Durmstrang Institute
Dark Arts Classroom

==Young Melanthe==

Melanthe Grumman was not the typical final year student at Durmstrang. She was not even a typical wizarding student, period. The dark haired witch went about her most of her classes with very little fanfare or complication, as she was, for the most part, very talented. Many of her professors had said as much whenever she had sat down with them for a review or discussion regarding her work.

But to the astute eye, it was clear that Miss Grumman had her eye on a different prize rather than being a professor's prized pupil. Though she never said as much openly--to her family, to her professors or even to her closest classmates--Melanthe Grumman was simply waiting  to be finished with her studies so that she could move on to tackle other endeavors.

With the conclusion of the day's Dark Arts lesson, Melanthe stood and began to collect her things. She wasn't in a rush to leave, but she also wasn't looking to purposely stay, even though Professor Storm was one of the instructors that she respected the most.

With her books pressed to her chest, the girl passed by his desk and offered him a small smile. "See you next class, Professor."

Ignan placed the severed arm back into the case, replacing the fingers in their rightful positions, before clicking the latches on the front closed. Within the box, the arm lurched, and a cool, blue glow emitted as the specially charmed box - which had been in Durmstrang's possession further than living memory - began to heal and preserve the arm, removing the damage they had inflicted on it during the lesson on wounding curses. The difference between just enough to cause a slow bleed, or splice an artery, or cut through bone.

Before him the class filed out, the raised discussion always an indication that the worst of the class were keen to experiment with such curses in the wild, and it would only be the heavy handedness of their peers and the sharp wits of the other staff that would prevent them.

"See you next class, Professor." His eyes snapped up to see one of the Oberteils, the highest achieving students, by the name of Melanthe Grumman, stood the other side of his desk. She achieved everything he asked of her, and more by regular standard, and he often looked forwards to interacting with her intellectually.

"I would expect nothing less, Grumman." He replied, mirroring her slight smile. "Today went well, did it not? I think some of your classmates are rather overjoyed at their new found knowledge. Good to know they are captivated by something, in the Dregs."

He tapped his wand twice on the box, and as it levitated over Melanthe's head, he followed it across the room, where the students were hastily leaving, disappearing into the corridor beyond. They took their chatter with them. The cabinet doors clicked open and the box slid back into position on the third shelf. He turned, hearing the doors click shut, and relock behind him.

"Grumman, if there is something extra to the curriculum you would like to receive tuition on, you would let me know? I always have time for the most gifted of my spellworks students." He clasped his hands together, approaching her by his desk again.

Professor Storm was, outside of her uncle Caspero, the most influential male figure in her life. She appreciated many of her other professors and respected them for what they could teach her. But Ignan Storm was by the one she felt the most connection to.

Her reverence for his knowledge had become greater over the past year as she counted down the days until she would leave the school and move onto some constructive profession. Melanthe had been torn about what she planned to do. Because of the Grumman wealth, she could survive without a real job, but at the same time, she was a very powerful and skilled witch, even at her young age. She was told by many of her professors that it would be best to find something constructive to do with all of that.

But most of their suggestions did not strike much of an interest in her. Did not create a passion in her for her future.taken on During today's class, she had displayed precision. Her future personal goals, which she kept quite hidden, did.

Melanthe flushed when Storm engaged her in conversation. She had expected him to say a simplistic goodbye, as most professors did, happy to be rid of their students. She hastily nodded. "Yes, it went extremely well, sir." A wry smile twitched at her lips when he mentioned the Dregs and she nodded again.

She admittedly didn't spend much time thinking about the Dregs. During today's class, she had focused on her own abilities and had displayed precision in the tasks. There was a glint in her eyes as she had performed, both for her own satisfacation and for the approval of her most beloved professor.

Whether such skill would even translate to her being able to inflict real damage on another person was still open for debate. But the potential was there and that was a delicious enough thought for anyone in love with the Dark Arts.

Melanthe watched as the subject of the day's class was put away and her eyes looked upward as it moved over her head. Then she returned her gaze to Storms face as he spoke next. His question was an interesting one and her eyes narrowed briefly as she thought best how to respond.

Finally, her words came, though somewhat quiet and unsure for the usually confident student. "I.....yes, sir." She paused. "But....you already do so much to help me. I would hate to think I would burden you with more teaching." It wasn't true. There were so many things she wanted the opportunity to talk to him about, only she had no idea if she should for fear of how his view of her might change. She ducked her eyes once again when he praised her for her work. "Thank you, Professor."

"I.....yes, sir. But....you already do so much to help me. I would hate to think I would burden you with more teaching. Thank you, Professor."

"Not at all." Ignan replied swiftly. "I am well aware of many of the other tutors having their favourites who they let off and give special dispensation to. Not a habit I am willing to adopt. No, in my memory of Durmstrang days, under my father back then, the students who received that became lazy and complacent. I know you too well Melanthe to know that you are willing to be either of those under guidance, and that instead you are likely to flourish." He lowered his eyes a moment.

"Sorry, forgive me. Its just so very reassuring when one's student is so captivated, makes it feel oddly worthwhile."

He'd rather more wondered if his decision to settle and teach had been a wise one of late. Yes, he had grown a little weary of travelling, especially the later trouble in Italy which had made it a whole lot more difficult to, but he missed the changes. Durmstrangs had a set routine, the same faces, the same places. Anything to break out of the norm, and cause a little difference would be a welcome change.

He stepped away, creating distance between them, and stepped back behind his desk a moment, resting a hand on a pile of papers to be marked from Melanthe's class.
"Perhaps you will sleep on it, and consider my offer?" He suggested with a momentary smile.

Melanthe was relieved that she wasn't an imposition to her professor and part of her was pleased that this one considered her to be one of his favorites, even if he had just claimed not to be one who engaged in favoritism. But that was a short lived feeling, as Melanthe wasn't the type to let it go to her head. Just as Professor Storm said he knew her well, she had that same self knowledge about herself. She had too many ambitions about the future to be tempted by her vanity.

She quickly attempted to deflect his apologies. "Of course I am captivated. I love your course, Professor. Sometimes I feel as though I eat, sleep and breath it. I am so consumed with learning everything about it." In that moment, the true zeal with which Melanthe regarded the Dark Arts was shown. There was a fire in her eyes that seemed unparalleled by anything else these days.

As Professor Storm moved back behind his desk, Melanthe mirrored his movements and moved back to where she usually sat in the class. She deliberately placed her books to the desktop and lowered herself back into the chair. She returned his smile and then told him, "I accept." She reached for her notebook and quill, opening the former to a fresh piece of paper and poising the latter over it. The dark flower then quirked a brow and quietly urged, "Ready to learn, Professor."

"Of course I am captivated. I love your course, Professor. Sometimes I feel as though I eat, sleep and breath it. I am so consumed with learning everything about it."

Ignan was a little surprised at the ferocity she described her interest. Most would say it was an alarmingly unhealthy obsession, especially when taught by an old man. Ah, his mind had wandered into unfortunate territory from that. Melanthe was going to become a desirable young woman, with a fervent intelligence, and passion for her interests. She would go far in any Ministry, or any profession she turned her hand to, he was sure.

She stepped back, and sat down where she would normally for class, positioned her books back in their usual place, and drew a quill towards her.

"I accept." She told him firmly. "Ready to learn, Professor."

Ignan let out his breath, and let his shoulders sink as he considered this sudden assurance and enrolment to extra tuition, and tapped a finger to his lips in thought.
"I have something for you, to set things off." He stood, and prowled over to the nearby shelves lined with books. Reaching up above his head, he prised a book, just a little larger than the size of a hand, from between two thicker volumes, and walked back before Melanthe's desk, before drawing a chair up opposite her.

He handed over the book, its faded cover was bound in leather that needed a little love and care to restore it to its former rich golden brown.
"Much of what you might care to study can be found in the books in the library. Knowing your mind, you've already consumed much of the available material." He smirked a little, gesturing for her to open it.

"When I graduated from here, I went to work for the German Ministry, and was posted in the Black Forest for some time, where I encountered, and routinely defeated uprisings from pockets of wizards who engaged in dark magic. They'd grown up without coming to the schools, taught each other in small communities, and developed some of the most potent magic I have encountered in my life. Terrified me at that age." He shook his head.

"I didn't want any of the knowledge to go to waste, so I made notes, from interviews and observations with those we captured or fought. This, is my field notebook, and although it has a portion of sentimental value, is no longer of much use to me. I feel it will be of interest to you however."

It felt a little odd to be handing over the recorded notes and observations of Ignan Storm, in his twenties, to Melanthe, but he hoped it would inspire and intrigue her.
"Perhaps you might elaborate on any areas you wish to learn a little more on, so I might know where to start with the additional work. Then, we'll allocate a regular time to meet, and the challenges."

Melanthe watched her professor intently, waiting patiently for what he might be willing to teach her right away. She had no idea why she hadn't considered asking him for help sooner, but she imagined it had something to do with the fact that he might soon realize that her motives for learning more, doing  more and being more were not exactly altruistic.

As it was, when Storm mentioned having something to get their tutoring sessions started, her interest was piqued. She watched with a hawk-like gaze as he moved to his shelves and pulled one out. That gaze locked onto the notebook with an intensity of a mad woman, as she realized that the very thoughts she had had earlier about picking professor storm's brain were now coming into fruition.

She accepted the book with a reverence and it eventually caused a serene look to befall her features as her fingers grazing over the binding and cover. At his urging to open it, she glanced up to see his expression before complying.

She turned the pages slowly, skimming the notations made in his familiar writing. All the while, she was also listening to him telling her about what she would find within its pages. When he spoke of the dark magic he'd encountered terrifying him, her head snapped up and her features darkened. It was hard for her to imagine anything terrifying the professor.

"I....I'll take very good care of it," she told him in earnest. She had closed the book and was now looking down at it, anxious for a time when she could peruse the contents uninhibited. And even though he encouraged her to take it with her and make notes about what she would want to discuss with him in future conversations, there was something that ebbed at Melanthe's thoughts and she impulsively queried, "Professor, what do you think has the potential to be stronger? The desire to perform dark magic or one to overcome it?"

"Professor, what do you think has the potential to be stronger? The desire to perform dark magic or one to overcome it?"

Placing his elbows on the desk between them, and steepling his fingers, Ignan let out a long slow breath in thought, his blue eyes sliding to one side as he did.
"Knowledge, and the desire to learn about Dark Magic is the strongest, Melanthe. Human curiosity, leading from mere studying the written word, to testing out curses, and experiencing what it feels like. The feeling, the strength and enhancement of one's naturally gifted power and abilities is what I believe draws most from a few spells classed by the Ministries as dark, into further depths. The curiosity and sudden longing to achieve greatness, despite its outcomes, a perhaps selfish combination of emotions, is incredibly strong. Though, on the other hand, the repulsion, disbelief, and above all, fear of what dark magic creates and does could be stronger." His eyes slid back to Melanthe's face.

"I think it rather depends on how you are brought up to revere it. Brought up to fear, and hate anything to do with it, and the strength and conviction of your opinion will be far stronger to fight its usage. However, brought up to appreciate that some of this methods could be harnessed, adjusted, finely tuned to strengthen our magical reserves, one is far more accepting and curious about how it can be used." He sat back, removing his elbows from the desk, and instead folded his arms.

"Interesting question to pose. What of your opinion, anyhow, Grumman? Do you concur that being brought up at Durmstrangs to appreciate and practise elements of 'dark magic' according to our European neighbours, has made you compelled to follow it?"

The young, dark witch hung on her professor's every word with reverence. There could be no doubt that she respected him. No doubt that she envied him and the abilities and experiences he possessed. He was as dark as her father had been, even if Melanthe had no way of knowing exactly how dark that was.

Melanthe sat back a bit to listen to Storm's calculated response to her question. She expected nothing less. Of course he wouldn't be thrown off or surprised by her question. And his answer was perfectly logical. When he finished with his explanation and turned the questioning back on her, Melanthe became thoughtful. Even in class when responding to the questions of her professors, she was deliberate and calculating.

"Yes, I agree with how we view it here," she said after a pause. "But I suppose it is as you say. I feel that way because it has always been part of my life at home. I don't think I could imagine not knowing about it or not being given the chance to learn about it." She glanced down at her hands for a moment. Her thoughts briefly turned to how her cousin Maeve was raised, which was so very different. She could not imagine going to school and have professors admit that the Dark Arts existed and then never have the opportunity to experience anything remotely close to what they were. Forbidding something so dark often spawned the desire to experience it anyway. Melanthe continued with, "My aunt married someone who fears it and hates what it is. I can tell that it makes him uneasy. She never speaks of her childhood or her years here and what she learned unless she comes to visit me in Siberia."  Melanthe frowned. "She has to deny that part of who she is, Professor."

The student fell silent and her dark eyes  fell to her hands. She contemplated how much she should relate to Storm because she had never, ever considered opening up to any of her professors before, mostly because she feared what they would think of her. Would they fear her darkness the same way people once feared her father's and also how her uncle viewed her aunt's?

Finally, with her gaze still focused intently on her fingers, Melanthe quietly murmured, "I don't think I want to deny that part of who I am. It is as essential to me as the air that I breath."

"... My aunt married someone who fears it and hates what it is. I can tell that it makes him uneasy. She never speaks of her childhood or her years here and what she learned unless she comes to visit me in Siberia."  Melanthe frowned. "She has to deny that part of who she is, Professor."

"Sometimes we all make sacrifices and self restrictions for the sake of those closest to us." He reasoned quietly, turning his palms uppermost as if weighing the options on each hand. Melanthe stared at her fingers, deep in thought.

"I don't think I want to deny that part of who I am. It is as essential to me as the air that I breath."

Ignan lowered his head slightly to look carefully at the young witch.
"Nobody is asking you too, Melanthe." He assured her. "Your aunt has made a choice, of sorts, to restrict herself to live with her husband. You are young, and there are many years ahead of you to choose your company wisely, according to the morals you intend to live your life by. Come now, you're a bright young woman who I'm sure already knew that." He smiled, and leaned back in the chair opposite her.

"The only thing you do need to ensure, is that is only remains part of whom you are, and not everything. Those who make it everything live short, unhappy lives. I've had the misfortune to meet some." He frowned. "It is not a productive way to live one's life, and rarely allows them to achieve what they set out to do."

He leaned forwards again, resting his lower arms on the desk, and closing the gap between them once more.
"Of course the time you must ensure you can deny it is when you are in the proximity of officials in countries that forbid its use. Our government is tired of fishing us all out of intercontinental prisons, the majority of opinion in countries still that the magic is illegal and dangerous, rather than embracing what strength it can provide." He smirked.

"One day, after you leave, I hope to hear great things of Melanthe Grumman. I'm sure it will not be long."

Melanthe appreicated his words about not giving up that part of who she was - that she had always known was different, no matter how much she tried to mask it or down play it in favor of appearing normal while in the company of others.

Melanthe stretched her arms out over the span of the desk, and it occured to her in that moment that there could have been a time when her father sat in this very spot during his tenure at the school. And his ancestors before her. In recent years, Melanthe had come to understand just how much of a dark history there was in the Grumman family. Many families, like the aforementioned one that her aunt had married, kept written records of their history through diaries and journals and albums full of portraits and photos.

But the Grummans had taken to a different means of passing on their history. It was through their talents.

Right now she wanted to avenge her father's death. But even Melanthe knew that that goal could not consume her forever. And she didn't think it was possible to allow herself to only do that. There was so many other pursuits in life that she wanted to experience.

Melanthe smirked at Professor Storm's wry comments about using dark magic in places that forbade it. And with his last words, she nodded matter-of-factly. "Thank you, Professor. I promise to make you proud."