Chapter 6: The First Term
9 September 1991
Bellatrix was in the presence of a god.
Even the dim lighting could not hide the glimmer of intellect that lurked behind his brown eyes. He rose to full length slowly, tall and regal with a sharp, angular face that was strikingly memorable. Green robes, the finest Britain could procure, draped his broad shoulders and flowed down along his figure in a snug fit. Atop his finely-combed, raven hair was a crown of silver and sapphire that seemed to absorb light like a black hole.
He was her god-king and she was his anointed. At the thought, Bellatrix puffed her chest out, the uniform she wore doing wonderful things to her ample bosom. A silver brooch hung from her lapel, as immaculate and polished as the day she first received it.
Lord Slytherin began as he always did, with a sly smile that left one feeling underdressed and inadequate. "My Knights," he said, voice deep and sultry, "what news do you bring?"
To Bellatrix's four, Lucius Malfoy, the First Minister of the Regime, spoke up. "My Lord, a dispatch from Pettigrew." It was only because of her Lord's presence that Bellatrix did not scowl at the cur's name. Pettigrew was a relic, one of the last that refused Knighthood!
Lord Slytherin accepted the scroll from Malfoy, scanning through it with a passive expression. "Hmm, so the Phoenix Movement is active again? This is disturbing indeed." Bellatrix huffed at the gall of those ingrates! After her Lord had mercifully spared their pathetic hides and rescued the Society from its troubles, they dared to rise up against him again?
"Rosier, Rabastan." Her brother-in-law broke rank to answer his summons; a spring of tingling pride bursting in Bella's chest. Her Lord knew of her family's utmost devotion to the cause - that was why they had been inducted into his most sacred order; that was why they were Paladins.
The three exchanged hushed words while the rest of the assembled waited quietly, patiently. If their Lord wished to keep a matter private, who were they to question? Rabastan soon returned to his brother's side. He looked deep in thought and Bella pinched her husband's arm when he made to bother him.
Rodolphus shot her an irritated look, Bellatrix replied with a withering glare. Could the fool not see he was pondering upon their Lord's orders! He did not need distractions right now.
"Behave," whispered Regulus Black, her brother, harshly as if chastising children.
"My dear Bella." She snapped to attention, walking towards her Lord.
"Yes, my Lord?" she purred.
Lord Slytherin stroked her cheek with his forefinger and she shuddered from the contact. "Prepare my Paladins, Bella. It's time we pay Nurmengard a visit."
-The Magnate-
"Harry?"
He couldn't believe it! He got in! Everyone had said he would of course, but talking about it was very different from actually managing it.
"Potter?"
Sweet Merlin! He got into Charms - third year Charms at that! Miss Lily would be so proud!
"Potter!"
Harry turned his stupid grin towards Viktor. "Got into Charms," he said winningly. His head was light and airy, any second now he expected the floating to start. "Three-one Charms," he had to clarify.
"Anything else?"
"Oh yeah," Harry reread his card, just to make sure he remembered it right, "one-two Theory and one-three Transfiguration."
"Three classes, well done!" Viktor said, "Far better than my own results."
Gina's nose crinkled. "The only class you were ever good at was Dueling."
"Hey! Flying les-"
"That doesn't count," she rebutted quickly. "We don't get graded for filler classes like first term Flying."
"How'd you do, Zabini?" Harry asked. "Accelerated in Transfiguration I suppose?"
"Two-two Transfiguration and one-two Potions." There was a momentary lull during which a puzzled frown descended on his face. "Wait, does one-two Potions mean I skipped two terms or one term?"
"One term," Gina answered, "numbering is always based on which year and term a student normally should've taken the subject."
"That's alright. Still pretty awesome of me." Blaise turned his attention towards an open faced sandwich topped with some ham and eggs.
"What about you?" Harry asked the now seated Dayna who was helping herself to a bowl of native porridge.
"Got into Potions, same class as Blaise actually," she answered with a shrug, "normal for everything else." Watching Dayna and Blaise sit together was like observing fire and ice – their attitudes were diametric opposites.
"Have you received your schedule yet?" Viktor asked his protégé pointedly. "It should've arrived with your Placement results."
Harry rifled through his side pocket, pulling out a slightly creased parchment.
"Adjustment isn't hard if you know how to do it right," Viktor said, peering at Harry's timetable. "First thing to do is cross out any class that doesn't apply to you anymore." Harry grabbed a quill and neatly crossed out the slots of Transfiguration, Charms and Theory. "Next, you take a look at your options for accelerated classes. It should be listed behind. Now, start with subjects that have the least classes offered. These should take priority since they're a lot less flexible. Got it?"
"I think so." Harry worked on it for another five minutes and ended up looking distinctly unsatisfied with the result.
"Something wrong?"
"I'm stuck with Master Rosembach for Charms," he said, eliciting a sympathetic wince from Viktor.
"You sure?" Viktor asked, looking over his work in case Harry had missed anything. He hadn't. "That's just bad luck right there."
Harry frowned. "Is there anything I can do about it?"
"You could rearrange your schedule completely, I suppose. Start from scratch to get something workable, but I personally wouldn't. It's a huge hassle and without any assurance it'll even work out. Worth a try if you're really desperate though."
"Look on the bright side Harry," Gina said, "at least you're sure to learn something with Rosembach. He's head of Charms for a reason."
Harry sighed, letting the paper drop onto the table. "If I don't flunk his class outright, you mean."
The Italian girl's brown tresses bobbed. "There's that."
"Do you need anything else from me?" Viktor asked, standing to stretch his arms. Harry shook his head. "Alright, just make sure to drop off your choices. I'll be flying if you need me."
"As always," Gina remarked with a knowing smile.
Mentally convincing himself that a class with Master Rosembach couldn't possibly be as bad as he thought it would be, Harry made his way to the Adjustment Boxes, dozens of wooden chests with an opening slit at the top. They reminded Harry of the tip boxes that he'd seen in a muggle restaurant, only not made of glass.
He sighed again, more heavily this time, as he watched his slip disappear into Rosembach's Monday and Thursday 10:20 chest.
It was going to be a long term.
-The Magnate-
Later on that fine autumn, Monday morn, a decent number of students gathered on the edges of the southern lake to soak up the light. One could tell winter was encroaching with the sudden shortage of sun. A light coating of snow now covered the ground too, making the blanket which Harry and his friends now sat on indispensable.
"So why are we out here again?" Harry asked.
"Two reasons," Dayna said, counting down with her fingers, "first and most importantly, because it's almost winter."
Harry didn't follow. Sure, England had winters too, and he supposed that this far north they wouldn't be able to go outside during those dreary months, but was spending every waking hour outside really necessary?
"Trust us on this one," Astrid said. "When winter hits, you'll be glad you were out today."
"The second reason then?" Blaise asked.
"Sailing competition, ever watched one?" Dayna pointed to some ships - the same ones that had carried the students to Durmstrang – forming into a straight line. Only now, placed side-by-side, was Harry able to highlight the differences between them. For example, the Einherjar, whose sails now sported the fiery Valkyrie instead of the Durmstrang green and gold, was longer and narrower than the others. The edges were decorated too with round, colorful shields in the motif of the Scandinavian countries. Both features, no doubt, were tributes to its Viking history.
"Who's sailing them?" Harry squinted his eyes, but couldn't make out any movement on the decks.
"The ghosts," Dayna answered. "Didn't Herodotus tell you about while you boarded?"
"He was a bit busy lecturing us about Valkyries and Norse mythology," answered Harry dryly. "So all the ships are controlled by ghosts?"
"Oh yeah." Astrid nodded. "They make the best navigators."
"Wouldn't anybody if they'd been doing it for a few centuries?" Blaise wondered out loud.
The ships suddenly surged forward at a diagonal line, signaling the start of the race.
"Not very nice about it, are they?" Harry commented as one of the ships rammed the side of another to send it slightly off course.
"Why would they? They're dead." Dayna replied, watching intently. She cheered as the current second placer, a Greek trireme, fired its grappling hooks into the lead ship. The first hook bit into the carrack's rear while the second tore through its sails viciously. The carrack, annoyed by this, shook itself free of the hooks somehow, before turning so that its starboard side could riddle the perpetrator with cannon fire.
There was something oddly cathartic about watching the race that doubled as a running naval battle. The damage was inconsequential with magic to reverse the effects, after all.
So when a sneaky galley took the lead by using the underwater currents to bypass both the winning contestants, Harry joined in the cheering.
-The Magnate-
10 September 1991
Tuesday came, and with it, the official beginning of classes. Most classes that day were introductory in nature; more time spent outlining what topics would be covered than actual meaningful discussion of the subject.
Not so with Theory.
The moment their teacher stepped inside, class began in earnest. "Welcome to Magical Theory one-two. Name's Agata Rosenthal, for those who don't know," she spoke quickly, but clearly due to her excellent enunciation. "Last term, we covered factors for spell perfection. This term, we're doing interrelation and overlap of Transfiguration, Dueling and Charms."
Her hands clasped together audibly and she smiled at her students cheerily. "First lesson of the term: the four levels of magical manifestation. Does anyone have any clue what these might be? Miss Namenlos, perhaps you'd like to try?"
Namenlos was an odd surname to be carrying, though there were certainly stranger out there. It translated from German as "nameless". What was her family was involved in to deserve such a label – espionage?
"Physical, emotional, mental and conceptual, Mistress Rosenthal," she answered without hesitation.
Her voice was pleasant, but distinct. It was almost hypnotic really, listening to her speak. The rhythm, the pacing and pausing suggested she was reciting Shakespeare and not merely answering a question. Harry checked just to make sure she wasn't a Veela using allure. He could shut her words out of his mind with effortless ease, but found himself longing to listen anyway, like something life-changing was going on and he was missing it.
No, this voice didn't belong to a Veela…it belonged to a leader.
"Correct, Ms. Namelos," Rosenthal said with an approving nod. "Young, budding practitioners such as yourselves often find it difficult to understand this most crucial lesson so I shall be providing an analogy. Take for example, the Locking Charm." Her slender wand shot out in a graceful arc, conjuring an oaken door that somehow kept itself upright without any support. "It is a fairly basic piece of magic and one of the first you will be expected to learn during the course of your magical education."
With an unuttered order, the door floated a few inches into the air while revolving around its invisible axis. "This spell is also the easiest with which to demonstrate the main stages of manifestation, in my professional opinion. Now, I think I'll need some help demonstrating." She gestured to one of the boys seated near the front to stand. "Magic operates on many levels – the first of which is physical.
"Colloportus," Rosenthal's crisp voice sounded. The only sign of change was the cylindrical iron bar now jutting out from the door's side. The lock stile would have done the job nicely, had there been an actual doorframe that is. "As you can see, the effects here are purely physical. Now, how would the Locking Charm work an emotional level perhaps?" She recast the spell on the door and stilled its revolving such that the knob now faced her chosen tester.
The boy grabbed the knob. Then, his face, at least the side of it Harry could see, scrunched up. Hesitation, anxiety, fear – all three showed at once. It was as if turning the handle would be opening Pandora's Box. He stood there in silent deliberation, before shaking his head and stepping away from it, unable to bring himself to commit the deed.
"Well class, what have we just observed?"
"Compulsion," Harry blurted out, forgetting to raise his hand, "you used a compulsion on the doorknob."
"Yes I did." Rosenthal looked proud about that, if her beaming smile was anything to go by. "In a sense, all emotional manifestations of magic are compulsions. Keep in mind class, that not all spells can work at all the different levels. The Levitation Charm, for example, is purely conceptual...yes, Mr. Bykov?"
"Wait a second, how does a compulsion count as a Locking Charm?" Someone seated further behind Harry asked. "It didn't, well, lock the door, did it?"
"I see your point, Mr. Bykov, but the Locking Charm was developed, not to lock despite what the name says, but to deny others entry. In this, it has succeeded, wouldn't you agree?"
She recast the spell, this time displaying the mental aspect of it. Her guinea pig moved to open it once more, but the moment flesh and metal connected, his eyes glazed over. "Can you open the door?" Rosenthal asked.
"Why would I do that?" the boy asked with a frustrated scowl. He seemed to have forgotten the entire point of the experiment. "How would I even do that?"
Rosenthal cancelled the charm, satisfied. "Here, we see that the charm now acted by attacking his memory. It first removed the purpose behind his intended action, and followed up by removing his knowledge of how to even go about it, rendering him incapable."
The charm was reapplied, one final time and despite the boy's best efforts, he could not manage to turn the handle.
"Finally," Rosenthal continued to narrate, "we reach the highest manifestation, the conceptual one. Magic applied at this level has no reason, needs no reason for why it works – except that it does."
"Mistress Rosenthal," Namenlos' melodious voice began, "presumably this stage is the hardest to use, so why should we bother with it if a piece of magic works at the lower stages?"
Rosenthal vanished the door. "An excellent question, Ms. Namenlos. Would anyone care to give it a try?"
Harry bit his lip and raised his hand slowly. "Mr. Potter?"
"It's because the other three, they can be overcome without using active magic, right?" Harry half asked, half said. He gained a bit more confidence when Rosenthal urged him on. "I mean you can open a physically locked door if you have the key, compulsions can be overpowered if you have a strong enough emotion to counteract it, and memory charms can be broken by the mind. But a charm that's conceptual could only be beaten by magic."
"You've got it, Mr. Potter!" Rosenthal exclaimed. "That is exactly why our society has been built around the idea of conceptual charms!"
Later after class, when mostly everyone had left, Rosenthal called out a few words that Harry didn't quite understand.
"Good luck with Hadrian, Mr. Potter! He's expecting great things from you."
Harry entered Rosembach's half-filled classroom and heads snapped towards him. The tense glint in their eyes turned into relief at the sight of him. Harry took a moment to scan the room, counting fourteen others – far below the standard class size. A surplus of seats was available, something that the students now took advantage of as they segregated themselves into cliques despite their already low attendance.
"Out of my way!" Harry jumped to the side hurriedly, creating a path for the dour-faced professor.
Tak, Tak, Tak, went his heeled shoes, each clack resounding in the total silence. Rosembach walked past Harry curtly then turned to regard him quietly. The look of recognition, not unlike that of a child's after receiving a new toy for the holidays, made Harry queasy. "Well? Sit down."
Without delay, Harry scurried towards the closest, empty seat he could find.
"There are no tests in my class, written or practical." he began, taking sure, swift steps towards the lectern. "Instead, we have projects and applications of the basic fundamentals I shall strive to impart. There will be seven in total, one for every two weeks you last here." He tapped the pulpit, sparing it a glance as it changed into a chair. "Mr. Rinehart, can you tell me the essential characteristic of an enchantment?"
"Sir?" Rinehart was as tall as the still standing Master even from his seated position.
"Did I stutter, Mr. Rinehart?"
"No sir!" he squeaked. There was something strangely comical seeing him act like a Dementor facing a Patronus.
"Do you know the answer?"
"No sir."
An exasperated breath escaped from Rosembach's lips. "Mr. Rinehart, this is a third year class. More to the point, this is my third year class. It is expected that you have at least read your textbook before coming in. Understood?"
"Yes sir."
A girl located on the far side of the room sniggered – too loudly. Rosembach stroked his mustache, shifting his displeased expression towards her. "Ms. Rykov, the answer?"
The Russian stood, every inch of her screaming confidence. "Gladly, Master Rosembach. Typical traits of an enchanted as opposed to a charmed object are its lifespan, repeatability, sapience, indepen-"
"Wrong." Rykov bristled, crossing her arms defiantly. "Sit down, Ms. Rykov."
"Sir, those were the answers provided by the book!" she protested.
"You read the wrong chapter." he drawled out. "An essential characteristic means it has to be something an enchantment cannot be without – none of the things you've mentioned fit that description."
She continued, rather unwisely in Harry's opinion, to stare down the professor.
"Page 93, Ms. Rykov, the Breaching Ball developed by the German Ministry." The frantic sound of ruffling pages filled the room. "Mr. Rinehart, since we all know this is your first time, I think it's only fitting you read the description for us."
"Sir!" Rinehart's tone was now level. "The Breaching Ball is an enchanted single-use spherical object that releases upon activation a wave of spell fire. Common choices used with it are Stunners, Body-binders and Petrifiers."
Rosembach held his hand out to the side. "There you go, Ms. Rykov. An enchanted object that breaks each and every description you gave me. Sit. Down." Grudgingly, she did.
"Don't worry, Ms. Rykov. Wrong answers are expected, but should not be made a habit. You are, after all, here to learn. What I will not tolerate is disrespect." His assessing gaze swept the room, taking time to linger on each of their faces as if they were being committed to memory. "Determine the essential characteristic, homework due next meeting," he said.
Nobody complained.
-The Magnate-
One would've thought Dueling, of all the classes, would involve their wands at some point.
Harry stared at the...staff in his hand. Its heavy weight was unfamiliar and unwieldy, a stark contrast to the lightness of wands. He glanced around and the other students seemed equally uncomfortable. Most of them anyway. Some faces were set in grim determination and clenched muscles, as if they'd been told to fight to the death.
A fifth year girl stood behind and to the side of Professor Anya Dragovic. Dragovic herself was younger than most of the staff, the youngest probably, nearing the age of thirty from the looks of her. Lips of cherry, head of raven and most definitely the easiest on the eyes among all of their teachers so far.
"Some of you," she said, licking the dryness of her lips away, "might be wondering why you have staves in your hands instead of wands." She paused, watching a few students nod. "Let me answer that with a question then. How many of you can cast a spell?"
About three quarters of the class raised their hands.
"I mean something you could use in a duel, not a Charm, not a Transfiguration."
Two hands remained up.
"A question, Professor Dragovic," one of the owners of said hands asked. "Why exclude Charms and Transfiguration? Many competent Duelists incorporate one or both into their styles. Flitwick, Salvatore, Begnoche-"
"I understand your point, Ms. Kozlovsky, and thank you for asking." Dragovic interjected smoothly, gesturing for them to lower their hands. "What many fail to understand is that these people you mention are masters of their field. It takes decades of work to get to their level, where one can make a Charm or Transfiguration work effectively in a fight." She held out a palm, a smooth grey pebble resting peacefully on it. "Take for example enlarging a rock into a wall to hide behind. How long does it normally take your average adult wizard or witch?"
Kozlovsky didn't answer right away. "A few minutes?"
"And in that time, you'd have a score of curses flying your way. For those things to work, you need to be able to cast it quickly enough, on a scale large enough to matter, while under the stress of approaching spellfire," Dragovic said. "Its not as easy as the Duelists make it out to be. For beginners like you, it's best to stick to the basics and leave the fancy tricks aside for now."
A few students alternated between staring at her and their staves.
The beginning of a grin played on Dragovic's lips. "So, back to why we have staves. First, most of you don't know any spells for Dueling to begin with, nothing that could disarm or disable or force your opponent to surrender."
"I could levitate their wand out of their reach," a student from the frontmost row answered.
"That would work out marvelously if your opponent was dimmer than a troll," Dragovic said, eliciting a few laughs. She was much laxer than Rosembach, who wouldn't tolerate a student speaking without raising their hand first. "The second reason-"
Her outstretched palm sprung into motion, quick as lightning and the pebble was soaring into the first row of students. A few tried to dodge, but the stone hit one of those who moved in the chest.
"-is that you need to be broken of your bad habits," she finished. "Blocking a spell is better than dodging a spell. Would anyone care to guess why?"
"Because some spells can follow us," someone from behind Harry said.
Dragovic tilted her head. "Sure, anyone else? No?" She let her hands fall to her side. "Spells are fast, much faster than a rock. To evade requires honed instincts, instincts that will let you react before spell has left wand." She shrugged. "That, or luck. Even if you do manage to get out of the way of one spell, a quick opponent will have another right behind it and dodging can make it even harder. Using a Shield Charm is simply better at your level."
"Dodging bad, blocking good. What does that have to do with staves though?" It was the same person from before.
"This ties up with what I said before. Most of you don't know any spells for fighting and we have to ingrain the idea of blocking, practiced to the point where it is instinctual, not afterthought. Hitting each other with these sticks ought to drive the lesson home."
"But we could hurt each other with these!"
She grinned. "Pain is a most excellent teacher. Pair up!"
-The Magnate-
18 November 1991
Herbology, Harry's first Monday morning class, was held in the Greenhouses. The fastest way there was via the Lesser Gate. Aside from being the smallest and narrowest gateway, it was also the only way out along the pentagonal castle's southwest wall.
He stepped outside to a different world. Dark and dreary, the sky was a perpetual expanse of purple that bathed everything in eerie twilight. Harry looked to his left where in the distance the Angren's southern arm flowed then to his right, the Potions Lab stood. It was still Durmstrang, he knew it was – but here, now, tinted by the northern hemisphere's polar night, it was easy to forget.
"Lumos," he murmured, calling into existence a small, but powerful light at the tip of his wand. It let off a fair bit of warmth, though it provided little reprieve from the gusts of arctic air that prickled his skin. Pulling his fur cloak tightly around his shoulders, he trudged forward, each step sinking slightly into the thick snow. The Greenhouses, enchanted to replicate summer's light and warmth, provided needed shelter to the winter-harrowed students.
Blaise waved him over when Harry entered. There was an empty seat reserved for him at the table. "Buongiorno," he said in a subdued voice.
"Good morning," Harry answered, looking out the window-pane. "This is the polar night we've been warned about, eh?"
He heard Blaise slump in his seat. "I hate it. I hate it so much. I miss the sun already."
"You'd best get used to it. We're stuck with this 'til Christmas, when we go back home."
Blaise sighed loudly. "I'm never complaining about English weather again."
-The Magnate-
3 December 1991
Harry ended the letter addressed to his brother with his name in simple print, lacking the patience to spruce his writing with fancy lettering. He spared Master Herodotus a quick glance while folding his parchment into an envelope compatible shape, speed reading through the scrawled notes for their finals, which would be held within two weeks. It was the usual – important dates and past Highmasters – stuff that nobody cared to learn. Really, how was it useful to know that the current Durmstrang was the third iteration or that Svalbard remained outside the Nordenjord's authority as a result of some deal brokered between the Germans, Russians and Scandinavians?
Within the field of his periphery was Aldric, staring blankly at something to Harry's front. Harry's eyes followed his, purely out of curiosity, and ended up landing on Astrid. The charmed, overhead lanterns - which provided illumination for school during the polar nights - had an interesting effect on her blonde curls, casting it in-
Harry stretched his legs against Astrid's chair, gaining an irate glare from the Veela. "What?" she mouthed.
"Aura," he answered just as silently. Her head snapped back into place, though if one looked closely, one could catch a clue in the crimson coloring of her pale neck.
Shaking his head free of the last of the allure's tenuous hold, he refocused on the letter in his hand, the third in his correspondence so far. They didn't have Owl Service in Svalbard, apparently, because of the school's stringent security measures regarding the secrecy of its location. Instead, their letters were gathered up and shipped out – probably to some village in Norway – twice a week. From that point, it would take five days and four owls crossing as many countries before Harry's letters reached England, or so he was told.
"…and that concludes our review, I suppose." Herodotus said, taking out and glance at his silver pocket watch.
Blaise paused from his animated discussion with Gasto to look up. "Master Herodotus, does this mean we're free to go?"
Herodotus lips fell. "Er, no." Blaise took that as his cue to resume his conversation. "We have a little under half an hour of class time left. I don't think Senior Master Bujnowski would approve of leaving this early." His eyes darted to the door for a split second before they returned to the class. "Does anybody have questions? Yes, Mr. Hochberg?"
"Does it have to be about class?" Aldric asked after he set down his raised hand.
Herodotus nodded slowly. "I'll entertain it so long as it's about history."
"Why do we wizards celebrate Christmas instead of the Yuletide?" Aldric face held a disapproving frown. His voice was a touch disdainful. "Isn't it a sign of muggleborn's polluting our traditions?"
Herodotus chuckled heartily. "Oh no Mr. Hochberg, Christmas is a tradition we purebloods love."
Harry felt his brow rise as he straightened in his chair. Herodotus, despite his questionable talents at teaching, knew several books worth of history and every so often, he'd share something that was actually interesting.
"It's a funny story really. It began with Jesus of Nazareth, a particularly gifted Healer from Israel. He managed magical feats, wandless, a few of which we modern practitioners haven't even come close to matching! Some wizards claimed he was a deity and plenty of muggles believed them – complete nonsense in my opinion, but that's never stopped the wizards in Israel." he said with an eye roll.
"Anyway, in 1461, Raphael Genio argued wizards were inherently superior to muggles by means of the celebration as an argument. If muggles worshipped one our kind as a god, then it was clear that even they recognized magicals were a step above them. Thus, Christmas, as you know it today, is not so much a muggle tradition as it is a celebration on the superiority of the magical community."
Most of the class reacted with nonchalance though Aldric was oddly pleased with the answer for some reason.
Harry considered his letter again. It was the last he'd be sending out this term.
Stupid courier service and their stupid delivery times.