Walburga Black had been entertaining several of Voldemort’s followers, including Abraxas Malfoy, Igor Karkaroff, Evan Rosier, Warren Mulciber, and Fenrir Greyback. Decisions were being made, discussions being had, and Regulus was dreading what Walburga would choose…

Igor Karkaroff was the headmaster of Durmstrang school, a newly induced follower of the Dark Lord, whose Dark Mark had been administered just months before… He had made an offer of admission to Durmstrang for the children of the Dark Lord’s followers, whose education, he claimed, was being stymied by the curriculum allowed by Albus Dumbledore at the “muggle hugging institute of Britain” where they currently attended school. Karkaroff had even offered Evan Rosier a place, regardless of his expulsion from Hogwarts, and promised that the students would be given a high quality education, including not just a class in defense against dark arts, but a class that actually taught the dark arts themselves.

His purpose of meeting had been to officially offer the opportunity to the parents of the students, to finalize the plans, and enroll those who would be attending in the Fall.

“Regulus!” Walburga’s voice echoed up the stairs and he closed his eyes, swallowing back the nervousness. “Regulus!”

Kreacher inched back from his master, his ears raising, “Mistress calls for Master,” he said.

“I hear her,” Regulus murmured and he carefully unfurled himself from his seat, sliding off the edge and padding across the cool floor to the door. He stepped out onto the landing, “Yes, mother?”

Walburga beckoned him down to her library and he sighed and went down, followed closely by the house elf, who stayed a couple steps behind, but stared up at Regulus, making sure he was alright.

It was just as he’d expected.

“You’ve been offered a place at Durmstrang,” Walburga informed him.

Regulus stared at her.

“I have told Mr. Karkaroff that I must think on the matter and that I would answer his offer by owl by this evening.” She sat in one of the high velvet seats and clicked her fingers, “Elf - get us tea.”

“Yes mistress,” Kreacher bowed and scrambled from the room to get the tea.

“Sit.” Walburga motioned for Regulus to sit opposite her.

He wandered over and lowered himself into the seat. He looked up at the tapestry of the Black Family Tree that covered the wall to his right. His eyes lingered on Sirius Black’s blasted entry. He looked back to Walburga. “I don’t want to go to Durmstrang, mother.”

She had her chin held high, and she looked down her nose at him. “Why? You would receive a fine education there, much better equipped for your career at the Dark Lord’s command than the one you will receive from Hogwarts under Albus Dumbledore’s eye… Additionally, several of your classmates are going - including the Snape boy you’ve become friends with.”

Friends was hardly the word for Regulus and Severus.

But whatever made Walburga happy.

Regulus replied, “Is it wise for the Dark Lord to withdraw all his followers from the school?” He stared coolly at her. “Surely not. To lack representation among the students at Hogwarts would mean to lose a vital… strategic… stronghold.” He was making stuff up as he went. Anything. Anything to keep from being withdrawn from Hogwarts. Anything to keep from being sent away to Durmstrang, so far off from everything he knew, everything that made him comfortable… away from all hopes of becoming close to Sirius.

Walburga nodded slowly, “Yes, that makes sense…” Honestly, she didn’t want Regulus going to Durmstrang either, though neither could say it to the other.

Regulus said, “Someone must keep an eye on my brother and his… evil little friends.”

“That is what I shall tell Igor, then,” said Walburga coolly.

Regulus nodded.

The door creaked opened and Kreacher came in, teetering a tray with two tea cups and a pot, his feet shuffling across the floor. He slid the tray onto the little table between them and Walburga sat forward. “Sugar, my son?”

“Yes, mother.”

“And milk?”

“No.”

Walburga stirred the tea and clicked the tiny spoon against the china and handed the saucer and cup to Regulus. “I think that there will be some… changes… to Hogwarts school soon anyway. There are plans that are taking effect this fall that will hopefully encourage some… rather major… staff changes.”

Regulus took the tea cup. “Are there?”

Walburga nodded. “I cannot say too much, of course, but I think you shall find that this term will be quite different than your prior years.”

Regulus sipped the tea.

“Is there enough sugar for you?”

“Yes mother. Very good.” Regulus nodded.

And he wondered.