The Tenth Weasley - CH - 121

The Durmstrang ship had been anchored in the deepest part of the Black Lake since noon. Enchanted wood creaked faintly, bubbles drifting past the enchanted portholes. Students of the Dumstrang leaned against walls, sprawled on benches, or sharpened quills idly while waiting for the signal to emerge. For hours, the ship stayed hidden beneath the dark waters, and even the restless younger Dragons knew better than to complain.

Harry sat at one of the long tables in the magically expanded dining hall, finishing a plate of dark rye bread and fish stew. He had grown used to Durmstrang fare, heavier and saltier than what he’d once eaten at Hogwarts, but filling in a way that gave strength to body and magic. He wasn’t in a hurry—he knew the showmanship Karkaroff loved to employ, and if Beauxbatons had been given their grand entrance first, then Durmstrang would wait until the stage was theirs alone.

Across from him, Anya drummed her fingers against the table, her ash-blond hair tied back in a braid. “We sit under the water like fish while the French prance about on their silly carriage. Typical,” she muttered.

Damon, taller and broader than most, leaned back with his arms crossed. “Let them have their bows and veils. We’ll show Hogwarts what real wizards look like.”

Harry smirked. “If your idea of real wizards is stomping around with sparks flying from your boots, then yes, Damon, I’m sure they’ll be terrified.”

Several Dragons chuckled. Even Victor cracked a small grin, though his usual stoicism never wavered.

The air shifted suddenly—an alert ripple of magic moving through the hall. Moments later, Professor Navarro entered, red and black robes sweeping the floor. His expression was severe as always, but his eyes gleamed with pride.

“It is time,” he said simply.


The ship stirred. Deep groans of timber and the hiss of ancient enchantments filled the air as it began to rise. Students rushed to the portholes, peering into darkness as shadows shifted and streams of bubbles broke free. Then—sudden brightness. The ship erupted through the lake’s surface in a surge of white foam.

Gasps carried across the grounds. Hogwarts students, gathered near the shore to watch, stumbled back in awe as the black galleon rose higher and higher, its dragon-carved prow gleaming wetly in the torchlight. Water cascaded from its sides like a waterfall before settling into ripples across the Black Lake.

Still, no student appeared. Only Navarro descended the gangplank, striding across the grass with measured steps. He carried himself like a duelist entering an arena, his presence alone silencing the whispers. He vanished into the castle to coordinate with Dumbledore.

Inside the ship, tension mounted.

“Finally,” Anya said, rolling her shoulders. “Let’s make them remember us.”

Harry tightened his gloves, exchanging a glance with Victor. The Quidditch star looked unimpressed, but he adjusted his collar anyway.

Minutes later, Navarro returned. “Line up. You know the drill.”


The gangplank slammed down again, and the Dragons emerged in formation. Their boots struck the wood in perfect rhythm, echoing like war drums. Sparks hissed from the enchanted staffs they carried, crackling across the grass as if the very earth bent to their will. Gasps and murmurs swept the Hogwarts crowd.

The Durmstrang robes, deep crimson trimmed in black, looked almost like uniforms of a private army. Faces from the castle craned forward: some with awe, some with thinly veiled fear.

Harry walked at the front beside Victor, every movement measured. He kept his expression neutral, though his mismatched eyes glimmered under the torchlight. He caught sight of Hermione across the courtyard—her face brightening when she spotted him—but forced himself to stay composed.

“Eyes front,” Navarro snapped under his breath, though a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

The Dragons crossed the courtyard, ascending the steps into the Great Hall.


The enchanted ceiling was a swirl of autumn stars, candles floating overhead in their endless vigil. Four long tables stretched from end to end, filled with hundreds of students staring at the Durmstrang delegation.

Harry’s stomach twisted when he saw where they were directed.

“Slytherin table,” Karkaroff ordered smoothly, gesturing with a jeweled hand.

Harry’s jaw clenched. The last place he wanted to sit was among Slytherins, who whispered in gleeful suspicion at his approach. But he followed, sliding into a seat beside Anya, with Victor directly opposite.

Across the hall, Gryffindors leaned over each other for a better look. Hermione sat with Ginny, whispering rapidly, her gaze flicking toward Harry every other heartbeat.

Dumbledore rose at the head table, spreading his arms wide. “Welcome, friends, from far and wide! Let us eat, let us celebrate, and let us look forward to the year of unity and challenge ahead!”

Food materialized with a rush of aroma. Platters of roasted meats, bowls of steaming potatoes, and jugs of pumpkin juice appeared across the tables. Hogwarts erupted into chatter and clattering cutlery.

Durmstrang students ate methodically, used to discipline even in meals, though Harry noted more than a few stealing glances at the variety Hogwarts offered. For him, it was a strange mixture of nostalgia and alienation—he had sat at these tables once before, but now he was here as an outsider.


After the first course, Dumbledore stood again, his eyes twinkling. “And before we part for the evening—let us revive an old tradition. Students, please stand and join in the Hogwarts school song!”

Groans rose from some tables, but most obeyed.

Harry frowned. “School song?”

Anya blinked. “They sing?”

Dumbledore waved his wand, and golden words appeared in the air. At once, the hall filled with discordant noise as every student sang the anthem in their own tune and tempo.

“‘Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts—’” Harry heard one group belting it out like a dirge. Another group sang it as fast as possible, giggling as they sped through. The result was a cacophony of chaos.

Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. “They don’t even sing together!” he whispered, half choking on a laugh.

Victor shook his head. “Is madness,” he muttered, clearly embarrassed for them.

Damon groaned. “Are they serious? This is their… anthem?”

By the time the last straggling voices finished, the Durmstrang table sat in stunned silence. Hogwarts students clapped and laughed, oblivious to how absurd they looked to foreign eyes.

Harry leaned back, smirking. “Well. That’s Hogwarts for you. Brilliant, chaotic, and utterly unpredictable.”

Hermione, across the hall, caught his eye and mouthed something that looked very much like don’t you dare laugh.

Harry only raised an eyebrow, his grin tugging at the corner of his lips.


Once the anthem chaos faded, desserts appeared—pies, puddings, and cakes, some of them shaped like snitches or unicorns. The Dragons sampled cautiously, unfamiliar with the sugary abundance, while Hogwarts students devoured plates in seconds.

“Sweet teeth, all of them,” Anya said dryly, picking at treacle tart.

“Better than salted herring,” Damon replied, though even he smiled as he tried a chocolate éclair.

Harry ignored all those who are staring at him, focusing instead on Hermione’s quiet smile at the Gryffindor table. For a moment, amid the noise and spectacle, he felt something settle in his chest. He wasn’t just a Durmstrang Dragon or a Weasley or the boy who carried Grindelwald’s mannerisms. He was Harry, and tonight, Hogwarts knew he had returned—though not as one of their own.



The morning sun poured through the enchanted windows of the Durmstrang ship, turning the polished wood floors golden. Breakfast was still being cleared away when several Dragons gathered around Harry.

“Harry,” Anya said, her braid swinging over her shoulder, “you know that castle better than any of us. Show us.”

Damon crossed his arms. “Yes. You speak of Hogwarts so often—now we see for ourselves.”

Others nodded eagerly. Harry smirked, realizing that resisting was pointless. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you—this castle is a maze.”


They disembarked in formation, though far less formal than the night before. Waiting on the stone steps were familiar faces: Fred and George grinning ear to ear, Ginny practically bouncing, Ron tugging at his sleeves, Neville looking stiff as always, and Charlie and Rose Potter, smiling warmly.

“Tour guide, eh?” Fred teased as Harry approached.

“Should’ve charged admission,” George added.

Ron clapped Harry’s shoulder. “Come on then, show them everything!”

Even Hermione had joined, her eyes bright. “ You know every hidden rooms in the castle,” she said, sliding to Harry’s side.

Harry began with the obvious—the Great Hall. “This is where all the meals are served. Ceiling’s enchanted to look like the sky outside.”

Ginny whispered to Anya, “He used to sneak food out of here for late-night snacks.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Ginny.”

From there, he led them through the moving staircases, which predictably shifted halfway up, sending Damon and another Dragon stumbling to clutch the banister.

“They move?” Damon growled.

“Yes,” Harry said with a grin. “You get used to it—or you get lost.”

The tour spilled into the greenhouses, where Hermione took over enthusiastically. “That’s where Professor Sprout grows Devil’s Snare, and over there are the Venomous Tentacula. Don’t get too close.”

Anya leaned in, intrigued. “Durmstrang doesn’t keep so many dangerous plants near students.”

“That’s Hogwarts for you,” Harry said.

They passed the entrance to the kitchens, where Harry showed them the ticklish pear painting. House-elves swarmed them with food offers until Molly’s voice echoed in his head and Harry firmly refused.

But the Forbidden Forest drew the loudest gasps. “Dangerous, yes,” Harry admitted, “but also full of things you won’t find anywhere else. Centaurs, unicorns, acromantulas—don’t ask me about those.”

Victor murmured something in Bulgarian, shaking his head.

Finally, they looped back through the courtyards, catching the attention of dozens of Hogwarts students. Whispers followed them everywhere—Durmstrang Dragons, walking with Harry Weasley at their lead.


Back at the steps, Harry turned. “Now, it’s our turn. You’ve seen Hogwarts—let me show you Durmstrang’s pride.”

He led them all toward the ship. The Weasleys, Potters, Longbottom and Hermione followed, curious.

When they stepped aboard, jaws dropped.

“This is… a palace!” Rose gasped, running her fingers along the polished rail.

Inside, the magically expanded corridors gleamed with enchanted lanterns. Harry threw open the doors to the library, towering shelves packed with tomes, some glowing faintly with wards.

“Merlin’s beard,” Neville muttered, awe cracking his tone.

Fred and George vanished into the dueling chamber, reappearing moments later. “This place is insane!” George shouted.

“Harry, you live here?” Ron said, wide-eyed.

Harry nodded. “For the year, yes. Bedrooms, potions labs, alchemy rooms… we built it all ourselves.”

Hermione’s eyes sparkled. “You built all this? With wards? That must have taken weeks!”

“Ten days,” Harry corrected, unable to hide a note of pride. “Everyone worked together.”

In the dining hall, enchanted chandeliers floated overhead, and long tables gleamed. Ginny plopped onto a chair, spinning around. “I want to stay here!”

Even Rose, who had come along out of curiosity, looked impressed. “Marvelous work. Absolutely marvelous.”

Pictures were taken, mostly by Charlie Potter, who couldn’t resist capturing Weasleys gawking at Durmstrang magic. Victor endured requests for autographs, promising, “Later. After training.”

When the families finally left, there was laughter and chatter echoing across the deck. Harry leaned against the railing, watching Hermione talk animatedly with Anya. For once, there was no divide between Hogwarts and Durmstrang—just friends meeting friends.

And deep down, Harry couldn’t help but think: the real tournament hadn’t even begun, and already Hogwarts would never see him the same way again.



Even though the Durmstrang ship had been enchanted with its own kitchens and a dining hall large enough for feasts, most of the Dragon Class agreed it was better to join the Hogwarts meals. Hogwarts, after all, spared no effort in welcoming their guests, and the Great Hall was alive with enchanted banners, floating candles, and long tables that seemed to refill themselves endlessly.

For breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Harry and the others climbed the stone steps into the castle, sitting together as a block of red-cloaked Dragons. Their accents, strange cutlery habits, and heavy fur-lined cloaks stood out, but nobody at Hogwarts could deny that the Durmstrang students had an aura of confidence.

“Your eggs here are better,” muttered Alexei one morning, stabbing at his plate.
“They’re the same eggs as home,” Anya teased, rolling her eyes. “You only like it because the plates wash themselves.”

Harry laughed, though his eyes were elsewhere. The Slytherin table stretched just a few seats away, and he had already spotted two familiar faces—faces that stirred old wounds.

Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini.

They had once been his companions, back in second year. Companions who abandoned him the moment the school turned against him, the moment Parseltongue and whispers of dark magic had poisoned his reputation. And now, here they were, glancing at him with that same cautious curiosity, like people testing a river they once swore never to cross.

“Harry!” It was Daphne this time, her voice soft, her hand almost hesitant as she rose. Blaise followed behind her, taller, more confident, but no less wary.

Harry stiffened. Around him, several Dragons looked up, sensing the shift. He bent his head toward his plate. “Not now,” he muttered, loud enough for them to hear.

Anya, noticing the exchange, leaned closer. “Friends of yours?”

“Old ones,” Harry said shortly, rising from the bench. “Ones I don’t intend to revisit.”


When they weren’t eating, the Dragons wanted adventure. Hogwarts had its Forbidden Forest, thick and ancient, where even Hogwarts students dared not tread too deeply. For the Durmstrang Dragons, the lure was irresistible.

“Back home, they tell stories of your forest,” Damon said one afternoon, tightening his cloak as the group stood at the treeline. “A place where even professors hesitate to enter. Let us see if it deserves the fear.”

Harry smirked. “You’ll regret that sentence in half an hour.”

Together, a dozen of them ventured beneath the canopy, wands lit with blue flame. The shadows seemed to swallow them whole, and distant howls echoed. Harry guided them carefully, remembering centaur patrol paths and the thick webs where acromantulas nested.

“Merlin’s beard…” Anya whispered when a herd of unicorns darted through the trees, their coats glowing faintly in the dim light.

“Magnificent,” Damon admitted, though his wand hand twitched.

Harry raised a hand. “Don’t even think about it. The centaurs watch the unicorns closely. Harm one, and we’ll be their enemies for life.”

The Dragons obeyed, though their eyes burned with curiosity. For them, the forest was another challenge to test their mettle, another proof of Hogwarts’ strange magic.


Back in the castle, Harry couldn’t avoid Daphne and Blaise forever. They tried cornering him in the corridor near the library.

“Harry, wait!” Blaise called, his smooth tone carrying across the stone hallway. “We only want to talk.”

Harry didn’t slow. “You had your chance to talk. Two years ago.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Daphne protested, stepping forward, her younger sister Astoria hovering nervously behind her. “We were scared—everyone was. You can’t hold that against us forever.”

Harry stopped, his Dragons halting with him like a protective wall. He turned, his mismatched eyes gleaming coldly in the torchlight. “You abandoned me when I needed you most. That’s not fear—that’s betrayal. And betrayal doesn’t get second chances.”

Astoria bit her lip, her wide eyes following him as he walked away. But Harry didn’t look back. He had a new circle now, forged in battles against poachers, rituals, and secrets. Whatever ties he once had in Hogwarts were ashes now.


Back on the Durmstrang ship that evening, Harry leaned against the railing, looking out at the dark waters of the Black Lake. Hermione’s voice from the mirror echoed in his mind, her constant urging for him to make peace, to let go of old grudges.

But Hermione didn’t know what it felt like to be hunted in the corridors, accused of being the Heir of Slytherin, while your closest friends turned their backs.

Anya joined him, brushing her hair back from her face. “They will keep trying. People cannot resist circling back to power.”

Harry snorted. “I’m not power to them. I’m a second chance at clearing their guilt.”

She tilted her head. “And will you give it?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve already chosen who I stand with.”

Victor, lounging nearby, gave a grunt of approval. “Good. In Quidditch, you don’t pass back to players who dropped the Quaffle in first five minutes. You find new team.”

That made Harry laugh, a low, bitter sound, but a laugh all the same.