“Now, please don’t stress yourself too much, Master Heydrich, and don’t get into any more trouble. I don’t want to see you here again for at least another week!”
With those kind words, Fraüline Fertig shooed Dieter out of the Infirmary. He gingerly lifted himself out of the bed and tried very hard to not move his right arm “ it hurt whenever he moved it too much. His bones had been mended after a shattering blow from a Bludger the previous day, but the nurse insisted that it remain in a sling. His recovery was quite remarkable. Ordinarily, such an injury would have incapacitated his arm for months while the bones healed, but with magic it was fixed within a day.
Karkaroff had come off worse. His face was bloated and purple, and his body a mass of casts and bandages. Dieter gave him a sarcastic wave and smile as he left the Infirmary. Even with his face numb and frozen in place, the Slav still managed to glare.
Dieter left the Infirmary for the third time in two weeks. Ever since Professor Adlersflügel had made the switch to teaching Quidditch, flying class had become a convenient battleground. While ostensibly ‘practicing’, Dieter and his nemeses were seizing upon the outstanding opportunity to inflict as many debilitating injuries on each other as possible. Since Karkaroff played Seeker, he was an irresistible and almost defenceless target, and he had to be defended by his other Slav friend, Todorov.
Dieter’s friends on the other hand, stayed out of it, or at least tried to. Ernst regarded the whole situation with horror, but also being Muggle-born, he too was occasional harassed by the Slavic duo. He always tried to stay clear of trouble, but Dieter relished being able to strike back and do some harassing of his own.
Due to his stay in the Infirmary, he was late to History of Magic that day. Dieter entered the classroom and was welcomed warmly by Professor Simonov. “Heydrich! You are late, damn it. Ten points off your next assignment. Now sit down.”
Fuming, Dieter took his seat. Barely a moment later, Simonov barked at him again. “Heydrich! For what are the ancient Suebi tribe best known?”
He didn’t know the answer. It was terribly unfair for him to be called on, having missed the beginning of class owing to his injury, but the Slavic professor did not accept any excuses. “I don’t know, sir,” Dieter answered.
“So what, you didn’t at least make up for your lateness by coming to class prepared? Another ten points off your assignment; that’s now a zero. You still have to do it, or else I’ll give you a negative score.”
Dieter knew that threat was very real. A number of students had received negative points, and Dieter did not want to be among them. He wanted to think of every possible way to get revenge on Simonov, but concentrating on the lecture was a much better use of the time. Plotting was for later.
So he wrote, awkwardly and sloppily with his right hand feeling stiff and his arm still in the sling. He would have to borrow Ernst’s or Konrad’s notes later.
September ended, and so did any semblance of good weather. Older students had advised the first-years to enjoy the grounds as much as possible while they could early on, but Dieter and many others had been slow to heed these suggestions.
Cold winds blew in from the north and east, and slowly increased in strength as the days and weeks passed. It started as a nuisance, but it was increasingly becoming unbearable. Quidditch class turned into a battle against the elements as much as it was one against Karkaroff and Todorov.
“Yes, I realize it’s little windy,” Professor Adlersflügel addressed the complaining class. “But that’s how you play Quidditch. No match has ever been cancelled due to bad weather. Consider this good practice for worse to come.”
Nobody was encouraged by these words. At least the flying instructor handed out goggles and taught everyone some useful spells to stay warm and prevent windchill. Dieter found himself too busy trying to avoid getting blown off course to pick a fight with the Slavs.
But he could still find some academically sanctioned scraps within the shelter of the castle. After more than a month of practising aim and wand movements, Defensive Magic class took a very interesting and exciting turn.
“Before you can learn how to defend yourself, you must first know how to attack,” Professor Schmidt said. “Since you cannot rely on defensive spells to ensure your safety, you must instead evade your opponent’s attacks and reply with attacks of your own. Learning how to dodge spells and fight back is one of the most important skills you will learn in this class, and there is no better way to practice than by duelling your peers.”
The room was filled with generally excited murmurs. Dieter and Konrad grinned, but Ernst looked less than pleased. He didn’t like fighting.
One girl raised her hand. “Are we going to be duelling everybody?”
The Defensive Magic instructor shook his head. “As much as I would like to, the answer is no. If everyone was to duel everyone else just once, there will have to be three hundred fifty-four separate duels during this class and the next, if my arithmetic is correct. Instead, we will make things interesting by having a competition. You will be marked on your performance, and the champion will be awarded ten bonus points and a jar of Zuckerzahn’s Exploding Bonbons.”
“All right!” Konrad said enthusiastically. He cracked his knuckles and rubbed his hands together.
“What are Exploding Bonbons?” Dieter asked. His Pure-blood friend explained that they were a peppermint sweet that sparked when chewed on, or exploded when thrown against something hard.
“Doesn’t that sound a bit dangerous?” Ernst commented. “I don’t see why anyone would want to eat them.”
Konrad did his best to look scandalized. “How could you not want to eat exploding sweets? There is something seriously wrong“”
“Konrad, please,” said Professor Schmidt, raising his voice a little. The room fell silent, and Dieter’s friend turned a little red. “Thank you. If you look at the chalkboard, you will see how I have organised the duels. The class will be split into seven random groups of four. Everybody in each group will duel one another, making six duels for each group. The two students who win the most duels out of each group will move on to the next round.”
He flicked his wand at the board and names appeared in a large diagram. “Some of you might have noticed that this won’t result in a proper round of sixteen duellists, so I will pick an additional two students who performed well. Now, I would like everyone to come look at the board, see what group you are in, and sort yourselves out.”
Dieter was in Group G, along with Heinrich Fuerst and another boy and a girl he didn’t really know, respectively named Tyr Baumer and Magda Steiger. Dieter measured up his opponents. Heinrich liked to brag about his racing broom and Quidditch exploits, but for all of his boasting he was rather good at Keeping. Of course, that said nothing about his ability to duel. The other two students, while of unknown quality, looked reasonably fit, but Dieter wasn’t counting on the girl doing well.
He could not make any good predictions. Unlike physical strength, there was no way to gauge magical aptitude at a glance.
“We have forty-two duels to go through this class, so let’s do this in a quick and orderly fashion. There will only be one match occurring at a time, so the rest of you are free to watch or practice while you wait.”
He then explained the rules, which were simple. There were no restrictions on what attacks could or could not be used, provided they were non-lethal. Whoever scored the greatest number of hits against his or her opponent within two and a half minutes would be declared the winner, and earn three points. In case of a draw, each player would earn one point. Losing, of course, merited no points at all.
After answering questions, the duels began. “First from Group A, we have Sigrid Knochen and Alfonso Panza,” announced the professor. Dieter didn’t know the girl, but the Spaniard was a team member in Quidditch class and a nice enough fellow.
Both students took their positions at opposite sides of the classroom and bowed. At the end of Professor Schmidt’s countdown, hexes immediately started zipping across the room. The first few volleys passed by each player harmlessly, but it was the Spaniard who scored the first hit. The girl yelped from the small shock, and a second Stinging Hex struck her. She only managed to hit Alfonso back once, and whatever concentration she had vanished after being struck a third time. The two and a half minutes were soon up, and the duel ended with Alfonso winning with six hits to one. He bowed and expertly twirled his wand in his fingers. Professor Schmidt noted the score on his parchment.
Over the course of many duels, cries of “Mordax!” resounded throughout the room. Professor Schmidt believed it was more important to teach technique and accuracy rather than a variety of spells at such an early stage, so the simple Stinging Hex reigned supreme. Nevertheless, the duels were exciting to watch. Some matches were completely one-sided affairs, when some students completely overpowered their opponents and received few or no hits in return. Others were more even slugging matches, with each student trading a roughly equal number of blows. Many different styles were also being displayed. Some preferred to take time with their aim, whereas others tried to fling as many hexes as possible, often with poor accuracy. Smarter students kinked and dodged, while most others were concentrating too hard on their spellwork to remember to move around, making them easy, immobile targets.
Dieter took special notice of the good duellists who could become potential adversaries in the next round. Alfonso was accurate and skilled, as was some other boy Dieter didn't know. Todorov didn’t have the best aim, but he was so thickly built and seemingly nerveless that he didn’t even feel the stinging spells that would have wrecked the concentration of normal humans. Annoyingly, Gerta Roth was a surprisingly good duellist, for she was very agile and hard to hit.
Konrad went up in Group C, and Dieter gave him a thumbs up gesture and wished him luck. The duel started.
“Mordax!Mordax!Auristorqueo!Mordax!Risus!Arghwhycan’tIhityou?” Konrad cried, spitting out hexes left and right. Apparently, he was a follower of the Overwhelming Random Firepower school of thought. Not one spell in ten hit his opponent, Helmut Müller, but it had the desired effect. Helmut was concentrating very hard on dodging the endless barrage of red jets of light, and couldn’t retaliate as effectively as he wished. Unfortunately, his attacks still managed to equal the hits received, so the duel ended in a draw.
Konrad drew in his second duel, too. With only two points to his name, his chances of moving to the round of sixteen were not good, but he finally faced off against an opponent worse than he in his third and last duel. He defeated Frieda Knickerbacker three to one and by a hair’s breadth advanced to the next level.
Ernst's style could not have been more different from Konrad's. Ernst always did his homework with diligence and precision, and his defence technique was no different. Almost like an eighteenth-century gentleman duelling with pistols, he stood up straight and still, and sent very carefully aimed spells hurtling towards his opponent. He would have been a formidable duellist had he remembered to move, but since he hadn't, he was an attractive, completely stationary target. He got hit by a few stingers, and being of very slim build, he really felt each one. Visibly wincing from each blow, Ernst's composure deteriorated and his hexes started going wide. He lost the duel. His next duel played out quite similarly, but he managed to force a draw. Unfortunately, his last duel was a loss and he did not have enough points to advance to the next round.
Eventually, Karkaroff was up. Dieter had a very low opinion of the Slav's ability to defend himself, owing to the injuries he had received in Quidditch class brawls, and from all the way back to their first day when Dieter had punched him in the face. The duel would be thrilling to watch, and Dieter was giddy at the prospect of Karkaroff being thoroughly beaten.
Hexes flew, and Dieter watched Karkaroff's every move very carefully. True to Dieter's predictions, he was a terrible fighter. He dodged far too much. His wand movements were too jerky. He hurled spells too quickly. He hit his enemy far too often...
To Dieter's complete surprise, Karkaroff won. It had to be luck, and besides, his opponent was terrible, Dieter reasoned, but Karkaroff easily defeated his second opponent in his next duel. How did that happen? It made no sense. Dieter could plainly see that Karkaroff was not very good, but the Slav inexplicably won his third duel and advanced to the round of sixteen.
“Wow. Karkaroff's pretty good,” Konrad said once the Slav's duels were over.
“What are you talking about?” Dieter retorted. “He's awful. He only won because all of his opponents were worse.”
Konrad said nothing and merely gave Dieter a funny look.
Being in Group G, Dieter was among the last competitors. He was first paired with the girl, Magda Steiger, and suddenly recognised her as the girl who had trouble climbing up the ratlines on the side of Die Seeschlange on the first day of school. Dieter smiled, visibly more confident, while his opponent appeared anything but.
The duel began. Dieter’s first stinger went wide to the right, but he quickly corrected his aim and hit her in the centre of the chest on his second try. She squeaked, and her hex went so far off that it smacked into the ceiling. From then on, it was a simple matter of delivering a steady stream of carefully aimed hexes, and with each hit Magda’s defences disintegrated. After his ninth successful attack, she stopped trying to fight back altogether and spent the remainder of the duel just trying to avoid his spells. Professor Schmidt ended the duel at the two and a half minute mark, and Dieter won, thirteen to zero.
Dieter pumped his fist up into the air in triumph and he grinned like a maniac. Duelling was fun. Plus, he was pretty good at it. Sure, he had only faced off against a totally inadequate opponent, but his victory buoyed him nonetheless.
Heinrich spared with Tyr Baumer, and while both were reasonably good, Tyr won narrowly. Dieter then faced off against the victor of that duel. He was a much better opponent than Magda, and he knew something about dodging. He was moving far too much for Dieter to fix his aim, but he did manage to hit his opponent a couple of times. Fortunately, constant movement did not help Tyr's accuracy, so Dieter ended up winning the duel.
It wasn't long before he fought his third and final duel of the class, against Heinrich. Dieter aimed for the other boy's face. The spell missed, of course, but it succeeded in forcing Heinrich to dodge to the side, putting himself right in the path of Dieter's second stinger, which struck. Dieter soon realised that a large part duelling was anticipating which direction his opponent would dodge, and sending a spell in that direction immediately following his first attack. In this way, he could 'herd' his opponent and almost guarantee a hit! Heinrich could either stand still and get hit by the first spell, or move to the side and get hit by the second spell. Just when Dieter was feeling really clever, Heinrich disproved his newfound theory of wand combat by pioneering the technique of ducking.
Dieter henceforth decided not to bother doing anything fancy, and just aim for the centre of Heinrich's chest. Both students scored some hits on the other, but it was Dieter who won, six to four, when Professor Schmidt called time. Dieter bowed, but the expression on his face was far from stoic. He could hardly contain his glee. He had just won three duels in a row. He was good! In fact, he was convinced that he was the best fighter in the class.
"That's all of the duels for today," Professor Schmidt announced. "Everyone who made it to the next round will compete on Monday, so be sure to get plenty of practice over the weekend. For those who didn't, well, you should still practice over the weekend. Class dismissed."
Dieter and Konrad did exactly that with great enthusiasm. They rushed through their Potions and History of Magic homework, threw their bookbags back into their room, and prepared to leave their common room for outside.
“Coming, Ernst?” Konrad asked.
The other boy wanted to do a thorough job with his five hundred-word essay on Armin son of Segimer of the Cherusker, so he shook his head. “Sorry, I have other things to do. Have fun.”
“Hmpf. His loss…” Dieter muttered. Ernst was a good friend and roommate when it came to helping with Charms and Transfiguration, but that exhausted his virtues, Dieter thought cynically. Ernst was probably the least outgoing boy Dieter had ever met. How could someone be so unadventurous? How could someone not want to have fun and prepare for class at the same time?
Ernst was just weird.
Dieter knew that he was the best student in Defensive Magic class. The duels in Thursday’s class were clear evidence of that. But Dieter needed to prove he was better than everyone else, and do it in front of everyone else. And nobody was the best, or stayed the best, by being complacent.
He practiced Defensive Magic with Konrad all weekend. In fact, he was so preoccupied with his duelling that he barely gave the Wahrheit’s October seventh headline announcing the end of the war in Poland a second glance.
While not exhausting himself training for the next round of duels on Monday, Dieter read through the book on hexes and jinxes he had borrowed from the library. To his disappointment, most of the spells were comedic in nature. How could he inflict any serious damage on an opponent (Karkaroff, by default) with a Slug Hex? Or a Twitchy Ears Hex?
He flipped through the book irritably, looking for something useful. Tarantallegra could be handy in a duel by unbalancing an enemy, but Dieter ruled it out for having too many syllables in the incantation.
The door to the First Years’ common room creaked open, and Dieter didn’t look up. Unfortunately, he couldn’t fail to notice Ernst collapse into the chair right next to him.
He looked awful. He was shivering. His hair was unkempt and was full of twigs and leaves. Several angry purple bruises were splotched across his face and whatever exposed limbs Dieter could see, which was surprisingly a lot, since Ernst’s robes were torn.
Dieter’s first impulse was to ask Ernst why he didn’t go to the Infirmary first, but he sensibly said instead, “What in the world happened to you?”
“I fell,” Ernst answered flatly.
“You fell?” Konrad said sceptically. “What did you do, fall down the Cardiac Steps? All 1135 of them?”
Ernst winced. “Only five hundred.”
“What were you doing outside?” asked Konrad.
“It’s Sunday. I needed to go out and pray“”
“In this weather?”
Dieter wasn’t paying attention to their conversation. He was too preoccupied with looking at Ernst’s bruises. How could you be so clumsy to fall down so many stairs? he thought. It was inconceivable that anybody could fall down so far and not get hung up on a tree or come to a rest at one of the shallower sections of the slope. It was almost as if someone had to push him a couple times to keep him rolling.
Dieter quickly stood up and looked around the room, eyes narrowed. His suspicions were confirmed.
“Karkaroff,” he spat.
“What? OH…” Konrad said. He too scanned Ernst’s injuries. “Did Karkaroff do this to you?”
“No. I told you, I fell down the stairs,” Ernst insisted.
Dieter didn’t believe him. “It was Karkaroff. He pushed you,” he said, convinced. “Wasn’t it?”
“They didn’t do anything. I fell down the stairs“”
“Ernst,” Konrad interrupted, looking straight into the other boy’s eyes. “We’re your friends. You don’t have to lie to us. Please, tell us what happened.”
Ernst sighed. “Yes, it was Karkaroff. And Todorov,” he finally admitted. “They found me outside and used some spell to push me down the slope.”
“Good,” Dieter said, satisfied that Ernst had given a straight answer at last. “That settles it. Let’s go.”
He made to get up, but Ernst, in surprising act of nerve, grabbed his arm. “Don’t do this,” he said. “It’s not worth it.”
“Not worth it?” Dieter asked incredulously. “Do you want them to just get away with this?”
“It doesn’t matter, and it’s not worth getting in trouble over. They had their fun, but soon enough they’ll get bored of picking on me and they’ll stop.” Ernst sounded like he spoke from experience.
“Where did you get that stupid idea?” said Dieter. People were supposed to confront their enemies, not just sit and take it. Didn’t the boy learn anything in the Deutsches Jungvolk?
Ernst answered, “Haven’t you heard of turning the other cheek?”
“And we all know how well Jesus fared with that,” Dieter shot back. “And here’s something else you might have heard. That’s ‘God helps those who helps themselves.’”
“That’s not scripture“”
“Doesn’t matter!” Dieter insisted. “If you’re hoping the Lord is going to help you, you’re not going to get it by feeling sorry for yourself. You need to fight back. That’s what Germans do. And don’t you forget that, Ernst. You are German “ you’re worth twelve of any of those Slavs. Heck, you’re worth a hundred of them!”
There was a pause as Ernst took that in. Finally, he sighed, “All right, go ahead. And thank you.”
“Now, I suggest you go to the Infirmary and get yourself patched up. We’ll take care of Karkaroff. Coming, Konrad?”
Konrad nodded. “Let’s go,” Dieter said. Anger swelled inside him. Ernst was not a very exciting individual, and he was only a lukewarm National Socialist at best, but he was German. He was a comrade, and he had been victimised by the Slavic subhumans just on account of his birth, for being Muggle-born.
Karkaroff and his empty-headed gorilla of a friend needed to be punished. And if Ernst wouldn’t defend himself, then Dieter would gladly take up that responsibility. He unsheathed his wand and made for the door.
“Karkaroff has a good Leg-Locker curse. Be careful,” Ernst called out after them.
They checked the corridors on the four floors and the Slavs weren’t there. Neither were they in the Great Hall. After some twenty minutes of searching, Dieter and Konrad found Karkaroff and Todorov at a desk on the bottom floor of the library.
“We can’t attack them here,” Konrad whispered. “There are too many people.”
Dieter had to agree, part of him screamed at the wasted opportunity. There were so many elevated walkways that would have provided perfect vantage points for an ambush, and it was a shame to not use them.
They agreed to attack them as they left the library, so they hid themselves in a convenient corner besides the door. Unfortunately, they had no idea how long the Slavs would spend reading, and they ended up waiting for half an hour before Karkaroff and Todorov walked out the entrance.
Dieter was halfway through telling Konrad a joke to pass the time, but the punch line would have to wait. Wands at the ready, the two boys followed the Slavs as quietly as they could, and hoped the Slavs wouldn’t think to look backwards.
They didn’t. Karkaroff and Todorov were chatting to each other in what sounded like Russian, completely unaware of the impending ambush. They reached the top of one of Durmstrang’s steeper staircases, and that was when Dieter and Konrad made their move.
Two Trip Jinxes tugged at the Slavs’ ankles. The spells would have been stronger with more practice, but they were just strong enough to make their targets lose their balance and topple over. Karkaroff just barely brought his arms up to shield his face, but he smacked against the stairs and tumbled twenty steps to the bottom. The larger Todorov hit his head on the banister and landed on top of Karkaroff, dazed. Both of their bags had spilled their contents, and the staircase was a mess of scattered books, parchments, quills, smashed bottles, and sticky ink. Bystanders yelled as they tried to get out of the way, but some sported black stains on their robes.
Dieter and Konrad advanced on the two Slavs struggling to get up at the base of the staircase. Trusting physical assault over his beginner’s wandwork, Dieter picked up one of the enemy’s ink-drenched books and threw it. He aimed for Karkaroff’s face, but it went low and struck him in the chest instead.
A red spell, probably a Stinger, missed Dieter’s forehead by centimetres. Dieter promptly sent back a few Stingers of his own, and he shouted in triumph as they scored direct hits. His targets, still reeling from the shock of the surprise attack, barely managed to respond with half the number of spells, and with far less accuracy.
Just when he was about to launch another strike at Karkaroff’s face, Dieter’s arms and legs unexpectedly locked together, and he fell backwards, stiff and straight as a board. He hit the ground with an audible thud. A second thud announced Konrad meeting the same fate.
Professor Schmidt appeared into view and rushed down the staircase. Dieter couldn’t see what he was doing, but he heard the Defensive Magic professor say, “It doesn’t look too bad. Head along to the Infirmary, and Fräuline Fertig should get you patched up… Don’t worry, Aleksandr, I’m sure she’ll find a way to un-twitch your ears… The rest of you, there is nothing to see here,. Please be on your way…”
Schmidt returned and undid the Petrifying spells, and the boys quickly stood up. “I saw you from my office, you know. It was very foolish of you to pull off that ambush right in front of me,” the Professor said, amused.
For a moment, Dieter wanted to look around for any kind of window where the office could be, but he decided that it would be much better to pay attention when spoken to, especially when being disciplined.
“I’m going to have to give you both detentions, for attacking Masters Karkaroff and Todorov without provocation.”
Konrad blurted out, “But it was provoked. They pushed Ernst down the mountain!”
“And I’ll be investigating that. But regardless, you were still caught duelling in the corridors, which is against Durmstrang rules. You must still report for detention. Meet me at my office on Saturday, at seven o’clock.”
“Yes, sir,” Dieter and Konrad said numbly.
“And one other thing,” Professor Schmidt leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I’m giving you each five extra credit points for an excellent ambush. You used the terrain quite effectively.”
“What?” Dieter said, surprised.
“Just because you broke the rules doesn’t mean I don’t recognise a good attack when I see one. But it would have been better if nobody saw it. Now, don’t let me catch you attacking anyone outside of class ever again. Do I make myself clear?”
They nodded vigorously.
“Good. Enjoy the rest of your day.” Professor Schmidt walked away and disappeared around a corner. Dieter and Konrad stood where they were, still slightly in shock and confused.
It was Monday. Dieter could hardly contain his anticipation. It was the second day in the Defensive Magic class duelling competition, and he knew that he would be the champion in a short hour and a half.
“Good afternoon, class,” Professor Schmidt greeted on Monday. “Today we finish off our duelling competition, so I hope those of you who advanced to the round of sixteen got plenty of practice over the weekend.”
Dieter noticed the Professor glance in his direction as he said that.
“Now that we are playing for the championship, the rules for the competition will be slightly different. Each student will now have five minutes in which to duel. The winner is whoever forces his or her opponent to concede; otherwise, victory goes to whoever scores the most hits as usual.”
After a pause for questions, Professor Schmidt waved his wand and a chart appeared on the chalkboard. Dieter studied it, and was amused by the choice of his first opponent. Gerta would be a pushover, and when Dieter defeated her (the possibility of losing never occurred to him), he would face either Todorov or some Polish boy named Marek Kozlowski. Of the two non-Aryans, Dieter wanted Todorov to win, just so he could have his chance to humiliate Karkaroff’s friend in front of everybody.
The duels began, and they played out quite similarly to the ones in the last class. Simple Stingers flew back and forth, only this time with a bit more accuracy, since almost all of the poor shots had been eliminated in the previous round.
It wasn’t long before it was Dieter’s turn to duel. “Good luck,” Ernst and Konrad said to him as he faced his opponent.
Gerta waved and smiled at him from the opposite side of the room. “Hi Dieter,” she said sweetly. “Just remember that you have to be a proper gentleman and let the lady win.”
Dieter smiled back as sarcastically as he could manage and bowed. Gerta curtsied and the two of them took up their favoured fighting stances.
The duel began at Professor Schmidt’s mark. Dieter shot out a quick Stinger, but he was surprised by the speed of Gerta’s reaction time. She dodged to the side and Dieter’s spell passed harmlessly, and Gerta retaliated with her own Stinger. It buzzed by Dieter’s left ear, all too close for comfort. Dieter didn’t have time to contemplate whether that near miss was due to luck or any skill on Gerta’s part.
“Mordax! Mordax!” the two combatants shouted. Many jets of red light flew back and forth, but both students were good enough at dodging to avoid getting hit too often.
“Pilosus!” yelled Gerta, and a thin blue jet shot out of her wand. It was no spell Dieter recognised. He dodged the first one, but the second spell hit Dieter on his left forearm.
He didn’t feel any pain, or numbness, or indeed anything unusual at all, so he ignored it and kept throwing Stingers at Gerta. He got lucky and scored a hit on the middle of her face. Her hands involuntarily flew up to shield her head from further damage, and that was the window of opportunity Dieter needed. Ignoring the numbness and stinging where he had been hit, he rushed forward to close the distance and pelted her with spell after spell, and she couldn’t respond in kind. A well-placed Trip Jinx sent her to the ground.
“Okay, okay! Stop it! You won!” she yelled, ending a one-sided exchange. Dieter helped her back onto her feet with his free hand. Gerta, whose face was still red and puffy, unexpectedly smiled quite maniacally.
“What?” Dieter asked, suspicious. Gerta didn’t answer, and he didn’t like the look on her face at all. He looked down at his arm and noticed thick, curly hairs growing on his hand. Lifting his sleeve, he noticed that they were spreading up his arm and they had probably reached his shoulder, judging by the itchy feeling there.
“Hey! What did you do?”
Gerta and her friends burst into hysterical giggles. With the girls unable to answer, Professor Schmidt explained that she had hit him with a hair-growing jinx. For the most part it was only good for practical jokes, but a hair-grower aimed at the head would make the victims’ eyebrows grow out of control, obscuring his vision.
“Great. Can you help me, sir?” Dieter asked, acutely aware of the hairs growing on his neck and creeping up his chin.
Schmidt effortlessly undid the jinx with a “Finite”. Dieter made a mental note to remember that particular counter-spell.
Dieter watched the next duels intently, knowing he would have to fight some of the winners. In the Todorov-Kozlowski match, Karkaroff’s large friend simply absorbed many spells to apparently little effect, allowing him to outlast his opponent in a battle of attrition. The Spanish boy was paired off with a Danish girl named Sille Lind. Both students were reasonably skilled, trading accurate fire and dodging competently, but Dieter was surprised when the girl won. Even if Alfonso wasn’t an Aryan, any boy should be able to win against a girl by default.
Then it was Konrad’s turn to face Karkaroff. “Good luck!” Dieter shouted to him. “Go get him!” Konrad returned a thumbs up and assumed his fighting position. Neither combatant bowed, and at Professor Schmidt’s countdown, the duel began.
Konrad lost.
It was totally unbelievable. Dieter had every expectation that Konrad should win against Karkaroff. Why shouldn’t he? Konrad was Aryan, and Karkaroff was an Untermensch. Konrad was brave, and Karkaroff was a coward. It made no sense, and Dieter did not want to believe what his eyes had seen.
Professor Schmidt undid the Leg-Locking Curse on Konrad, and he gingerly walked over to the side of the classroom where Dieter was watching. “Beat Karkaroff for me, will you? I want to share that jar of exploding Bon bons if you win.”
Dieter merely nodded and did not answer in words. The duel between his friend and the Slav played and replayed in his mind. He remembered how Karkaroff had deftly defeated Konrad in merely a few, well executed blows. Where did Karkaroff’s unexplained duelling skills come from? Hadn’t Dieter been able to beat him up with some regularity in Flying and Quidditch class? How could a Slav have pulled off such a victory over a perfectly competent Aryan like Konrad?
Luck. That was the only answer. But Karkaroff’s luck would soon run out. Dieter would make sure of that. His fists clenched at the thought.
He barely paid attention to the next several duels. His mind was furiously thinking of different ways to defeat Karkaroff in a thoroughly humiliating manner, once Dieter had a chance to duel him, of which he was certain.
Soon enough, it was Dieter’s turn to face Todorov in the second round. The duel began, and Dieter took his time to carefully aim a Stinger at Todorov’s face. It went low and hit him in the neck instead, but Dieter sent another spell in his enemy’s direction. Todorov was slow to return fire. His wand movements were plodding and the concept of evasive manoeuvring was completely alien to him.
But he just stood there, taking everything Dieter threw at him. What is he? Part troll? Dieter thought, amazed that not even two Stingers to the face could faze him. Since even a four to one hit ratio wouldn’t defeat his opponent, Dieter decided to change tactics.
He tried a Trip Jinx, but it wasn’t strong enough to topple the stout Slav. A Knockback Jinx was similarly ineffective. Dieter tried every non-standard spell he knew, but none seemed to have any effect. Unable to force a knockout, the duel lasted the entire five minutes, so it was decided purely on the number of hits achieved by each contestant. Dieter won, thirty-one to eight.
Dieter defeated the Danish girl, Sille, in the semi-finals. As if the fates had planned it all along, Karkaroff won each of his duels, ensuring that the two boys would face each other in the final. Dieter took a long, hard look at his opponent.
Why were Slavs dangerous? The answer came naturally from years of schooling. They were degenerate and they were filthy, and only slightly better than Jews, which wasn’t saying much. They corrupted everything they touched. They were mindless sheep that flocked around their deceitful, brutish leaders. They revelled in thoughtless destruction, and plotted the ruination of the Germanic race.
And then Dieter realised what Karkaroff really was. He was no ordinary Slav “ if he was, he wouldn’t have made it past his first duel. Karkaroff was not a sheep, but a wolf. He was certainly aggressive enough. Hadn’t he constantly harassed Dieter and attacked Ernst? And if Karkaroff was a wolf, then he was a potential strongman for a Slavic flock.
It was of utmost importance that Dieter win. He had to keep the Slav in his place. If he didn’t, the results would be disastrous. Who knew what would happen if one Slav was allowed to have confidence in himself?
The two boys took their positions, and neither bowed. Professor Schmidt started the countdown. “On my mark. Three… two“”
“Tarantallegra!” Karkaroff shouted. Unprepared for such treachery, Dieter hadn’t moved out of the way in time, allowing the spell to graze his side. He mentally cursed himself for getting caught off guard. If there was anyone who would cheat, it would be Karkaroff.
His legs danced wildly on their own accord, and it was a miracle that Dieter didn’t fall down. Then a whistle blew, and Professor Schmidt performed another Finite on Dieter to stop his legs from dancing. He announced, “Now, we all know that we shouldn’t let rules get in the way in a real duel when your survival is at stake, but a fair test of your skills requires that you begin at the same moment. So we will start again…”
The restarted duel was a battle of fire and manoeuvre. Karkaroff, admittedly, was good at running and avoiding getting hit. Of course, that was because he was a coward, and it was in his blood. He did manage to get some lucky hits, though. A second Tarantallegra! hit Dieter, and his tap-dancing feet conspired to ruin his accuracy. He tried cursing Karkaroff back, and failed, and several of Karkaroff’s Stingers slammed into his chest and pushed him over.
Dieter braced his fall and jabbed his wand not at the Slav, but at his own legs. “Finite!” he yelled in desperation, but his legs continued to dance. At least those flailing limbs intercepted some Stingers aimed for his chest, but that was small consolation.
He succeeded somewhat on his third try, after he corrected his pronunciation and swished and flicked instead of jabbed. His legs still twitched, but it was a considerable improvement, since it allowed him to stand. Knowing he was far behind in terms of hits, Dieter launched a furious barrage of Stingers to try to redress the balance. More than half of them missed, but it succeeded in putting Karkaroff on the defensive, giving Dieter enough time to perform another Finite on himself to end the leg twitching.
Karkaroff tried a few more unconventional spells, while Dieter mostly relied on Stingers, figuring that the physical pain inflicted couldn’t be undone like a Leg-Locker or Tarantellegra. Spell after spell stung Karkaroff, and Dieter was filled with fresh determination. Confident that he had evened out the duel after the Slav’s first strike, he pressed his attack. He even took several steps forward to increase his chances of hitting the enemy. Dieter knew he could take more pain than the Slav, and he knew that Karkaroff would break first if it came to a close-range Stinger battle.
More accurately, he assumed. He would not find vindication for his theory, because Karkaroff threw a spell that Dieter hadn’t seen before.
“Expelliarmus!” the Slav shouted. Having shortened the distance, Dieter didn’t have the time nor space to avoid the bolt of red that streaked from the tip of Karkaroff’s wand. Dieter felt some force yank on his wand and his hand involuntarily let go. He watched in horror as his ebony wand flipped end over end away from him. It landed with a clatter somewhere behind the enemy’s feet.
Karkaroff shouted in triumph in his barbarian tongue, and something in Dieter snapped. Perhaps it was because he was sickened by the Slav’s gleeful expression, or humiliated by having lost his weapon. Whatever it was, dismay quickly gave way to cold, savage rage. He ran full out, not towards his wand, but straight for Karkaroff.
“AAARRRGGGHH!” both boys screamed, one from fear, the other from fury. Two Stingers hit Dieter in the chest, but he neither felt them nor cared. He jumped and tackled the Slav down to the cold, hard floor. Dieter made a fist and slammed it into Karkaroff’s nose. Something crunched, and bright red blood appeared from the Slav’s nostrils. Dieter punched and punched again, but suddenly a long piece of wood was shoved in his face.
“Mordax!” Karkaroff screamed. Dieter’s cheeks took the full force of the spell. They felt like they were on fire. His vision turned blurry. The Slav managed to get back up to his feet, but Dieter lashed out with a kick that knocked him down again. After more punches and a brief grapple, Dieter trapped Karkaroff in a headlock he had learned and perfected in the Deutsches Jungvolk. The Slav’s right arm was pinned behind his back, but he still held his wand and spells were flying in all directions“
“That’s enough!” yelled a voice. In what was becoming a familiar sensation, Dieter’s body turned as stiff and straight as a board, and his arms snapped to his side, releasing Karkaroff, who gasped for breath. Dieter thudded to the floor.
Professor Schmidt helped Karkaroff up and tended to his face. Only once the last of the blood was magicked off the Slav’s face did Schmidt cautiously undo the petrifying spell on Dieter. Another spell removed most of the stinging and puffiness in his face.
Dieter scrambled to his feet on his own. Only then did he notice that all the other students were staring at him like he was some wild animal who could attack them at any moment. There were some hushed whispers, but Karkaroff quite audibly spat, “Get that thing away from me and in a cage where it belongs!”
The instructor put his hand up. “Igor, please, that’s quite enough.” Turning to Dieter, he announced calmly, “I did not expect any of the duels to come to physical blows, but your unorthodox tactics were certainly effective.” Karkaroff glared at the Professor.
Dieter felt proud of himself, but that only lasted a moment. Professor Schmidt continued, “Unfortunately, Muggle fighting is normally far from effective in a wizarding duel. An experienced opponent could have cast any number of spells at you while you ran headlong at him, and spells far more dangerous than the Stingers Igor hit you with. This class is supposed to teach you how to fight with magic; you can’t rely on hand-to-hand combat.”
“But I had lost my wand,” Dieter reasoned. “How else was I supposed to fight back?”
“Good point.”
“So… did I win?” Dieter asked hopefully.
Professor Schmidt considered Dieter and the Slav. “It’s difficult to call. Dieter, your spellwork was precise and accurate, and your Muggle attacks were effective. But it was Igor who held the initiative throughout most of the duel. He forced you onto the defensive with clever spell choice, and ultimately disarmed you. Therefore, I must declare Master Igor Karkaroff the winner.”
“What?” Dieter demanded. He could not believe it. “If you hadn’t stopped me, Karkaroff would have given up! I was this close to finishing him!”
“But I had to end the duel before you before you caused Igor serious injury, which you appeared very capable of doing,” explained Schmidt. “I could not allow that in my class. And had this been a real duel, Dieter, you would have been long dead before you got close enough to even touch Igor.”
“I want a rematch!” Dieter said.
“I’m sorry, Dieter. Igor won, and my decision is final.”
BANG! The next day, yet another small peppermint exploded near Dieter’s feet. BANG! BANG!
“Whoops!” Karkaroff said, throwing another Exploding Bonbon at Dieter’s feet while the first-years made their way to the Great Hall. During breakfast, Karkaroff gleefully fed on his duelling competition winnings, and made a point of sharing the sweets with everyone around him except Dieter and has friends.
“Just ignore him,” Konrad said. “In fact, just let him gloat and everyone will see what a little troll he is.”
Dieter wasn’t comforted at all. He knew that jar of sweets and the ten bonus points should have been his. Professor Schmidt had cheated him out of a win. Why did the professor have to end the duel right before he defeated the Slav? It was terribly unfair and unjust. And his mind was full of dark thoughts as he went to Quidditch class.
“Sorry it’s a bit windy today!” Professor Adlersflügel’s magically amplified voice screamed through the howling wind. “But it could be worse “ could be raining!”
It got worse. Dieter’s thick fur Durmstrang coat kept out most of the cold, but his hands, feet, and face were numb and wet. The wind stung in Dieter’s eyes, and it was a miracle he could see at all. He had no idea where the practice Bludger or his fellow team Beater had went.
A green shape flew by. Dieter whipped his head around, but whoever it was had disappeared in the rain. A minute later, the green team player zoomed past again, and Dieter caught a fleeting glimpse of a pointed face and black hair.
He urged his Volksbesen up, and he kept his eyes locked on Karkaroff, who appeared to be circling. Probably looking for his practice Snitch, Dieter thought. The Slav then headed away, and without thinking, Dieter dived after him. He needed revenge, and he was about to get it. Wind and rain droplets whipped his face as he dropped faster and faster in his dive, but he stayed locked on target.
Karkaroff didn’t see him coming. Dieter’s foot kicked out and connected with the back of his head, and the force of the impact smashed his face into his broom handle. Karkaroff lost control of his broom, and an icy blast of roaring wind and rain grabbed him and threw him out of sight.