Chương 25: Chapter 24
Besides my acquaintance, and almost friend, Anton Karpishin, and his incredibly gaunt father — who, next to his broad-shouldered son, looked surreal — we were met by a more interesting pair of people. Gabor and Stefan Bathory, distinguishable by their gray hair, which had a distinct crimson sheen. As far as other pureblood families know, this is the result of some very old ritual that became embedded in their genetics, and almost all descendants possess this hair color.
The Malfoys supposedly have something similar.
However, to conduct a ritual of such magnitude, a family must be both powerful and wealthy. And like those British ferrets, the Bathorys certainly are. After all, in the magical world, the Hungarians make up a considerable portion of Eastern European wizards, despite Hungary appearing as a small sliver on Muggle maps.
"Frau Stahlwolf..." Gabor began the conversation as the head of the most powerful and ancient family present. Even our family was established as a side branch of the Wolfs two centuries later. "And young Herr... I'm glad to see you here." His yellowish eyes flicked over me briefly. His lack of interest was understandable — we had met many times at general gatherings of the old Eastern European families, where not only the heads but also their heirs (if they were over thirteen) were present.
The Karpishins, following a somewhat less universal etiquette — which for wizards is more a set of guidelines for proper, polite behavior than strict rules — didn't bother parroting the Bathorys' greeting. It was understood that they recognized us and were glad to see us, which was implicitly assumed. Sometimes, this strikes the uninitiated as rudeness. Amusing, but true.
"Herr Bathory, Herr Karpishin," Hildegarde gave a brief nod, not bothering to express any joy at the meeting, but making it clear she recognized the speakers. All in accordance with that same etiquette, yes. "Shall we depart immediately?"
"Yes, I wouldn't want to spend more time in this... regrettable place than necessary," Anton's father said, wrinkling his nose as he gazed disdainfully at the crowd behind us.
"I agree," Gabor nodded solemnly. "Even among the witches*, it would be better."
My maman didn't express her agreement verbally, but it was clear from her expression that she'd sign under every word they said.
Our procession drew little attention. There weren't many idle wanderers here; everyone was either waiting for someone or had their own business to attend to. They didn't have the time or interest to gawk at strangers, even ones who stood out from the crowd. They'd pay more attention to some Muggle-born singer who was currently popular.
While our esteemed parents walked ahead, quietly discussing their more serious matters, a simpler conversation started among us.
"...How's it going at Durmstrang?" Stefan finally asked, having graduated last year. "Still continuing your standoff with Romanova, Adal?" he continued with noticeable interest and a slight touch of condescension.
After all, my cough rivalry with Tatiana had started back when Stefan was in my position as the main leader among the students, especially of the Wolf House. So it's no surprise that Stefan knew about it. He kept an eye on the younger students, just as I would watch over his younger sister.
She had already begun asserting her authority over her classmates — practically earlier than I had. An impressive girl.
"I wouldn't call it a 'standoff'... Just a slight escalation of honest competition," I said, quickly forming the answer in my mind and then speaking it aloud.
"True... That was too harsh of me. After all, you, like me, prefer more... subtle methods of dealing with others." He smirked slightly, as always, veiling his words in a thick layer of diplomacy. "Unlike my little sister, who favors more aggressive methods... By the way, how is she doing?"
"Just as you said, Stefan. She uses... aggressive methods of interaction. I've even started to feel a twinge of sympathy for the poor half-bloods who enrolled with her," I replied, shaking my head slightly after a brief pause.
"At times like this, I'm glad my younger brother won't be enrolling for another four years," Anton chimed in after a short lull in the conversation.
"Don't worry, I'll make sure to remind her to keep an eye on him too. The continuity of leadership is very important, and if we — the most deserving — continue to maintain our rightful positions, a certain group of... less reasonable individuals won't even dare to stir." Bathory hesitated toward the end, clearly wanting to say something harsher. Had we been alone, he wouldn't have held back, but even though our parents were engrossed in their own conversation, a crude word would catch their attention immediately.
I've learned that from experience.
Thankfully, not from personal experience. After all, I'm a well-mannered boy.
"Unfortunately, I have to admit that after your graduation, they've become far too bold," I noted with some frustration, as I had witnessed firsthand how the group behaved when Stefan was running things at Durmstrang. That bunch of idiots must have decided that, since the Stahlwolfs had less influence and there were fewer of us, I wouldn't keep them in line as well as Stefan did, or what?
"Possibly. Unfortunately, my access to information from the institute is limited. But I've heard they've been up to something again..." Stefan's crimson eyes turned toward me with curiosity.
"I wonder where you managed to hear that on such short notice..." I grumbled good-naturedly. How does he even get this information? The students only left the school today, for Merlin's sake — today! Our families decided, as the saying goes, to strike while the iron's hot and set off for Britain on the very first day of the holiday.
Could it be that some professor is feeding him this information? After all, teachers can leave Durmstrang at any time. Or is it that a teacher reports directly to the entire Bathory family?
But who?
And most importantly, we know nothing about this person! Neither I nor maman!
Ah... Yes, it's hard to compete with those who haven't experienced serious crises. All because of my grandfather, who, frankly speaking, was... not quite right in the head. And my father didn't help matters at all with his untimely death. Both of them died in fights with other wizards.
So, it's no wonder maman is strict with me. She doesn't want this foolish tradition to continue. And while she doesn't fully believe it yet, I can swear to her that I'm not going to deliberately get into trouble. No way. Death is an extremely unpleasant thing.
Personal experience.
This time, on myself.
"There are acquaintances who love to talk," Stefan replied, blatantly dodging my question. "So, what's going on?"
"I was just telling my mother about it today, but it looks like I'll have to repeat myself..." I sighed heavily and briefly recounted what I had told maman earlier. Anton occasionally chimed in from a Quidditch player's perspective to give Bathory the full picture of what had happened.
"Let's leave aside their insolence and disrespect for traditions and old families — families that, by the way, allowed them to study at Durmstrang in the first place..." Stefan waved his hand, clad in a white glove. "What surprises me is that they managed to break through the locker room's protective wards. Highly unlikely... Unless, maybe..."
"No, that's impossible," Anton shook his head, frowning. "The only ones who knew how to bypass the wards were... the teachers, the team members, and the prefects. None of them would have deliberately allowed this to happen... I'm absolutely certain about my teammates." He looked at us with unexpected firmness.
Exchanging glances with Stefan, I saw the same doubt on his face that I felt. Even if some of the professors sympathized with the cause of the Unaligned, they wouldn't engage in such blatant sabotage. In the four years (and part of the fifth) that I've been at Durmstrang, I've gotten to know them fairly well. Plus, the older students, like Stefan, had shared their insights about the teachers.
And excluding the prefects... the idea that Erika would help those idiots? Ha!
So, it only leaves the Quidditch players, or the situation is more complicated than we thought.
"Adal," Anton turned his heavy gaze on me, having picked the easier target. His faith in others is going to get him in trouble one day, I'm sure of it.
"Hah... Fine," I looked up at the ceiling of the corridor for a moment as we walked toward the Transgression Department, where we'd be issued a special Portkey that would finally transport us to the British Ministry. "But that only makes things more complicated."
"Who helped them, and how? That's the real question," Stefan added thoughtfully, crossing his arms behind his back.
But we didn't get a chance to finish.
"You can finish your conversation later. It's not wise to discuss this in front of the local officials. You won't be in the noisy crowd anymore," Gabor addressed us. At that moment, we noticed that we were already at the door, which, according to the plaque, was the office of the head of the department we needed.
It seemed no one was planning to waste time, and we were heading straight to the top. Well, that's fine — we can afford it. After all, none of us intended to mess around, waste time, or run through all the required bureaucratic steps.
I've heard how long it takes to get the kind of Portkey we need, as well as the permission to travel to another country if you follow all the written and unwritten rules and the established procedure.
As they say — no, thank you.
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