SYOC form and rules on my bio profile. This is just a short chapter introducing you to the school. Please read it and review, as criticism and critique is very appreciated.
I hope you like it!
The sound of battle cries and metal on metal rang through the empty stone halls of the Durmstrang Institute, echoing off the bare walls, and Headmaster Tolga Poliakoff, standing on the lone cement balcony overlooking the training yard, sighed to himself as he watched the students train.
Martial magic, Durmstrang's main focus, was no good to anyone if your body was not as focused as your mind, so today the students who had stayed on to study over the winter were perfecting their offensive battlestaff techniques - Poliakoff could not help but wince in sympathy as a dark haired girl ducked under her partner's wild swing and delivered a swift jab and then a sweeping movement that knocked him off his feet.
Some students were obviously more naturally talented than others.
The sky, a solid slate grey behind the green and purple mountains that pierced the air, was striped by frost despite the late afternoon hour, and the sun had yet to make an appearance, even though it would soon be scheduled to fall. The students' breath misted in front of them as they gasped from exertion, and the shouts of the trainers rose over the entire scene, barking instructions in a rapid-fire blend of Georgian and Russian, a blend that was not doubt incomprehensible to the majority of the students.
Poliakoff took a deep breath of the crisp mountain air and turned back to the situation at hand in his office.
"You cannot allow this, Headmaster!" The school's Dragonkeeper, Kubanychbekov, was one of the most vocal opponents of the new legislation, but he was not alone - Poliakoff estimated that maybe half or three quarters of the faculty in the room looked displeased with the direction the conversation had taken, the conclusion they had reached.
Those Mudbloods would have a tough time fitting in, but that wasn't the only challenge facing Durmstrang.
Granger's Bill required all schools within the Wizarding Enclave to accept Muggleborns to the schools - no exceptions. It went against every tradition of the Durmstrang Institute, which had always prided itself on three things - its students' mastery of dark magic, its high educational standard, and the purity of blood. But no more - no longer could the Durmstrang students be educated in what the British Ministry of Magic termed 'the Unforgiveable Curses', and the experimentation with traditional Durmstrang dark magic - Inferi, Fiendfyre, Legilimency - was being strictly regulated. Importation of Kubanychbekova's precious dragons and other magical creatures was being monitored closely. No one, especially the Ministry, was risking the chance of a new Lord Voldemort rising, and everyone seemed to think it likely he or she would hail from the northern school of the Dark Arts.
"It will only breed resentment," was Kačinskas' opinion. Lita Kačinskas was the school's now former Legilimency instructor, and one of the few members of staff Poliakoff trusted to have an open mind about these changes - she was part of the younger generation, the ones who had been raised with the belief that Voldemort was long gone, and then confronted with the reality that he had returned. She understood the Ministry's fears, and she understood the staff's displeasure, and she seemed as torn on this measure as Poliakoff was. "These children and their children's children will hate, fear and resent the interference of a foreign Ministry. We had nothing to do with Voldemort -" She threw an impatient look towards Aleksidze, the British-born Theoretical Magic teacher, who flinched a little at the name. "Voldemort," Kačinskas repeated, before continuing. "They are playing with fire. Someone else will turn to the kind of extremes he did, and it will be because of that resentment."
"The laws have been passed," Borjan, the mild-mannered Alchemy teacher, interjected. "There is no use debating them now."
Poliakoff, who had been listening closely to the conversation throughout, nodded. "Borjan is correct," he said calmly, stepping down from the balcony so that he was on the same level as his staff - even so, his broad-shouldered physique meant that he towered over even the tall, rail-thin Aleksidze. "We must follow these new regulations, whether we like it or not. And as such, we will continue to uphold Durmstrang's reputation as a place of honour and faithful character." He held up his hand, and looked contemplative as he looked over the much-reduced staff - many had been killed in the war, even more had left afterwards. "Class resumes tomorrow, and we all have better things to do than to bicker here amongst ourselves. Attend to your tasks, and be ready for whatever tomorrow brings." He dismissed them with a flick of his wrist, and turned back towards the balcony - below, he could see two third years sparring furiously, unable to find a weak point or unguarded opening. He was only vaguely aware of his staff leaving the room, some alone, some deep in conversation with a colleague.
"Are you sure you're ready for this?"
The voice came from a facsimile of Poliakoff himself, a crude portrait hanging above the empty fireplace. His eyes were spirals, his limbs rough blocks, and his colours faded from long life. Poliakoff's eyes and ears within the school, the portrait was also his only reliable source of intelligent conversation - who was better to talk to than himself? The portrait was far more optimistic than Poliakoff, far less misanthropic, and he could always depend upon it for a thought-provoking debate so that he could examine both sides of an argument before making up his mind.
On this subject, however, he had been no help. Both versions of Poliakoff were torn on this issue.
"We are strong here," Poliakoff replied. "Must be the mountain air. We will survive, as we always have, and we may even come out the other side stronger."
"I believe that is my line," the portrait said. "Not yours." Its mishappen features distorted in the approximation of a smile, and returned to his game of cards.
It was starting to snow.
Poliakoff left his office and descended the narrow stone staircase towards the bottom floor to continue his inspection of the school before term began.
Summers in Durmstrang were freezing, and winter was obviously even worse, so rather than follow the crop-based school year preferred by the Salem Institute, Beauxbatons Academy, and Hogwarts School, Durmstrang followed the sun and the moon - school was adjourned on the twenty first of December, the shortest day of the year, and reconvened on St. Tatiana's Day, the twenty fifth of January, when the worst of the winter weather and cold had passed. This was the entirety of the students' annual break, and Poliakoff had savoured every moment of it.
The halls would be blissfully silent for only a few more scarce hours, so Poliakoff took his time as he walked through them. The windows were sealed against the cold by thick fur-lined curtains, but nevertheless Poliakoff's breath steamed before him as he walked. Unlike his predessecor, Karkaroff, Poliakoff did not wear the traditional robe-and-fur garb of the Durmstrang Headmaster, a decision he had always regretted when winter came. Leather was warm, true, but still the cold snaked inside.
Poliakoff was young for a Headmaster, the youngest of any of the current schoolmasters at thirty five and a whole two decades younger than the second youngest, Salem's principal Sara Grahams. This meant that everyone was watching for Polkioff to make a mistake, to follow Karkaroff's footsteps, to prove his unworthiness. Even his clothing choices had been once identified as a reason to mistrust him - how could they trust a man who did not even dress against the cold to care for the wizarding children of the north-east in one of the coldest places on earth? They were eager for him to slip up.
He was glad to disappoint.
Footsteps behind him, and he turned to see two students, both in the ebony-black of training gear rather than their blood-red formal robes. A few students, maybe a dozen each year, chose to forgo their annual break to continue their studies faithfully and help around the school - typically, these students were going into an exam year or came from a heritage family who would expect nothing less.
These were obviously two such students - the dark-haired girl's silver armband marked her as a fourth year Warrior from Kletka Zvezda, her Lägre Undersökningar newly completed, while her companion had the golden ring of a fifth year Scholar and the kinder eyes of a student from Doma Zemyata. Durmstrang had a strict and complicated caste system which divided students according to year, house, discipline and specialisation. Thankfully, such castes were gradually accumulated - houses were assigned in first year, disciplines in third year, specialisation in fifth year. In this way, students focused themselves towards their future from a young age.
"Students Akhmetova and Novák," Poliakoff said in greeting. Both of the students inclined their heads in respect to their headmaster as he approached them. "I hope you are ready for the term ahead."
"Yes, sir." Despite Durmstrang's secretive location in Scandinavia, near the Swede-Norwegian border, it had been founded by a Russian witch and had traditionally catered to Slavic, Central Asian and Eastern European wizards and witches - their students came from as far east as northern China, as far west as the south of the Czech Republic. Akhmetova had the accent of a girl from much farther east, but she spoke the common Durmstrang language of Russian fluently. "We are ready."
Her companion nodded. The affable Kasimir Novák was to be house captain of this year Doma Zemyata, and he looked ready for it - Poliakoff had never seen this boy looking less than serious. "Yes, sir. May I ask, in relation to the new students..."
Granger's Bill had been passed three years ago, but the various schools within the Wizarding Enclave had been given time to prepare for this onslaught of new students - while the Indian Academy of Sorcery had begun admitting muggleborns in 2012, other schools such as The Malaysian Institute for Advanced Magical Education were not slated to begin admissions until 2020. Even with three years to prepare, however, Poliakoff was certain that there would be chaos within the school as people struggled to adjust.
"The older students will be placed on an remedial course for the first term," he found himself explaining to Novák. "Any student in second year or below will be integrated at once, but older newcomers will be given additional training to bring them up to speed. They will not do as well at first, but rather we educate them poorly than not at all."
"And if I may ask, sir," Akhmetova chimed in, shifting her battlestaff hand to another in nervousness - the headmaster may have been more relaxed over the summer, but he was still rather fearsome. "The duels -"
"Duels are open to all students," Poliakoff reminded the girl with more impatience than he intended. "Regardless of year and experience. If a first year with a broken wand can enter a duel - and we all remember what happened to Student Zupan last year - I see no reason why a sixteen year old Muggleborn cannot."
Both students nodded. Inclining their heads once more, they continued on their way and Poliakoff continued on his.
The castle of Durmstrang was much smaller than the one in Scotland that he had visited as a fifth year for the Triwizard Tournament of 1994. Only four floors high but as tightly plotted as a maze, with corridors going every which way and doors opening onto other corridors, a spiralling labryinth. In fact, it was deemed a badge of honour for a first year to have mastered navigation of the castle before the end of first term. But Poliakoff was the person to know the castle best since Nerida Vulchanova herself, and so it was a simple matter for him to locate the correct squat red door on the second floor. It opened onto a very, very narrow room, lined on one side with shelves of potion ingredients and just enough space for a man to walk through to the door on the other side - due to his broad frame, Poliakoff had to go through sideways, but reached the other side without upsetting any of the bubbling, unpleasant smelling potions which had been left to mature over the winter.
On the other side of the door, the narrow corridor ended abrubtly in the middle of nowhere, tapering into nothingness above the stairs so tthat a stray footstep would carry an unaware student to the floor - four hundred metres down. From the end of the corridor, it was maybe four feet to the continuation of the path - a narrow bridge that opened up into a larger space, a hall seemingly attached to nothing, with a domed roof arching. This was the entrance to the dormitories of Sasakhlis Mze, and the first time crossing what the students termed 'Year One Gorge' was always the most difficult - four feet was nothing on the ground, but seemed impossible in the air. It was, Poliakoff had always believed, the first test of a student's true compatibility with Sasakhlis Mze - it was rare for a student to have that kind of faith in the word of another that they would not fall.
An unusually affable group, were the Sasakhlis Mze, whose dormitories were perhaps the solely beautiful thing about the castle, as befitting a house of artists. The foyer's arched dome roof was all gold and rose, with white walls and a marble floor in front of the mahoghany doors leading to the common rooms.
Everything shone and seemed ready, so Poliakoff moved on, trusting the domovoi to have everything correct and ready.
Durmstrang had always domovoi rather than house elves - spirits dedicated to the upkeep and protection of a home. Harfang Munter, the second headmaster of the school, had found the domovoi to be impossible to remove, and far cheaper to keep than house elves besides - philanthropy had nothing to do with his decision to rely upon them for housekeeping, although it had not stopped Karkaroff trying to claim this as a sign of Durmstrang's benign nature.
The house rooms of Sasakhlis Mze had always been by far Poliakoff's favourite - airy and bright, they lacked the grimness of some of the others, such as the underground earthen tunnels of Doma Zemyata or the hollowed caverns of Aydin Uyi below the lake. Each houses had their advantages and disadvantages, however, and Poliakoff was glad that he had belonged to Doma Zemyata, that unchanging house of stubborn stalwarts, even if the accomodation could have been better. But those from Doma Zemyata never complained, because no one had ever died from less-than-ideal armchairs, and they were nothing if not sensible.
He descended the stairs and crossed the entrance, catching only the faintest flicker of a domovoi as they disappeared into invisibility.
He knew that he should return to his office and continue preparations for tomorrow, but he could not help himself from continuing down, down the stairs to where the previously complex corridors took on a whole new level of intricacy - it was not rare for students to lose their way for entire days at a time, and most teachers were none too eager to go looking for them.
"If they were stupid enough tto get lost, it'll do them good to find their way out again."
This, Poliakoff had always believed, was why the students of Aydin Uyi had their rooms down here - not because they were any more intelligent or studious than the other students, but because they were shrewd in a way others were not and tended to rarely enter a situation for which they were unprepared or wander from the path they knew in exploration. Students from Sasakhlis Mze called this dull, students from Doma Zemyata called this cowardice, but students from Aydin Uyi just referred to it as intelligence.
The rooms of Aydin Uyi were far nicer decorated than those of Doma Zemyata, mostly because those who truly belonged in Aydin Uyi tended towards charisma and were more tthan capable of convincing their housemaster that they needed this or that. They could be troublemakers, those students from Aydin Uyi, but Poliakoff had to admire their skill.
He checked that all was correct, and moved on once more.
The sky had darkened rapidly in a very short time and, looking out from his office's balcony, Poliakoff could see Kubanychbekov leading a few of the smaller dragons across the wide snow-bound yard and up the mountainous path that led to their pens, nestled in the valleys a few miles away. Far from tame, Kubanychbekov was the only person that Poliakoff would ever trust to handle dragons so close to a school full of children. He had such wonderful control of the three creatures that not even the sound of shrieking metal could spook them as Master Belikoff and the twin students Crnecvic and Crnecvic trained combat magic and the younger Crnecvic twin used a well-timed charm to rip a segment of iron from the totaled car that they were using and angle it just right to deflect their twin's attack. The second twin dodged the reflected spell, and spun to aim a curse that was knocked away with a single gesture and barely-muttered word. Despite the late hour, neither showed any sign of weariness or disfocus.
Beyond them, Poliakoff could see that the lone tower of Kletka Zvezda was alight with the last fire of winter. Backlit by stars, illuminated from within with flickering shadows, the tower had an almost sinister appearance. But by tomorrow, it would be inhabited by all of those fiery, passionate students for which it was known. Despite the fact that this house took the fewest students each year, the most famous of the Durmstrang alumni were invariably from Kletka Zvezda, whether they were known for good reasons or bad - Gellert Grindelwald, Olivier Almeida, Viktor Krum, and so on. Poliakoff supposed that those kind of fierce, ambitious people that went to Kletka Zvezda were also the type to have the drive to change the world, to be remembered, for good or for evil.
Poliakoff hoped that none of the year's new students would be remembered.
After all, Durmstrang students were rarely remembered for the right reasons.
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