Adalbert.
We were seated in a large hall, its size easily rivaling that of the Great Hall from the Hogwarts films, though there wasn't such a clear division of factions here. It was obvious that students from different Houses often mingled and sat together at tables, which were arranged in a slightly modified checkerboard pattern.
Ahead of us, the nervous eleven-year-olds were seated at larger, round tables. The chairs were positioned in a semicircle around the tables so that the children had their backs to us, which probably helped ease their nerves — at least a little — since they weren't facing the intimidating crowd of onlookers. At the same time, the professors sitting at the front could freely observe their future charges, which, in turn, made the children even more nervous than if they'd been facing us.
A little ahead of the teachers' table stood a rather imposing chair, more like a throne... which was fittingly named the Sorting Chair. The sorting process was more dramatic with this artifact, though to be honest, by magical standards, even the ugliest quasi-living artifact like the Sorting Hat seemed more dignified.
Following a rather grim speech from Karkaroff — where there were more thinly veiled threats to rule-breakers (read: half-bloods without noble lineage) than any real welcome to current and future students — we prepared for the ceremony. We were used to this, of course, but the first-years... While I couldn't see their faces, their postures gave me enough information to tell they were deeply uncomfortable.
I may not be a professional psychologist, but I like to think I'm pretty decent at reading people. Especially when my mother could easily pass for a licensed therapist herself. Thank magic she doesn't behave like some of those so-called "doctors," who often think that just because they understand human behavioral responses, they know everything else, too.
But back to the new students... Most of them were feeling quite uneasy right now, that much was clear. Still, it was easy to pick out where the pure-bloods sat — those who had already heard about the nature of our headmaster.
And now, the first one was already making his way to the chair.
He sat down in the spot, which — despite the artifact's large size — fit an eleven-year-old perfectly. The boy sat there, tense, waiting for... something.
No worries, it's about to happen… Oh!
Above the chair, a fog began to form.
It gradually shaped itself into the translucent figure of a large, black bear, about three meters tall at the shoulder when it stood on its hind legs. And indeed, the bear rose up, miming a silent roar, before flickering and fading away.
"House of the Black Bear!" Karkaroff declared loudly. Say what you will about the man, but he sure knew how to project his voice.
Especially when he's shouting not at you, but at your enemies. Quite satisfying, really.
As another student sat under the Sorting Chair, a griffon spread its wings wide above them. For another, a wolf rose majestically from a lying position. After two more bears appeared, there was finally a large cat — a foxlynx — that chased its own tail before vanishing. It's quite surprising how this unique Durmstrang version of the Sorting Hat manifests in such a way. Interestingly, no one really knows why it does so.
The situation here is much like with the Sorting Hat at Hogwarts: the artifact was created by the Foundress, who was far superior to modern wizards in terms of magical skill. And, as it turns out, magic in this region hasn't developed much since then.
But!
It's important not to criticize the locals for this, as I used to do in a certain period of my new life.
You mustn't equate magic with science. Not at all. There are only surface-level similarities... I can offer a simple analogy: imagine two identical, opaque, sealed containers of liquid. In one, there is mercury, representing magic, and in the other, water, representing science, or at least the concept of modern science.
Even if someone knows that the liquids are different, an ordinary person — or even a less knowledgeable wizard — might shake both containers and subconsciously, or even consciously, conclude that because the liquids inside behave in similar ways, they must be alike.
However, skilled wizards, unlike those before, are like people who manage to open the lids of the containers and discover that what's inside is entirely different. The similarity ends at the surface, at the appearance of the containers.
Mercury and water were not chosen randomly. Just as mercury and water don't mix, don't dissolve in each other, magic and technological progress are similarly incompatible. In the vast majority of cases, they exist apart from one another. Magical energy, mana — call it what you will — and scientific achievements almost never interact with each other.
Any somewhat complex electronics simply won't work when exposed to magical energy. In some cases, they might even be sent straight to Mordred, so to speak.
...In fact, if we delve deeper into the subject... though most wizards today are unaware of this, pureblood wizards sense it on a genetic level. Not in the usual biological sense, but in the magical equivalent. Neither I nor the person who told me this knows whether this instinct affects the subconscious or behavior of pureblood wizards, pushing them toward conservatism and isolation from progress.
But I suspect there's some effect. Snobbery aside, arrogance aside, comfort and convenience still matter to lovers of luxury. I know this from personal experience.
To sum up: if I'm right, and the very nature of magic makes pureblood wizards subconsciously resist any form of progress, even magical progress, then this explains perfectly why magic has not advanced as radically in the past five hundred years — or more — as science has.
And until there are logical doubts about my assumptions, I will take this as the truth.
I wonder, do I not feel this aversion to magical progress because I'm one of those wizards who managed to open the metaphorical lids of the containers? Or is it because I come from a parallel reality? Or perhaps it's because, in that other reality, there were no wizards? Or maybe it's because I wasn't originally a pureblood wizard, and my mind isn't influenced by magical genetics?
In the end, is faster progress possible than the meager advancements the magical world currently makes? Could non-hereditary wizards contribute to this progress?
This… is a very interesting topic. One could say it's even fundamental, and thus definitely worth studying and investing time in. But it's certainly not something to focus on here and now.