Chapter 5: Durmstrang

Everything around him was gray. From the aging, near-crumbling towers of the castle, to the darkened skies above, heavy with pregnant clouds that heralded an impending storm, and even the heavy layer of fog that blanketed the grounds, it seemed as if all of Durmstrang was immersed in the shared grief of the missing boy's disappearance.

Ron shivered against the bite of the wind and gathered up the folds of his cloak in an effort to keep warm, but it was of no use. It could get awfully cold in England--downright frigid at times--but not anything like this. This was the kind of cold that no amount of clothing, not even layer upon layer of thick wool and leather, could chase away. It knifed at him indiscriminately, making him wince as he tried to fill his lungs. His breath formed mist in the damp air, and he watched it dissipate into the fog before he took his final steps into the entry-way of the castle.

Durmstrang had none of the warmth and charm of Hogwarts, that much was apparent from the moment he entered. Funny that he had never thought of Hogwarts as particularly inviting in all the years he had gone there, not until he saw something that provided such a stark contrast. What little light there had been outside failed to reach the inside of the castle's walls, and only the half-lit torches flickering above him guided his path ahead. His footsteps echoed on the stone floor, a hollow sound that felt harsh and foreign to his ears. He half-wished a mischievous poltergeist would suddenly come forth and materialize from the walls to ambush him, but nothing came.

And somehow, that didn't surprise him.

Blimey, thought Ron with a wry smile, no wonder Krum always looked so damn sullen all the time.

He saw movement at the top of the grand staircase. He brought his gaze upwards and saw a woman standing there, resplendent in a high-collared black dress, topped with a cloak that billowed behind her as she descended the steps. Ron's eyes couldn't help but rest on the large garnet pendant that dangled from her neck; in the semi-darkness, the red from the gemstone looked even darker, almost like blood. If he didn't know that this was a school of witchcraft and wizardry, he'd've sworn he was in a vampire's enclave.

"Mr. Veasley?"

Her voice was not exactly cold, he noted, but it was also far from welcoming. She stopped at the foot of the stairs and waited for him to answer.

"Headmistress Milka, I presume?"

She nodded slightly, her expressionless face unchanging as she looked at him, then approached him and extended her hand. Ron wondered for a moment whether the appropriate thing would be to shake it or kiss it--and from the arch in one of her severely trimmed brows, she seemed to be expecting the latter--but he finally settled on taking it and offering a firm shake.

"Pleased to meet you," he said, not quite sure if he meant those words literally or not. Then again, it was best not to rock the boat too much, especially since he needed her help. "I believe the Minister has already informed you of my arrival today?"

"Yes," she said. "This vay..."

She gestured towards the long corridor ahead of them. He followed her in silence, absently watching their shadows on the walls. The ceiling was much lower in this part of the castle; the Durmstrang banners that hung just above brushed against the top of Ron's head as he moved along.

"Ve haff heard great things about you," the headmistress said. "Mr. Krum insisted that you be the one to help us."

"Yes, he told me," Ron said.

"I of course was a bit... apprehensive."

Honest, isn't she, Ron thought.

"I mean you no offense, of course-"

"None taken, Headmistress."

His matter-of-fact answer seemed to catch her off-guard somewhat, and suddenly, it was as if she felt the need to elaborate on her explanation.

"It's just that... vell, the thought of an outsider coming into the school... You understand, ve vish to keep this sanctuary as protected and hidden as possible."

"Of course," Ron said. "I understand completely. I know Hogwarts is the same exact way."

To Ron's surprise, she gave him an awkward smile--or at least what Ron suspected was the closest thing to a smile he'd ever see on her face.

"Vell then," she said, "If you vill follow me, I vill show you vhere Slava Krum's vand vas found..."

The earth smelled of autumn rain--that musty, full scent of a fresh storm. Ron wrinkled his nose at it as he took in that dense air. It must have rained last night, rained lots, for the ground was still supple with mud that oozed through the blades of perfectly cut grass. As they neared the edge of the forest, the grass gave way to wet soil, and just ahead stood imposing trees that threatened to swallow them into an all-encompassing darkness.

Madam Milka was leading the way, floating a few inches above the ground; apparently, she did not wish to get any part of her clothing sullied by dirt or mud. Ron, however, didn't care one way or the other. In fact, the feel of cold slush trickling through the thick weave at the end of his trouser legs only served to remind him of the grim task that had sent him here, and so in some strange way, he was grateful for that reminder.

He couldn't forget the mission at hand.

They stopped just inside the forest, where the meager light from the clearing was still managing to reach inside the woods. Even with the lantern Ron carried, it was bloody dark, so he took out his wand and whispered, "Lumos!"

It helped a little, but not much. With the fog swirling around him, it was damn near impossible to make out much of anything in the forest, and, he thought grimly, it was daytime. In a few hours, it would be even worse.

Still, he was determined to make the best of the circumstances. He felt Madam Milka hovering beside him, watching him as he crouched down and took a closer look at the ground.

"Ve haff charmed the soil so that his footsteps vould not be vashed avay by the rain," Madam Milka said.

Ron nodded, following the trail with his eyes. From the pattern on the ground, it was obvious there had been a struggle--a furious one. Ron closed his eyes, trying to suppress the mental image of the little boy fighting with his captor. It made him ache to think that a child could be in that situation, and his thoughts drifted automatically to his own children. He clenched his jaw.

Whoever the bastard was, he was not going to get away with this.

"Is this where you found the wand?"

"Yes," she said. "Right there, vhere you are standing..."

Solemnly, Ron said, "That's where the his footsteps disappear." He pointed down, then followed the path with his finger. "There's only one set of footprints from here on out. An adult's." He turned to look at Madam Milka once again. "Can a wizard apparate and disapparate on these grounds?"

"Not on the school grounds directly," Madam Milka said. "But inside here... inside the forest... these voods are not protected, I'm afraid... It is possible for someone to disapparate here..."

"I was afraid of that," Ron murmured. He stared hard at the ground, at the footsteps that suddenly came to an end just a few feet away. He sighed deeply, then said, "Whoever it is... vanished long before now."

Ron was grateful to be back in the relative warmth of Madam Milka's office, relative being the operative word. Even in here it still felt like the inside of an icebox, but compared to the near-arctic temperature outside, he could honestly say he was just happy to be within the confines of the castle, even if the castle was quite drafty.

There was a pendulum on her desk. Ron watched it swing back and forth as he waited for Madam Milka to return. She had been gone for almost fifteen minutes, going off to fetch one of the boys in Slava's class--the last person to see him before he vanished without a trace.

Ron was getting increasingly antsy by the minute, and at last he got to his feet and began to pace, running his hands through his hair. This had been a habit of his ever since he could remember; Hermione often delighted in teasing him about his ability to make his hair stand on end after a few minutes of doing this. Thinking of her, he smiled to himself and stopped, bringing his hands together and cracking his knuckles.

"What could be taking her so long-"

He didn't even have a chance to finish saying the sentence to himself; the door swung open, and Madam Milka walked in with a young boy, a first-year, if Ron had to guess. He was rather tall for his age, and thin and wiry. His dark brown hair had been shorn close, almost reminiscent of a military cut. He seemed timid and shy--and perhaps even a little scared, staring back at Ron with rounded gray eyes.

Those eyes, they looked awfully familiar to Ron, but he couldn't quite place them. He realized he had been staring, and surely that wouldn't have helped put the boy any more at ease. He smiled, a silent reassurance, and the boy responded with his own smile, albeit a hesitant one.

"This is Mr. Veasley," Madam Milka was telling him. "Slava's father asked him to come here to help find him..."

The boy nodded, and Ron watched him closely.

"Can he... understand what we're saying?" Ron said. "Does he speak English?"

"Oh, of course-"

"Yes, I can, sir."

Ron turned back to the boy in mild surprise. He had spoken in a perfect English accent. He looked up at Madam Milka, who seemed to understand his puzzlement.

"Alexander is British," she explained.

"Oh, I see..."

"His father knew of our school's reputation, and vanted to send him here..."

Ron smiled. "Quite a long way from home then, isn't it?"

The boy nodded, then said softly, "Yes, sir."

"Sir..." Ron chuckled, hoping to put the boy at ease. "Don't worry, you don't have to call me sir, Alexander. You can call me Ron, if you'd like."

The boy's eyes seemed to widen for a split second; Ron wondered if he had only imagined the reaction, but decided not to give it further thought.

"Thank you for agreeing to help me today, Alexander. You'll certainly be a hero for doing this."

"Vell then... I shall leave you two alone so you can talk..." Madam Milka nodded at Ron, then turned back to Alexander. "Be sure to tell Mr. Veasley all he needs to know. It vill be the only way he can help him, Mr. Malfoy."

It took a few seconds for the name to register in Ron's brain. And then it hit him, and before he could help himself, he muttered, "Malfoy..."

Of course...

Ron had heard that Draco had a son. Draco had married a girl from an old wizard family the same year Ron and Hermione had gotten married, and Ron later learned that the girl died not too long after giving birth to their only child. As the story went, Draco hadn't the patience to raise the child himself, nor the willingness to thwart his ambition in any way (some said he could easily be Minister of Magic within another ten, fifteen years--the thought of which made Ron shudder to the core), and he left his son in the care of a succession of nurses until it was time to send the child to a wizarding school.

Little wonder he would send him to as far away a school as possible.

Well, he thought, he always fancied the dark arts... 'Course he'd want his son to study them as thoroughly as possible...

Madam Milka must have heard Ron's murmur. By way of explanation, she said, "Yes, I do believe you know his father... He is a high-ranking official in your Ministry, is he not?"

Ron nodded wordlessly.

"All right, I vill be back later..."

He watched the door shut behind her, then he turned around, noting the apprehension in Alexander's eyes. Truthfully, Ron wasn't quite sure what to expect from him; first-hand experience had taught him that the boy's father was about as much of a bastard as one could get, but Alexander seemed nothing like him at all. Indeed, he seemed like a nice enough boy, and in the end, Ron decided it would be rather unfair to judge Alexander on the actions of his father.

"Let's sit down, shall we?"

Alexander nodded, then followed Ron's lead. After a pregnant pause, he said tentatively, "Were you... were you the Weasley my dad went to school with?"

Ron chuckled. "Told you about me, did he?"

"A little..."

"Yes, your father and I went to Hogwarts together."

"Then you were... the one who... brought down you-know-who..."

"With Harry Potter," Ron said, "yes..."

"Oh."

Ron knew what that oh meant; he had not forgotten Draco's bitterly waged campaign to have him and Harry tried for the crime of using the unforgivable curse to defeat Voldemort. Surely Draco would have not have hesitated in poisoning his young son's mind with half-truths and innuendos about Ron.

Still, he could sense the young boy's internal struggle whether to regard him as the enemy, and as much as it pained him to do so, Ron decided not to reveal any of his feelings on Draco. After all, he needed the boy to trust him.

"It's all right," he said. "I'm not a bad person, I promise..."

Alexander's eyes crinkled in a smile, and Ron could almost see his doubt vaporize into the atmosphere.

"I'm only here to help, Alexander. But I need your help as well, all right?"

"Sure, sir-"

Ron smiled at him, and he quickly corrected himself.

"I mean, Mr. Weasley..."

Mr. Weasley. Suddenly Ron got a mental image of his father, and it almost made him laugh out loud. He guessed that would have to do, as Alexander just did not seem at ease enough to call him Ron.

"So, Alexander, tell me about Slava... He was your roommate, right?"

"Yes, but..."

"But what?"

Alexander looked down. "Well... Father was trying to get me transferred to another room. He said that... that..." Whatever it was, he seemed reluctant to say. Ron let him take his time, and then finally he cleared his throat and went on. "Father didn't want me around him, because he was a... Mud... Mudblood..."

Inside, Ron cringed. There were few words he detested more than that one, and the knowledge that it had once again come from Draco's lips made his blood boil.

Quietly, Alexander said, "But I thought he was nice. He was a nice boy."

"I'm sure he was," Ron said. Hoping to urge him along further, he said, "Tell me about the last time you saw him, Alexander."

"It was... the night before he disappeared, Mr. Weasley. I'd caught him sleepwalking again-"

At this, Ron was intrigued. "Sleepwalking?"

Alexander nodded. "We'd only been roommates for a few days when he disappeared," he said, "but he'd sleepwalked every single night since school began..."

"I see..."

"Anyway, he'd always come back after about half an hour or so... I just reckoned he'd come back again, just as he always did, only... only this time he didn't..."

Ron watched Alexander stare at his hands, which he'd laid onto his lap. Neither of them said anything for a while, then Ron said, "D'you know where he might've gone?"

Alexander shook his head. "I always reckoned he went down to the kitchen to nick some food or something..." Then he looked up. "Only something was curious about that night, Mr. Weasley."

"What's that?"

"He was dressed. In his school uniform, I mean. Usually, he would be in his pajamas. I thought it looked a bit odd, but I was half-asleep, and I didn't really think of it at the time..."

Ron furrowed his brow. That was curious indeed. This whole thing was becoming curioser and curioser, and unfortunately, he seemed to be no nearer to the answer than he had been before he ever came to Durmstrang.

There was nothing more Alexander could do for him, and he hated having to keep the boy here. He smiled at him one last time and said, "Thank you for all your help."

"Sure," he said. "You know... you're... a lot nicer than Father said you were."

Ron couldn't help but laugh at that statement.

"Well... you be sure to tell him hello for me the next time you owl him."

Alexander's smile faded and he said quietly, "Reckon that won't be for a while... He's on holiday at the moment... I wouldn't even know where to send the owl."

As if by instinct, Ron reached a hand and patted the boy's shoulder. Alexander seemed to appreciate the gesture, and smiled before he left.

Ron stayed seated for a long time after he did. The silence tormented him, competed with the noise in his head. Viktor's tortured face came to him in that instant, his somber plea to help him find his son. Ron couldn't help but feel he had failed him so far.