The Tenth Weasley - CH - 93

It was the sort of morning that never happened twice.

Harry stood in the entrance hall of Durmstrang, the dark stone walls draped in banners from every European wizarding nation. A hundred enchanted candles hovered near the vaulted ceiling, casting pools of golden light over a crowd of witches and wizards in formal robes.

At the front of the hall, a raised platform gleamed with polished rune-carved panels. On it stood two stern-faced representatives of the International Confederation of Wizards, flanked by Aurors in their deep blue uniforms. Between them sat a broad silver chest engraved with the ICW seal.

Sonja shifted nervously at Harry’s side. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Believe it,” Victor murmured, adjusting the collar of his stiff black dress robes. “They’re about to give us an award that usually goes to entire departments.”

“Or to fully trained Aurors,” Ingrid added, voice hushed with awe.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. He still felt as if he were watching someone else’s life from a distance. Just three weeks ago, they’d been students with a knack for getting into trouble. Now they were about to be honored before all of Europe.

The ICW representative, a dark-eyed wizard with a clipped Romanian accent, stepped to the front of the platform. The hall fell silent.

“Students of Durmstrang,” he began, voice echoing off the cold stone, “today we recognize an act of extraordinary courage and resourcefulness. In recent months, magical authorities across Europe have struggled to stem the illegal trade of protected magical creatures. This ring has operated with near impunity for years.”

He paused, letting that settle in.

“Until,” he continued, “seven students—still in their training—succeeded where entire bureaus had failed. They disrupted a smuggling operation that spanned continents, rescued over a hundred trafficked creatures, and provided evidence that led to lightning raids across eight countries.”

A quiet murmur rippled through the audience.

Sonja glanced sideways at Harry and mouthed, lightning raids? He only shrugged, equally stunned.

Victor swallowed, his jaw tightening.

The Romanian wizard lifted a thick parchment scroll. “By unanimous vote, the International Confederation of Wizards confers upon these students the Order of the Silver Flame—an honor reserved for service of exceptional merit.”

He unrolled the scroll. “Harry Weasley. Sonja Vilkova. Victor Krum. Louis Cartier. Ingrid Halvorsen. Marek Jansen. Eryk Stoilov.”

A wave of applause rolled through the hall, rising in volume until it rattled the lanterns overhead.

Harry felt as if his legs had gone numb. Slowly, he climbed the steps with his friends at his side. The ICW officials shook each of their hands in turn, presenting polished silver badges engraved with a stylized flame. When Harry’s was pinned to his robes, he felt the weight of it—heavier than any trophy.

But the official wasn’t finished.

“Additionally,” he said, raising his hand for quiet, “in recognition of the capture of two fugitives with international warrants—Zdenek Krall and Borislav Yordanov—and for the recovery of their enchanted ship, the ICW awards each of you a monetary prize of 25,000 Galleons.”

Sonja gasped aloud. Even Victor looked momentarily stunned.

Louis dropped his jaw. “Pardon?”

The official smiled faintly. “You have broken a ring that endangered not only magical creatures but the Statute of Secrecy itself. You have our gratitude—and our respect.”

The applause returned, a thunderous roar that seemed to shake the mountain itself.

Harry stood very still as the cameras flashed, their faces frozen in a blaze of magical photographs. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t care if the entire hogwarts called him a dark wizard. Let them accuse what they wanted—this was real.

When the ceremony ended, students and staff crowded them with congratulations. Even Headmaster Karkaroff looked forced to applaud, though he did it with the strained expression of a man who’d swallowed something sour.

As they finally slipped away to the quieter hall near the Dragon Common Room, Sonja let out a ragged laugh. “I think I’m still dreaming.”

Victor ruffled her hair, smirking. “If you are, we’re all in the same dream.”

Marek turned to Harry. “So. What will you do with 25,000 Galleons?”

Harry considered that. “Probably put it in the vault. Maybe give some to my family. They deserve it.”

Louis, still clutching his badge, looked almost dazed. “You realize this story will go everywhere.”

“It already has,” Sonja said, pulling a folded newspaper from her pocket. She smacked it against Harry’s chest. “Look.”

He took it. The Daily Prophet headline ran in enormous black letters across the front page:

“HEROES OF DURMSTRANG—SEVEN STUDENTS EXPOSE INTERNATIONAL POACHING RING”

Below the title was a moving photograph of the seven of them standing on the deck of the smuggler ship, wands raised. Harry felt a strange satisfaction watching the version of himself nod gravely at the camera.

When he finally returned to his dorm that evening, an avalanche of letters was waiting.

The first was from Hermione.

Dear Harry,

I don’t even know what to say. You have single-handedly destroyed every nasty rumor left in Hogwarts. Even Professor McGonagall is telling people that she knew you’d become a hero. I am so proud of you.
Write back when you can. I want to hear everything.
Love, Hermione


He read it twice, feeling the tightness in his chest loosen. The next was from Mum—half a roll of parchment telling him how she’d cried reading the story. The others were from Potters, Bill, Charlie, Ginny, Twins, even Hagrid, all bursting with excitement and pride.

Harry set them carefully on the table and sank into his chair. For once, he felt no shadow over his name. No rumors. No suspicion.

Just the knowledge that when it mattered, he and his friends had done something good.



In the weeks that followed, life at Durmstrang settled into an unusual rhythm. The seven of them—Harry, Victor, Sonja, Louis, Ingrid, Marek, and Eryk—had become something of a unit. They walked to meals together, sat shoulder to shoulder in the Dragon common room, and trained side by side in dueling or magical creatures.

Other students watched them with wide eyes as they passed, sometimes whispering behind their hands. Some tried, tentatively, to join them—Dragon Class hopefuls eager to bask in their sudden fame, or others who hoped to glean a few techniques. But despite polite words and courteous nods, the seven rarely let anyone truly inside their circle.

The Dragon Class had always been a place of competition—ambition sharpened into steel. Rivalries and challenges were the norm, and alliances were fleeting at best. But something about surviving the cave, the fight, and the ship had changed them.

We’re not just Dragons anymore, Harry thought one night as he unlocked his warded door. We’re a team.

His magically expanded quarters had become their unofficial meeting place. From the outside, it looked like any other narrow Durmstrang student chamber. But when you stepped through the threshold, you found yourself in a sprawling space: warm lamplight over thick rugs, a kitchen tucked into one corner, rows of bookshelves along the walls, and a long wooden table ringed by mismatched chairs.

Victor claimed the wide armchair near the fireplace. Sonja always took the seat to Harry’s right. Louis inevitably sprawled across half a couch, a sheaf of parchment balanced on his knee.

This evening, the tension was different—heavy with questions none of them had spoken aloud until now.

Victor broke the silence first, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Harry,” he said quietly, “I need to ask you something. And I’d rather we clear it before we go any further.”

Harry looked up from the ledger he’d been rereading. “Alright.”

“When we turned over the ship to the Aurors,” Victor said, voice steady, “you didn’t give them the letter. The one naming an insider at Durmstrang.”

Sonja shifted uneasily, crossing her arms. Ingrid and Marek exchanged glances. Even Louis looked up, his brow furrowed.

Victor didn’t accuse—he just waited.

Harry closed the ledger, resting his hand on the cover. “I thought about it,” he said. “Merlin knows I did. But think about what would happen if that letter was handed over without proof.”

“The Aurors could investigate,” Marek said.

“They could,” Harry agreed, “but what if the headmaster heard first? Or the person who wrote it? It would vanish, or it would be discredited. And whoever was behind it would have time to cover their tracks.”

Victor considered that in silence.

Harry went on, “If we want to find who it was—really find them—we can’t rely on anyone else. Not Karkaroff. Not the Aurors. Not even the ICW.”

Sonja tapped her finger on the table, her mouth twisting. “But you know we can’t trace the handwriting.”

Harry looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

Sonja sighed. “The letter was written by an enchanted quill. I recognized the ink flow. My father uses them for business—so do a lot of pureblood families. You dictate the words aloud, and the quill writes in standard script. Every letter looks the same.”

“So…” Louis said slowly, “no handwriting comparison.”

“No,” Sonja confirmed. “They were smart enough not to leave that trail.”

A heavy quiet settled over the room. The fireplace crackled in the background.

“But,” Harry said finally, voice low, “they weren’t smart enough to keep the letter out of the ledger. That’s still something.”

Victor met his gaze. “What do you propose?”

Harry set his palms on the table, leaning forward. “I say we look ourselves. We have the list of every professor who refused to patrol that part of the island. We know who had access to records about magical creatures. We watch, we listen, and when the time comes, we find proof.”

Louis let out a slow breath. “You know this could get us expelled.”

Harry looked around the circle. “Would you rather pretend it never happened? That the poachers just… guessed where the hatchlings were?”

Ingrid shook her head. “No. But if we do this, we do it together.”

One by one, they nodded.

Victor smiled faintly, the old gleam in his eyes. “Alright, then. One more adventure.”

Sonja reached across and clapped her hand over Harry’s. “Just promise me one thing,” she said. “If we uncover something dangerous… we tell the right people eventually.”

Harry met her gaze and nodded. “I promise.”

Marek straightened in his chair. “Then let’s make a list of who had access to those records.”

And there, in the flickering light of Harry’s hidden room, the seven of them began to plan. Not as rivals, not as Dragons fighting for rank—but as friends, bound by the knowledge that some battles were worth risking everything.

Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.



By the end of the second month, the seven of them had combed every scrap of evidence they could find without attracting attention. They had slipped into records rooms late at night, charmed locks open with whispered spells, and memorized rosters of faculty schedules.

Sometimes they caught each other’s eyes in the library or passing in the halls, and a single nod was enough to confirm another piece of the puzzle.

And finally, late one evening in Harry’s expanded room, they gathered around the long table as Sonja laid out the final list on a piece of parchment.

“These are the only four who had the right access and opportunity,” she said, her voice low.

They all leaned in, studying the names:

Astronomy Mistress Daciana Nistor – Romanian-born witch, meticulous record-keeper, known to dislike the disruption of the dragon’s flights over the Astronomy Tower.

Potions Mistress Éloise Valmont – French alchemist, rumored to have connections with rare ingredients dealers in Paris.

History Master Sergei Antonov – Russian wizard, eccentric and private, whose office was located in the old observatory wing close to the restricted archives.

And finally—

Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster.

A heavy silence fell.

Victor cleared his throat, eyes flicking to Harry. “If it’s Karkaroff…”

Harry didn’t look up from the parchment. “Then even if we prove it, we’d better be ready. Because if the Headmaster feels threatened, he won’t hesitate to protect himself.”

Sonja blew out a tense breath. “I almost wish it were Antonov. At least he’d probably just shout and throw books at us.”

Louis traced a finger over Éloise Valmont’s name. “The potion mistress would have contacts to sell hatchling parts, but she also seems too cautious. She didn’t even like us keeping dragon scales after the rescue.”

Marek rubbed his temples. “And Mistress Nistor… she’s always complained about dragons disrupting her charts. But would she really help poachers for that?”

Harry finally lifted his gaze. “It doesn’t matter who we wish it was. We’ll watch them all. Carefully.”

Sonja looked at him for a long moment. “And when we know for certain?”

Harry’s voice was quiet but steady. “Then we send proof to the ICW. And if we can, we confront them ourselves first. So they can’t disappear.”

Victor let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s what I like about you, Harry. Always planning like we’re already halfway through a war.”

Harry didn’t smile. “That’s because it is a war. If we let this go, if we pretend it’s over, those poachers will be back. Or others will come. And the dragons won’t be safe.”

At that, something softened in Sonja’s eyes.

Because in truth, they all felt the same way.

It wasn’t just principle or glory or revenge. It was that cave—those wide golden eyes watching them without fear. The hatchlings pressing against them like oversized, scaly puppies. The knowledge that somewhere in the vast dark of the sea, people were willing to carve dragons into coin.

And now they were the only ones standing in the way.

Victor said it aloud: “We can’t let them come back.”

“No,” Ingrid agreed, her hand resting on the table. “They’re family now.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Then we stay quiet. We stay careful. And when the time comes… we make sure they never touch that cave again.”

Everyone murmured agreement.

As the meeting ended, they gathered up the parchment, burning the list in the fireplace until only white ash remained. One by one, they slipped out into the cold stone corridor.

Harry stayed behind a moment longer, staring into the flames.

We’ll protect them, he promised silently. No matter who we have to face.

He didn’t know then just how soon he would be tested.

But as he turned to extinguish the lamps, he felt no fear—only determination.