Fear, and a strange sense of awe, filled him once he was close enough to feel the pure magic that poured out of the grey stone walls of the simple-looking building. Gellert had heard that there were other magical schools, but he was certain that all of them would pale before the Durmstrang Castle.
Hogwarts: A History had told him all he needed to know about Hogwarts; the exact location was omitted but that wasn't important. Information about Beauxbatons, although a bit more difficult to find in books, was easily learnt of if you knew how to flatter their students enough. Neither of the schools were as mysterious as Durmstrang had been; none of the others had called to him as strongly as Durmstrang had; none of them taught the magic Gellert knew he wanted to learn.
He ignored the sniggers from the other Purebloods at his home-made clothing. His mother lacked domestic skills, having lived only for the lavish parties she had attended with her parents and while his father had still been alive. Now, with her parents wanting nothing to do with her since she had tried to go to them and demand money, or with him by extension, they had to get by with what they had.
Which wasn't much, and not nearly enough for his mother, but they had to make do. Gellert had simply been lucky that his father had the forethought to open a vault at Gringotts that would pay only the school he chose to intend. The money would have been long gone in his mother's attempt to regain her lavish lifestyle if that stipulation had not been in place — and carried out by the goblins with a great vengeance.
The grin that slid onto his face, as he watched each of the ones laughing at him conveniently trip over the same root, wasn't at all pleasant. None of them knew that he had done that; they were all still foolishly sheltered children with nothing in the way of self-preservation, or knowledge of the real world. They still believed that their parents would protect them from everything, not realising that their parents would eventually die.
His mother may be magically useless, or nearly so in his opinion — he often wondered how she managed to think so much of herself — but, Gellert definitely wasn't.
Now that he was out of her overbearing shadow, he could show all of these pathetic Purebloods their place — beneath him.
…xXx…
"Did you see him?"
"Who?"
"Him?"
"I heard his mother had to sell herself to pay for him to come here."
"Really? Why even bother then?"
"Right? Those kinds never amount to anything. Even if they are Purebloods."
"They may as well be Mudbloods with how they live!"
…xXx…
Two mirror-like objects towered over him as he entered the cold room that would 'sort' him to where he belonged.
One reflected what looked like him; except he was older in the reflection. His clothing looked richer, and Gellert thought that he looked more pleased than remembered ever feeling in his life. While the idea certainly interested him — fascinated him, really — it was the other object that drew him like a moth to the flame — and Gellert didn't even know if he would mind being burned.
He could hear the whispers that came from beyond the curtain. Gellert knew better than to reach beyond the surface, but he approached it, knowing that it was unlikely to harm him if he got close but did not touch it. Not being able to hear the words being whispered, but incredibly curious, Gellert was standing only a few centimetres from the Veil when a white wand rolled out from under the curtain.
There was a line of other first years waiting beyond the door, but Gellert couldn't bring himself to care about them as he cautiously approached the wand, half-expecting something else to come shooting out of the whispery curtain.
It took him two tries to pick the wand up with his shaking fingers, but the wand fit perfectly within his palm, and Gellert could feel that this was exactly where he was supposed to be.
This wand was his. Not his mother's half-hearted attempt of giving him something that he needed; not a hand-me-down from some uncle who had taken pity on him.
They had chosen each other, wand and master, like every pair that ever wanted to be great, and every pair that had ever been great.
And, as he walked out of the frigid room, silence greeted him. It took more than a minute for them to gather themselves enough for the next first year to be sent through the door.
…xXx…
"The Veil chose him of all people!"
"Even the Professors have been acting strangely since the Sorting. Have you noticed?"
"It mustn't have a good sense of taste then…"
"Don't insult it! You remember what happened last time?"
"Duerr was a clumsy fool. I'm not surprised he fell in."
"If you want to risk it, be my guest."
…xXx…
Weariness turned to fear, and fear into anger. Gellert knew that; he expected it. Arrogance and ego knew no other solution.
The anger of the Pureblood children had not been tempered in the slightest. Their egos and belief that there was no one above them, had only been shaken by his Sorting. Truthfully, Gellert didn't think that could even be called a 'Sorting' rather, it was more like a 'Choosing'. From what he had heard, though, a person could choose the Veil, but the Veil may not choose the person in return.
That had been the reason for the shock in his Sorting: they had all believed that he had intentionally chosen the Veil for fame, or recognition, or whatever other reason someone had cooked up in their spare time.
When the first spell flew past his head in the dungeon corridor, Gellert was only vaguely surprised that they had taken so long to try and ambush him. Upper years and first years had joined together, Gellert noted, and he was almost flattered that they expected that much from him.
He had only been here two months! How much did they expect him to know? As much as he'd hate to deny it, he was no genius, and only hard work got him to the top of his classes — something having no friends helped with immensely.
Although, he knew enough to get out of a situation like this with his minimal repertoire of spells. The snow in Durmstrang was enchanted to be unbearably cold to anyone who dared venture outside. Gellert had also heard that the snow cancelled most warming charms, too. He hadn't had a reason to find out if that was true, and now, he had been presented with a perfect opportunity.
There was only one truly obscure spell that rendered the negating charms useless to the caster, and that had been one of the spells he had learnt to prepare himself.
Because he'd expected them to toss him out in the cold and expect him to die of hypothermia, not attack him within the walls of Durmstrang.
Gellert doubted any of these idiots had even thought of the possibility of him using the weather against them. Especially since it was already ridiculously cold in the dungeons with the warming charms. If they froze to death, that would be their own problem and not his — they should have done their research, at least!
Shrugging, Gellert blew out the strategically placed windows, whose purpose was to occasionally give light to the dungeons, watching as the frost raced across the stone and towards the only sources of heat in the corridor.
…xXx…
"…flooded the dungeons in snow!"
"I heard he didn't even shiver as the snow surrounded him…"
"…they're all still in the Infirmary. They might have to regrow their hands and feet!"
"He only got a week of detention! The rest of them have a month after they get out of the Infirmary…"
"Probably just a fluke. He's only a first year."
"Would you risk it?"
…xXx…
Gellert didn't know if Durmstrang sent a letter to his mother about the incident, but he doubted his mother cared in the slightest. She had probably even mourned the lost opportunity. He would half expect her to be hoping that he just died in the middle of a duel, at least she would get the gold that would have gone towards his schooling then.
From the jittery eyes of the students that were recently released from the Infirmary, Gellert could tell that they didn't understand how he had managed his little stunt in the dungeons.
It was times like these that Gellert wondered if them reproducing was a good idea — even if that meant the Pureblood lines died out. The wizarding world would be far better off with intelligent people than this lot of brainless morons.
It wouldn't be long now, Gellert could tell, until his tormentors would be at his mercy. It may take them a lesson or two more to fully understand their place, but it would be worth it. They would know their place; the place he had been itching to show them since he was seven years old with his father's body still warm in his coffin, and their laughs echoing through the silence between their mothers' shushing.
He would have their loyalty, for he didn't want the friendship of someone who was not his equal in magic and intelligence. None of these Purebloods were anywhere close to being his equal.
The day would come when they would stand on a precipice they would never return from, and all he'd see in their eyes was fear.
…xXx…
Written for
Quidditch League Round 10: Must start and end with the same word.
Wigtown Wanderers: Chaser 3: Object: The Veil
(word) frost; (setting) Durmstrang; (occasion) Sorting Ceremony
AN: A bit of a background: the Sorting at Durmstrang is more of a choice than actual sorting (of course, the intention is for the child to go with their gut instinct and not tradition. The latter would mean that your wand would not be best suited either), and it's also where the Durmstrang students get their wands.