August 1, 2009
7:14 am

The surface of Hogwarts lake was still.  High summer in Scotland was still a bit chilly in these nearly dawn hours, but it promised as a day full of sunshine and adventure. 

It began as a ripple, a tiny tremor.  The massive lake itself barely noticed the slightest of disturbance.  But instead of dissipating, the movement grew, the waves lapped the rocky shores, and soon the center of the lake was churning.  And then, as the churning lake began to hit the acme of its crescendo, a single spire broke the surface, shoot up straight to the sky.    Soon, three other spires appeared, all in a row, all of them growing as well.

Four masts rose, and upon them, tattered sails billowing in some magical wind it seemed to bring with it, for the Scotland summer morning was calm.  A massive tall ship was appearing, un-sinking from the great lake, like some inferus risen from the grave, clawing its way out of the soft earth.  But this was no ghost ship.

As the blood-red sails told, and the grand banners and regalia confirmed, this ship was the vessel of famed Durmstrang Institute.

With its own zephyr, the ship emerged fully from the lake, it came to rest in proud display, sailing towards the small town of Hogsmeade, warming and waking in the morning.

On desk, the denizens of Durmstrang stood against the rails after their long journey.

Professor Ylva Maras was one of them.  Her curly hair whipped in the wind, the sun glinted off her silver eye-patch, and her grin showed a thirst for something other than magical ship voyages.  She was glad to be at their destination - now the real work could begin.

"Look at it!"  Ylva had cast her gaze astern at Hogwarts castle rising up behind them.  It was impressive, even to those were were not accustomed to being impressed by anything other than their own achievement.

"Hogwarts School - quite the proving ground, no?"  she turned to the person at her side, with an inspecting look. 

As the ship worked its way to the surface of the lake, Fyetka Strelnikov made his way to the deck. Never in all of his eighteen years would he have thought that he was going to be spending his final year at Durmstrang... well, not at Durmstrang. In the halls of his soon-to-be alma mater, the tall young man felt confident and sure of himself. He knew practically every twist and turn of the school.

Being taken to Hogwarts was being tossed, as 7th years, into completley new waters. The Russian hoped that the challenge would bring the students together rather than pitting themselves against eachother. Especially, the Oberteils. The Queens and Kings of the school were all rather distant from eachother.

When he saw the large castle, Fyetka realized it was all real. They were going to be facing real trials thousands of miles away from home.

Then he remembered that he was going to be seeing his cousin every day for the next year. He had een raised with Strellie, who was a little over a year younger than him. He remembered when they were little, he had doted on the tiny blonde. Still, in the past few years, he had seen very little of her. He used to visit Darya on breaks, but his mother was a jealous woman, so didn't condone his decisions. Thus, he usually didn't see the expatriate Strelnikovs.

[i"Hogwarts School, quite the proving ground, isn't it?"[/i]

Fyetka's professor appeared near him and spoke, her silver eyepatch glinting in the morning sun. He smiled lazily at her and nodded. "My cousin was not kidding when she said the castle was magnificent. Although, right now, I just wish I was on dry land. Magical or not, boats are not my favourite mode of transportation."

"Ah, Fyetka,"  Professor Maras said and shook her head.  "Such a sweet boy you are..."

Her tone was bright as you might expect from a statement like that, but it was hardly a compliment from Professor Maras.  Although she had little reason to be dissatisfied with Fyetka Strelnikov.  He was one of the lucky few who's raw talent were enough to push him most of the way forward.  Everyone else had to work, didn't they?

She laid a hand over his shoulder from where she stood near his side and squeezed firmly.  Not a nurturing caress, or a motivating rap.  But somewhere closer to an admonishing smack, but not quite.  If he was seasick, he'd have more to worry about when the challenges rolled around.

"Your cousin," she said then abruptly.  "Who is she?"  From Fyetka's words, it sounded like he had family who'd been to Hogwarts.  "Not Durmstrang material was she?"

Lyov frowned as he stepped out onto the deck, attempting to shield his eyes from the brighter sky without using his hands. He moved swiftly towards the rail. There, at least, he supposed he could get a decent view of the famed Hogwarts castle. Glancing amongst the trees on the shoreline, he clasped his hands loosely behind his back and raised an eyebrow at the conversation (and professor touching) going on near him.

Proving ground indeed. Eyes snapped back towards land and he considered how best to shape this last year. A small smirk tugged at his lips though it failed to reach his eyes. He had taken the time, while stuck under the surface, to shine his boots and polish the gold buckles and buttons. It was important to make that first impression, to really pop and make the competition a little unsure of themselves.

If that happened to include his fellow classmates, then all the better for Lyov. The chance for infamy was at hand. Tightening his fingers until the leather gloves creaked, he finally started to pull them off, as if that was more interesting than what was coming up on shore. It was warmer here...

Generally he wasn’t one to smart off and put in a quip with a professor overhearing (unless he expected some favor for it), but Lyov was feeling giddy at the prospect of getting off the boat. Not that he didn’t enjoy the rocking of the boat, just the lack of stretching room underneath. “If she was, we’d know of her.” His Russian accent cut deep, though he made the effort to accentuate his words. He wanted to be understood, after all. Nodding towards the pair in greeting, he made no effort to move closer. "Professor Maras. Strelnikov."

Katya paused at the entrance to the deck and took a deep breath. The ship was really not large enough for her tastes given the amount of people it was carrying and the thought of being crammed in with everyone for the next month was fraying her last reserve already. If she didn't have her own room to escape to Katya would have cracked already.

She stepped quickly towards the railing, eager for the ship to dock and she could leave and find a nice little grove somewhere to read. Her father had purchased several classic English novels for her, both as a gift for being chosen but also to allow her to reacquaint herself with the language. A few years ago when she became old enough to attend her father's work functions, he had insisted that she learn English so she could communicate with his British coworkers. She could speak it clearly, if simply, but her reading comprehension was quite rusty.

She stopped when she spotted one of her teachers and two older students chatting near the rail. She quickly gathered herself mentally and smoothed out her dress. Appearances were always important, especially at Durmstrang. It would not do to ignore any of her fellow Obertiels, let alone one of her professors.

"Good Morning Professor Maras, Mister Molchenoff, Mister Strelnikov." She smiled softly as she walked up to them, her tone betraying none of her inner feelings. "I hope the trip was pleasant for you."

Merlin, there was just something so hopeful about this year abroad.  Despite the tedium of being far from home and entertaining the cultural incongruities that would no doubt become grating, Ylva Maras was hopeful about the ease of spending an entire year in another country with a small herd of unsupervised teenagers. 

Most of them were Obertiels.  And sure enough, the three students gathered near her on the deck were dressed in their Obertiel reds, shining titans of Durmstrang's ideal.   Granted, an Obertiel was no angel and their relative ability to protect one another from the wrath of professors was at times the mark of their least mature and least deserving, the group (especially this cohort) seemed to police their own behavior well.  As much as Durmstrang would be competing with the other schools, the competition within would be just as ravenous.

She narrowed her eye at Lyov Molchenoff and then to Katya Alkaev, acknowledging them which should be approval enough for them for now.

"Or this mysterious cousin could be many years your senior, Molchenoff.  Or dead. Or both," she conjectured idly.

Magdalena Eisenberg trailed her fingers upon the railing that lined the outer wall of the deck-level cabin. She paused to stare at the first peek of dry world they’d had since departing Scandinavia, her viewed filtered through the semiopaque wall of fast-falling water, first a steady tide, then a shower, and finally sedate tears rejoining the inky ripple of lake water below. Her fingers tapped a sly dance upon the rail.

She rounded the narrow gallery and emerged in the larger, uncovered area where students were beginning to gather for their most-formidable greeting with the Hogwarts staff and students. They were well trained, and knew how to make an impression. Whether the Hogwarts custom could match theirs was the question (but it wasn’t, not really.)

Magda moved through a body of younger years without issue. They seemed to part for her without her acknowledgement. Whether it was her name or her face, or the red of her attire, she couldn’t say, and didn’t take the time to ponder it. She found her terminus where a professor stood with her fellow Oberteils.

She gave one cold stare to Lyov, lips pursed in disapproval, before slipping between her other two, less offensive classmates. Her eyes found the sprawling, stony mass upon its green lawn, its soaring towers obscuring unspoiled mountains. Durmstrang was a monolith, comparably compact but domineering; Hogwarts was its own little country, some warm, majestic expanse that would surely stir hearts if printed on a holiday postcard.

“They must be overcompensating.”

Fyetka Strelnikov was about to respond to his Professor's comment when they were joined by Lyov. The other Russian's remark made the 7th year sniff slightly. Molchenoff was not his least favourite person in the world, oh very far from it, but the two boys were fairly opposite in most respects. Pretty much the only similarity they shared was a nationality.

"Molchenoff." The tall boy nodded his head. Then spotting Katya behind the other 7th year, Fyetka acknoledged the younger girl as well, this time with a small smile. "Miss Alkalev."

After greeting them, the Russian turned back to Lyov and his Professor. "My cousin is very much alive, last time I heard. She is a sixth year at Hogwarts. A Slytherin, I beleive. Demitria is the younger sibling of Maxim, Luca, and Jaska. You'll remember them. They graduated a few years back." Fyetka's cousins had been influential in the Obertiel game, as they had been involved with informing professors on which students to move up and down. Well, with the exception of Maxim. He had been content with his Zufrieden status.

 He smirked slightly before adding, "She is also the younger cousin of Vasily Volkov, though I sincerly doubt she has his knack for mischeif."

When Magdalena appeared on deck, Fyetka dipped his head and smiled. "Good morning, Miss Eisenburg." He chuckled at her comment. "No doubt they are."   

Lyov raised an eyebrow in greeting, a half smirk as he eyed Katya, admiring her... radiant red dress. The Professor, however, dragged his wandering thoughts and brought his gaze back to her rather sharply, smirk slipping into a careful consideration. At that, he merely let out a breath through his nostrils and nodded again, accepting her criticism as well as he could.

Of course, when Fyetka gave away that in fact the cousin in question did attend Hogwarts, Lyov couldn’t help but feel his smirk tug very slightly at his lips before he forced them still again. From what he knew of Hogwarts, and their houses, it was better to be Slytherin than none. At the mention of previous students, Lyov nodded in agreement: he did remember them--or at the very least, hearing of them. Why the younger sibling went to Hogwarts, however...

What lovely gossip that others could find out for him. “It does gravitate towards him.” At the mention of Vasily, Lyov stood a little higher. The older boy had been something of an idol, moving throughout Durmstrang. Someone to try and take after. A role model of sorts in ways to misbehave and have fun doing so. With Lyov’s family, he assimilated better with dark alley cretin types.

Miss Eisenburg? Grinning now, he turned his head and looked at the fun-loving, hug-bearing fellow Oberteil. And didn’t she look perfect in her outfit? Clenching his hands together behind his back, gloves secured in his belt, Lyov watched her carefully. A breath of a laugh escaped him before he glanced back towards Hogwarts, agreeing without speaking.

He might not always get along with his fellow Durmstrang-ers, but Lyov felt more kinship with them than he would with Hogwarts students. It was a matter of pride. A sense of family, in its own way. “Compensating or not, they are still competition not to be taken lightly, Magdalena.” Let her feel the sting of her first name off his tongue. He stared at the castle, continuing to admire its size: it was stunning. He could just keep that sort of feeling to himself.

Truth to tell, Vladlena had been to precisely three countries in her life. Romania, where her mother still spent most of her time, Russia, where she, her brother, and her father lived, and finally, the unplottable Scandinavian location of the esteemed academic establishment where she had spent the past six years. She was not particularly apprehensive about adding a fourth to the list. She spoke both English and French more than adequately, and anticipated little trouble in integration, though she had her doubts about Hogwarts's ability to provide adequate academic rigor. Still, while she wouldn't admit it, there was a faint anticipation of the new, and a hope (based firmly in logic, as all Vladlena's limited emotions were) that international exposure would provide her with new options to pursue in her studies.

Vladlena did not reside in the ranks of the Obertiel as a result of charm and social engineering—she was there strictly because she was brilliant. If it had been left up entirely to social graces, her directly brisk manner and complete inability to resonate would have labeled her as utterly inept. Social gatherings weren't precisely her forte, and she rarely joined her peers in anything but practice sessions or the briefest of pleasantries. This wasn't from any sort of conceit or discontent, but rather that she was usually juggling a courseload of all three disciplines offered by Durmstrang, leaving little time for anything other than academic pursuits. So it was odd, unsettling, in fact, to be wearing the layers dictated by Durmstrang policy and yet not…well, doing anything. Having exhausted her litany of useful things to be doing—one could only practice mermish conjugations so many times in one's head before they went batty—she had decided to venture upstairs in hopes that some fresh air would jog her memory of some other task she could be working on. Sure enough, there were several of her peers—the pride of a proud school—and she suspected that they were as likely as any to provide something for her to do.

The soft rustling of her formal uniform's crimson cloth was really the only major indicator of her approach, because she did nothing else to announce it. The Russian young woman had feet as tiny as a child's, and her soft kid boots only whispered across the polished wood. Her hair had been pulled back from her face, so the loose curls fell in waves over her shoulders but not into her eyes, and her skin had an ever so faint, but distinctly noticeable, sheen of green underneath the otherwise proper complexion, though her eyes were calm. She had not been physically ill on this journey--having never been on a ship before, she had greviously miscalculated its ability to affect her, and, when she was no longer dealing with the sickly dizzy unpleasantness in her head and stomach, she would berate herself quite thoroughly for the error--proving once again that a strong will was a viable substitute for most physical failings.

She took her place, in her usual quietly graceful way, among her peers. Who was there? Fyetka, charming as always, she could acknowledge that objectively. The missus Eisenberg, who appeared slightly disapproving about something, though Vladlena was not curious enough to wonder about what or who. Her fellow countrymen, Lyov and Katya. And of course, the indefatigable Professor Maras. And said…nothing. But then, she didn't exactly have a reputation as a conversationalist, even among those she was friendly with, and given her rather acerbic directness about things and tendency towards analytically logical interpretations, this wasn't much of a surprise. Her eyes were far away, and had taken on the slight edge that suggested her mind was equally distant, no doubt calculating something. She was, at the moment, doing just that as her eyes flicked upwards to gauge the sun's position, shadows, and running time zone variations and measurements through her mind--she wanted to know precisely how far away they were from dry land.

The deck was filling up with students and staff more quickly now.  The closer they got to shore, the harder it was for everyone to hide their curiosity and excitement.  Durmstrang valued stoicism and people were careful not to be too impressed, and look too doofy and wide-eyed, but Ylva was experienced enough to know what was going on underneath everyone's finely tailored Durmstrang Reds.

By now five of the students were within her reach and seeing as the docks of Hogsmeade town were growing nearer, it would probably do to make sure no one embarrassed the Institute as they arrived.

"Well.  Let's have a look at you, then," she said suddenly, in her teaching/authoritative tone.  She snapped her fingers and then clasped her hands behind her back.  She turned away from the rails and began to measure steady paces behind the five Obertiels, looking them up and down.

"Jackets on," she instructed to those who weren't buttoned up.  The uniforms were better suited to the comfortable chill of the Durmstrang castle during the school months, and not quite appropriate for high summer.  But the discomfort was insignificant.  "Fastened up to the top."

She paused in front of Magdalena Eisenburg, granddaughter of Headmaster Eisenburg himself, and straightened one of her gold epaulets.   Then, before Lyov Molchenoff, she stopped.  She reached down and took his right wrist in her hands, and lifted it up.  With a few sharp tugs she corrected the cuff and adjusted the fastenings.  She released him once she was satisfied.

Her eye fell then upon a pair of scuffed boots.  Very scuffed.

"These look like a Dregs' boots - I thought we left them all in Norway," she said.

Emilija Cihala  was thrilled to be this close to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

On board, The fourth year strayed infrequently from the few Zufreiden who had been selected to cheer on their seniors for the tournament; she remained surrounded on all sides by her equals and they discussed, not quite incessantly, the business of their Champions with relish. Who they admired and who they did not-- which of the Obertails they thought were most deservedly chosen for the event and which of them they wanted most to see succeed. Of course, it was an unspoken fact that anyone on their ship could outclass a Hogwarts Champion. Emi felt this most strongly, though she was uncharacteristically silent amidst the chatter. It was only when they emerged on to Scottish waters that the murmurs died down and eyes turned to the castle that would be their domain throughout the competition.

There was a kind of awe drifting in their lack of conversation; it almost equalled the sense of anticipation that ran through the crowd of students like a winter flu, catching in its fervor. Emi heard someone in her year remark on the grandeur of the surroundings and she directed a well-timed glare in their direction, blue eyes frozen over. They shouldn't be complimenting the opposition... even, she supposed, if the compliments were well-deserved. The towering castle certainly was something to see.

Then, as everyone began to adjust their bearings again, the chatter resumed. Emilija was impatient to arrive and dismissed herself from the group, her tiny figure pulling itself away from the small mass of students in black. She wanted to truly examine the school, the lake, the grounds. Veils of Scottish mists and stone spires; everything one reads in books and desires to see in-person. As she approached the vessel rails however, Emi saw several of the Obertails already lined up. They looked glorious, wrapped in red cloth and their own sense of achievement. Oh... and a professor.

"Well, let's have a look at you, then."

Professor Maras led her own inspection of the Champions, correcting their dress with suitable strictness. Emi smiled to herself rather cheekily and then very quietly inched around the Obertails, squeezing between Magdelena and Lyov: it was simple enough, as she was a small creature. Her stature was especially obvious among the much taller seventh years.

"These look like a Dregs' boots - I thought we left them all in Norway," Maras suddenly said and the young Zufreiden's gaze dropped to her shoes, which had taken a beating when they had boarded their ship at the beginning of this journey. Nobody ever remarked on their state because, well, who would? Such critical comments were saved for the red coats.

Emi glanced at the Professor with what she hoped was a significantly less cheeky expression. Not all of the faculty were amused by her winsome impudence, popping up in unexpected places: "I'm sure we did, Professor," she stated in an amiable tone and then drew out her wand, directing its tip at her footwear.

A flick of the wrist and a layer of sparkling black polish blanketed the leather surface of her shoes. Emi looked up at the seniors with her usual air of innocence: "Even the Zufreiden must look appropriate for our arrival, no?" Not that any of them would be deceived by her sweet manners.

Swiftly and silently, Søren Frisk- Tetrawizard Champion hopeful- made his way to the upper deck of the grand Durmstrang ship. He had overheard that they were to arrive at Hogsmeade soon, and knew that as an Obertiel he was expected front and center, in full uniform (however impractical it may be) when the vessel docked. The Norwegian fell into line as directed next to Vladlena, his long-time rival, who he gave a quick sideways glance. It was strange, as the boy would not have afforded an acknowledgement to anybody else. However, thinking nothing of it, his cold blue eyes then settled on the approaching Scottish shore as he reflected on the trip thus far.

Søren had attempted to continue his animagus training, but the lynx proved not to be a good sea-faring creature. When in his feline form, he found himself stumbling around like a drunkard. So, the young man defaulted to leisurely reading (back in human form, of course), as he was wont to do when he wasn't studying. Although his choice of reading material wasn't what most people would consider for "leisure" reading- a dense book on magical theory. Fun? Perhaps not, but it was this sort of discipline and intellectual curiosity that made Søren Frisk a Durmstrang Obertiel (though he did not hold the position in any special esteem) with pristine grades and a splendid choice for championhood.

He idly noticed Emilija perform a polishing charm on her boots, noting silently that it was fairly good wandwork for a younger year. His gaze returned to the water as he contemplated the upcoming year with a sort of aloof excitement that only the Durmstrang lot could manage.

Katya was glad that she had checked herself over before joining Professor Maras, Fyetka and Lyov though she didn't let that thought change the pleasent smile on her face. It would not do to be corrected. It would not do to loose face in the eyes of one of her professors. Still Katya stood in respectful attention as Professor Maras looked them all over and let a silent sigh of relief and relaxed slightly when was she passed over.

Her mind drifted slightly as she waited for Professor Maras to dismiss them. Eager to get away, it was only due to long term habits that she didn't allow this to show on her face. She listened with half an ear as Professor Maras commented  on the young Zufreiden's boots and the girl's cheeky reply. Professor Maras seemed to be in a good mood today, so hopefully whatever the girl's punishment would be, it wouldn't be too harsh. Katya continued to stand respectively andonly turned to greet Søren, her hello soft and quiet to not pull Professor Maras' attention to her, and returned to her half attention stance.

Ylva found the face of the girl with the offendingly dirty boots and her face creased in disapproval.  It was that Miss Cihala, a steady Zurfrieden.  Ylva found herself unsettled by her sunny disposition occasionally - it seemed somehow irreverent and forbidding at the same time.  Ylva yearned for a good enough excuse to demote her to the Dregs but never seemed to hit on something good enough - and even now, displaying a Dregs in their ranks on the day of their arrival was no good for Durmstrang. 

"Of course they should,"  Professor Maras confirmed. 

Feeling satisfied that they were presentable, she snapped her fingers to gather the attention of anyone else on the deck nearby.

"That goes for all of you!" she called.  "Now.  I want proof you all know what's expected of you today, tomorrow and every day hence until we return to Durmstrang with a victory."

The briefings before and during the journey had been frequent and the staff had all spoken to them at length about the protocol and behavior expected.  If the students could recite the dozen or so rules that had been repeated over and over, maybe demotions to the Dregs were in order and they could hide them away in the bottom of the ship.

She snapped her fingers and then demanded answers from students in turn.  "You! What is one protocol for this Tournament? Speak up!"


Naturally, these protocols aren't decided yet.  It's up to you? What kind of rules and orders would the students have been given on behaving at the Tournament? Either in general? Or as Champions? Or culturally?