Mid-Morning
Oberteil Balcony, Durmstrang Common Room

Magdalena’s wand poked out from the arm of a deep red chair. It was the perfect, Durmstrang red, despite their current home far from the unplottable Scandinavian fortress. Here she lounged, regal and with a feline’s earned lethargy, in the smooth velvet upholstery. After a morning of vigorous training with Franz and Lyov, the chair was a welcome luxury. And yet, she expected it. The Oberteil scanned the floor below her strata’s balcony in the spacious dungeon cove provided by Hogwarts; even if her gaze was slow and tranquil, even if training had been admittedly exhausting, there was a restlessness there in her eyes that would not be entirely lost on her peers.

There was one day left until the First Task.

She would wake up tomorrow and head for the tents.

“Tyr,” she spoke at length, turning her head some half breath later, her eyes landing on the underling who had served her for years now. She was fond enough of him-- he was much more useful than a House Elf, with his convenient wand and wizard’s demeanor-- but his submission was vital to their ‘friendship,’ which was more often a ‘working relationship.’ He did her bidding, she protected him.

“Black tea. Double strength.” In Denmark, they were coffee drinkers, but sometimes Magda needed to clear her head, and this was the way. Tyr knew this well, of course, which was part of why he had access to the balcony. “Franz...” She added, trailing off as her eyes found her friend’s. And then: “Lyov can get his own.”

She reached for the bottle of wand polish that was nestled between the seat cushion and the chair, using the silk cloth with it to first wipe her wand of any smudges or prints. She opened it slowly, taking her time as she applied the polish with knowing hands, obsessive eyes.

“Did you like that Tidal Spell? I’ve been perfecting it since summer...” She had siphoned the last bit of water from her clothes and hair before entering the castle, but she had been careful not to get nearly as wet as she had intended for her opponents. It required a bit of quick dueler’s dancing, something that had always been a strength, thanks to years of physical extracurriculars and a family who loved little more than tackling the wilderness. She looked up again, glancing between Franz and Lyov. A small smirk came to her lips. It was not likely they would forget the wet awakening in August.

After spending the morning running Magdalena through a rather rigorous training routine Franz welcomed the small respite. As per usual he had take a position adjacent to the others, leaning himself firmly against the wall where no one could come up behind him. Even here, at this rather poor excuse of a school, Franz couldn't let his guard down. The Oberteil was still the Oberteil, and he still expected some of them to try and get the drop on him if they could.

"Get one for me as well, Brunn." Franz instructed the Zufrieden. Having him fetch such for them seemed to be the only useful thing the boy was capable of. He may well have been born a house elf for all the servitude he gave Madga. Not to mention all the spell practice Franz had gotten off of him. Tyr made a wonderful human analog.

The German shook his head slightly at his friends question. "I've been wondering when you would ask," Franz said with a slight smile. "Truth be told I rather enjoyed it. But next time let me get off the ship first. I'd rather not have to dry my things again." Or more accurately he'd rather not have to force one to the Zufrieden to do it again. They weren't exactly the best at such tasks.

"Of course, Miss Eisenberg."

The words rolled off his tongue easily, as an almost conditioned response - which they very nearly were. Tyr had been occupying himself at a respectful distance, kneeling on the floor instead of in a chair, his head bowed in thought. That was his habit in such situations; he made himself small and silent, and if he was lucky only Magdalena paid him much attention.

Of course, he often wasn't lucky - the two boys present tended to notice him regardless. Tyr usually diligently obeyed them, not that it helped him much. The hexings from Maurer and the occasional punch from Molchenoff were par for the course, and Tyr mostly rolled with them these days.

The fact that the lightning-fast portion of his mind - the part he truly thought with - could see their weaknesses here and there helped.  The careful observation certainly helped pass the time, and it kept him sharp. And the quiet satisfaction in knowing they were - in some ways - easy targets kept him from hating himself too much at night.

He rose to his feet almost silently, his uniform's quiet rustling the only sound as he headed to the small bar the Obertiels had been supplied with. At Durmstrang, the house elves usually did this - they were accessible to the Obertiels with the flick of a wand or the ring of a bell. At Hogwarts, he had yet to see an elf, though they clearly had them.

Tyr knew how to brew tea, anyhow. He was quick, his hands moving with the assurance of someone who did this every day. He paused for a moment when preparing Franz's cup - but he'd asked for the same as Magdalena had, and so that was what Tyr prepared for him, with a mental sigh.

The small wooden tray balanced in one hand, he headed back to the small group.

Lyov was exhausted but rejuvenated. It felt good to get a couple hits on miss champion. Spending time together was always complicated. At least she hadn’t been able to talk very much. That always led to a boring date time. If he wanted to find out what was in her head, he could just practice Legilimency. Glancing over at Franz, Lyov gave him a slight nod in acknowledgement, smirking slightly before focusing back on their Champion!

He might have been a bit jealous over it. It might have had to do with the fact she was the granddaughter of their headmaster, or that she was a girl. It was hard for Lyov to come to the conclusion that maybe she was better than him. Maybe he hadn’t put his name in! Then what kind of a competition would it have been? Who can get second place the quickest?

In reality, Lyov knew where his strengths were, and they weren’t always the best for competition. Still, if he could’ve made his father proud... and as likely as that was, it was best he was just helping the champion prepare rather than being the champion.

When she finally spoke up, it was to call her... personal house elf. Smirking still as he fingered his wand, he considered practicing just for the hell of it. His eyes narrowed a little, though his smirk never strayed, while he glanced quickly towards Magdalena. Of course he could get his own.

At the mention of the wave, he remembered how wet his cloak still was. From his position, leaning against a support beam, he lifted the side of it up, flicking it suddenly to send a small spray of water towards Magdalena. “You should keep working on it. It did cause a distraction, though.” Glancing over his shoulder towards where Tyr had run off to, he suddenly realized he did want some tea. Something warm.

“What do you think of your competition, Maggie? Have you spoken with Vladlena or Katya?” He glanced back and raised an eyebrow. Maybe sticking it out together before turning on one another was a thoughtful tactic. Hearing the unmistakable clomping of Tyr, Lyov stuck his foot out to try and trip the young man up--if Lyov wasn’t allowed tea, no one should be able to.

Tyr had long since learned how to listen carefully without appearing to comprehend a word the others were saying. He listened as he made the tea, his expression focused utterly on the simple task. Even as he returned with the tea, his eyes were locked on the small coffee table in front of Magdalena, his brows and eyes lowered enough to give his usual expression of dreamy listlessness - and he listened keenly.

Until his foot hit something. He'd sensed the movement, had tensed automatically, but couldn't have dodged it even if he'd wanted to. He stumbled forward and the world seemed to the slow down, mostly because the trajectory of his fall would launch the tea right onto Magdelena. There were few things that scared Tyr, but that was certainly one of them.

His reflexes, honed by years of the Grumman's rather extreme standards, kicked in. Even as he fell forward, he kept the tray level and was able, mostly via luck, to slide it onto the coffee table with nary a spill of  the tea. The spoons sailed into the air and he shifted the tray just enough that they landed right back onto the embordiered napkins. The lid of the sugar pot also landed back in place with what sounded like a gentle clink.

Then time caught up and Tyr hit the floor, hard, and slid - his head and shoulder hitting Franz's chair with a loud thunk. He scrambled to his hands and knees, holding the top of his head as white lights flashed behind his eyes. He let out a soft, pained sound and hurried scuttled to the opposite side of the set of armchairs, ending up sitting against one of the empty ones, slumped over.

Tyr was left to his own devices, stealthily executing orders. If Magdalena meant to strike a nerve with her forbiddance of his serving Lyov, it did not wipe the annoying, arrogant little smirk from the latter’s nicely-etched Russian face. Her gaze set upon him, emotionless but acute; she did not give him the satisfaction of thinking her jab had backfired (but maybe he could read it in her eyes, anyway; if he tried Legilimency, Hogwarts would be renovating their dungeons for the next six months). In all honesty, Lyov, like Franz, had helped her practice, had worked her hard for hours-- something that would certainly not hurt when she faced the task.

Head still raised gingerly from her wand, whose gleam was as attractive as the sharpness of a carefully honed knife, she brought the conversation to tidal waves and overturned ships, looking between them, deciding that they needed a moment of lounging-- even Lyov.

"Truth be told I rather enjoyed it. But next time let me get off the ship first. I'd rather not have to dry my things again."

She continued to smile lightly in Franz’ direction. There was an understanding in her stare now, a brand of humored sympathy reserved for things like the aftermath of overturned ships and friends whose trunks were full of sopping texts. It was an inconvenience. For Magda, not so much. “If you’re awake, I’ll let you know.”

But as Lyov flicked the dampness of his cloak at her, suggested her magic needed still more work, the jest in Magda’s eyes seemed jump like sparks and burn. It was a dangerous look. Her grip on her wand tightened imperceptibly.

She was on the verge of forgetting all about earned relaxation, when he changed the subject.

She stared at him, smolderingly so, and answered with coolness in her voice-- suggesting she would not forget the nickname, would deal with it later. “Most of them are adequate, for what the other schools have to offer.” Others, not so much. But... “None have our combat skills. They learn mostly defensive magic at Hogwarts.” Which was useful, historically, as far as the First Tasks went, but it was no way to, say, tame a dragon, only to evade one. And eventually, a dragon would outfly a wizard. And then where would the Hogwarts students be? It was not Magda’s concern. In fact, disgusted as she was, at times, over the subpar quality of the other schools, the fact that ‘adequate’ meant more or less ‘useless’ was almost amusing. She looked down at her wand again, continuing to polish it. As for Vladlena and Katya, they had all talked enough-- and Magda’s grandfather and the other professors had made sure they were all prepared-- but there was no plan for teamwork. Magdalena wanted the best score for Durmstrang, and for herself. “Our scores are cumulative, but we each earn our own.” That was a clear enough distinction.

When she looked up again, this time to the noise, Tyr was hovering over the table, the clinking of china echoing from the tray. And then he crashed to the ground. Heaped there on his knees like a wounded animal, he did not look ‘out of sorts’ so much as Salem-level useless. Still, it was not like him to tumble over from the exertion of setting out tea. He scampered up and away quickly, as he was like to do when he did meet trouble, and Magda’s eyes drifted again to Lyov.

“Tyr,” she said, with a certain sharpness, raising her voice. She did not take her eyes off of Lyov. “Watch your balance.”

A silent spell later, and she settled into her chair again. If Lyov wanted to dry off, she would help him.[1]

“Perhaps you two will be joining the Second Task...” In which case, there would be plenty more robes to dry between now and then. She caught Franz' eye again.

1.	I’m going to let Lyov decide how this plays out so it's not overly godmoddy (but will PM you what I have in mind!), but I may edit a line or two later to clarify what Magda's doing, if you guys are ok with it!