Chapter 5: The Placement Exams
6 September 1991
The Opening Feast was far from over when Viktor Krum walked out of the hall to his friends' puzzled looks.
"Master Bujnowski!" he called out after the dour-faced Pole, never even breaking his own hurried stride. The professor - broad-shouldered, tall and with hawkish eyes that bore no hint of humor - turned to regard his charge.
The Transfiguration Master waited, impatient irritation unmasked. "What."
Viktor slowed to a more reasonable pace. He waved a slip of parchment in the air. "I think there's been a mistake, sir. I'm in my 2nd Term for the year. I can't be a mentor!"
"No mistake, Krum."
"But Master! Mentorship is for one term only!" he said.
"Well, you should've been done by now if you had done your job right!" Bujnowski glared, taking an angry step towards Viktor. "Do you understand what you did? That boy nearly flunked out of his second term – his second! – because he didn't even know what the Adjustment was!"
"But sir, I can explain. I had to practice for t-"
"Bah! Quidditch, is that all you think about?" Bujnowski crossed his arms, eyeing him with contempt. "I swear boy, you are one class away from being kicked out of Transfiguration and you still obsess over that dream of yours. Grow up, Viktor. Now, go teach that boy and this time, do it right!" He turned on his heel, stalking away.
"Great! With the BYQL right around the corner too!" Still, it couldn't be too bad, right? I mean, it wasn't like he had to hang out with this kid during all his breaks, maybe just once or twice a week at most. He glanced at the slip to reread the student he had been assigned.
Harry James Potter
Freyr Dorms - 77
If this Harry Potter was staying at the Acres, then he couldn't be that bad. Chances were he wasn't a rich brat with superiority issues and the fact that he wasn't German…well, that could only be a plus in Viktor's books. At the very least, it would be interesting to see how the British were different. All in all, he could have gotten a lot worse in the draw.
That settled, Viktor walked back to finish his dinner, making a mental note to stop by Harry Potter's room before light's out.
-The Magnate-
"75…76...here we are," Harry said.
Blaise turned the knob; brisk, wide steps marking his entrance. The two others who would be sharing the room with them were already inside. Both of them looked to be their age.
"Hello there roomies, I'm Blaise Zabini, and this guy, well, he's not important," he said, walking up to the first and offering his hand.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Harry Potter." With that said, he moved to unpack.
"Aldric," the boy with dark hair said, politely standing to shake his hand, "Aldric Hochberg." He was tall for an eleven year old, at least a head taller than Harry.
"Gasto Kistler," the other said, remaining comfortably supine on his bed as he flipped through a magazine leisurely.
They settled into a comfortable pattern with Blaise steering the course of conversation easily and Aldric acting as his audience. Harry listened halfheartedly, occasionally remarking on something or the other, but mostly remained content in going through his things. Gasto himself only spoke when spoken to.
The room was homey, if simple. Some kind of temperature charm had been layered into the floors and walls to keep the room warm, so they didn't need to keep wrapped up in their winter coats all the time. Four beds and four bedside tables took up most of the space, their personal trunks resting at the foot of each bed with a small gap so one could pass through the middle. At one end of the room was a door leading to the halls, the other opened to their bath. The only complaint one might raise was the lack of real windows, though the magically charmed glass that offered a nice view of the northern lake more than made up for it.
There was a knock on the door. "Room 77, Harry Potter?" The voice had an accent to it that was distinctly Slavic in origin.
Aldric was the closest and moved to open it. The young man who stepped in was thin and of sleek build, toned muscles showing him to be a Quidditch player of serious caliber. His skin was dark, dry and flaky with a large, curved nose and thick brows. He didn't look too pleased to be here, and his eyes, while scanning the room, had an intensity to them.
"Which of you is Harry Potter?"
Tentatively, Harry raised his hand. "Are you my mentor?"
"Yes, I'm Viktor Krum. You have any questions so far?"
"None he'd want you answering, Vicky." Viktor's stance became stiff and his fists turned might as well have been rocks for all their rigidity as he turned around.
The four first years exchanged worried glances, keeping still and silent, as if any action of theirs would trigger a scene.
"You're blocking the way," another voice added. "Move or be moved."
Viktor stepped aside, the shaking body a mix of restrained rage and suspicion. Two boys about his age stepped in; chins high and eyes appraising, as if they were judging the worth of each person. It made Harry feel self-conscious and he sat up a little straighter.
"Reynold Burgstaller, fifth year, accelerated in Transfiguration and Potions."
"And I'm Theodoric Dietrich, accelerated in Dueling. German," he said, sounding proudest about that.
"Mentorship is for fourth years," spat out Viktor. "What are you two doing here?"
Reynold tutted. "Unlike you, we consider mentorship a privilege." He glanced at Harry once more, than made a show of shaking his head.
"Take my advice Brit," Theodoric said, gesturing to Viktor with his thumb, "and request for a new mentor. This one's simply no good. He's probably going to flunk Ivanovovitch's class this year anyway. That'll be what, Viktor, the third class you'll be vetoed from?"
"Second," Viktor said through gritted teeth.
Theodoric sighed. "Shame, I was hoping you'd be expelled at last."
"Not to worry. I'm sure it won't take him long to get thrown out of Herbology. All he seems capable of thinking about is his nonexistent Quidditch career. He'll amount to nothing, as is expected of a half-blood."
Harry's insides turned to ice. Half-blood, the word echoed in his ears like condemnation. If these people found out about him, would he face the same treatment? It seemed likely.
Viktor closed the gap between them in an instant, his fist making contact with Reynold not a moment later. He drew his wand-
Theodoric jabbed his wand viciously in Viktor's direction. "Expelliarmus." On instinct, Viktor tightened his grip, but was sent flying through the door instead of his wand. "Colloportus." The door barred itself.
Then Theodoric turned his wand on Reynold and the reddish discoloration on his face faded quickly. Reynold didn't say anything, not even a word of thanks, as if this was merely routine for them.
"Sorry about that unpleasantness, but Krum is not someone you want around." Theodoric smiled at them winningly. "You're better off without him, honestly. If you ever have questions, Reynold and I are happy to help," he said earnestly.
"So what are the exams like?" Aldric asked.
"Difficult in the extreme," Theodoric said. "Nothing to worry about though," he added hastily, "you can't actually fail. They're trying to gauge just how much you know, so its a comprehensive test that covers all seven years."
"Talk about excessive," Blaise said.
"After the exams, you have the Adjustment," Theodoric continued.
"Adjustment? Adjusting for what?" Aldric asked.
"The schedules you're given at first assumes a perfectly average student of your batch, but for the ones who accelerate or are held back, these schedules might not work so well. That's where Adjustment comes in, you get to rearrange things to make all your classes fit," Theodoric said.
Blaise tilted his head. "What if they can't fit."
"Not likely," Reynold said. "Never heard of anyone experiencing that."
"Each subject has at least three professors working full time. Well, except Flying and Magical Theory, but you only take those in your first year," Theodoric said. "The important subject can have up to five or six masters, so you have some flexibility."
"Do you know why the other students keep calling us first termers?" Blaise asked. "I mean, they looked about our age, so why the distinction?"
"Ah, well you see, the Durmstrang year is divided into three more or less equal terms, and we treat each term as an independent period," Theodoric said. "It allows us to take in new students every term. Me and Reynold, for example, entered the term before Summer break, in May."
"Oh!" said Aldric, his eyes lighting up. "So when they say Charms one-three, it's really just first year Charms."
"The latter third, but yes," confirmed Theodoric. "Students in Durmstrang usually get accepted on the term after they turn eleven."
Blaise frowned. "When do the terms start anyway?" he asked.
"First weeks of September, January and May," Reynold said.
"Why would Durmstrang do that though? Doesn't make much sense to me," Blaise said, his frown deepening.
Reynold shrugged. "The Overseers' Board does not like wasting time."
The two stayed until five minutes to curfew, when they made their way to their own dorms over at Central. Harry didn't say a word throughout it all.
-The Magnate-
Viktor pushed himself up to see the door closing. "Alohamora!" he said, putting every ounce of skill behind the spell.
It failed utterly.
He scowled. Theodoric's charms were a step above his. He'd be a fool to try that again and expect it work. Transfiguration might...no stupid idea. Durmstrang was a magically fortified structure, the end product of the brightest wizards and witches from over two dozen countries. He'd be lucky to manage even the slightest alteration.
He could try blasting through the door, but he'd have to explain why he had done so. Somehow, he doubted the staff would view getting into fights on the first day favorably.
"Rough day, Viktor?"
He turned to see a curly-haired brunette up to him. Her Mediterranean complexion made it obvious she was from the south, a breed rather uncommon in Durmstrang.
"Just Burgstaller and Dietrich," he said.
"They're getting bolder these days. I wonder why?"
"All I know is that the scum are recruiting among the lower years, Gina." Viktor growled, his glare returning to the door that denied him entrance. "What brings you here by the way? You dorm at Riverwatch, don't you?"
"I stay at Egir, yes. My mentee's staying in this room too," she said. "A Blaise Zabini."
"Sounds Italian, would make sense pairing you up then," he said. His brows scrunched. "I didn't know Durmstrang was getting another one this year though. Don't they usually go to Beauxbatons?"
"Oh, you'll find the occasional family that prefers Durmstrang," Gina said, walking past him and examining the door intently. "This Locking Spell was skillfully done, if a bit rushed."
"Do you think you could open it?" Viktor asked.
"Probably," she said, "but I'm not particularly enthused with the idea of spending time with the staff tonight as witness to a fight."
Viktor could grudgingly understand that. "They are a vicious pair. I don't know why the staff let them get away with so much."
"They do well in class," Gina said, "and you know how well-liked they are by the other German purebloods. By the way, I heard you placed third in the Bulgarian Youth League. Congratulations." She was referring to his team's victory last April, two terms ago.
"Thank you. It was just enough to get my team an invitation the Balkan League."
"All that hard work paying off at last. I mean, you were gone for half a term, after all. It'd be a shame if it was for nothing."
Viktor winced, remembering his father's harsh rebuke when he found out about his misconduct. "Don't remind me. I'm already seriously delayed as is. If it wasn't for father and Master Bujnowski, I would've been kicked out already," he said then sighed. "I guess we'll have to come back tomorrow morning if we want to talk to our mentees."
"That would be best," she said.
They continued to walk in comfortable silence.
"Bujnowski hates me." Viktor moaned on impulse, unable to overcome the need to share.
Gina snorted. "No he doesn't. He's just upset you let him down. He put his own career on the line when he argued for your reacceptance last term, after all." Viktor had been on probation after his second stint at cutting school for Quidditch and the staff held a meeting to determine his fate. "He wouldn't do that if he hated you."
"Well, he must hate me now," Viktor said. "I've jeopardized his chances at making Highmaster by screwing up with my former mentee."
"If you knew that then why did you leave your last mentee alone?"
"I forgot, okay? It's just…" He struggled to find the right words. "when I play Quidditch, it's all I think about. I forget everything else…does that make sense?"
To his surprise, she didn't criticize him for that. "Like the world disappears around you. In that moment, it's just you and your passion – nothing else matters. It's easy to get lost in something you love."
-The Magnate-
7 September 1991
Viktor had always been an early riser. His devotion to Quidditch necessitated it. Practice, breakfast, class, lunch, more class, practice, dinner, practice – that was a pretty good summary of his daily routine. He was startled when he found someone else on the pitch after an hour of self-practice. Six-thirty in the morning was still quite early. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen someone fly in Durmstrang at this time of day.
The flyer hadn't realized he was there, and Viktor decided to watch for a while. He was…good; more than good, actually. The talent was definitely there, if unrefined by a lack of dedicated training.
Deciding he had watched long enough, Viktor timed his dive so that he'd pull up right beside the mystery flyer. He pulled it off flawlessly. "You need to work on your angling for the Wronski Feint," he said as he neared, nearly causing the boy to fall over. "Don't worry, it's a difficult move to pull off. I'm sure you'll get it with time."
The boy had just recovered, slowing to a halt. Viktor did likewise, if only to get a good look at his face.
"Potter?" Viktor frowned at his mentee. "What are you doing up this early? You've got your exams today."
"Couldn't sleep," he mumbled. "I'm a touch anxious today."
"You'll be fine," said Viktor, remembering his own exams vividly and the uncertainty that plagued him. "They don't kick anybody out for doing badly in these tests." He grinned. "After the tests, that's another story entirely." His joke fell flat.
"Those two last night, they mentioned things," Harry said, turning to watch the castle below, "about you and your one before me, I mean." The sun was already up, had been for a few hours now.
Viktor scowled. "Typical. What did they say about me? All bad things I suppose."
"They said that you met him once and left him clueless. He almost dropped out because he had no classes for his second term – he didn't know about the adjustment and he was held back for a couple of subjects." Harry faced Viktor once more, as if the truth was written on his face. "Is it true? What they said?"
There was a long pause. "Yes," he finally said. "But, there was a reason for it. I was very busy that term, preparing for a Quidditch game, an important one. I'm part of the young pro league back in my country, Bulgaria." Harry's head spun so fast, giving him a wide-eyed look.
"Wicked!" Viktor didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but his smile implied it was a compliment and he took it as that. "So are you playing soon?"
"At the Balkan Leagues during the Christmas break. I have to keep practicing so I can win the game for my team," he said.
"That must take up a lot of your time."
"It does."
"Oh…well if you're so busy why take on a mentee then?" Harry asked. He didn't want to be a burden.
"Being a mentor isn't a choice," Viktor said. "It's considered a requirement for students who pass their SWAM. You'll take that exam on your third year, probably. Anyway, completing a Mentorship is a requirement, as I've recently been informed."
"Why did Theodoric tell me to get a new one then if you're required to do it?"
Viktor scowled, remembering that part of the exchange. "To get me expelled probably. Theodoric and I don't get along, if you didn't notice. I'm on thin ice as it is with the masters and screwing up another Mentorship would have been sure to get me kicked out."
"And Theodoric and Reynold, why do they do it? They said they were fifth years so they should've been done with it, right?"
"They are volunteers," said Viktor. "Trying to spread their idea of the Neo-Hegemony, no doubt."
"The Neo-Hegemony?" Harry repeated. He knew of the Hegemony, Grindelwald's ideology of magical dominance and the unification of both worlds under one meritocratic, authoritarian order - his. His message of the "benign" magical overlord was a seductive one that transcended nationality, blood and class.
"You know about the Hegemony?"
"Well enough," Harry said.
"It's that with blood purism and a touch of nationalism. Keep clear of them, they are a dangerous sort to tangle with." Viktor wiped away a trickle of sweat trailing down his cheek. "We should head back soon. You don't want to be late for your exams."
-The Magnate-
"These tests suck." Blaise sulked, taking a seat in the Feasting Hall.
"It wasn't that bad," Harry said in English from across him. "At least, the Magical Theory one. Astronomy and Herbology though were just horrid."
"Don't mention Astronomy to me!" Blaise said, angrily stabbing a steak. "How are we supposed to know what Orion looks like based on a picture? Stars are stars!" He was chewing the meat viciously, like a predator.
A blonde mess plopped onto the seat to Harry's right. Astrid was mumbling what Harry could only guess was a string of Scandinavian curse words. "Odin" and "Thor" were the only words he was familiar with, and he heard them invoked alarmingly often.
Harry looked at her with pity, before tearing his eyes away and focusing on his food. Blaise's gaze lingered and Harry had to kick him sharply in the shin to break the allure's hold. "Where's Dayna and Damarion, you think?" This time he asked in German so Astrid wouldn't feel excluded.
"Dayna's right here," Dayna said, taking a seat beside Blaise. "Damarion has a new friend though." There was conspiracy in her smirk.
"Oh?" Blaise asked as he continued to devour his food. "Do tell."
Dayna sighed in an exaggerated fashion, dramatically placing a hand to her forehead. "Dearest 'Dar-Dar'-" this was done in air quotes "-has found himself charmed by another Veela; a Swede that goes by Nora. The poor dear'll be heartbroken by the end of the month when he finds out she has a boyfriend."
"I thought he was immune to Veelas?" Harry asked while he tried to decide which of the strange cuisine he should try next.
"To their allure, not to their beauty – and this one's a looker."
Astrid was now propping her head up lazily with an arm. "He has a crush on his Mentor." Harry couldn't help it – he burst out laughing. Did that make him a bad friend? Nah…Damarion was practically asking to be laughed at.
"Follows her everywhere like a lost puppy," said Dayna. "She finds him, what was the word, 'adorable'."
"Last we saw him, he was writing ballads that spoke of her 'impossibly green eyes' and 'hair like the moon's rays'. Quite the artist he's turning out to be."
"Did this happen a lot back at home?" Harry asked, settling on a decent helping of Farikal, a mutton stew the girls had recommended the previous night.
"Only in the last few weeks," Astrid confirmed. "His crushes never lasted too long."
"This steak is really good," Blaise said, completely off-topic. "Harry, you should try it. It's like beef, but better!"
"Oh, reindeer steak you mean," Dayna said.
There was a sound of metal clattering on the table. "Reindeer?" Blaise squawked, horrified and fork now abandoned. "I've been eating Rudolph this entire time?!"
"Yup," Astrid said, nonchalant to his dilemma. "You should try the sauce."
"You people are savages." Blaise sulked again.
-The Magnate-
8 September 1991
Yesterday after lunch, they had finished Creature Studies and History in addition to Magical Theory and Herbology. Those tests had left them feeling incredibly stupid and inadequate. Today, they'd be topping it off with Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, and last but not least Dueling. Hopefully, they'd do better on these.
"Potions is both art and science," began Mistress Stukov, a Potioneer of some renown in Eastern Europe. "My craft is versatile, but volatile. Many years ago, Dueling accounted for 39% of all overnight stays with Healer Croce." She stopped pacing, turning sharply towards the assembled first termers. "48% were because of Potions. This statistic was…most upsetting to the Board. For this reason, they pushed through Durmstrang Decree 219." It seemed almost physically painful for her to say the next few words.
"'No student of Durmstrang shall be allowed to take Potions on their first term without prior testing on the competency of said student,'" she quoted, clapping her hands together. "So, let's cut to the chase, shall we? I've been at this job so long I can predict with such accuracy what will occur in the next few minutes you'd think I was the Oracle of Apollo."
Harry thought it was a reasonable claim, considering she looked to be the average age of their professors, around seventy or so.
"At least four of you will end up melting your cauldrons and one of those will require a visit to the Infirmary. So, anyone who has never made a potion before, I'd suggest you get out. If you do not have the ability to identify the basic potions ingredients – something your other classes will remedy after this term, I'm sure – then I insist you leave now. This is one subject where theory simply isn't enough to get you started and where mistakes, even at the basic level, can be…costly."
A girl seated near the front raised her hand and Mistress Stukov called on her. "Mistress, why would identifying the ingredients matter? I mean, they're labeled, aren't they?"
Natalya Stukov sighed, exasperated. "Miss Bayer, tell me, what is the first step in making a Potions?"
"Read the instructions," she answered confidently.
"The second?"
"Gather the ingredients."
"Correct, and once all the ingredients are laid out in front of you without their labels, do you think you could remember the names of each one if you had never seen them before?"
"Well…no."
Stukov nodded. "That is exactly why. Creatures and Herbology will leave you, at the very least, with a passing familiarity of these things during your first term so that obvious mistakes can be minimized. For those of you interested in this subject at an advanced level, I suggest you also take your Astronomy seriously. The alignment of planetary bodies can have slight, if interesting, effects on potions." With that, she started writing on the rolling blackboard to her side.
More than half the class took that as a sign to leave. "You staying for this?" Harry asked Blaise.
"Uh-huh," Blaise said a bit absently, eyes reading the instructions as they were written.
"I'll see you at Transfiguration then."
Astrid was waiting for him outside the Potions Lab, which was separate from the Castle. "Hey, where are the others?" Harry asked.
She was twirling locks of gold with her index. "They're in the other group today." Ah, right. Each batch of students was split up into two groups so that they'd have standard 20-man classes.
"So, what do you want to do?" Their options were limited to things that could be done in under an hour.
"Well, it's Sunday. So we could go to the River," she suggested.
He didn't need a reminder. Blaise had been moaning on the injustice of having their tests today all throughout breakfast. The way he'd done it, one would think Sunday classes were going to be a regular occurrence instead of the one-time thing that it was.
"The river," he said, nodding amicably.
-The Magnate-
Harry did alright in Transfiguration, he supposed, although his efforts weren't truly remarkable, unlike Charms.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter."
"Good afternoon, sir," Harry said. He was at a disadvantage, this particular Master's name escaping him at a most inopportune time.
The Master, stroking his rather distracting, signature mustache, leaned into his swivel chair. "Well, go on then. Impress me."
Harry took his time to regard the situation. The room they were in was the definition of sparse, nothing but the floor and four walls. How was he supposed to demonstrate without anything to work with? He couldn't really be expected to transfigure something in this setting especially since the Castle's internal structure was highly resistant to change.
"Sir, there's nothing to work with," Harry said.
The old man only raised his eyebrow. "This is my problem how?" he said.
Huh, so it was like that then. He could try the phoenix animation trick again, but there was a problem. Last time, Blaise had conveniently made it for him and the tree provided enough fuel that all he had to do was slow its rate of consumption. He didn't fancy his chances of simultaneously creating and maintaining a fire.
"Anytime today would be fantastic," the professor said. Harry glared at him.
Emotions and magical skill made for a dangerous combination. Things were in play before Harry's mind had caught up to his actions.
The wizard, anticipating his reaction, stood from his seat right before Harry's animation took effect.
Up-up-down went the chair, adjusting its height while it spun clockwise, half-clockwise and counterclockwise in rapid succession. The actions continued to repeat with two or three variations, following a rhythm Harry had made up in his head.
The Master, far from displeased strangely enough, continued to watch before sighing. "What a shame. Well, get out of here. I've got more students to test." Chairs and tables suddenly sprung from the sides, out of hiding, each holding a variety of knickknacks.
Harry felt his stomach sink, a bitter taste creeping into his mouth as he left, feeling he had failed somehow. He ended up getting knocked out in Dueling without much of a fight later that day.
Harry was stock still at breakfast, eyes glued onto a still facedown card where his food would normally be.
"Why don't you just open it?" Blaise asked, munching on a piece of toast and giving everything else on the table dubious looks. He had yet to recover from the reindeer incident. "It can't be that bad, right?"
"It is," Viktor said grimly from across the table. Harry had told him about the odd teacher. "He charmed a master's seat during the testing."
"Which one?" Gina asked. "Yes, Blaise, that's just marmalade, and no, Scandinavian marmalade isn't made from unicorns."
"Just checking," Blaise muttered.
Viktor uttered a single, terrifying name; one that could reduce grown students to tears by the severity with which he judged. This was fear personified. This was perfection incarnate. This was- "Rosembach."
Gina's mouth hung open. "No! The head of the Charms Department?"
Viktor nodded gravely. "The grades I got from that man were so low I failed his class in a month."
"Well, it's his first term. Surely he couldn't have done so badly that they'd kick him out right?" Gina said thoughtfully. "I mean, it's practically against the school charter to do so."
"I wouldn't be too sure," Viktor said, shaking his head. "Rosembach has clout with the Board and he's a Senior Master. Does that constitute an attack on a master though? Using a charm?"
"I'm getting expelled in my first term," Harry moaned.
Dayna chose just then to stop by for a word. "Hey Harry, we're going out for- is that your result? Oooh, let me see." She swiped it with her free hand, giving it a cursory glance before her eyes widened. "Oh! Wow!"
Wait. Wow?
Harry blinked stupidly at her reaction. "Congratulations! This is great."
"What?" Harry managed.
"Here, see for yourself," Dayna said, handing him back the card.
Harry James Potter – Results
Theory: 1-2
Transfiguration: 1-3
Charms: 3-1