They had been practicing for hours, and that was after the last class of the day. Which was also the last class of the semester, and consequently, the last class either of the pair of Oberteils would sit… at least in terms of primary education. Magda did not doubt that there were still plenty of lessons to be had (though she would be hard-pressed to admit anyone was better prepared to take on the world than their little group). For now, though, she was reveling in the fact that they had only exams left…

And one little task.

“Do you wish we had had our last year at Durmstrang?” She asked. It was a question she could ask of only two people, perhaps, but here with Aliya she was perfectly comfortable, her voice soft with its Scandinavian melody (that could become promising in menacing ways for almost anyone else). They were sitting now on a sofa in the Durmstrang ‘common room,’ which was both wholly fitting and completely different from the sort of room they might be sitting in back in their Unplottable fortress. She had been looking at a tapestry as she posed the question, but now turned to look at Aliya. “We’re going to miss the feast.”

Their feast.

But they would undoubtedly be participating in another. And, if Magda had anything to say about it, celebrating. The group picked by the Goblet was the biggest yet, and thus had the most to offer. If it also meant more wild cards (heightened by a bet she had made with Lyov, after losing their last), Magda was ready for the fun. She trusted Aliya wholly, and trusted Lyov… most of the time… and knew that Baldric and Christian were good competitors, too, if more likely to be bossed around by the others. A smile came to her lips. “When we win the cup, maybe we’ll put vodka in it. There’s a taste of home.” For some of them. Magda had grown up with enough Russians to drink like one by default. And her tone said we will the cup.

Aliya was daydreaming again.

After a long day of "work" preparing for the task ahead, she was mentally exhausted and ready to be done with the Tournament. And their visit to the UK. She wanted to be back home -- either at Durmstrang or in Russia. But the former would not happen. When next she stepped through the halls of her alma mater, she would be an alumna, not a student. That was a sad realization. And it led to other realizations as well about what life held in store for her and her fellow students. Some of that future hinged on the end to the tournament.

Magda's question seemed to mirror her thoughts and Aliya turned to her good friend with a bittersweet smile. "Yeah, I do wish that," she responded plainly, knowing it probably made her weak for not wanting the Tournament fame ora chance to show off her Grumman talents. She would rather be with all of their classmates and teachers in the familiar halls they had spent years coming to know. Even after being at Hogwarts for just one, she still could not feel at home.

Sensing Magda felt the same way, Aliya shifted on the sofa to be closer to her. She then reached out her slender arms and wrapped them around the Dane's shoulders. It's not that the ever stoic Magdelana needed comfort or a soothing embrace; she perhaps was one of the strongest people that Aliya knew. But part of what made their friendship work so well was that their personalities complimented each other so well. When many things around them were so different than what they had known throughout their school years, they always had each other. They were friends but in a strange way, also family.

When Magda spoke of filling the cup with vodka, Aliya laughed lightly. It didn't matter what they filled it with so long as they won and had that option. They had to win.

Aliya rested her forehead against Magda's and sighed. She couldn't bare to think about what would happen if they lost. Ever the optimist, she voiced, "Of course we're going to win."

Magda did not spurn the hug, but rather settled comfortably into it; if her returned display of affection was not as pronounced as the Russian’s, the telltale softness that had been in her voice was evident now in her limbs, in the way she turned a bit, in the way her face settled. While her features could be icy at turns, they also had a girlishness (pink lips, smiling eyes) that was more obvious when she was trying to be diplomatic… or, as now, genuinely and effortlessly friendly, an unguarded teenager. “I do sometimes,” she confessed quietly, and her eyes seemed far away for a moment, if still pleasant. They seemed to spy, amidst the far wall, a glimpse of the fortress and the thick trees that were inevitably a regal green, standing tall, never bending, in their post about blue waters upon which their ship would emerge in the coming weeks.

The north in the summer was the most beautiful thing, hidden, almost undiscovered.

But then the scenery would change again: would she be back here, in this place with its gingerbread villages and seasons of rain… perhaps in the metropolis a train ride away, under the very same Ministry… or headed East, to learn under the guidance of family friends, or school friends’ parents, or strangers impressed by her school records? Though uncharacteristically undecided, Magda felt little shame in taking her time deciding. She wanted to choose right, explore it all. Settling was not an option, much like second place. The Tournament had drained them of much of the tradition of a final year— not that they had not begun to tackle both things at once, much in line with Durmstrang’s attitude.

Magda let out a breathy laugh of agreement, something victorious, and tilted her head further into Aliya’s. “Assuming it isn’t rigged, anyway.” The last task’s results had been highly disputed, and by none more than Durmstrang. Magda had taken out her anger on targets, usually inanimate (at least organically), and sometimes… of the lower strata persuasion.

There had been other extracurriculars, in private, things to let her mind escape (or be broken into), the kind that were wonderfully exhausting.

It was the combination that had pulled her through and allowed her to relax now. “Beauxbatons has one competent competitor, but he can’t make up for the rest of them.” Especially the mousy sisters, the one in particular Magda loathed and wished to burn at every turn. She lifted her wand lightly, pointing it at the fireplace, which was stoked by some unseen force. But the flames were not the warming kind. Rather, they were a cool blue, and gave off an icy breeze. “And we know the Americans didn’t earn their last victory.” It needn’t even be said. As for Hogwarts, she was beginning to grow the most impatient with their host. “Professor Storm should return with us. Maybe if we give him enough of that vodka…”

She turned to look at Aliya. “What’s the first thing you want to do when we get out of here?” She grinned, somewhat knowingly. “You and Fyetka?” Perhaps they could have a holiday somewhere, a few of them.