Magdalena Eisenberg’s fingers trailed over the pinnacle of her wand to the hilt, pausing there. It was cradled at her hip with a small bit of leather, generally half-obscured by the cloak she had pushed back.

Hogwarts was a grand castle, as she noted on their arrival over four months ago, but after the first task, she could not help the fresh surge of superiority she felt over the other schools-- nor did she try. Durmstrang had come out on top; there had been no other option, of course, but she conceded that some of the champions had done impressively enough. She was quietly incensed that she had not collected the top score, but at least a fellow Durmstrang student had, and their school sat cushioned at the top of the rankings. Tomorrow their place would be reaffirmed.

Moving away from the Durmstrang common room and Slytherin territory, she glided on a windy, stone path which would take her to the stairs. She was hardly halfway down the corridor, however, before a voice began to cackle. Magda stopped sharply in place, drawing her wand as she turned on her heel as swiftly and surely as a longtime Apparater.

The painting waggled its fingers, its cackle having become a vexing titter. Magdalena was still pointing her wand offensively. “What are you laughing at?” She demanded at the pastels in the dim candle glow. The bald man in the painting had a high voice, plush robes, and a nettling, sing-songy air to him that was not helped by the harp and hummingbirds surrounding him.

“Everyone in this corridor is always in such a hurry, so serious...” He sounded like he was yawning.

Magdalena raised her chin a fraction, offered a stony pout, and did not lower her wand. Her English was clear, the melodic lilt of a Scandinavian mother tongue sounding in her voice. “Everyone in this corridor is a shark.”

“You included?” The man inquired, tickled pink by this bluntness, pressing his luck.

She had to smile, just a little. She stepped closer, wand lit, to study the pampered portrait.