Returning to Durmstrang was even more jarring than Viktor had expected.

Bulgaria was bright and beautiful and free — the family land stretching every which way, swamped with magic that he knew just as well as or better than his own. The family house was sprawling, true, but it was airy, with sundrenched light pouring in through large windows, courtyards, and balconies. Even his own home, a small, secondary estate the family had held for a few hundred years, had echoes of the same feelings, tucked up next to the forest on two sides and with fields spanning the others.

Every year when he returned to school, he had to reaccustom himself to the feeling of cramped, close quarters. The castle, which had originally been a fortress when it was built in the late 10th century, was enormous, with many buildings and four or five floors in some cases. But instead of the pristine facades of the Krum estates, Durmstrang was composed of small stones pressed together and beaten flat by the harsh weather, their edges grimy with dirt that had been pressed into the crevices.

The inside was a similar study in contrasts. Instead of tall halls with windows everywhere, the wooden ceilings pressed down on him as he walked through cramped and narrow corridors. Some places did have the taller, open spaces, but they were limited to large gathering areas like the banquet room and the greenhouses.

At least he would finally have his own quarters this year, small though they would be. It was a perk afforded to all those with the rank of Lieutenant Colonel or higher — meaning students were either in their last year, or in leadership positions. He'd been waiting for this for years, always envying the oldest of the students, because it afforded privacy. More important than that, however, was the fireplace, which would help ward off the days and nights so cold that even heating charms, furs, and prayers could not dispel the chill.

"You're already unpacked with everything in place. I should've known."

Viktor glanced up from where he was placing the reddish-brown journal—Hermione's journal—on his desk and met the eyes of Grete, who lounged against his doorway with her arms crossed. She'd already changed into uniform, he noted, her black robes with white lining that indicated her place in the Third Battalion clasped at her neck. Her robes were pinned back on the left side so as to show the braids underneath and, most importantly, the large pin declaring her ranking on her chest.

"Major General." He snapped to attention and bowed at the waist.

He could almost hear Grete rolling her eyes. "Lieutenant Colonel. At ease." As he straightened up, she huffed. "Such formality when this is our first time meeting each other after the summer? Really, Viktor."

Viktor met the amused eyes of one of his best friends. "I can't just ignore the fact that you're the Major General, Grete. You're the head of our entire Battalion now — there are only three of your rank in the entire school. It would set a bad precedence." He gave a mock shudder. "Think of what Isak would do."

"Isak is a prig, and we both know it." She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Besides, we're in the Third's Barracks. Formality's not a big deal in here."

"Someone could be passing by," he pointed out.

Grete shook her head. Her golden hair, half pinned up, shone in the light with the movement. "Stop being uptight and ridiculous." She sat on the edge of his bed with her legs, encased in the school's required knee high boots, crossed at the ankles, and demanded, "Now tell me everything."

He laughed at her poorly concealed enthusiasm. "What do you want to know? I'm sure you've heard it all on the wireless."

"It's not the same," she protested, "and since someone was a bit too busy to answer my owls, I figured I deserve to know as much as I want right now."

Viktor winced at the barb but inclined his head. "Fair enough. So what do you want to know, exactly? I'm not retelling three months of my life in sequence."

Grete sniffed. "Fine." She ticked off her interests on her right hand as she said, "Alexei Levski, whatever the hell happened after the World Cup, and the girl."

He arched a brow. "An interesting combination."

"Don't make me hex you, Krum." Grete smirked. "You know I'd wipe your arse on the duelling floor. Or I could be lenient and give you a demerit, I suppose."

"I should've known the power would go straight to your head." Sitting on the edge of his desk, his fingers resting on the journal next to him, he began answering her questions, "Levski is a decent wizard. Horrible sense of humour, of course, but we can't all be perfect. Let's see. Nice head of hair and a good Chaser. He threatened to run me down if I didn't answer his letters."

He refrained from mentioning Alexei's well-intentioned tips regarding Hermione. He would not be providing that kind of leverage to Grete.

She frowned. "You're such a man. You can't even tell me if he's married?"

"I wasn't exactly asking about his personal life when we were on the pitch, Grete!" Viktor defended himself. He knew very well that Alexei was absolutely single, though he thought Ivan stood a better chance with the man than Grete ever would. "Besides, he plays with the Tengus. They're in Japan, in case you didn't know."

"In Jap—Viktor, shut up. Fine. I'll just have to stare at my poster of him, I guess." She sighed, though truthfully she didn't look particularly put out. The witch was too pragmatic by half. "Now, tell me about the World Cup—no, tell me about the girl."

"Have you been reading the scandal sheets again?"

Grete buffed her nails. "No, I was reading the news. Viktor, you have no idea, do you? The entire world knows every little detail about you and everyone else on the Bulgarian and Irish teams. Society Sensations International ran a weekly spread specifically about the Quidditch players and their activities, and by the end of it when it was just the last few teams, the spreads were fairly detailed." She paused, giving a little frown, and then shrugged. "Quite good business sense, really. Half the world's in love with at least one quidditch player."

Viktor was half amused and half horrified. Amused because he knew of one person who had started the summer most certainly not in love with any Quidditch players, and horrified because he had somehow managed to remain oblivious to that. "How detailed?"

She smirked. "I quite liked the one about the girl you took to the Festival of Blessings, though I really liked the way you looked like a complete nitwit at the Ball. That photo." Grete barked out a laugh. "You were dumb for her. I've never seen you look even remotely like that, not even with Anastaysia."

Studying the floor quite intently, Viktor offered, "She's better than Anastaysia."

The other witch fairly flew across the floor before hitting his arm. "So there is something!" she crowed. "Tell me."

"Ow! What was that for?" He rubbed his arm. "I'm not telling you a damn thing, Grete. You are the worst gossip in the entire school, and we both know it."

"Now look here, Krum—"

"Major General?" The harried voice of Olaffson came from the entrance of the room, and the change that came over Grete was immediate.

Her posture perfectly straight, her expression bland, and her hands behind her back, she turned smartly on her heel. "Colonel Olaffson."

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but we are having some issues with the new corporals." Apologetically, the wizard, who was in charge of one of the four squadrons in the Third Battalion, added, "There don't appear to be enough beds."

"Baba Yaga's hairy knees," Grete snapped. "Not enough beds? That's ridiculous. I'm going to skin the Quartermaster, don't see if I don't. The little ones have enough on their plates to be worried about on their first night here aside from where they'll be sleeping."

Striding out of the room to go deal with the issue, Grete threw over her shoulder, "Don't think I'm done with you, Viktor."

"I'll be waiting with bated breath." He raised a hand in farewell, though Grete had already disappeared around the corner.

Shaking his head, he murmured, "Not enough beds?" Issues like that made him more grateful than ever he had declined to be considered for Colonel or Major General. Though they were positions of great honour, with the attendant responsibilities, he was far too busy for them, though the World Cup was over. He had the TriWizard Cup to consider, now, as well as his new courtship with Hermione, his studies, and his responsibilities at home, which he only expected to increase as Maika grew frailer.

Speaking of the Cup...he looked at the letter he had left on top of some books. Karkaroff would be well on his way to being truly angered if he left the man's summons unanswered any longer. Best to get it out of the way, he thought, so he could attend to the more pleasant things, such as penning Hermione a note.

Almost absently, he touched the cuff on his right wrist, which was disillusioned. It fairly hummed underneath its touch, the metal warm and happy. All was well with his witch.

He bit the top of his lip at the thought, his own happiness welling within him. She was, truly, his witch now. After all those weeks of yearning for it to happen, it had unfolded even better than his wildest dreams.

As he entered the main corridor connecting the Third's barracks to the school proper, he schooled his face to impassivity. It wouldn't do to show such emotion in a place such as this.

Through the corridors, down the stairs, into the courtyard, and into the other wing of the building that overlooked the lake and surrounding land, and he was shortly standing in front of the black wooden door that denoted Karkaroff's office.

Rumour had it that Karkaroff had multiple warding and runic spells on the stairs leading up to his office. Viktor wouldn't put it past him — he would, in fact, be more surprised if the wizard didn't.

The door swung open just as Viktor hit the top landing. Since Karkaroff would likely know if he had stopped to gird himself, he simply threw his shoulders back and breathed deeply as he continued straight into the Supreme Commander's office.

As usual, Karkaroff stood behind his desk, though he was looking through the large bay windows out over the grand lake with his hands clasped behind him instead of facing the entrance. Many would have classified his pose as idiocy, considering it prevented him from being able to easily defend himself should an attack occur, but all the students at Durmstrang knew it to be the opposite: Karkaroff's abilities were so formidable that turning his back became a show of strength. I do not care if you come at me, it said, for if you do, I shall kill you without looking.

Approaching Karkaroff's desk, Viktor stood at attention, his hands tucked into his sides with his palms facing inwards and his eyes trained directly ahead.

The silence was always the most painful part, as he had to wait for Karkaroff to acknowledge him first. The Supreme Commander of Durmstrang enjoyed drawing it out, turning the quiet into a finely honed weapon that pricked at the most steady of students' nerves.

"Colonel Krum."

"Supreme Commander."

"Status?"

"Sir, I have read the materials you sent to me and feel prepared to face any qualifying trials that are set. My heart is stronger but my will is stronger. I shall do as you command." Viktor gave the requisite quarter bow at the end of his report and straightened swiftly, though the wizard in front of him could not see his actions.

At that, Karkaroff turned, his profile half in shadow from the afternoon light coming through the window behind him. "Very good. I am happy to hear of your report, as the trials will be rigorous. I have placed Evgeni in charge of their composition, but I do not doubt you will impress me, just as you have all summer."

Viktor shifted into a more informal stance as Karkaroff stood at his desk, his expression easing into a more relaxed one that Viktor was far more familiar with. "I would not go so far as to say my actions this summer were impressive," he hedged, thinking back on the spectacular failure of the World Cup. "I still failed."

Karkaroff's laugh was still the unpleasant, oily sound that Viktor recalled. "You may have lost the Cup, Viktor, but to the world you have won the future. Did you not read the papers? They have said you are on par with or have surpassed Konrad Weiss himself, who is arguably the best Seeker in history."

"They said that?" Viktor asked, surprised. "They exaggerate. I am proficient, and I am good—perhaps very good, even—but I am young."

"Your youth is to your credit, my boy!" Karkaroff slammed the surface of his desk with a hand to emphasise his point. "Tell me, is it not true that various Quidditch teams have sought to recruit you?"

Viktor thought on the increasing pile of correspondence he had yet to figure out how to address. "Perhaps."

"And is it not true that you have been approached by various sponsors as well?"

"Perhaps."

"And that Oblansk himself sent you a congratulatory letter the week after for your performance?"

"His nephew was on the team," Viktor said dismissively. "I am certain that he had letters sent to all of the team."

"I doubt it." Karkaroff swept the fur trimmed robes he wore behind him before crossing his arms. "Let's be clear on one thing, Viktor. Your skill has brought you much power, no matter how you try to avoid it. You are one of the members of one of the oldest families in Bulgaria, which has ties across the world. That, too, places you in a position of power many would envy. Put together, you have the influence to do as you want and to push whatever agenda you wish. Many will listen, if you only chose to speak more loudly."

Ah. There it was, Viktor thought in satisfaction. The reason why this had all unfolded. Karkaroff sought to point Viktor like a weapon so that he could further his own agenda. It was interesting that the older wizard, who had first coddled Viktor so that he could forge ties to the Krum family, had now switched tack to capitalise on Viktor himself.

It would be the worst sort of compliment if it weren't so problematic for so many reasons.

Carefully, Viktor schooled his expression to blankness. "My primary goal is to do Durmstrang proud this year by representing us well at the tournament. Everything else is secondary."

If his true goal for wanting to represent Durmstrang at the tournament was different (and included a curly haired brunette witch), then that was his own business.

"Of course that's paramount," Karkaroff snapped, his infamously mercurial temper changing at the drop of a pin. "Don't be stupid. You'll be on the ship or you'll have both me and your father to answer to." Karkaroff's tone took on what Viktor thought the wizard meant to be a coaxing edge. "I simply think it is best that you take this time to consider how you would like to wield the power that you have. It is an overwhelming concept, to be sure, which is why I am here to assist you."

"I am grateful, as ever, for your guidance." Viktor bowed once more, hiding the resentment festering within him. Fervently, he wished that he could simply tell the other wizard to stop his machinations, as Viktor would never let himself be used as some kind of mouthpiece. But if he did so, his entire battalion would suffer the headmaster's wrath, and that was terrible indeed.

"May I be released so I can keep preparing for the trials? There are still a few things I would like to work on before they begin."

Karkaroff's eyes flashed with amusement. "They haven't even yet been announced, but who am I to prevent you from adequate preparation? Very well. Dismissed. But Viktor?"

"Yes, Supreme Commander?"

"If I were you, I might take an interest in mythology."

"Mythology, sir?"

Karkaroff lifted a shoulder noncommittally. "It's something I've found myself interested in for the last year. You might find it similarly engaging."

"I...see," he said slowly, though he didn't see at all.

"Just a thought. Oh, and don't forget your stavework. You might want Jorgensen to give you some pointers since I doubt you've been practicing this summer." A hint of a smile. "You were otherwise understandably occupied."

He pushed down the rising feeling of anxiety at Karkaroff's advice. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

Snapping off a salute, he clicked his heels and exited the office at a clipped pace, his mind working feverishly. He had forgotten about the Selection of Staves. How could it have slipped his mind?

It was one of the things he'd been anticipating most since he'd started attending Durmstrang. To be able to channel his magic through such an instrument would afford him power and range that a wand simply didn't have.

He blew out a breath. All he had to do was keep his rank, if not improve it, before the trials. It was true he was a Lieutenant Colonel, but that could change if someone in the battalion surpassed him in overall points, which were earned in a multitude of ways.

One of the most common ways was combat. Students across battalions often duelled each other because individuals who won would get points, as would the battalion itself. Because the battalion that led in points on the leaderboard would get special privileges, which caused competition to be fierce—and often cutthroat.

Likely as not, he'd face challenges in the upcoming weeks and have to defend his ranking on the battalion's leaderboard and on the schoolwide one. His strength didn't lie in fighting, but his skill in other areas that received points more than made up for it. He'd keep his position by tooth and claw if he had to.

Determination flooded his veins as he composed a plan. For now, he had to assume he would qualify — and then receive — a stave. He had to prepare as best as he could to be able to use it, and Grete was an excellent partner for both the mechanics as well as the magical aspects. He'd partner up with her and do some drills.

But regarding Karkaroff's other hint, that one about mythology? He frowned. It might be best to simply tackle the subject himself, though he would tell the Battalion what Karkaroff said regardless. After all, everyone deserved a fair chance at getting through the qualification trials for the TriWizard Tournament.

"Vitya, you little bastard!" Nikolai appeared at the end of the corridor, his bulky frame taking up most of the entranceway as his bearded face broke into a grin. "You've been hiding from me, haven't you?"

His mouth stretched into an answering smile as they crossed the distance, clapping each other on the back with hearty thumps before breaking apart.

"Hide from you?" Viktor scoffed. "As if I'd need to do such a thing."

"Yeah, yeah." Nikolai brushed off his comments with a smirk. "You knew you'd get trounced if I caught you."

"Oh, stop posturing, you big idiot. You'd put me down in thirty seconds or less and we both know it."

Nikolai laughed. "Only if I could catch you. Knowing you, you'd be fleeing on broomstick faster than I'd be able to draw my wand."

"Is that what you think?" Viktor fell into step with one of his oldest and dearest friends as they returned to the Third Battalion's barracks. "I'd be a little coward and run away?"

"Considering you're too attached to your broomstick to be more than a metre away at a time," Nikolai slid him a sidelong look, "I figured you'd do some fancy little manoeuvre, maybe a cute loop de loop, before flying away as fast it would go. Either that or you'd just fly high and hex me silly from there. All joking aside though," the designated medic for Viktor's squadron said, "it's good to see you in person instead of hearing about you on the wireless or in the papers."

"Not you, too," Viktor groaned. "Grete's already told me all about the papers."

Nikolai threw out a dramatic arm as he declared in a booming impersonation of an announcer's voice, "It's Viktor Krum, live and in the flesh! Have you ever seen a wizard walk so perfectly as Krum? It's impossible to imitate such poise, such gravitas, such presence."

"Shut up." He shoved Nikolai on the shoulder, causing the other boy to laugh loudly. "I don't—they didn't say things like that—"

"It's no wonder ladies are simply falling at his feet," Nikolai went on through his laughter, "but it's likely too late to win him over—he's been bewitched by the English Rose—"

Nikolai stopped short at the sound of a spell sizzling as it hit the wards on the castle walls some distance ahead of them.

Merriment fled them as both Viktor and Nikolai unholstered their wands and ran toward the noise.

Just as they rounded the corner, Fredrik's cultured, princely voice drawled, "There are only a handful of things that pathetic swine such as yourself are good for. If I let you anywhere near me I might catch something, so I suppose you'll have to suffice as a test subject on the effects of the Skin-Splitting Curse."

The tableau unfolding in front of Viktor was nothing like what had happened last year between him and Fredrik, and yet somehow brought to mind the image of the Dark Arts classroom where it had taken place. Professor Evgeni had stood at the head, his eyes glittering with gleeful malice while the sixth years of the First Battalion lined up across from the Third, all of whom had their wands raised. Friedrik had angled to be placed directly across from Viktor, and his eyes had burned with hate even as he had looked out from a perfect face that would not have been amiss in a scroll on Swedish fairy tales. His lips had curled at the edges as he cast the Skin-Splitting Curse on Viktor, enjoyment at Viktor's pain writ clear across his face.

In the classroom, Viktor could have fought back, but he hadn't because the curse was part of a lesson. Here, the students pinned in place by Fredrik and his two companions had no hope whatsoever of defending themselves. While ranked as Sergeants during the first two years of their education at Durmstrang, students only learned magical theory. The terrified children in front of him would likely be unable to cast even a basic Protego, let alone hold off the much more powerful and cruel Fredrik.

"Looking for easy points?" Nikolai asked Fredrik, his demeanour completely changed from the jovial man who'd been talking with Viktor only moments before. Scorn dripped from his voice as he added, "I should have figured a moronic fegis like you would be haunting the halls to try and improve your rank. Pathetic."

Fredrik whipped around to face them, his wand held loosely at his side. "As if I need help improving my rank by getting points," he sneered. "In case you don't recall, Sokolov, I outrank you."

"Be that as it may," Nikolai replied evenly, his chin dropping the slightest as he glared daggers, "at the very least I can say I got my rank honestly instead of by terrorizing children who can't defend themselves. Sergeants," he directed his gaze to the wide-eyed trio, "you are dismissed. Go along."

When they hesitated, their fearful expressions flicking to Fredrik, Viktor snapped, "That was an order, you three."

Wands over their hearts, they bowed before scampering away. Only Fredrik, his two companions, Viktor, and Nikolai were left in the corridor with no witnesses.

"If you're so hungry for violence, Fredrik," Viktor said softly, "you know I'd be more than happy to oblige. I've been waiting."

The bad blood between the two of them went back for as long as Viktor could remember, their rivalry turning poisonous as it became clear that Fredrik relished pain and violence for the sake of it. While Viktor found no joy in duelling for the sake of violence, he did admire the it abstractly. Just like Quidditch, it required strategy and critical thinking, but it was artful in and of itself.

Fredrik didn't feel the same way, and it showed in his straightforward and to-the-point casting. Case in point:

"Confringo!"

Viktor whipped up a shield with little thought, letting the hex hit it and disburse before throwing his own attack Fredrik's way. "Ventus Minimus!"

A blast of typhoon force wind surged toward Fredrik, physically knocking him aside. However, Fredrik rolled backward with the motion and neatly sprang up, already casting once more. "Bombarda!"

He dove out of the way of the spell and cast one right back. At his side, Nikolai dealt his own spells with rapid speed and held off Fredrik's two companions. Viktor wished himself half as quick but his studies hadn't focussed on offensive spellwork.

Fredrik knew that and relished in his superiority to Viktor. As he dispelled Viktor's hex with a well-timed shield, he cast something at the same time.

A violent scarlet fire rampaged toward Viktor. The screaming flames descended upon him, and Viktor barely managed to put them out with a water spell. But even as he managed that, Fredrik cast again and again, the spells coming too quick and varied for him to handle.

In the end, Fredrik caught him with a three pronged cutting curse. His forearm clashed open just as his stomach and calf did. Warm blood trickled down to the floor as Viktor's leg grave out. Stumbling, he went to shield himself again, but it was too late.

"Expelliarmus!"

With a clatter, his wand fell to the ground. Blood dripped onto the stone beside it as his arm flared with pain.

"Still as pathetic as ever, I see," Fredrik drawled as Nikolai managed to disarm both of his opponents. "You're stupid and slow."

"Fuck off," Viktor spat, picking his wand up. "Just because I'm not a sick bastard that likes assaulting people in the corridor's doesn't make me soft."

"You'll never become a wizard worthy of respect if you can't fight well enough to save your life," Fredrik retorted. "Besides, Durmstrang encourages behavior like this. Didn't you hear the chime?"

"Give it a rest," Nikolai cut in. "Earning points to increase your standing on the leaderboard doesn't mean you're superior. Viktor's still higher than you in ranking because he's better at you in terms of applied talent and higher marks."

Fredrik's smile dropped off his face, leaving only cold, hard eyes. "None of that will help you when you're fighting for your life. What, will you throw a potion at me or beg the plants to help you?" He scoffed and sheathed his wand, making it clear that he considered neither Viktor nor Nikolai posed a threat to him.

"When you decide to become wizard enough to stand on your own, Krum, you know where to find me." He paused and then added silkily, "Or it could be that I find you first. Durmstrang is…small enough that chance encounters occur."

The veiled threat hung between them as they stared at each other, blue eyes drilling into brown. Viktor knew that sometime this year, things would come to a head.

And sooner rather than later.

"He's such an arse," Nikolai muttered as they watched Fredrik saunter away. "He makes me sick."

"He makes me concerned." Viktor stared at the man he'd just lost to. "There's something about him that I really don't like."

"You mean besides the fact that I'm pretty sure he's a psychopath?" Nikolai pressed the tip of his wand to Viktor's forearm and did something that made the singed edges of Viktor's skin start to move toward each other. When Viktor hissed, Nikolai's grip around his wrist tightened. "Stop being a baby. What would your English Rose have to say about this?"

She would probably stare at him just like Nikolai was and make some remark that if he was going to be careless and get hurt, he deserved it. "Shut up, Sokolov."

Nikolai smirked.

"But back to Fredrik," Viktor said, "We're going to have to do something about him — I'm going to have to do something about him."

"He's a bully, plain and simple."

"He's a bully that's grown dangerous," Viktor corrected. "If he's hunting down people for the sole purpose of experimenting on them with spells like we saw, something needs to be done about him."

Nikolai stared down at Viktor's arm, made a considering face, and then sheathed his wand before pulling Viktor's sleeve down. "That's done. You can mend the clothes yourself. As for Fredrik, I can understand where you're coming from, but it's not our responsibility."

"Who else is going to run herd on him?" Viktor asked pointedly. "The teachers? I don't think so. Fredrik was right when he said that Durmstrang encourages competition like this. It's part of the 'learning experience', or so they say." The acidity in his voice could have melted stone.

Nikolai grimaced. "Fair point. I think he can keep for awhile, though. I doubt he'll do anything else right at the outset of the year."

Viktor highly doubted about that. For now, though, he couldn't do anything else about the situation aside from keeping an eye on the blonde haired wretch. "I suppose so."

Clapping him on the back, Nikolai began herding Viktor down the hall. "Don't borrow trouble before it finds you. Now, what were you doing out and about by yourself? I would've thought you'd be holed up in your room or off trying to kill yourself on your broom."

"I don't try and kill myself," Viktor squawked indignantly. "I'll have you know I fly very skillfully."

"Yeah, yeah. All I hear is talk, talk, talk, I've seen all those pictures of you looking bloody and half dead on your broom." Nikolai tapped his temple. "I've got eyes, you know."

Viktor sputtered a half-baked response before shoving Nikolai again. His bear of a friend knocked his shoulder back in return, and he couldn't stop smiling as Nikolai ragged on him all the way back to the Third's Barracks.

Karkaroff, Fredrik, and all else aside, it was good to be back.


A Note on Durmstrang

Introducing an entire school and its hierarchy in one chapter is a lot. I'll continue to explain as we go, but here is a basic run down. Durmstrang is often depicted as being more cold, unforgiving, and Dark than other schools, and I drew inspiration from that to by making it structured militarily (based mostly off of either the Swedish or Norwegian military — I can't recall given how long it's been since I made it).

At Durmstrang, there are three battalions. Rankings are given by a combination of factors, including age, ranking on the leaderboard, and school year. As Durmstrang starts earlier than Hogwarts, the lowest rank, a Corporeal, will be given to all incoming students, who can then earn a higher rank by competing against their peers in a variety of academic and physical endeavors.

Rankings from lowest to highest:

Corporal

Sergeant

2nd lieutenant

1st Lieutenant

Captain

Major

Lieutenant Colonel - head of squads and Quidditch teams

Colonel - heads of regiments in a Battalion

Major General - head of Battalion

For example, in the 3rd Battalion, Grete is the Major General. Viktor is a Lieutenant Colonel underneath her, and Nikolai is a Major in Viktor's squad.