Fluctuat nec mergitur
It is tossed by the waves but it does not sink.
Theodore thinks it is strange how Hogwarts has changed. The first of September felt uneventful, aside from the fact that he was taken aside to be sorted (again) and was thankfully returned to Slytherin. The announcement of his transfer made waves, rumours, gossip—all hungry to know about Durmstrang, the school that Hogwarts was currently getting help from. Well, one of the schools. Castelobruxo, Ilvermorny, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang were currently assisting the board and Department of Education.
His grandfather had ranted about the Wizengamot’s prejudices in allowing foreigners to interfere with their affairs. Protests had come from all three sides of the court, but that was quickly drag down when they were reminded that half of the sacred 28 were not originally from Britain in the first place. The Blacks and Malfoys had been smart to keep their mouths shut, considering their evident French origins. The Notts were already aware of their Russian ties, no shame at all, as they still had their vassals in Russia.
The first week was uneventful, if he hadn't caught a glimpse of a regal Roksana Solovyova. Regal as she was, she seemed stiffer and more troubled than her usually relaxed self. Understandable, really. Hogwarts was no Durmstrang. The school situated somewhere close to frigid mountains had disciplined students from the moment they set foot on the boat. Compared to the almost military-like behaviour of the majority of Durmstrang students, Hogwarts was rowdy and loud and ever so bright. House rivalry was nonexistent to Durmstrang who did not sort their students into houses.
Quidditch teams, yes, but the rivalry was simply limited to the sport itself. Not to say that those who studied in Durmstrang were mechanical soldiers. They had their fun, some pranks here and there, but they were always quick to clean up their own messes and ready to accept the consequences. They had been disciplined after all.
The prejudices were less than what they used to be. More tame, along with muggleborns who were highly interested in traditions now. Plus, Binns had been exorcised (good riddance) allowing them to actually learn about wizarding history from the times before the founder to Grindelwald’s fall. Professor Baumer was a man of good decorum, a muggleborn from what he's heard, and yet he was so well taught about their history it felt like he lived through those moments.
But his gaze scan through the Gryffindor table and there—eyes bluer than the fucking sea boring into him. Practically glowing from desperation and curiosity and all Theo can do is subtly raise his goblet to Ronald Weasley with a promise to talk.
(His actions go unnoticed, if not for Blaise who's eyes tracked Theo and Ron like a hawk.)
“Allow me to… repeat that.” Roksana hesitates, her English tinged with her Russian accent. She stares quietly at Julius Abbot, a charming man as he managed to convince her to come here after some grovelling and perhaps a bit of bribes here and there. “Headmistress Romanova has… agreed… to temporarily loan you one of our студенты (students)... With the condition that I, along with another Durmstrang Учитель(teacher)?”
Julius falters for a moment and Roksana only realises that some words were not said in English. Knowing multiple languages had its flaws, and it was not the difficulty to switch. It was the horrendous ordeal of having to remember a certain word in one language but cannot remember it in the other.
“Ah… students and then… teacher?”
“Yes… mister Abbott.” She almost regretted agreeing to this job, with the language barriers and the culture clash. But this was for the good of unfortunate students who were cursed to have an incompetent government and an equally incompetent headmaster. “Am I to understand that at least two students of Durmstrang… originating from Britain… will be coming here for an interview to further understand what the school currently lacks?”
“Well, not here here.” Julius explains, almost stuttering his words but he quickly composes himself. Ah, what an adorable man he was. “The DIMC are debating on whether Hogwarts shall host the students or we will perform the interview in a reserved restaurant in order to make them feel welcome.”
“Absolutely not!” Roksana quickly says. If British students of Durmstrang were to be brought back for questioning, then putting them in the custody of the Ministry for an allotted period of time was the worst possible action to take. She can already hear cruel Aurelia and brutally honest Hyperion tear them to shreds with underhanded comments disguised as polite answers to their questions.
Julius practically jumps from his seat, startled but also curious. Ah… this annoyingly handsome wizard was going to make her punch him at some point. But his face was too pretty to damage.
“May I ask… Why?”
“Why? Might I remind you of the implications of British children choosing to study in Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts?” Roksana huffs, satisfied when he lowers his head in shame. “I shall warn you, Mister Abbott. Two of my former students never spoke positively about your ministry. They have been wronged numerous times and will not take kindly to being apprehended by the very ministry that drove them away.”
“We won't apprehend them!”
“But do they know that?” Roksana quickly rebukes, snarling at him. “Durmstrang students are disciplined. But they have been raised to fight. Tis a martial school I come from and they will perceive you as an enemy if you put them on grounds that you chose. Hogwarts is safer, neutral and away from Ministry control.”
Ostracised and practically banished. Gods be good, Roksana would delay the entire ordeal just so they wouldn't hear about Hyperion Peverell. The little devil that had suffered from grand slander of the ministry and public to the point he had left Hogwarts to find solace in Durmstrang.
“They are студенты—students. It is more comfortable for them to be surrounded by a school rather than a reserved restaurant.” She quickly dismisses his woes, grimacing at the utter lack of consideration for the children. “Have the staff been informed of this?”
“Yes.” Julius deflates, also frowning but is quick to return to professionalism, even as he quietly squirms. “Along with that, Lord Nott has requested that we include his grandson who had transferred back to Hogwarts just recently.”
“Theodore?”
“You know him?”
“Of course! He was a good student, very eager to learn when it came to Dark Studies. But he was better tuned to runes and warding. Brilliant boy, him and…” she trails off, smiling wistfully. Now mentioning Peverell might just excite Julius. The name was still notorious after all. “Well, when will they arrive?”
“By the twentieth if the deputy headmaster stays true to his letter.”
“Rikard Szekeres is a man of his word. If the twentieth is what is written, then they shall arrive on that day.” Roksana mutters, glancing at the clock to see that it was almost time for lunch. “Word of advice. Don't let them linger too long in the ministry and immediately bring them to Hogwarts. Best of all, do not be surprised by anything.”
Julius nodded, understanding of the circumstances.
“Now begone, foul child of light. Your positive nature taints my walls.”
In turn to her fond complaint, Julius laughs and brings forth that positivity.
“Is this truly wise?” Dumbledore inquires, hands clasped behind his back as his gaze sweeps across the group that would be welcoming the students and teachers of Durmstrang.
All four heads of houses, Roksana Solovyova, Julius Abbott, head of the DOE; Corinne Selwyn for the grey faction, Maximus Fawley for the light, and… Marvolo Gaunt for the dark.
“Believe me, Headmaster, this is the best course of action.” Julius assures, glancing at the others to check if Dumbledore would be a problem. The headmaster was known for being fairly troublesome when it came to educational reforms. “They will be arriving at…”
“Nine.” Solovyova interjects, checking the time and comparing it to their current time and where Durmstrang should be. She hums softly, dispelling the Tempus before hurriedly taking a step out of the apparition wards of the Hogwarts grounds. The others followed suit, whispering amongst each other while she kept silent and stared at where they should be arriving.
Marvolo saw this as an opportunity to speak with the woman, taking advantage of her decision to stand away from them. He stood beside her, hands carefully tucked behind his back. “You've made quite the reputation for yourself here.”
Immediately, her eyes narrowed at him, clicking her tongue quietly. “You Englishmen are quite sensitive to the dark arts. It's understandable that your children have difficulty accepting the new laws.”
“Indeed… Marvolo Gaunt. It is a pleasure to meet you, Professor Solovyova.”
The russian witch smiles wryly, taking his hand and firmly shaking it. “I know who you are, Lord Slytherin. It is because of you that I am able to teach her.”
“Indeed.” Marvolo chuckles, tilting his head to the side as he glances at the apparition point that had been carefully warded and spelled to perfection. No one quite wanted to wage war with Durmstrang by letting their students get splinched. “Pray tell, why apparate? They could have very well used a portkey.”
“Students of Durmstrang, especially those of fifth year and up, are strictly taught how to apparate. We take every chance we get to help improve those skills. Logically, this is used as practice.” Solovyova explains, a fond lilt to her voice as she smiled. “When I was still a student, our Principles of Magic professor would have us apparating to a certain space and as time went on, the distance would get bigger.”
“That… is quite a good tactic. I am to assume that most students have already mastered apparition by seventh year.”
“Yes. Karkaroff wasn't quite good as a headmaster but our professors were loyal to our school and students. They compensated for Karkaroff’s failures.” Solovyova scoffs, clearly detesting the mere thought of Igor Karkaroff.
If Marvolo was right,then she would have been still a student under his reign. He almost pitied her for having such a cruel and incompetent man as a headmaster. But then he remembers his own experience, immediately sympathising with the troubles she must have faced.
“Would you be willing to tell me the names of the students who will be arriving?” Marvolo smiles, knowing his endeavours were futile. But it was not bad to entertain himself with such a question.
Solovyava raises a browz before realising that he didn't expect to get anything out of his questioning. “No. I would never breach my students' privacy, but even then, I would not be sure on who will be arriving. But I expect that the seventh years will be joining.”
“And how many do you expect to arrive?”
“Hm… well, if I had to say… around five students will arrive. Most likely students who are fifteen or older.” Solovyova considers, frowning before shaking her head. “Romanova wouldn't let any students beneath fifteen out of the school to be interviewed. They would be too young.”
“Quite understandable. What are we expecting from these students? Should we be preparing ourselves for verbal lashings?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
Marvolo grimaced, not liking the sureness and confidence in her voice. Clearly, some of these students loathed them—specifically the Ministry. If these were students whose magic manifested as dark, then he couldn't really blame them for it. Their magic was previously banned from the very country they were born in—who wouldn't be angry? That feeling of being alienated, that horrible experience of being told that they were wrong.
He pitied these children and yet he applauded them for finding a place that would accept them. Had that been an option for him, he wouldn't have gone down the path of horcruxes and practically punished himself with that knowing sensation that he had came out wrong. Harry Potter's blood did more harm then good, practically seering his very bones. Pettigrew’s botched ritual had destroyed him more than he did himself, causing him to grab Lucius and call for Severus to promptly fix his body.
With the knowledge that he could not be fixed without more pieces of his soul, he had to bring himself back together. The ring, the cup, the diadem, and Nagini. Pieces of his soul brought back into him, with the locket left to keep him immortal. Even then, it felt like something had been missing from the ritual that brought him back to better sanity.
A sudden noise, a clearing of the throat, directs their attention towards Hogwarts’ very own dungeon bat. Severus looked as deplorable as usual—the stress was taking a toll on him. Though Marvolo was to blame for that as he had Black and Severus working together on the Potter case. They detested one another but were cordial enough for the sake of finding their deceased friends’ son. Which was more trouble than worth at this point, as Potter practically vanished from the earth.
“Severus.”
“Lord Gaunt.” He cordially replies, turning to Solovyova who nodded back at him. “The headmaster remains resolute in minimising our efforts to understand the art of Dark Magic.”
“Своевольный(‘stubborn’ - in an arrogant or childish way).” Solovyova huffs, “Apologies but is there really no way to… remove him?”
How amusing, Marvolo thinks. Solovyova would have been sorted into Gryffindor if she went to Hogwarts. Fierce and brave—and utterly reckless in the way she scowls at Dumbledore's direction. The headmaster spoke cordially to Selwyn, who looked horribly bored as she nodded along to his words. While Fawley listened with such rapt attention that he couldn't help but scoff at the man.
“I'm quite certain that various individuals in the board are working towards that goal. Lord Malfoy and Dowager Longbottom especially.”
“Longbottom…” Solovyova frowns, “I heard that her grandson also transferred out of Hogwarts two years ago.”
Severus grimaces, “Yes. There was a sudden influx of students who left Hogwarts two years ago. Longbottom, Lovegood, Nott, Granger, and… Potter.” He shudders at the name, as if it were a taboo. “Five students suddenly transferred out of Hogwarts and the reasons ranged from ‘deplorable education compared to other schools’ to ‘lack of subjects for certain specialties’.”
Although the entire ordeal was suspicious. The sudden disappearances of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter were suspected to be caused by the same thing—however, the third member of the trio had been left behind in Hogwarts. Nonetheless, if Severus' reports were right, the boy was somewhat informed of where or the state of his friends. Even Black insisted that the youngest Weasley son was purposefully keeping quiet about the other two.
Glancing at his watch, Marvolo frowns when the clock had struck past nine. Odd.
“They're never late.” Solovyova comments, turning towards Julius Abbott who looked just as concerned. “Were there issues at the ministry?”
“No, there shouldn't be…” Julius said, but even he looked unsure. “I'm sure that Moon will handle it… she knows how important this is.”
As if speaking her name summoned her, a loud crack was heard and Viviana Moon—Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation—landed right on the apparition point. A look of exhaustion graced her face and she hurriedly walked towards them.
“We have a problem.”
Those words were enough to make them stiffen—well, the four that were closest to her. The others were still talking behind them, either discussing about their worries or what questions they should ask to the list. But Marvolo, Julius, Severus, and Solovyova shuffled closer with grin looks.
“There are five of them… One of the students is a Fawley.” Moon whispers, glancing at the Lord of House Fawley who was vying for Dumbledore's wisdom.
Marvolo gritted his teeth at that. The Fawleys had produced a child who's magic didn't manifest as light and if his theories were right, then the child in question was practically exiled to Durmstrang.
“And the other is…”
Another crack, then another, then another. They turned their eyes to three children clad in Durmstrang’s blood red uniform. Their fur coats were discarded for lighter wear, as they all steadied themselves and quickly found balance. Behind them were two stern looking individuals.
Solovyova’s breath hitched, “Morozova and Szekere.”
Julius’ expression quickly morphed into alarm, “The Dark Studies professor and the Deputy Headmaster? That's who they sent?”
“Who else?” Solovyova hisses back, her posture shifting in milliseconds. She stood straighter than a log, hands strictly behind her back as if she were a soldier before a general.
Dumbledore and the others soon stepped forward, prepared to welcome them. “Welcome to Hogwarts, fair lady and lord. May I have your names.”
Morozova—from what Solovyova said—looked irked by the hand outstretched to them. “Is it not customary to introduce yourself before asking for the identity of another?” She asked, her voice tinged with a slight Russian accent.
Marvolo almost choked on his spit at the slight—a clear show of the woman's evident dislike of the man. He watched Dumbledore fumble, obviously forgetting that Durmstrang was a school that strictly taught their students to adhere to proper etiquette. “My apologies. I am Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts.”
“Well met, sir Dumbledore.” The man—Szekeres—nods quietly and shakes his hand. “I am Rikard Szekeres, the deputy headmaster and the Spellcraft professor of Durmstrang.”
“Здравствуйте(‘Hello’ - used in formal settings).” The woman responds sternly, “I am Katerina Morozova, the Dark Studies Professor of Durmstrang. Roksana apprenticed under me before she received a job her.” She gestures to Hogwarts very own Dark Studies professor, who automatically dipped her torso into a bow.
Introductions were quickly done, ranging from veiled hostility to obvious enthusiasm—one that was welcomed by the two teachers who had smiled pleasantly at Flitwick when he eagerly wished them well and thanked them for their generosity. Marvolo quickly noticed that the students behind them were obviously nervous, borderline uncomfortable while being so close to Hogwarts. He couldn't help but frown, detesting the thought that a place he once called home was a place that children ran from.
Morozova turned back to her students, beckoning them to come forward.
“Дети, давайте познакомимся. Не волнуйтесь.(Children, come introduce yourselves. Don't be nervous.)” She assured them quietly, whispering something in their ears that has them nodding diligently.
A female student with brown hair and black ryes, fairly older took charge and pinched the hem of her skirt, curtsying with a finesse that reminds him of Narcissa. “Well met. I am Genevieve Morganach, heiress to House Morganach.”
Marvolo quickly recognises the name, “Ah… you must be Lady Seraphina Morganach’s daughrer.” He says, trying to be as soothing as possible. He needed to make sure these students were charmed, that they could extract as much information as possible, and being unwelcoming did the complete opposite. It was more beneficial if the child themselves was the heiress of a noble house that had quite the seat in the Dark Faction of the Wizengamot.
Heiress Morganach quickly perks up, a smile momentarily gracing her lips before she politely nods and schools her expression to a more neutral look. “Yes, indeed. At the moment, I am a seventh year.”
Next was a boy with auburn hair, slightly jittery but was soon steady when Szekeres placed a hand on his shoulder. He cleared his throat, bowing almost clumsily from his anxiety. “My name is Theseus Rowle and I am currently a sixth year.”
A child from the dark faction but not the heir, he took quick note of that. From what Marvolo remembers, the heir to House Rowle already graduated so this boy was either his younger brother or a cousin of his.
Then the little girl next to them, more petite than her peers curtsied politely with a more warm smile compared to the other two. “Hello there. My name is Cecilia Vance. Some of you may know my mother, Emmeline Vance.”
A sharp gasp was heard and everyone turned to Flitwick, who was staring at the girl in astonishment. “Oh… oh dear. Yes, she was one of my best students. How is she? I heard she had divorced her husband.”
“Ah, yes. She's alright now. I can ask her to write to you if you would like.”
“That would be greatly appreciated.”
Marvolo quickly cleared his throat, sending the two a polite smile before quietly reminding them of the situation. While the charms professor quickly backed down, the Vance girl just smiled and stepped back beside her schoolmates.
“I was told there were five students.”
A grim look passed Szekeres, “Yes. The other two were the reason we were late. Your ministry had grabbed hold of them when we landed and was almost taken into Auror custody. I would have stayed to deal with the situation but Mister Peverell insisted that we join our students. They should be arriving about…”
Crack!
A girl and boy appear in the middle of the apparition point, looking frustrated and irritated. Unlike their teachers that coldly hid their emotions, these two didn't care to hide their ire from anyone.
“Any longer and I might have actually cursed that bastard.” The girl snaps snaps, making them all stare at the two students clad in Durmstrang red. A silence went over them, watching them in astonishment.
Marvolo felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him. Heart pounding against his chest, as if it were trying to escape his ribcage. His gaze was stuck to the boy with dark hair and eyes greener than the killing curse. His arm wrapped around the girl's waist before pulling away and turning to them with curiosity. Their eyes met and it felt like electricity coursed through his veins as a smirk graced that once quiet look of his.
“Well to be fair, I never thought I'd come back here.” The boy announces, far too loud to be an accident. Intentional—a statement meant to be heard.
“There you two are,” Morozova happily says, ushering the girl and boy to the group. She whispers into their ear and they quickly introduce themselves.
The girl, dark hair and dull blue eyes bowed rather than curtsied. Her form was rigid in the way a soldier was, eyes narrowed as she observed them. When her gaze landed on Lord Fawley, she paused and stared at the paling man, before a devilish grin spreads across her face. “Well met… I'm Aurelia Fawley, eldest child of Lord Fawley. A seventh year student of Durmstrang Institute.”
Marvolo’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, halting when he realised the girl was purposefully making them feel her magic. The Fawleys were staunchly light—everyone knew that. Yet here was the eldest daughter of their lord, supposedly the heiress… a girl who's magic was too dark to be called grey.
But his gaze only lingered for a second before he was staring at the relaxed boy standing beside the Fawley girl. Utter boredom in his expression, a shine of curiosity and malice in those green eyes that almost made him gulp. Beside him, he heard Severus' sharp intake of breath as they all waited for the boy to introduce himself.
The boy—green eyes, cruel smile—bowed in a mocking manner compared to the disciplined actions of his peers. Even then, he was not severely scolded, merely receiving an annoyed glare before Morozova looked away. He brought his body back up, hands clasped behind his back like his schoolmates and tilted his head enough to make him seem innocent.
“A pleasure to meet you all… some, I am glad to see again.” the boy says, his voice fairly deep… it was unlike the higher pitched voice he remembers, the one that yelled that blasted disarming spell over and over again like a prayer. No. There was no nervousness in his actions or tone. He was relaxed, confident, and toeing the line to condescending.
“My name is Hyperion Peverell.”
Right in front of him was a boy who was once named Harry Potter.
(Two years ago, that boy died when his soul manifested a monster rather than a protector.)