Capítulo 10: Chapter 10
Leszek Cichon.
"Another restless year, one that will bring him heaps of problems and cost him a lot of nerves." Such thoughts ran through the mind of the Polish Potions Master as he watched the fifth-year students filing into the classroom. A bunch of teenagers entering the most turbulent phase of their lives… Once again, he would have to deal with them.
Not that it tormented him as a teacher — he knew what he was signing up for — but there was little pleasure in the constant unrest. This particular cohort was also filled with children from influential Eastern European families, making it all the more challenging.
Cichoń's gaze alternated between two obvious leaders of the group. As luck would have it, today his class was full of Wolves and Bears, who were notorious for their ongoing rivalry. Of course, it wasn't as bad as the mess he'd heard about between two Hogwarts houses, which he had learned from an English alumnus during one of the European Potions Masters' gatherings.
But still, not exactly enjoyable.
His eyes first landed on a tall, long-haired, blue-eyed blonde — a figure who could practically be the ideal illustration of the "superior race" according to Grindelwald and his Muggle puppets. Cichoń had heard something along these lines from a Muggle friend of his, whom he'd kept in contact with until he was taken away to the magical world by his father's newly discovered relatives. As it turned out, his father had fled to the Muggle world, started a family, and then died under... rather mysterious circumstances.
However, Cichoń wasn't an idiot and quickly figured out what had likely happened. His intelligence had, after all, helped him land a teaching position at Durmstrang. It also helped that many purebloods viewed the teaching profession as somewhat beneath them, too time-consuming and burdensome for their status.
And on that point, the man fully agreed.
Only a small fraction of hereditary wizards consider educating future wizards to be an honor or a duty of any kind.
Returning to the blonde and his, um, adversary… They were surprisingly antagonistic, though their appearance was quite similar. He was from a wealthy but small family — if you only counted his close relatives, of course. She, on the other hand, was from a large but poor family.
It was no surprise that she constantly harassed her peer, likely driven by envy, which she probably didn't even fully realize. Cichoń understood a thing or two about people, especially children, and this situation didn't seem unusual to him in the least. What surprised him more was the boy's composure — he handled himself very well. Not always, but most of the time.
Ah, some children mature too quickly… and he couldn't even say that was necessarily a bad thing.
But never mind. What was he thinking, as if he were a hundred years old like Dumbledore or something?
He needed to stop all this heavy thinking — dealing with the heavy temperaments of many of his students was enough. Still, Durmstrang paid its teachers an insane amount of money by half-blood standards, so Leszek needed to perform his duties well...
Which meant it was time to stop standing there like a statue and start the lesson for the now-seated students, while also keeping an eye on the companions of the course leaders to make sure they didn't pull anything... "interesting."
Like in third year, for instance... That had been quite an eventful time for the teaching staff.
***
Adalbert.
Hmm, Potions class, two supposedly irreconcilable enemies… This is all starting to remind me of something.
And for a change, it's not reminding me of canon.
...Right, if I keep dawdling, I won't secure first place for potion-brewing speed, which will give Tatiana the perfect excuse to gloat over me. She's definitely going to bend over backward to outdo me.
And I absolutely don't want some brat laughing at me. Sure, some armchair critics would say I should rise above it, not be so petty, that she's just a child and younger than me… Well, they can all go to hell, those half-baked saints.
I already act too mature most of the time... When else will I have the chance to indulge in a bit of childishness? No way. I'm going to take full advantage of my new biological age. There's no Dark Lord breathing down my neck, and no elderly schemers spinning intrigues at a national level around me.
So, I'm in no rush whatsoever.
And yeah... I should probably stop making these excuses to myself. Lately, I've been doing that a bit too much. Maybe it's the upbringing from my past life showing through?
"Thirteen pieces of hydra heart..." Gertrude muttered next to me. Too late, I realized they had placed her uncomfortably close to me. I need to stop thinking so much at the wrong times.
My concern was justified. Few people want to be near someone who loves experimenting as much as she does... especially since her track record with exploding cauldrons makes her frighteningly similar to Longbottom. I wonder, if she ever met Snape, what would matter more to him? The fact that she's talented in his field of magic, or that she constantly causes trouble with unfortunate cauldrons?
I'd love to see that, honestly. Would they end up fighting or (as much as possible) getting along as fellow potions enthusiasts from respected half-blood families? That would definitely be amusing.
Just in case, I shifted a bit further away, which, of course, Ivan noticed. After all, the deputy and right-hand man should stand closer, even if that person couldn't care less about their position in society…
No worries, time, lectures, and invigorating spells that add energy cure even the laziest of people.
"You should probably stop her from starting another experiment before Cichoń notices," he said, stirring his cauldron with all the enthusiasm of someone shoveling snow. The potion looked pale green and foamy — just like the stereotypical witch's brew from children's books. Unfortunately, few potions actually look anything familiar to a normal person during the brewing process. The only non-magical ingredient in this brew was water... maybe chalk too.
As it turns out, chalk can interact with magical ingredients, weakening the effects of some of them.
Maybe that's why chalk is used in so many works to draw protective circles. Then again, it's probably pointless — won't save you from ghosts.
"Oh? So, you don't mind if Shuvalova gets caught in the explosion?" I glanced at Ivan with interest, momentarily distracted from my brewing.
At Durmstrang, Potions classes aren't divided by House, and at the beginning of each year, students are randomly assigned seats. No matter how much friend groups want to sit together, that rarely happens. I still don't know what the teachers' motives are, but Ivan and I got lucky to end up next to each other this time. Gertrude, though, was placed just a bit farther away this year, while the others were scattered across the edges of the room. The same was true for Tatiana's group.
Luckily for us both, Tanya was far enough away that she couldn't overhear our quiet conversations, so we didn't attract her attention. She was far too eager to dig up all our "evil" little secrets. In Muggle Studies, we were seated literally across the aisle from each other, which didn't do wonders for my peace of mind. The girl is already quite a successful little schemer... and the most annoying thing is, I can't even say that's a bad thing in pureblood society.
In fact, it's the opposite — it helps her cope with all the stress. Either you manipulate others, or they manipulate you. That's life among these cunning... tricky people.
"He may know how to be annoying, but that doesn't mean I want Romanova to start acting up even more. She'd think you deliberately asked Gertrude to blow up the cauldron and get all riled up." Ivan shrugged, explaining his reasoning. "I still don't get how you made her so paranoid about you."
"As always, just theories. A definite answer is rarely possible," I responded vaguely, placing a piece of manticore stinger into my cauldron.
I was wearing my usual pair of dragonhide gloves, which had a tough, scaly texture, providing reliable protection for my hands. They were somewhat uncomfortable to work in, though — too stiff. That's the reason aurors don't wear armor made from this material, even though it can dampen magic. In a magical duel, it's often better to rely on agility, and this type of gear would only get in the way. It's easier to enchant something made from a more flexible material. Like the hide of a dromarog, for instance. Or manticore hide, if you want something cheaper and less effective.
My field — or combat — cloak, the name doesn't really change anything, was made from dromarog hide. A gift for my fifteenth birthday. I remember looking at the price tag... not exactly a cheap present.
But the Dolokhovs definitely know how to give gifts.
Yes, those Dolokhovs, one of whom was a notorious supporter of Voldemort. I was surprised at first, too, but soon found out that his parents, who were part of that old and respected family, were... collaborators. Even wizards had their share of those during WWII.
And for that, they weren't... no, not killed. Exiled somewhere far away, with the hope that they might still prove useful someday. The magical world suffered too many losses back then to execute even traitorous wizards, especially purebloods.
Later, according to rumors, some English wizard met with them a few times, and after that, they disappeared from the scene entirely.
I even know who that wizard was.
Meanwhile, Ivan, ever tactful, noticed I had slipped into deep thought and wisely kept silent, focusing on his potion. He knows me well, after all, and understands that it's best not to interrupt my mental processes. I'm not going to make some ridiculous claim about being terrifying when I'm angry...
But there's a reason El-Melloi once praised me for my ability to dress someone down, right?
That time, I'd been so enraged that I forgot I was about to scold a classmate right in the middle of a busy hallway.
Still, I cast a significant glance in Gertrude's direction when she lifted her eyes from her book. Not being foolish, she caught the hint, and from what I observed afterward, I must have prevented something dangerous with my silent warning.
Look at me, always saving people — even my adversaries. I'm practically Mother Teresa in her male incarnation, huh?
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