Igor Karkaroff… Karkaroff! It was impossible. It had to be a mistake. They could never allow it...
The window banged open and a fourth trunk entered, but nobody paid it much notice. All attention was focused on the strange newcomer.
The Karkaroff boy avoided looking at Dieter and Ernst. “Can you believe this?” he said to Konrad.
“Believe what?”
“This,” Karkaroff stressed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Who could have thought this school would stoop so low, by admitting these Mudbloods in?”
“Say that again,” Konrad demanded, stepping forwards. Dieter didn’t know what ‘Mudblood’ meant, but it couldn’t be anything good. His opinion of the Karkaroff boy had gone very quickly from one of mere dislike to outright contempt.
Karkaroff looked betrayed and unbelieving. “You’re not defending them, are you?” Pointing at Dieter and Ernst, not caring that they were there, he openly declared, “They’re Mudbloods. They’re not even real wizards. They don’t belong here!”
Dieter couldn’t believe what he was hearing either, and flushed with anger, he went on the attack. “No, YOU’RE the one who doesn’t belong here!” he shouted back, jabbing his finger at Karkaroff’s face. “You’re a filthy SLAV! This is a German school! You don’t belong here!”
The Slav retorted, “What, and you do? The Karkaroffs have attended Durmstrang for generations, and I, being a PURE-BLOOD WIZARD, have much more right to be here than you Mudbloods!”
Dieter didn’t understand the context of the word ‘Mudblood’, and he didn’t care to ask Karkaroff to elaborate. All Dieter knew was that it sounded like a dire insult, and that the Slav must be repaid in kind. “Like hell! Us three are German! Durmstrang is German! And if you haven’t noticed, even you are speaking German! You better leave now while you still have the chance, Untermensch! There must have been a mistake when they invited students, because Durmstrang doesn’t admit vermin!”
And so they shouted, calling each other ‘Mudblood’ and ‘Untermensch.’ Soon, neither understood the other at all, as Karkaroff had switched to his native, barbarian tongue and wasn’t terribly interested in what Dieter had to say. They both approached each other and looked ready to trade blows.
“Please, could you stop this? I need to go to sleep.” Ernst pleaded to absolutely no effect. Konrad simply watched Dieter and Karkaroff argue, and looked completely baffled.
The door flew open. “Boys!” an adult voice shouted.
The room fell silent. Dieter’s fist, which was on a collision course with Karkaroff’s jaw, slackened and fell short of its target.
Professor Odoaker was at the door. He glanced at Dieter’s and the Slav’s flushed features, and said sardonically, “So, I see you are getting to know your roommates?”
The four boys nodded, unsure of how else to respond.
“You will go to bed now,” the Deputy Rector ordered. “After you spend the night sleeping on your petty arguments, you will cooperate with each other in the morning. Do I make myself understood?”
“Yes, sir,” four voices answered.
“Then goodnight, boys. I will not tolerate fighting, so let this be your first and last warning.” The Deputy Rector left the room, and the lock clicked.
Karkaroff determinedly avoided looking at either Dieter or Ernst while he moved his trunk to the bed underneath Dieter’s. The trunk looked very expensive, and gold Cyrillic letters spelled the Slav’s name on top.
They dressed into their nightclothes, and nobody spoke. Once reasonably certain that Karkaroff was asleep, Dieter whispered, “Konrad, what does ‘Mudblood’ mean?”
Konrad glanced at the door. “I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he whispered back.
The lights went out, and Dieter settled under his blanket, thinking about what the Slav had called him.
Meanwhile, Karkaroff was preoccupied by the same thoughts, trying to understand what ‘Under-man’ really meant.
CLANG!BANG!CLANG!BANG!CLANG!BANG!CLANG!BANG!CLANG!
Dieter was jolted out of his sleep by a very loud and very obnoxious metallic ringing sound. He sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. They took a few moments to adjust to the lights, and once they had, he spotted the bell suspended from the centre of the ceiling. Dieter hadn’t paid it much notice the night before, but he suspected that the bell would make its presence well known for the next year at Durmstrang.
“Wake up, rapscallions!” the bell yelled, moving its rim and clapper like a mouth, and Dieter never would have thought something this absurd would administer his morning call. “Daybreak approaches, so get out of your beds! Get dressed and ready for instruction, young sorcerers, and assemble in the common room in a half hour!”
Dieter yawned and checked his wristwatch, which he had forgotten to take off the previous night. It was five thirty in the morning.
On the opposite side of the room, Ernst was already changing into his Durmstrang robes. On the top bunk however, Konrad was still asleep, holding his pillow to his ears like a big pair of earmuffs.
Disturbingly, the bell either sensed or saw that one boy did not stir. “I said wake up, you knave!” CLANG!BANG!CLANG!BANG!CLANG!BANG!CLANG!BANG!CLANG!
“SHUT UP!” Dieter yelled, sticking his fingers into his ears. The bell really was obnoxious, but that paid dividends as Konrad finally got out from under the covers. “Really, who’s idea was it…” he grumbled somewhat incoherently, as it coincided with a yawn.
Dieter jumped down from the top bunk, and found himself face to face with the Slav, who was also clambering off the bed. “You’re still here?” Dieter asked, as if the boy’s very presence was a personal offence and crime.
“And you?” Karkaroff replied with the exact tone, though in some Slavic accent. “Now get out of my way. I need to use the lavatory.”
Dieter stepped to block the Slav’s way, smiling sardonically. “Sorry, but the lavatory is for strictly human use. You’ll have to go outside.”
Karkaroff said something venomously in Russian or whatever his native speech happened to be, but Dieter ignored him. He beat the Slav to the washroom, locked the door behind him, and proceeded to take a short shower, which he had neglected to do the night before.
The three boys and the one Untermensch got ready for their first day of classes at Durmstrang. While the Slav took his turn in the lavatory and was out of earshot, Dieter asked Konrad, “What’s a Mudblood? He called me and Ernst that last night.”
Konrad’s expression was grim. “What do you two have in common?”
Dieter and Ernst looked at each other. Though they had only met the night before, the answer wasn’t hard to decipher.
“We’re from the Muggle world,” Ernst observed, before Dieter could answer the same thing himself.
“Correct,” Konrad said, frowning. “‘Mudblood’ is a nasty word for wizards with Muggle parents. It’s used by stupid, old-fashioned people who think that just by being Pure-blood practically makes them nobility. They see Muggle-borns as slugs or something, and unworthy of doing magic just because they weren’t born into our world.”
Seeing the expression on Dieter’s face, Konrad continued, “I know, it’s ridiculous. Magic doesn’t care if you are Muggle-born, Half-blood, or Pure-blood. Either you are a wizard or you’re not, but people like our friend, Karkaroff, are too stupid to realise this.”
He gestured to the washroom, where Karkaroff was inside. “That’s the sort of thing Chancellor Grindelwald is trying to change. Wizardkind must be united and strong, not divided by these ridiculous prejudices about blood status.”
“That sounds fine, but ‘united and strong’ with people like him?” Dieter queried sceptically.
Konrad didn’t immediately answer, but after a pause, he gave a wry smile. He answered, “No, because he’s complete bastard and I don’t like him. You see how he looks at you two?” He checked his pocket watch. “Anyway, are we ready? We better go downstairs.”
Dieter noticed that Konrad’s pocket watch had twelve hands and little planets orbiting the rim. How it worked and was read was something Dieter was curious to know.
There were some students already in the common room when Dieter and the other two boys left their dormitory, seven minutes ahead of the required time. They had lef Karkaroff behind in the room, as the three boys were in no mood to have him as company.
The room gradually filled, but most students had to stand, as the comfy seats and sofas were taken by the early arrivals. Then, exactly at six o’clock, the door to the first-year dormitories creaked open and Professor Odoaker entered, along with Oberpräfekt Tryggvason and the two Hauptpräfekts.
“Good morning, students,” Professor Odoaker greeted keenly.
Dieter and some other students replied with ‘good mornings,’ but most of the first-years only mumbled tiredly or said nothing.
“Now, I know you are probably tired and would rather go to sleep, but today is your first day of instruction at Durmstrang Institute. You will act like proper Durmstrang students starting now, and that begins with answering your Professor’s greeting with a ‘Good morning, Professor Odoaker’. So, let’s try that again. Good morning, students.”
“Good morning, Professor Odoaker,” some sixty voices chanted.
“Better. Now, remember that at Durmstrang, you will show proper respect to your superiors. Though some professors here are stricter or less so about this rule than others, you will nonetheless address your professors as ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’. Is that understood?”
Professor Odoaker said this all very calmly and casually, but nobody wanted to test his patience. “Yes, sir,” the students replied.
“There are several rules at Durmstrang that must be observed at all times, and “ Berger, Muller, you’re late. See me after this discussion to arrange your detentions.”
Two girls had tried to sneak into the common room. After they had noticeably failed, the Deputy Rector went onwards with his announcements as if nothing had happened.
All students had to be at class on time. There was to be no fighting, spell casting, or flying in the corridors. Durmstrang uniform robes had to be worn at all times during normal school hours. In addition to the professors, there were fifteen youth leaders at the school: twelve ordinary präfekts, two Hauppräfekts, and one Oberpräfekt, with the latter ranks drawn from the seventh-year class. There were many rules to Durmstrang Institute, and Dieter listened intently. He distinctly knew that ignorance of rules would not be a valid excuse for anything, so he didn’t want to miss anything the Professor said.
“…Please pay attention to the notice board, as it has important information that you shouldn’t miss. Also posted on the board will be your marks in all of your classes, so please be very diligent with your work if you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of everyone in your year. And on that note, you will now receive your schedules.”
Each student was given a piece of parchment with a chart on one side and a map of the castle on the other. Dieter’s schedule for the day read:
First-year, Class of 1946
MONDAY, WEDNESDAY
6:00
Morning Call
6:30 “ 7:00
Breakfast
7:10 “ 8:40
Flying and Quidditch Instruction, Professor A. Adlersflügel, Quidditch Pitch
8:50 “ 10:20
Herbology, Professor M. Lobkovskaya, Greenhouses
10:30 “ 12:00
Transfiguration, Professor L. Boehm, Room 36
12:00 “ 12:50
Lunch
13:00 “ 14:30
Charms, Professor R. Reinhard, Room 142
14:40 “ 16:10
Defensive Magic, Professor B. Schmidt, Room 17
18:00 “ 19:00
Dinner
22:00
Curfew and Lights Out
The schedule for Tuesdays and Thursdays followed the same general format. Flying and Quidditch was again slotted for the morning, followed by Potions and History of Magic. Defensive Magic class was the only course immediately after lunch, since Astronomy was scheduled for twenty thirty to midnight.
Lastly, Dieter’s Friday classes were Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, and History of Magic. Every class was exactly an hour and a half long, so after some quick mental calculations, Dieter had six hours of Flying and Defensive Magic instruction per week, and four and a half hours of all of his other classes save for Astronomy, with only three hours. Dieter approved of his weekly schedule “ learning how to fly and fight sounded the most interesting, and he appreciated having the largest share of time devoted to those activities.
“Can I look at your schedule, Dieter?” Konrad asked. They traded parchments, and Dieter discovered that Konrad had the same classes, as did Ernst.
“Do you think they’re arranging this by rooms?” Ernst suggested.
On the other side of the room, the Karkaroff boy was looking at the three boys and probably wondering the same thing. Dieter and the Slav made eye contact and exchanged glares.
“Now, are there any questions before we let you go to breakfast?” the Deputy Rector said.
A boy standing next to Karkaroff raised his hand. Dieter recognised as the thickly built boy who accompanied Karkaroff on the ship. In the absolute, most atrocious German Dieter had ever heard (he didn’t know whether to laugh or cringe), the boy asked something about extra lessons of some sort. He tried to elaborate, but ended up switching to what sounded like Russian.
To Dieter’s enormous surprise, Professor Odoaker replied in the same language. They exchanged a few lines of incoherent Slavic gibberish, and the Deputy Rector finished by addressing the students, “As you well know, German is the official language of instruction at Durmstrang Institute. However, for those of you from outside of the Zaubererreich’s borders, Professor Simonov of the History of Magic Department offers German lessons for anyone who feels the need to improve their grasp on this language, so please see him. Are there any more questions?”
There were none. “Good. That’s all I have to say, so thank you for your attention. Enjoy your first day of class.”
Dieter, Konrad, and Ernst rushed back to their room to get the appropriate books for their classes. They passed Karkaroff on the way back down the spiral stairs, but nobody felt the need to ask him any questions about his schedule.
As they walked to the Great Hall for breakfast, Dieter couldn’t help but think about Professor Odoaker’s announcement about remedial German language classes. Why were Slavs, some who couldn’t even speak German properly, even admitted to Durmstrang Institute to begin with? It made absolutely no sense to put Aryans and Untermenschen together in one place. Didn’t the Rector think about his students’ safety?
And with horrifying realisation, Dieter suddenly remembered that there were more Slavs in the castle than Karkaroff and his unlearned companion. Odoaker had mentioned a Professor Simonov, and consulting his class schedule, Dieter found out that he would be teaching his History of Magic class. Another Untermensch taught Herbology. How could sub-humans even teach? How many more Slavs were at Durmstrang that Dieter didn’t know about?
For the first time, Dieter wondered if going to Durmstrang was a good thing to do. He had to doubt the wisdom of some of the school’s policies.
They reached the Great Hall and took some seats closer to the High Table than the previous night. Dieter could see the Rector (whose name he still couldn’t remember) eating some sausages. The wizard was an incredibly boring looking man with small round spectacles, a neatly trimmed moustache, and a comb-over that fooled no one. It was no wonder why the Deputy Rector, Professor Odoaker did all of the visible administrative work requiring interaction with students, rather than the actual head of the school.
The tables were already laden with food, so Dieter immediately helped himself to some eggs. While Konrad and Dieter shovelled breakfast onto their plates, Ernst didn’t touch any food at all. Instead, he folded his hands underneath the table and uttered a silent prayer. Proving himself a Catholic, he finished by crossing himself and saying in Latin, “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritūs Sancti.”
“What does that mean?” Konrad asked curiously.
“It’s ‘In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,” Ernst explained in his quiet voice. When Konrad looked blank, Ernst said, “Please tell me that you wizards know about God.”
“We do… or at least some of us. I don’t know much about God-worshipping myself, though. What about you, Dieter?”
He swallowed some Blutwurst and answered, “Most of the people in my hometown are Lutherans, but my family has never been particularly religious. I think the last time I ever attended a church service was when I was five years old.”
Perceptively, Ernst questioned, “And would this be around the same time our Führer came to lead the nation?”
“Now that you mention it, I suppose. Yes.”
Ernst sighed. “Of course... People turn to God during hard times, yet are so quick to abandon Him when troubles go away.” He did not sound angry, merely disappointed.
“Hmm?” Konrad grunted, as he couldn’t think of a suitable question to ask and had no real idea what Ernst was talking about.
Dieter, on the other hand, had never made that connection before Ernst had mentioned it. His family had, in fact, stopped going to church at around the same time of the National Socialist Revolution, and now that he thought about it, the two must have been linked. Dieter was relieved to have avoided going to services for the last six or so years of his life, since all he could remember of church was agonising boredom. Since he didn’t imagine Ernst would appreciate such comments, Dieter said nothing more about the matter of religion.
Fortunately, the conversation left that delicate topic behind and instead focused on their families. Dieter remembered telling Konrad about his parents, but nothing about his five siblings, so he described them in detail. He ended up mostly talking about his older brother Hans, and how annoying he was.
Konrad revealed that he was an only child. He sounded amazed and perhaps a little jealous, Dieter detected, at the prospect of having five brothers and sisters.
“So what about you, Ernst?” Dieter asked the quiet boy. If he was going to be one of his roommates for a year, he should get to know him better. “What’s your family like?”
“We live in Nuremberg. I have a younger sister, Ilsa, who’s now eight. I’ll admit that she sometimes makes life difficult, but we get along just fine for the most part. After Professor Odoaker told my family that I was a wizard, my sister wouldn’t leave me alone. She kept pestering me with questions about magic I couldn’t answer.”
Dieter laughed. “You’re lucky. Imagine having four younger siblings harassing you for nine months straight! My birthday was in December, so I had to wait almost a year after Professor Odoaker revealed I was a wizard before I got to go here.”
Ernst revealed that he could, in fact, smile “ he even looked amused. “I feel your pain,” he said mildly. “Actually, I take that back. My birthday was in June, so I didn’t have to wait nearly as long, but that’s beside the point…”
“So, what about the rest of your family? What does your father do?” Konrad inquired.
He took a sip of some carrot juice. “He works in a steel factory,” Ernst said. That was a hard job that didn’t pay well, and Dieter had the sense to not mention anything about it.
“And your mother?” Dieter asked.
Ernst’s cheeks turned slightly red, and he didn’t answer immediately. He ate some eggs and replied, “To be quite honest, I have no idea. My parents’ got an annulment and divorce several years ago, and I’ve been living with my father ever since. I don’t see my mother all that often.”
“Oh. Errrm, that’s…” Dieter didn’t know what to say. Unfortunate? Too bad? Divorces were uncommon and hard to obtain, and the fact that Ernst’s parents had separated meant that they must have really hated each other.
“It’s all right,” Ernst declared firmly, reading Dieter’s expression. “I’ve coped; don’t worry about it.”
The conversation ended awkwardly, and the three boys got back to eating their breakfast, which by talking they had somewhat neglected to do.
Their meal was interrupted again by the arrival of dozens, perhaps hundreds of owls. The birds soared into the Great Hall through the open clerestory windows and swooped down low over the tables, depositing letters and packages. One owl with ruffled feathers dropped a tightly rolled newspaper in front of Konrad, and presented its leg, to which a small pouch was attached. Konrad dug through his pockets and put a small bronze coin into the tiny purse, after which the owl promptly took off and exited the Hall.
Konrad unrolled the newspaper named ‘Wahrheit’. In large, bold letters, the main headline screamed, “MUGGLE WORLD AT WAR! Brutal Fighting Between Germany and Poland!” Beneath that was a moving picture of a diving Stuka releasing a bomb. The picture switched to some explosions, then to some soldiers, and kept changing every few seconds.
Due to the excitement from finally arriving at Durmstrang, Dieter had completely forgotten about the war with Poland that had broken out just the previous day. He looked at the moving pictures, completely fascinated.
“Can I see that?” Dieter asked, and Konrad wordlessly gave him the paper, as he didn’t have the time to read.
Dieter skimmed the main article, and immediately encountered problems. The journalist apparently had little idea as to what was really going on. According to Herr J. Federkiel (as that was the author’s name), the war started for no better reason than mutual dislike and thirst for bloodshed. Federkiel had also seriously overestimated the strength of the Polish army by predicting a “Massive and pointless war of attrition that will devastate the border for years to come.”
Though Dieter was not in the habit of reading newspapers very often, this was one of the most ridiculous things he had ever seen. The article was riddled with factual inaccuracies, and it spent paragraphs explaining the most obvious things, like what tanks and aeroplanes were.
But what Dieter found truly aggravating was the author’s complete ignorance towards the cause of the war and his pessimism. How could any self-respecting Aryan, even a wizard with no knowledge of the Muggle world, doubt Germany’s chances for victory? Dieter wondered how something so unpatriotic could have even been printed.
He gave the newspaper back to Konrad, who rolled it up and stuffed it into his book bag. Dieter checked his watch, and decided that they should leave now to get to their first class on time. Unfortunately, the Quidditch Pitch was situated a distance away from the castle, near the lake to the south. They would need to walk Cardiac Slope again, but at least it would be downhill.
After about a ten-minute walk, the three boys made it inside the pitch. It was an immense oval field about one hundred fifty metres long and fifty metres wide, and at either end were three golden hoops atop fifteen metre high posts. Several hundred elevated seats encircled the field, and spaced here and there were several towers that offered better views.
There were already some students assembled in the centre of the field, so Dieter, Konrad, and Ernst joined them.
The professor was a tall man with very short white-blond hair and a nose that looked like it had been broken at least four times. There was a faint scar going from the right edge of his mouth to the end of his jaw, which looked misaligned.
“Hello, everyone,” he said gruffly, trying to move his mouth as little as possible. “We still have a few minutes, and then we’ll begin. Hopefully everyone would have showed up by then.”
Dieter noticed that a few students, Konrad included, were looking at the professor in what could only be described as awe. “Who is he?” Dieter asked.
“Him? That’s Anton Adlersflügel,” Konrad replied. “He captained the Dortmund Dragon-Lancers for two European Championships and led the Zaubererreich to victory in the 1934 Quidditch World Cup!” Quite unnecessarily, he added, “He’s famous!”
“Uh-huh,” Dieter said. “What happened to his face?”
“Too many Bludger hits,” answered Konrad. Dieter wasn’t familiar with the game and had no idea what a Bludger was, but it sounded like an object to beat people with.
A few minutes passed, and the rest of the students arrived. Dieter looked around and recognised some faces, such as Heinrich and Jean, and with a pang of annoyance, Gerta. With even more annoyance, he saw that Karkaroff was there too.
“Welcome to Flying and Quidditch Instruction,” the professor announced in as loud a voice he could muster with his wobbly jaw. “I am Professor Adlersflügel, and I will be teaching you how to fly a broomstick today.”
Some of the first-years looked rather bored, as they already knew how to ride a broomstick. Dieter on the other hand couldn’t be more excited.
“Naturally, the first order of business is for everyone to get their brooms. You will be using the Volksbesen ’34, and this will be the broom that you will use for your entire, seven-year stay at Durmstrang. Needless to say, you will take very good care of your broom, because these are the property of Durmstrang Institute, and by extension, are the property of the Zaubererreich. You will be held accountable for any damages incurred, and repairs will be paid for out of your pockets. I will also personally ensure that anyone who wrecks their broom and requires a replacement must send a letter to Chancellor Grindelwald himself, apologising for the destruction of government property.
“Now, if you haven’t noticed, there is quite a long walk from here to the castle and back. Therefore, to allow you to get to your classes on time, you are permitted to fly to those classes located outside the castle. But remember, flying broomsticks inside the castle is expressly forbidden. Now, are there any questions before I start handing out brooms?”
A blond boy “ Heinrich “ raised his hand and asked, “Sir, what if we’ve already brought our own brooms? You see, I’ve brought my Zephyr Blitz.”
Indeed he had. It was a highly polished broomstick of black wood and gold metal fittings, and it looked like it was zooming at a hundred kilometres an hour just sitting in his hand.
“A fine broom indeed,” Professor Adlersflügel said gruffly. “May I see it?”
Face brimming with pride, Heinrich handed the former star Quidditch player his prized racing broom. Adlersflügel inspected the broom professionally and balanced it lightly on the tips of his fingers. Then, unexpectedly, he hurled it like a javelin down the Quidditch pitch. It travelled a good thirty metres before it impaled the soil.
Heinrich looked like he had been punched in the gut. His face turned completely white, and he stared at his broom sticking out of the ground in complete shock.
“Only school-issued brooms will be used in this class, and for flying from here to the castle and back. During school hours, you will only use your Volksbesen ’34. Fly your own broomsticks all you want after school hours, but the next broom I see in this class that isn’t a VB will be snapped in half. Understood?”
Some students answered with fearful nods.
“Now, this may seem unfair to you, but trust me, it isn’t. In Quidditch class, you will be tested on your flying ability. Everybody must use the same kind of broom for fairness sake, so that you are tested solely on skill alone, rather than your mount. Any more questions?”
There were none.
“Good. Everyone form a single-file line and follow me.”
Professor Adlersflügel led the students to a small shed at one side of the field. “State your name, pick a broom from the shed, and tell me your broom’s registration number.”
Dieter made sure he was at the front of the line, so he got the first pick. The brooms inside the shed were all identical for the most part, but some looked a bit more worn than others. Dieter gave his name, selected the cleanest looking broom, and provided the number written on the shaft.
The broomstick’s registration number was ‘1362’. It had very straight and rigid shaft, a tip shaped something like the bow of a ship, and on either side a logo depicting a ‘B’ nestled inside a larger, winged ‘V’. The magic broomstick also had some features Dieter never thought he’d see on any normal broom. Attached to the shaft near the tail was a folding bipod that must have formed some kind of footrest when extended, and a sling more typically found on rifles. Though the Volksbesen ’34 had a very utilitarian appearance, it was impressive to look at. Dieter felt a sudden rush of pride. This broomstick was HIS… technically.
“Everybody have their brooms?” Adlersflügel asked some ten minutes later. “Good. Now, I’m going to give you your first assignment, to be completed tomorrow. I’ve always found that brooms respond better if you form a personal connection with it. Therefore, you must come up with a name for your broom, and one that you won’t feel embarrassed about seven years from now. You will tell me your broom’s name tomorrow, and this assignment is worth five easy points. Now, on to your first lesson. Please form one row, so you can all see me.”
The thirty first-years on the field muddled about and arranged themselves as requested.
“Mounting a broom is simple “ you just stick it in between your legs. I want everyone to do that now.”
Professor Adlersflügel lectured on the correct way to sit on the broomstick, and told off the students who were seated too far up or down the shaft without raising his voice. “We’re just going to try to get airborne now, so nothing fancy. Just go up and down. What I want everyone to do is to just jump in place on my command. Ready? One. Two. Three.”
Everyone held their brooms in between their legs and jumped. Dieter hopped into the air and gravity promptly brought him back down.
Some other students managed to jump higher than what leg power alone could achieve, but nevertheless landed back on the ground. A few got airborne and hovered in place. To Dieter’s incredible annoyance, one of those students was Karkaroff. He looked very smug, and was presumably enjoying how the ‘Mudbloods’ were still stuck on the ground. Dieter wanted very much to wipe that smirk off the Slav’s face, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment.
No matter how hard or often Dieter jumped, he remained stubbornly attached to gravity’s leash. “Don’t think about falling, think about flying. Trust the broom to lift you off the ground,” the professor said. Dieter followed the first half of those instructions, but couldn’t honour the second. His mind simply refused to believe that a wooden stick with bristles on the end could support his weight and get him airborne. The broom had no wings. It had no engine or propeller. How on earth was it supposed to fly?
The funny thing was, Dieter had never been on an aeroplane before, yet that was the sole practical means of flight in his mind. But with effort, he closed his eyes and banished all thoughts of Messerschmitts and other aircraft out of his mind. As incredulous as the thought was, he focused on the broomstick supporting him in the air, and carrying himself through loops, barrel rolls, and Immelmann turns.
Suddenly, Dieter’s feet left the earth. Taken by surprise by his sudden weightlessness, Dieter opened his eyes and discovered that the broom had lifted him off the ground. The grass was only some twenty centimetres below his feet, but he was indeed airborne. The realisation that he was hovering was so startling, it caused Dieter to stumble gracelessly back to the ground. The incident reminded Dieter of his first time balancing on a bicycle.
Most of the other students were already airborne and hovering in place less than a metre off the field. Dieter was surprised that Ernst had beaten him into the air, and he was determined to catch up. Within a minute, he managed to stay up in the air on his Volksbesen, but the broom was floating up and down steadily, and didn’t seem to want to stay still.
“Focus, Heydrich,” Professor Adlersflügel said. “Flying is mental as much as it is physical. Keep control of your broom.”
For the next hour, the former Quidditch player drilled his students through several broom exercises. They hovered up and down, and moved back and forth. By the end of the class, Dieter had the confidence to fly up to twenty metres without having to fear falling off. He discovered that wrapping the sling over his shoulder and using the footrest greatly improved his balance and rooted him quite firmly to the broom.
It was exhilarating. He was flying!
The class ended, and Dieter very gingerly urged his broomstick towards the ground. He was disappointed that the lesson was over, as he was just starting to get the hang of flying a broom.
The greenhouses for Herbology class were near the west side of the lake. Partially submerged in the nearby shore was an ancient, burnt-out wreck of a ship. With only the thick internal framework remaining, it looked like a blackened whale skeleton. Suddenly remembering the boring Hauptpräfekt’s speech the previous day, Dieter figured that the shipwreck must have been the remains of the first Seeschlange.
Herbology was taught by a plain looking Slavic woman named Professor Lobkovskaya. Her hair was tied up in a bun, and she had big hands encrusted with dirt. She launched into a very boring explanation of the uses of magical plants, and Dieter very patiently took down some notes. It was all rather pointless, though. Magical plants were important “ Dieter suspected as much.
He didn’t enjoy Herbology class, for he found it to be incredibly useless. Dieter just didn’t care about magical plants, though he found some of the colourful vines mildly interesting. Furthermore, he failed to see why a Slavic peasant should teach the subject to Aryans in the first place. Untermenschen were suitable for laborious, dirty jobs like tending plants, and there was no reason why that should be rubbed off on Germans.
With relief, Dieter left the Herbology greenhouses after an hour and a half of lecturing and plant potting. Their next class was Transfiguration, which was back in the castle.
“We’ll never make it in time if we walk,” Dieter said, consulting his watch.
“Then we fly,” Konrad said simply.
Dieter and Ernst looked at him doubtfully. “I know it’s just been your first day flying, but it’s easy.” Konrad assured. “It really is.”
“Sure, it’s easy for wizards, but I don’t know about Mudbloods,” said a voice Dieter instantly recognised as Karkaroff’s. Dieter spun around to see the Slav following behind them.
Dieter didn’t draw his wand “ he only knew one spell anyway. He instead readied his fist for a good punch and growled, “Back off, unless you want your face smashed in.” It wasn’t a terribly well thought-out retort, but it was perfectly suitable against the Slav.
“How about we settle this in a civil manner instead,” Karkaroff proposed “ it was the most oxymoronic thing an Untermensch could say. “A race to the castle, on broomsticks.”
Dieter wasn’t going to back down from a challenge, especially from someone of Karkaroff’s kind. “You’re on!” he declared without putting much thought into the matter. Though Dieter had only just learned how to fly a few hours earlier, he was confident he could defeat the Slav. How hard could it be?
“What are you doing, Dieter?” Ernst pleaded. “You won’t stand a chance.”
“Yeah, listen to your fellow Mudblood,” Karkaroff said mockingly. “You should just forfeit right now.”
Konrad stepped in. “Look, Karkaroff. Why don’t you just bugger off and leave us alone? What have Dieter and Ernst done to you?”
Dieter and Karkaroff ignored him, determined that nothing would interfere with their impending race. They mounted their brooms.
“One, two, three, GO!” Karkaroff yelled, but Dieter could have sworn the Slav started on “three.” They shot into the air and quickly left Konrad and Ernst behind, who were just getting on their brooms.
The wind roared in Dieter’s ears and the ground blurred as it zoomed beneath him. He surged with adrenaline and urged his broomstick forward, up and over the trees.
He was flying level with Karkaroff, but the Slav gave him a malicious grin. He rocketed forward at impossible speed and left Dieter behind, struggling to catch up.
“Why you!” Dieter shouted in frustration. He couldn’t let Karkaroff win “ he wouldn’t! He urged his Volksbesen to greater effort. He had to go faster! Oh, how he wished he could be flying a Bf 109 fighter instead. He could swoop down with machine guns barking, and tear the Slav into red ribbons and send him crashing into the ground!
As if responding to these very thoughts, Dieter’s broom suddenly accelerated, and he almost lost his grip on the shaft in surprise. His eyes stung with the speed, but he could see that he was gaining on Karkaroff, who looked just as surprised as he was.
Then Dieter noticed that he was losing altitude. He was going to fly into the mountainside.
“UP!” he yelled, pulling on the handle. The Volksbesen reared like a wild horse and Dieter would have slid off the tail if his feet weren’t pressed against the footrest. But the broom didn’t slow down or stop, or even change direction. Like an automobile out of control on ice, the broomstick slid through the air, nose-up.
“TREE!” called an anguished voice from behind.
There was a crunch and a blow that felt like a punch to the chest. Dieter felt dizzy and was only vaguely aware of the sensation of weightlessness. He tumbled through some branches and hit something hard.
Blackness.
Dieter opened his eyes. He felt weak and sore all over his body, and he had a huge headache. He groaned.
He heard footsteps, and somebody was standing to his side, talking to him. He couldn’t see too well, since everything was blurry.
A small glass of a blue liquid was offered, and Dieter wordlessly took it and downed whatever it was in two gulps.
Like parting a fog bank, Dieter’s senses returned to him. However, the headache didn’t go away. “Ow,” he muttered.
He was lying on a hospital bed with white sheets, and his left arm was in a sling. A middle-aged nurse with greying hair was standing nearby. “What happened?” he asked.
She prepared another potion and replied, “You flew into a tree and knocked yourself unconscious. I mended your arm, but you didn’t break anything else. If all goes according to plan, you should be out of the Infirmary tonight. Now, drink this.”
The nurse handed him a clear liquid, which Dieter swallowed. It had a very bitter taste, but it returned feeling to his limbs and lessened the soreness somewhat. “Thank you, Frau…”
“Fraüline Fertig,” the nurse answered. “Now, stay in bed and try not to move too much. If you need anything, just call for me.”
She left the Infirmary for her office, and the heels of her shoes clattered loudly on the stone floor. With nothing better to do, Dieter decided to get some sleep, but in this he failed. The thought of having lost a race to a Slav was not something Dieter could sleep on easily. With his mind free to concentrate on something other than the state of his battered body, that was all he could think about. He was stunned, and couldn’t settle on a satisfactory explanation for Karkaroff’s victory.
I would have won though, if I hadn’t collided into that tree, he consoled himself. I was about to overtake him when I crashed…
He knew he could beat Karkaroff if they were to race again. That he was sure of. However, he grudgingly admitted to himself that he would need a lot more practice with flying. His speed was good, but his broom control left something to be desired.
Konrad and Ernst came by to visit sometime later. “We just got out of class,” Konrad said, so it had to be past sixteen o’clock. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” Dieter lied. Though he felt much better physically, his mind was not at ease. “How were the classes I missed?”
“Satisfactory,” Ernst replied. “Most of it was just introductory and only involved note taking. We covered quite a lot of theory in Transfiguration and Charms, and we won’t be learning actual spells until next class, at least.”
“But Defensive Magic was fun,” Konrad added. “Professor Schmidt taught us how to defend ourselves against Erklings.”
“Erklings?” Dieter asked. Konrad explained that they were dark creatures that lived in forests and attacked children. Since the forests around Durmstrang were known to have them, the professor decided to teach his students how to fight them before learning anything else. Ernst offered to loan Dieter the notes he had taken that day, so he wouldn’t fall behind too much. Dieter wondered whether the gesture was out of friendship or Christian charity, but he was thankful nevertheless.
Then, in a thrill of dread, he remembered something and blurted, “But what about my broomstick?” Professor Adlersflügel had promised dire consequences for any damage inflicted on the school brooms, and crashing into a tree did not constitute safe, careful handling.
Konrad actually smiled. “Don’t worry. Your broom came out better than you did “ I suspect it has a very powerful unbreakable charm on it. They must have expected that these brooms will be abused.”
That was small consolation, but it was one less thing to worry about. He asked what was foremost on his mind, “Where’s Karkaroff?”
“How am I supposed to know?” Konrad answered. “What are you going to do? Find him and beat him up with one arm?”
“Something like that,” confirmed Dieter bitterly.
Konrad frowned. “Dieter, he won. Just let it go, and don’t think about racing again until you know how to fly.”
Dieter merely grunted.
“And another thing, why do you hate him so much? I certainly don’t like him myself, but you two seem to really have it out for each other.”
“Does he call you a Mudblood?” Ernst pointed out.
That didn’t seem to entirely satisfy Konrad. He asked, “Why do you keep calling him ‘Under-man’? What does that really mean?”
“It means what it sounds like,” Dieter explained. “He’s a sub-human.”
“What? Like a half-goblin or something?” Konrad said incredulously.
Ernst provided in a very matter-of-fact tone, “No, more like a primitive human.”
“Exactly,” Dieter affirmed. “Humanity is divided into several different races, and some are more biologically and mentally advanced than others.” He briefly went into an explanation of some of the different races and sub-species of the world.
“Wow. So… Karkaroff’s not even fully human?” Konrad said once Dieter had finished. He nodded, and Konrad continued, “I don’t know. That sounds pretty woolly to me.”
“It isn’t, really,” Dieter said simply. “It’s a scientifically proven fact. Entire books are written about it.”
Fraüline Fertig walked into the Infirmary. “That’s enough, boys. Let him have his rest “ you’ll see him this evening anyway.”
Konrad and Ernst placed Dieter’s book bag within his reach, and left the Infirmary. Once they were gone, he decided to write some letters for his family. He used his big Transfiguration book as a hard surface, and wrote with a quill that still felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable in his hand. The feather quill made unpleasant scratching noises, and he didn’t like having to constantly refill the ink tip. He much preferred his fountain pen, but it was locked away in his trunk.
About half an hour into writing his very long letter, he was interrupted by another visitor.
It was Gerta. She waved and walked over to his side.
“What do you want?” Dieter asked, and not all that gently.
In a bubbly voice, she said, “You should have helped me the rest of the way up Cardiac Slope yesterday. You could have been a proper gentleman and not just half of one.”
“Sorry, but you were being annoying, and running up the slope and wearing yourself out was a pretty stupid thing to do. Anything else?”
She smiled sweetly and wiggled her fingers. “I didn’t get to exact my revenge by tickling you yesterday, and now you’re stuck in this bed!”
Dieter’s expression could only be described as one of horror. He tried fending her off with his good arm, but he was powerless to stop her. Dieter could have punched her, but he didn’t dare strike back for real. It was never, ever appropriate to hit a lady, and his father had drilled that lesson into his head at a very young age. There was an embarrassing, absurd irony to the entire situation “ since it was unethical to retaliate, he had more to fear from an Aryan girl than a Slavic savage!
“What on earth are you doing, young lady?” the nurse demanded after investigating the cause of the commotion. “Master Heydrich needs his rest!”
He was released from the Infirmary in time to eat dinner in the Great Hall.
“Ah, so you’re back.” Konrad said. “How’s your arm?”
It was still in the sling, and would be taken out the next day. It didn’t hurt, but it did feel a little numb. “It’s fine, but I feel a little tired,” he said. He didn’t say anything about Gerta’s tickle torture.
For the rest of the meal, the three boys talked about their first assignments, specifically Professor Adlersflügel’s. Coming up with a name for a broom sounded like a very simple task, but Dieter and the others quickly discovered that it was surprisingly difficult. They swapped ideas, but nobody could come up with any names they liked.
“What a stupid assignment,” Konrad admitted after half an hour. “Brooms aren’t horses.”
“Or ships,” Dieter added. On that thought, perhaps he could look up warship names for inspiration.
After eating, Dieter asked Konrad if he could borrow his owl to send a letter. “Sure,” he replied.
Konrad and Ernst went back to the dormitory, and Dieter went to the aviary by himself. He consulted the map on the backside of his class schedule and discovered that his destination was close by.
The aviary was a round room at the top of a narrow tower. There were several open windows through which owls flew in and out, and the floor was coated in straw, dried up droppings, and rodent skeletons.
He spotted what looked like Konrad’s owl, Timm. Just like his first encounter with the bird, it tried to bite Dieter’s fingers off. He could do nothing to persuade the bird to deliver his letter, so he picked a school owl instead. A small white one was willing to do the job, but it tapped its beak against a small wooden box on the wall that said, ‘Fare: ¼ Badger’.
Dieter grumbled and put a one Badger coin through the slot. Three tiny bronze coins came out as change.
He was not in good spirits when he arrived back at the dormitory. First he lost a race to the Slav, then he was tickled by a girl, and now even the owls seemed to be against him…
Konrad and Ernst were already in Room 6J and sitting on their beds, but so was Karkaroff. They were reading or doing assignments in silence, but that silence spoke volumes about the tension present.
“Well, if it isn’t the other Mudblood,” Karkaroff said, amused. “How does the arm feel? That looked quite painful.”
Dieter didn’t bother replying with words. He simply walked up to the boy, drew back his good right fist, and punched the Slav as hard as he could in the face.
Karkaroff fell backwards onto his bed, clutching his jaw and moaning loudly in pain. Dieter didn’t have the energy to hit him again. He just climbed up to his top bunk and worked on his assignments, completely ignoring sound of the Slav’s complaining. He barely registered Konrad and Ernst’s startled expressions.
The lights went out at twenty-two o’clock. Dieter didn’t immediately go to sleep, as he was immersed in his thoughts. He felt like he had a mission to fulfill. He knew that somehow, he needed to make the Untermenschen to leave Durmstrang Institute.
And Karkaroff would be the first to go.