Chapter 82 - Chapter 77: Welcome to Austria, where everyone wears brown

Thank you to my new Patrons: Darien Shimabukuro, MB, Sander P. Rudolf, glare31337, Andrew, Nightworm, impetr, JollyRodger98, M, Thomas Walsh, A Sophisticated Individual, Erik Houk, Journeyman_Mike, SouthMonk-/-The portkey journey was much more violent than any apparation Harry had experienced in the past, which made him truly wonder why wizards designed every single magical transportation method to be as uncomfortable as possible. He decided then and there, as he stumbled out of a golden arrival room and into a larger atrium, that the second he learned how to apparate, he would also invest a lot of time into making the process seamless and painless. His stomach hurt, still feeling the hook-like pull of the portkey. He gently rubbed at it. Even Flitwick, who came to a stop next to him, looked queasy. "Aus dem weg!" a voice suddenly said behind Harry, and he felt himself get shoved aside from behind. A brown-haired older boy dressed in a brown robe ran past him, turning his head once to sneer at him. An older gentleman walked past with his nose in the air, throwing the pair of half-bloods a derogatory look before pausing in his step as he looked at Flitwick. "Zaat explains zee smel," the man muttered before turning around and storming off after his charge. As if expecting a reaction to the provocation, Flitwick put a hand on Harry's elbow to prevent a response. However, Harry was just shaking his head bemusedly at the casualness of the banter."No point in reacting," Filius said. "Not in a good position to defend our rights here. As much as we're half-bloods in Britain, here we are something even worse." A dark look passed over his eyes. "We're British." Harry didn't really know if it was a joke or not because according to his knowledge, the magical side of Britain didn't really have a past that included colonialism or helping start world wars in Europe for geopolitical purposes. However, he didn't have to think about it for long as the professor unceremoniously pulled him up, revealing a spindly strength in his small arms and pushing him along. "You said you speak German?" the man asked while adjusting his glasses in German. "I'm alright with the language. Not going to be writing any prose or poetry works, but I'm here for violence, not academics," Harry answered. Flitwick nodded. "Good. I appreciate that you learned the language in advance. It will make some things much easier," he said as they exited the portkey arrival atrium after a thankfully brief check-up by a prissy auror and arrived in an even grander hall. "Is the whole thing coated with gold?" Harry asked doubtfully as he looked around the gigantic, utterly enormous space. Approximately the size of five soccer fields. It was circular, a larger-than-life-sized door leading into separate atriums from which the same golden light shone. Other than the presumably Austrian wizards running around in their brown robes, a departure from the English black, everything was covered in the material. The dome-like ceiling, the sloping walls and last but not least, the floor. It was simplistic in its grandeur. If one already had a whole ministry made out of gold, was there a point in adding other embellishments? The only structural thing that stuck out was the presence of what Harry recognised as the Habsburg double-headed eagle with a crown above its two heads and a wand and a sword clutched in its grips rather than a sceptre and a golden apple. A bad premonition suddenly emerged from the depths of his soul. "Professor?" he asked, as the man led them towards what looked to be an information booth at which wizards and witches dressed in traditional garb from what looked to be all thirteen continents were gathered to bother one small-looking portly man behind a counter. "Magical Austria wouldn't happen to be a monarchy, would it?" he asked, hoping the answer was a no. Flitwick shot him an odd look. "It's a constitutional monarchy, much like muggle Britain. The Habsburgs, if I remember correctly. They only survived so long because they've been coasting off the good-will of betraying Grindelwald in the end, even if they covertly supported him for the longest time," he said, this time in English, presumably not to get involved in a political debate with any natives. They arrived at the queue and slotted themselves in behind what looked like a father and son, dressed in what Harry recognised as traditional Ethiopian attire: a long beige cloth wrapped around the body and slung over the shoulder. The two looked back at the new addition and politely nodded, but that was the extent of the interaction. "What we still have to do is simple. I'll ask the teller how we can get to the Department of Games. There, we will get a floo to our hotel. Once at the hotel, we'll do a short revision, and afterwards, we will rest," Flitwick said. Thankfully, the man was a competent enough adult that things happened exactly as he predicted. -/- It was interesting to consider how different transportation methods affected one's experience of a new place. After finding the Department of Games and receiving instructions on how the duelling tournament would start and end depending on Harry's participation success, the pair of half-bloods simply flooed to their hotel directly from the Austrian Ministry of Magic. Had they been travelling the muggle way, they would have arrived after a short flight at the Vienna Airport. After that, they would have needed to take a train to the main train station, after which they would have needed to take a local tram to their hotel.  Due to the floo, Harry didn't even know which district the hotel was in. They'd just walked into the green flames after having pinched in the floo powder, said the address and then they were there. He would have preferred the muggle version. Was this why wizards never seemed to travel far from their home country? Because the transportation methods that they used disabused them of the pleasures of a simple meander through an unknown place? It seems that to the magicals, the world simply consisted of a series of coordinates with nothing in between. It was kind of sad. Already in his last life, the people who drove a car to work instead of a bike or public transport and who didn't like to take walks in the city they inhabited didn't really know the place they lived in. Even they would probably know more than the average wizard. "You seem to have something on your mind," Flitwick said. They'd just checked in at their hotel, "Die Sahnetorte." It was an opulent place with a large reception hall done in tasteful wooden panelling with golden accents and several marble statues depicting scenes from classical mythology, Roman or Greek. Harry, not wanting to get involved in a philosophical debate on the value of the journey over the destination, simply shrugged. "It's a swanky place you got us here. Hope I'm not ruining anyone's budget or getting a bill after all of this," he joked. Flitwick laughed. "Sometimes I forget you're a half-blood with one foot firmly in the muggle world. Duelling isn't like Quidditch. It's supposed to be more sophisticated. It is a sport for the aristocrats, the wealthy, the educated, and the magically gifted. The Quidditch World Cup is always held at a gigantic stadium around which a city of tents, divided into different nations, all aiming to display their prowess of enchantment. It's a monumental event because everyone loves Quidditch." "Does that imply that not everyone loves duelling?" The two of them had moved towards a golden elevator where a house elf with a horrible German dialect (seemingly Appenzeller Swiss), dressed in the outfit of a '60s American lift operator, asked them which floor they wanted to go to. The two duellists took a break from their conversation to tell the elf that they wanted to go to the 17th floor, at which the servant was happy to press the appropriate button. "People love duelling. It's tradition, it's heritage, we have to maintain it. However, if the competition was held similarly to Quidditch, many of the people actually funding the event would likely discontinue doing so. They're more used to hotels and inns than tents." He chuckled. "This thankfully extends to the participants as well. The traditional respect for warriors causes the duelling commission and its partners to put contestants into nice places. It is a safe sport, dark magic is banned, healers are on site, but there's always a risk, and people have to be rewarded properly for participating in what often seems like a reproduction of war." Harry had naturally read up on the history of the sport he was seeking to involve himself in, but this was a viewpoint that he hadn't heard yet. Duelling as a reproduction of war? That was an interesting thought. In all the books, it was depicted as a noble tradition that honoured the martial prowess of the magicals. However, it was easy to see, perhaps, how a nation might put a focus on duelling if they were interested in having a strong army in the future. However, wizards didn't really do war like Muggles did. After all, what was the point of land if you could just magic up all the food you wanted? What would be the point of nationalised conflict if everyone were united by magic? No, wizards stood together on an international level, generally in an unsaid agreement to focus on oppressing other magical races. Divided by distance, united by racism. Beautiful. Most recent wars and conflicts have been purely ideological, such as Grindelwald's refusal to allow magicals to bow down to muggles in the context of the statute of secrecy.  In a way, the statute had done much to advance the cause of magical research. While schools had existed before, the need to suddenly centralise created a unified system and allowed research and excellence to occur much more efficiently. However, Harry had to admit that the statute chafed something fierce on a purely ideological and philosophical level. Why did they have to hide? "And who would be fighting against who in this reproduction?" Harry asked curiously. "Well," Flitwick started with a laugh. "Everyone against everyone, really. When any faction, ideological or political, has a duellist of great renown in their ranks, it can influence how they are treated and interact with their surroundings." "I didn't really notice that kind of attitude in Britain," Harry remarked. "The blood war has taken its toll on people and their enthusiasm for violence. But, we are in Europe now, and Grindelwald's War is much further in the past than our national conflict is." Harry understood the underlying implication of those words. The continentals were starting again the idealisation of violence that occurred in every sedentary society. Duelling was one of the outlets, and Harry was going to throw himself right in the middle. They reached their rooms, numbers five and six, on floor eight. Large doors thrumming with magic and wards and gold paint. Harry entered his room and was once again surprised by the sheer size. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a presidential suite in a five-star hotel. Not the cheap five-star hotels, either. No, this was the Hilton, or Sacher, to be more country-appropriate. "You're not in Kansas anymore," Harry quietly said to himself as he deposited his trunk into a corner. The room was so large and so opulent that he'd needed ten seconds to get there. It was bigger than his family's house. A large contrast to magical Britain's most famous hotel, Tom's Pub. Not that Harry cared; his blood was boiling, and he was ready to fight. To put his year-long training to the test against others trying just as hard. But before that, he had to get Flitwick and show the man where he was at and work one last time on the strategy going forward... The deals would start tomorrow. He couldn't wait.-/- Flitwick and Harry stood opposite each other in a large room that was for once created more for its functionality than beauty. It was fitting that they had been put under in a hotel which had a room specifically designated for duelling. However, this scene did not occur at the start of the mock match between teacher and pupil, but after. Harry stood exhausted in his corner, wand held limply in his fingers. Flitwick for his part was bouncing on the back of his heels and grinning madly while waving his arms around in an exciting manner. They'd just decided on how they were going to proceed in the tournament according to Harry's level of skill. "They won't know what hit them," the charms master said with a delighted laugh. Harry smiled back tiredly, with a small smile. "No, they won't. nobody will."-/-AN: Next chapter is longer again, just had to set up a few things. Honestly been struggling with this arc. We will spend quite some time at the duelling tournament this time so I needed to prep somethings and make sure its all working.This is actually the first non-canon big event place thing thats happening?I don't count Manchester since it actually exists, unfortunately.24 chapters ahead on Patreon