Vladlena  Savitskaya was not... overly fond of the responsibility of the Obertiel to discipline the lower ranks and younger years. Not because she had any problem disciplining, but because it was distracting and tiresome. She didn’t particularly care about Durmstrang’s image, and she rather felt if one wanted to act like an idiot, then that was their prerogative and of no consequence to her. She also knew, however, that Professor Maras and Headmaster Eisenberg felt differently.

Nehmen Sie das zurück, was du gesagt hast, du Hund!

 I got no idea what you said, jackass, but I’m gonna kick your ass for it!

Vladlena, who hadn’t even finished entering the warm glow of the Three Broomsticks, open late for the festivities, jerked her head out of the way as green sparks exploded about a centimeter left of her ear. The 4th year Obertiel she recognized instantly, not because she knew him, but because she had memorized the names and faces of all those coming to Scotland. Her wand was in her hand and the spells cast—from her right hand, despite behind left-handed, which was something she was working on—and before the proprietors could break up the scuffle, she had the two students’ wands sailing through the air and into her palm.

The two brawling students, who, from the looks of things, had only been seconds away from dispensing with wands and going straight for fists, were shocked into stopping, whirling around. Both of them opened their mouths to yell and protest, but instead of words came the braying of donkeys, which had both them shutting up immediately.

Wanting nothing more than to sit down, drink a mug of tea and read her book on the impact of Russian herbology on the growth of geoinformatic magic in the late 1600’s, Vladlena’s expression could have frozen flames. Not from anger, but from sheer, icy dismissal of the two students she was staring at. She took the Salem fourth year’s wand first, holding the tip so it barely touched his Adam’s apple, which bobbed nervously. “Negolososla” Her smoky voice  and the Russian counter-hex of her creation were as cold as her expression, and she dropped the wand in the boy’s hands like it was a dead thing, who managed to stutter words and beat a hasty retreat, glancing around for professors who may have seen the scuffle. She would have liked to have leave the hex in place, but having to deal with the fallout would take time from her studies, and she preferred to avoid dealing unnecessarily with people when possible.

The Obertiel knew better, and kept his mouth shut, looking both chagrined and defensive. Vladlena wasn’t going to lecture him—he should have known better. He knew the rules, the expected conduct, and had made a conscious choice to ignore them. The hex on him, humiliating but harmless, would wear off in an hour, and he would be unable to cast the counterhex before that, given that it required words, and donkey-braying was not conducive to forming them. She dropped his wand in his hands with a cool, pale green stare, and he had the decency to flush scarlet. He opened his mouth to say something, heard the start of a bray and closed it abruptly. Vladlena stepped aside obligingly, and he dashed off.

Presumably to hide from professors for the next hour, she figured, and then dismissed him from mind.

She was going to drink tea. She was going to read her book. She was—

Lovely. The music that had apparently ceased for the scuffle began again.

She was apparently going to still be listening to bagpipes.

Someone had gone to get him even before the first spell was cast.

As Senior class president (and thereby the highest authority within the student body) Tracy knew it fell on him to look after the others; he had been chosen to preside over them, after all, and that meant advising, protecting, and leading them as best as he could because they trusted him to do so as best as he could. It was his job to make sure that no one got himself or herself—or the school, for that matter—in more trouble than it could afford[1], and it was because of this that the boy arrived at the scene as soon as he was able, the anxious freshman who fetched him in tow.

And when it came right down to it, it wasn’t even duty that had him concerned; it was concern—for the kids. The fight had been with a student from Durmstrang, he’d been told, and Tracy, who truly, genuinely believed in the goodness of all with an ease that could baffle the most hardened of cynics, had heard things about that place—bad things. Dark things.

No, he wasn’t one for believing rumors right off the bat, but there was something about actually having a history that told one disbelief wasn’t such a good idea, either-

And then something—someone crashed into him. Fight momentarily forgotten, “Aw, man, I’m sorry,” he began, already bending to lend a hand. “I di’nt see you-”

“Ryan!” the freshman burst out, frantically coming forward. “Ryan, are you okay? What happened?”

The sophomore, Ryan, regarded Tracy with a look of panic and seemed to struggle just to answer. But before long he gave in, and answered her with a sad, braying noise. The girl, horrified, responded likewise. “Oh my God!” she shrieked, clinging to the boy’s shirt. “What did that jerk do-”

“Meg, I’m gonna need you to chill,” Tracy cut in gently, tone soothing as he crouched down beside them. “Jus’—hold on fer a bit—”

Without flourish or ceremony, he took out his wand and held it at the boy’s throat not unlike the way Vladlena had only moments before. “Finite Incantantem.”

A scant minute or two later, “It was that douchebag’s fault,” Ryan snarled as soon as his story ended. If it hadn’t been for that stilling hand the older boy had mindfully laid on his shoulder, the boy would have rushed back into the pub to look for the other; the retelling had made him angry all over again. “Meg just bumped into him and he gave her this look and—and called her American! Like it was garbage!”

“Which was still no cause t’ react as y’ did,” Tracy replied, shaking his head. For once, all levity was gone from his expression; disappointment had taken its place. With his height, the look was more crushing than it could have been otherwise. “You’re gonna haveta apologize.”

“What, to him-”

“No,” he said, before Meg, too, could swell with outrage. “To the girl. And the owners. And. . .”

Dark eyes squinted, gaining back some of that lost cheer. “Everyone else, actually.”

Ryan opened his mouth, shut it, and that was that. When Tracy frog marched him back into the building—with Meg fretfully walking behind them—the boy led him towards a table where a slim girl sat, her back to them and a frighteningly large tome her only company. Quietly, Tracy and the two approached. “Miss?” he drawled softly, his free hand lightly touching her shoulder before he let it fall back to his side. “Someone’s got somethin’ t’ say to you.” His other, still gripping Ryan’s shoulder, pushed the boy a little closer.

1.	Considering Salem’s reputation compared to the others, it could afford quite a lot.

Her mug of tea had been so close to her lips.  And then, because the thought was both selfish and utterly unproductive, she wiped it from her mind, and delicately, carefully put the mug down, uncrossed her slim legs, and turned. If her analysis of American culture was correct—and it was clearly an American accent addressing her, although she acknowledged that, given her limited exposure to said culture, even in her studies, her interpretation may be flawed— 'Got something to say to you', when spoken in a drinking establishment, usually precipitated a weapons battle of some sort. Or at least it had in the muggle talking pictures she had finally managed to enchant into playing on the wall of the dragon reserve, with a bit of help from a Hogwarts graduate who had interned in the states. And she could assume, from the sounds the suggested two pairs of feet, just what she had done to encourage an American to challenge her.

She wasn't going to get into a barroom brawl. Or at least, she amended, considering Headmaster Auberon's standards, she was not going to get into a barroom brawl when the indiscretion had been her own. "Moi izvineniya." She said to the soft touch on her shoulder, and stood, straightening quietly to her full height—well, her full height and some change, given the heels she rarely indulged in—and addressed Tracy directly. "My apologies." The soft, shush of her w's, which sounded more as though they were vwh's, the soft roll of her r's, and the lack of articles clearly marked her home country. "It vwas inappropriate to discipline student who vwas not under my jurisdiction."

She didn't usually wear glasses, but the text in the massive book was exceptionally small, and the glasses were charmed with a magnifying spell that was convenient and eliminated the necessity of either over-excessive strain, or holding her wand over the text for an indeterminately long period of time.  But they also had the side effect of massively distorting her vision of the gentlemen before her, so she removed them, placed them precisely next to the tome, and got her first look at Salem's class president.

Oh.

Goodness.

Well.

Vladlena found herself quite glad she had already spoken her piece, because while her brain was scrambled for only the barest hint of a second, it was more than it had been…well, since that time in animagus training with her rival that had logically been the physiological result of residual animal instinct. And so it merited analysis, because it was unacceptable. Knowing the cognitive mechanisms undergirding the relations between judgments of attractiveness and body cues was essential to understanding human evolution, she comforted herself. Because it was, well, rather embarrassingly apparent that it had been the unexpected attractiveness that had startled her. Her expression was cool, direct, and she did not hide that she was analyzing his features, though it may have been difficult to discern that as her precise purpose. Very well, he was taller than her, and Vladlena was unaccustomed to looking up at the other gender. He had exceptional symmetry, and the fractal repetitions and mathematical ratios would suggest…

And she was going to stop there. It was inappropriate to pursue further study on a fellow wizard as though they were a…a doxy in an apothecary.

Or at least that's what one of her teachers had told her during her third year, when Vladlena had given her explanation for staring.

For the first time in his life, Tracy found his thoughts going blank because of a girl.

Even with those glasses he could tell she was pretty; with those those glass green eyes that reminded him of his mother’s mirror, as watchful and expectant as any reflection—and the heart-shaped face that made your own take in everything else—a guy didn’t stand a chance not to. But without them, without them, she was. . . more.

Without them there was just her, those eyes lighting that face dusted with freckles, and Tracy was, in the end, still only a boy.

A wise one, yes, but still only, just a boy.

When said boy finally found it in him to speak, the words came out softly, almost haltingly. The faint smile he flashed her, though, was, somehow, just as bright as the others. For one, its size (or lack thereof) hadn’t diminished its warmth at all. “Not at all,” he told her, his tone unconsciously lowering to match that soft shush of hers. “He knew,” that hand he kept on the younger boy tightened a fraction, “tha’ we were sp’cifically told not t’ go around pickin’ fights wi’ other schools.” ‘Picking’ being the key word there—actual fighting, not so much—but judging from her. . . formalness Tracy was pretty sure that little detail wouldn’t fly. And then he tried not to worry if there was lint in his hair. “We’re a rowdy bunch, miss, but we’ve got our school’s image to think of, too.

“Anyways. . . Ryan, man, c’mon,” he gave the kid a nudge. That moment he took to look away from her and frown at Ryan, he was able to clear his head, kind of. “Apologize to ‘er.”

Ryan gave Vladlena’s feet a glare. “Sorry,” the sophomore muttered, and without waiting for a response he angrily shook off Tracy’s hand and stalked away to the bar. Shooting both seniors an anxious look, Meg hurried along after him.

As the underclassmen raced away, Tracy looked back at the girl in front of him and sighed. “If it’s worth anything, I’m sorry,” he said, looking tired as he scratched at the back of his neck. Still trying to coax away the small ache that’d built up, the tall boy held out his other hand to her, the possibility never occurring to him that she might not take it. “Tracy Jones, Senior class pres’dent of Salem, but you c’n call me Tracy. If any more Salem kids make trouble fer you, I’ll take ‘em off your hands.”

If there was something Lena was not used to, it was dazzling smiles full of warmth. Fyetka smiled, yes, and he was one of the rare students who did so, but she'd had since childhood to inure herself to them. So she was struck with exceedingly uncharacteristic urge to stutter.  Inwardly, she berated herself severely, ignoring the urge entirely and focusing on her clear misjudgment of the fellow, who didn't appear to be ready to attempt hexing her in self-righteous fury for overstepping her boundaries.

He was so...

Sincere, she finally realized, with a brief flash of shame warming her cheeks. Sincerity towards anything but academic pursuits was another thing students at Durmstrang lacked, more often than not, and so recognizing it when it was real was something even Lena could manage. And then he did it again. Vladlena was baffled. Goodness personal interactions were not her strength. She could analyze spell theory until her voice was raw but she could not, for the life of her, determine why Tracy was apologizing. Perhaps she misunderstood, but it would be galling to admit a weakness. She was not used to being puzzled, and she couldn't remember the last time she had guessed--no, she never guessed--analyzed incorrectly. So she remained silent, trying to determine where she had gone wrong.

Rowdy bunch, yes, that was putting it mildly. Something glittered in her eyes--amusement at how the Salem students would respond to being under Headmaster Eisenberg's thumb.

"President?" Vladlena's eyes flickered in one of her rare blinks as she processed this. "So you are best, then?" She nodded, as this did not surprise her in the least, based on her limited interaction, though it did continue to expand the ever-growing list of questions she was formulating--could someone really be as sincere as him and succeed in such a bid for power? Surely not! Perhaps she hadn't misjudged. Or perhaps, she told herself acerbically, you are being superfluously and unacceptably distracted by-- she cut the thought off abruptly.

  "That is quite…" She searched for a word, and was forced to finish with a faint, rueful smile, "Democratic." Ordinarily, this would exhaust Vladlena's conversational abilities or inclinations, but she was under strict orders to interact and observe, so she steeled herself, casting about for some way to continue the conversation. It would not, she admitted privately to herself, be such a hardship to converse with President Jones. This was…merely a scientific exchange between colleagues. "Muggle Rossiya, they have president." She finally offered. "Magical Rossiya, we…" she shrugged with a faintly secretive smile, as small as the others, "Are perhaps still rather independent." Realizing she had been unexcusably rude, she finally realized why his hand was extended, and took it, more firmly than her soft voice may have suggested. "I am Vla--"

Mdme Savitskaya!

A liveried Zufrieden came running, though they stopped at full attention as though only just realizing there were others watching. He quickly rattled something off in Norwegian, while Lena's facial remained cool and analytical as always. In a movement that was decisively swift but lacking the panicking haste of the younger student, Lena picked up her book and tried to ignore the swift pang of regret. Wasn't she supposed to be pleased? An unpleasant interlude of meaningless conversation was ending.

But--

No buts.

"Pardon me." She said abruptly to Tracy. The Zufrieden headed off, at a distinctly accelerated pace and Vladlena swept after him, though her speed was a bit a more graceful. She paused and, unaware that a shy, genuine smile had tugged her lips upward, gave a quick nod to Tracy, "Prijatno poznakomit'sa."[1]

1.	Pleased to meet you.

“President? So you are best, then?”

Best- He almost laughed. “Nah,” Tracy grinned, chuckling bashfully as he shook his head. “We- ah-” How to explain? “-We run based on how well th’ other students think we c’n get things done, make everything else a lil’ better,” –if that was what she was getting at. “We get votes if they agree with our ideas an’ think we c’n carry ‘em out. Depends on how well we articulate them, though. Gotta make speeches an’ everything.”

He blushed then, as he thought about the…  ‘image boosters’ his team had told him to do. As much as he liked thinking his victory was solely based on his ideas, the amount of money that had been, simply put, made off of him had been too much to ignore. The others still laughed about it sometimes—and harder whenever anyone of them visited a group that had benefited with him. Yeah, better not to mention it…

Tracy beamed at her encouragingly when she trailed off with a slight, tiny smile. He did laugh then, when she finished, and brightened even more when she finally took his hand (which he’d forgotten about, to be honest) and began introducing herself-

—but not completely.

When she looked back at him, Tracy gave her a small, sympathetic smile highlighted by a dimple. The exchange between her and the younger student—a subordinate, he figured, even if his brain didn’t actually supply the word—was a familiar one for him. The thing about having responsibilities, he thought a little wistfully, was that you had less time aside for yourself—as it should be, he amended hastily, since high positions were really meant to be at the service of others more than the positions below, but… it would have been nice, getting her full name.

Watching her leave, the boy rubbed the back of his head and sighed. Still, a small, faint broke through; she was a Durmstrang student, that much he knew. He’d see her around again.