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The Tenth Weasley - CH - 146
🕑 Added 2025-11-19 03:58:23 +0000 UTCTwo days passed.
Two days since Karkaroff warned Harry in the Highmaster’s cabin.
Two days since the shadows around Moody thickened.
Two days since Harry began watching the Defense professor from afar.
But on the second night, as the fog thickened over the lake and the students prepared for dinner, a whisper ran through the Durmstrang ship like wildfire.
“Karkaroff is gone.”
No one believed it at first.
Durmstrang students searched every deck, every chamber, shouting his name in Russian, Bulgarian, Icelandic—every language spoken aboard the ship.
But the Highmaster’s door was locked from the outside.
His cabin window was open to the freezing air.
And Igor Karkaroff was nowhere to be found.
Harry and Victor rushed down the wooden ramp to the ship as the noise grew louder — students shouting, panicking, arguing.
The Durmstrang dueling instructor, Professor Navarro, stood in the center of the chaos, face pale, shouting orders in a booming voice.
“Search the lower decks! He might be hiding!”
“We checked already!” someone yelled. “He’s not here!”
“Maybe he’s on the upper mast?”
“No one saw him climb!”
“Stop shouting and look again!”
Harry stepped forward. “Professor!”
Navarro turned sharply, relief passing through his eyes when he recognized Harry — the one student Igor trusted.
“Harry,” he said, voice tight. “Have you seen Highmaster Karkaroff?”
Harry shook his head. “No. When did anyone see him last?”
A younger Durmstrang student, pale and trembling, spoke up.
“I-I saw him last night, sir. He came out of his cabin… he looked nervous. He kept looking behind him. He walked toward the shore.”
Hermione’s face paled.
“Did he speak to anyone?”
“No,” the boy whispered. “He said nothing.”
Navarro clenched his jaw. “He left without his cloak. He left without his wand holster.”
Anya gasped. “He would never leave without his wand.”
The truth hit all of them like a cold wave.
Karkaroff hadn’t simply run away.
Something — or someone — had taken him.
By dinner time, the rumor had reached the Great Hall.
Students whispered anxiously across every table.
“He vanished? Just like that?”
“Maybe he fled. He was a Death Eater.”
“No — he wouldn’t leave his students this way.”
“Someone grabbed him. They must have.”
“A Death Eater in Hogwarts?”
“Or something worse…”
Harry sat between Hermione and Viktor, his jaw clenched.
Across the Hall, the Hogwarts professor talked quietly with concern. Nearby, Dumbledore spoke with McGonagall in urgent whispers.
But the person Harry was watching…
was Alastor Moody.
Moody sat at the staff table, raising a goblet to his lips.
His magical eye spun lazily — but his real eye wasn’t scanning the room.
It was watching Harry.
Harry stiffened.
Hermione gripped his arm. “Harry… do you think it was him?”
Harry didn’t answer.
But he didn’t look away from Moody either.
Later that night, Harry returned to the Durmstrang ship. The atmosphere was completely different now — cold, cracked, hollow.
The students were seated in the main hall, a grand cabin lit by floating lanterns. The usual pride and loud laughter were gone.
Instead, there was silence.
Professor Navarro addressed the crowd.
“Our Highmaster… may not return.”
Gasps and cries broke out across the hall.
“He was respected by all of us,” he continued, voice heavy. “He was strict, but he protected us. He trained us. He led us.”
Viktor rose slowly.
“He vas not perfect,” he said. “He did wrong in the past. But to us… he vas strong. He vas our Highmaster.”
Many students nodded, eyes glistening.
Anya whispered to Harry, “They trusted him. And now he’s gone.”
Harry’s fists clenched at his sides.
After the gathering ended, Harry walked out into the cold air of the deck.
Victor followed.
“Harry,” he said softly, “are you alright?”
“No,” Harry whispered. “Karkaroff warned me. He told me someone was after him. And now… he’s gone.”
“Maybe he ran. Maybe he thought it was the only way.”
Harry shook his head. “Karkaroff wouldn’t run without telling me. He wouldn’t abandon us. He wouldn’t leave his ship unprotected.”
Victor hesitated. “Do you think Aurors—”
Harry turned to him, expression cold and certain.
“I think I know exactly who took him.”
Harry looked toward Hogwarts — the towers sharp against the night sky, the windows lit like watchful eyes.
“We find out who he really is,” Harry said quietly. “We track him. We stay close. We don’t let him get near any of us."
The fog rolled in early, drifting across the grounds in thick, ghostly layers that swallowed the distant shapes of the mountains and blurred the towers of Hogwarts into pale silhouettes. It was the kind of fog that made even seasoned wizards uneasy — too dense, too quiet, as though something in the world had paused to hold its breath.
Harry awoke to raised voices echoing through the corridors, loud enough to be heard even inside the Durmstrang ship. Hermione shook him awake, already half-dressed, her expression pinched with worry.
“Harry, something’s happened. People are shouting everywhere. Come on.”
They hurried up toward the castle, joining a growing stream of students moving toward the Great Hall. The closer they got, the louder the crowd became — dozens of anxious voices blending into a rising hum.
“What’s going on?” Hermione asked the nearest Ravenclaw as they climbed the stairs.
The girl swallowed hard, her eyes wide.
“There’s… there’s a body. Someone found a body near Hogsmeade.”
For a heartbeat, Harry didn’t breathe. The spinning sensation in his chest tightened.
“Karkaroff?” he asked, his voice sharp.
“No one knows,” the girl whispered. “The professors sealed the area. They’re keeping everyone out.”
A cold dread crept down Harry’s spine. Hermione caught his arm, sensing his thoughts immediately.
“Harry… don’t jump to conclusions. We don’t know anything yet.”
But Harry did know. Deep down, he knew something terrible had happened — and it was only the beginning.
When they reached the Great Hall entrance, they found it blocked by McGonagall and Flitwick, both of them looking unusually tense. Professors tried to keep back a crowd of panicked students, but the younger years clung to each other, whispering wildly.
McGonagall spotted Harry, Hermione, and Viktor Krum approaching and motioned urgently.
“You three — inside, please.”
The moment they entered, the atmosphere changed. The Hall was silent, the air heavy with tension. Every headmaster, professor, and visiting official stood in a wide circle, their expressions grim.
Dumbledore stepped forward, his face unusually somber.
“A body was found early this morning near Hogsmeade, close to the old path behind the Hog’s Head.”
Harry felt his stomach twist.
“It is not Igor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore continued quietly.
Harry exhaled shakily. Hermione placed a hand on his arm, relieved yet still uneasy.
But then Dumbledore spoke the next name.
“The victim is… Barty Crouch.”
A stunned silence filled the hall. Even the candles floating overhead flickered, as if shaken by the words.
Hermione breathed sharply, her hand flying to her mouth. Viktor stared at the headmaster in disbelief.
Harry simply froze.
Barty Crouch — a high-ranking Ministry official, a man known for his harshness, his discipline, his involvement in the Triwizard Tournament. The same man who had supposedly suffered a mental episode months earlier.
Now dead.
Killed near Hogwarts.
Dumbledore continued, his voice calm but burdened. “Crouch was discovered lying on his side. There are no wounds on his body. No signs of a struggle. No traces of defensive magic. His wand was missing.”
Hermione forced out a whisper. “How… how did he die?”
Alastor Moody stepped forward, leaning heavily on his staff. His magical eye rotated for a moment before fixing on Harry, then slowly shifting away.
“It looked,” Moody growled, “as if he died of pure terror. His face was frozen in a rictus… eyes wide open.”
Hermione shuddered.
Viktor muttered something harsh in Bulgarian under his breath.
Snape’s low, cold voice drifted from the shadows. “The Killing Curse can leave no mark. But fear alone… fear can do worse in the right hands.”
McGonagall looked horrified at the implication. “But who would dare murder a Ministry official near Hogwarts grounds?”
Snape’s eyes slid toward Moody, but only for a second — just enough to be noticed.
Dumbledore went on. “There were no footprints. No magical signatures. Whoever carried the body to Hogsmeade did so with extraordinary skill. This was a calculated act. A message.”
Hermione whispered, “A message… but to whom?”
Harry knew. Deep inside, he knew.
He turned his head slightly, eyes meeting Moody’s. The Defense professor’s mouth twitched, but Harry couldn’t tell if it was amusement, irritation, or something else entirely.
The tension in the room thickened.
Dumbledore finally addressed the room at large. “The Ministry will be notified immediately. Aurors will arrive within the day. Until then, no student is to leave the castle unsupervised. Prefects will escort younger years. All Hogsmeade visits are suspended until further notice.”
The murmurs rose instantly among the teachers, but Dumbledore raised a hand, quieting them.
“Classes will continue. The Tournament must proceed. But be vigilant. Evil has visited us, whether briefly or… with intent.”
Hermione’s face tightened at those words.
When the meeting ended, the professors began leaving in hushed groups, each wearing the weight of fear and responsibility on their shoulders.
Harry remained still, processing the information.
Hermione stepped closer to him, voice trembling slightly. “Harry… if someone killed Barty Crouch on our doorstep, then whoever did this isn’t afraid of Hogwarts. They wanted us to know.”
Viktor folded his arms, glaring toward the forest. “Crouch did not come to Hogwarts on his own. Someone brought him here.”
Harry nodded slowly.
“And Karkaroff didn’t run,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Something happened to him. Something connected to this.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Harry… you don’t mean—”
He looked toward the staff table, where Moody was gathering his belongings to limp away.
“I mean exactly that,” Harry whispered. “Whatever took Karkaroff… and whatever killed Barty Crouch… is inside this castle.”
Viktor swallowed hard. “Do you think it is Moody?”
Harry’s gaze stayed fixed on Moody’s retreating back.
“Maybe it is him. Or maybe it is someone wearing his face.”
Hermione shivered. “Then we have to be careful. All of us.”
Harry nodded, jaw clenched, eyes cold with determination.
“Yes. Because now we know one thing:
Karkaroff’s warning wasn’t paranoia.”
The Durmstrang Board of Elders sent an urgent owl, naming Professor Navarro, the Dueling Master, as the acting Highmaster in Karkaroff’s absence. The announcement was delivered during breakfast in the Great hall.
Dumbledore rose, glasses glinting.
“Due to unfortunate circumstances, until Igor Karkaroff is found or returns, Durmstrang Institute will be under the temporary leadership of Professor Raoul Navarro.”
Professor Navarro — a tall, broad-shouldered man with silver-streaked hair tied back and sharp eyes — stood gracefully. He inclined his head as Hogwarts applauded politely.
But the Durmstrang students reacted very differently.
Relief.
Respect.
Confidence.
Because Navarro, unlike Karkaroff, was truly loved.
And Harry… Harry practically lit up when Navarro walked toward the Durmstrang table.
Hermione smirked at how obvious it was. “You’re smiling too much,” she whispered.
Harry shrugged. “He’s one of the best professor we have. Strict, brilliant, fair. He doesn’t judge students by bloodline or legacy.”
“And he likes you,” Hermione teased.
“He respects me,” Harry corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Across the table, Viktor nodded. “Is good man. Students trust him. If Karkaroff does not return… Navarro vill be a better headmaster.”
Harry agreed wholeheartedly.
Later that afternoon, Harry returned to the Durmstrang ship. He found Professor Navarro standing at the bow, hands behind his back, staring across the grey waters of the Great Lake. His posture was calm, yet there was an underlying tension — the burden of leadership settling upon him.
“Professor,” Harry greeted.
Navarro turned, offering a rare soft smile. “Harry. I was hoping you’d come.”
The two stood together in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the mist dance over the water.
“I am sorry about Igor,” Navarro said finally. “His disappearance… troubles me deeply.”
Harry nodded slowly. “He warned me before he vanished. He thought something was wrong with Professor Moody.”
Navarro’s eyes sharpened. “He suspected someone influencing him.”
“He didn’t say it directly,” Harry replied, “but I could tell. He was afraid.”
Navarro exhaled, rubbing his temple. “Igor was many things, Harry — flawed, arrogant, ambitious — but he was never a coward. If he feared something enough to disappear…”
“Then it’s serious,” Harry finished.
“Yes,” Navarro murmured. “Very serious.”
After a moment, the professor placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder.
“We can't accuse anyone because Igor had lots of enimies in Britain.”
That night, Harry lay awake inside his private cabin aboard the ship, staring at the lantern-lit ceiling. Navarro’s appointment as acting Highmaster changed everything… and yet, not entirely.
Because deep beneath the ancient Durmstrang castle — beneath layers of stone, ice, and runic carvings — there was a vault.
A secret vault.
A vault only the Highmaster was supposed to have access to.
But Igor Karkaroff had shared the secret with Harry last year, trusting him far more than anyone would expect. Perhaps he’d seen Harry’s rising potential. Perhaps he wanted a powerful ally. Whatever the reason, Harry had been trying to enter that vault ever since.
And now…
Now Igor was gone.
Harry turned, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
Navarro didn’t know about the vault.
No one did.
Only Karkaroff.
And Harry.
If Igor never came back… then legally, traditionally, ritually… the vault would pass to the next Highmaster but No one except Harry knew the existence of the Vault.
He sat up slowly.
That vault is mine.
Because of what was inside it — knowledge. Spells. History. Runes that predated the Founders. Books even Grindelwald never touched.
And most importantly…
Secrets powerful enough to protect his family — and Hermione — from whatever darkness hunted Hogwarts now.
Harry exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
No one else needed to know.
Not the Weasleys.
Not the Potters.
Not even Navarro.
Especially not the Ministry.
The vault was his secret. His advantage. His inheritance.
If Karkaroff doesn’t return by next year, Harry thought with a rising determination, then I’ll take full ownership of it.
Durmstrang’s castle, with its ancient wards and frozen stones, suddenly felt closer to him than Hogwarts ever did.
It felt like home.
His real school.
And the vault beneath it…
was waiting for him.
