Dalibor Doležal.
The first week at Durmstrang for a first-year student placed in the House of the Griffin was, well... just magical!
...At least, at first glance.
On one hand, yes, magic was simply mind-blowing! Wizards could do such... such... such incredible things!
He had never seen anything like it before, couldn't have even imagined it. And now, if he worked hard enough, he'd be able to do it too! Some things were already coming to him today!
Granted, they were the simplest of spells… but still, they went against everything he had been taught in the small village school where there were barely fifty students in total.
Dalibor even felt a little older… After all, this was the Durmstrang Institute, not just some ordinary school!
However, by the end of the week, small details began to pile up, chipping away at the magical and mysterious image of the place.
For example, the behavior of some of his classmates. They always looked at him in a strange way... It took him a while to realize that what he was seeing was condescension. As if they were somehow better than him! Nonsense. He answered just as well as they did in class. He couldn't quite put into words what he saw in their expressions, but he knew one thing for sure — it didn't sit well with him.
They acted almost like that jerk from his old class... only here there were a lot more of them.
Yes, they didn't bully him outright, didn't really interfere... but their arrogance... It irritated and frustrated him!
But Dalibor prided himself on being smart enough not to let it get to him too much...
Even after the first-years from another House openly mocked him, right there in the middle of the hallway!
But something else started to really get under his skin — he began to notice that most of the teachers… or rather, professors… graded the same answers very differently. Again and again, they'd give higher marks to those so-called purebloods. That infuriated him even more.
Just because one of his parents wasn't a pureblood wizard, he somehow ended up with a worse grade!
Sometimes, back in his village school, his friends would jokingly call him a "nerd." Maybe there was some truth to that, considering how strongly he reacted to academic injustice.
He could tolerate his peers acting like idiots — they did things he'd never dream of doing — but adults? Teachers? And at an entire institute of magic and wizardry, no less? Why did they treat people like him that way?
He even found out that some of these so-called purebloods were just as poor as most of the half-bloods, like himself!
Absolute nonsense!
Despite these thoughts, Dalibor wasn't in any rush to share them with anyone.
Those polished, arrogant snobs obviously wouldn't appreciate what he had to say. After all, they had it good... And if even the adults were acting this way, then who could he talk to? The headmaster? He had seen him around. Dalibor had no desire whatsoever to speak with him; in fact, the more he saw, the less he wanted to. Sure, the headmaster seemed to frown at everyone equally, but Dalibor was convinced that he too favored those purebloods.
To be fair, Dalibor had to admit that there were some professors who treated everyone the same… but you could count them on the fingers of a one-handed blacksmith.
And that's why Dalibor was so intrigued when he overheard his classmates talking about the very same issues he had been noticing more and more during his lessons. But they spoke about it openly, without fear of anyone overhearing.
Could there really be people here who hadn't accepted the current state of affairs? That's what he thought at the time. After all, even his new acquaintances, whom he'd met on the ship to Durmstrang, only shrugged at his confused questions or responded with condescending snorts.
With some surprise, Dalibor noticed Radoslav among the group of students conversing in one of the corners of the expansive Griffin House common room. He hadn't expected to see him here at all… After all, Radoslav was friends with Mandić, a pureblood who typically surrounded himself with others of his kind. And by all accounts, he seemed perfectly comfortable in that crowd.
Though, Dalibor had to admit to himself that Mandić was far better than most purebloods.
Friendly, not the least bit arrogant... If things were different, Dalibor might have tried to befriend him.
Before he even realized it, Dalibor found himself involved in the conversation with the group of his classmates. They were discussing a topic that resonated with him, and their opinions matched his own. It didn't take long for Dalibor to find common ground with his new acquaintances.
"Surprised to see me here, huh?" Radoslav's voice broke through after a while, a teasing smile on his face. "Heh, as my father says, everything's written on your face." He explained quickly before Dalibor, who had already opened his mouth, could ask his question.
"That obvious?" Dalibor rubbed his nose a little, feeling slightly embarrassed.
"Wellll… not exactly. But it wasn't hard to guess when you kept glancing my way." The Bulgarian scratched the back of his head.
"I just thought you were with Mandić… I mean, he usually hangs around with purebloods, doesn't he?"
"Yeah, we get along just fine… nothing to hide there. But we weren't talking about him, were we?" Radoslav shrugged. "You know as well as I do that he's pretty normal… unlike his... idols." He grimaced, casting a look across the circular room at another group of their peers. Those students, however, behaved completely differently — not chatting amicably like they were, but rather sitting in a way that was hard to describe, too quiet and reserved for Dalibor's taste.
What made the scene even worse was the clearly arrogant expressions on their faces, especially the wrinkled noses of the girls, which were particularly obvious when they glanced over at Dalibor and his new companions.
"Stop staring at them. They'll just get even more sour, like overripe lemons. Or worse, they'll think we actually care about what they're doing. Pfft!" Radoslav spoke again, pulling Dalibor's attention back from observing the purebloods. The Czech boy decided to follow his advice.
"Over the course of our rather long conversation, I've come to realize that you, Dalibor, share — dare I say — our ideals," spoke up the oldest of the group, a fourth-year. His voice was calm and well-trained, and Dalibor couldn't help but listen carefully. "And my friend vouches for you," he nodded toward Radoslav. "So, welcome to our group: the Unjoined. Unjoined those who only want to be lapdogs for worthless purebloods."
"And that test was really necessary?" Dalibor scoffed, processing the older boy's words quickly.
"Unfortunately, yes." The older boy's face took on a serious expression. "There aren't many like you here. Far too many are willing to put up with the status quo at Durmstrang in exchange for the scraps purebloods toss their way." He sneered with disdain. "None of them want to tackle the problem on a bigger scale. They don't care about fairness, about being judged equally… By the way, did you know that purebloods get better rooms too?" Dalibor shook his head, involuntarily interested. He hadn't thought about that before, being focused mostly on his studies. "Didn't know, huh? Like many others who probably haven't realized it yet. It's not just about classes and House dormitories. There are plenty of other areas where this kind of inequality and injustice reigns. You just haven't encountered them yet, but you will. And when you do, even if you're skeptical of my words now, you'll see I'm telling the truth." He nodded confidently.
Dalibor couldn't help but acknowledge the older student's arguments. Indeed, what had he been thinking? Did he really believe that this kind of unfairness, with the way purebloods behaved, would only affect their studies? Ha! What a fool he had been.
"Ah yes, I haven't even introduced myself..." the older student suddenly remembered. "We got so caught up in conversation that it slipped my mind…" he chuckled. "I'm Milos Scepaniak," he said, extending his hand.
"And you've already heard mine. Dalibor," the first-year replied, shaking his hand, surprised by the firm grip of the older student, who didn't seem particularly athletic at first glance.
"Now that we've got that out of the way… Let's move to a different spot, somewhere we won't be bothered by the purebloods. I've got an interesting idea that will show them they shouldn't underestimate us. And unlike them, we'll handle things in the right way — we won't confront them directly like they do to us, but we'll still prove that we can stand up for our rights..."
Dalibor's curiosity was piqued by the older boy's words. After all, he could always back out if the plan didn't sit right with him, right?
...Right?
***
Gertrude Verberg.
The young witch stared into the cauldron with visible irritation.
The reaction to the ingredient hadn't gone as she expected. The salamander blood had failed to enhance the poison, which meant the old claim — "a medicine in large quantities becomes a poison" — wasn't applicable in this case.
Looking around, Gertrude noted with displeasure that this had been the last vial of salamander blood she had. She didn't even want to think about how much time she'd need to spend brewing simple potions just to fund her more ambitious experiments, which were always resource-heavy.
Wiping her dragonhide gloves on a rag that was already quite filthy, Verberg made another note in her list of ingredients she'd need for the future.
A few years ago, several upperclassmen at Durmstrang had taken notice of the promising potions student. But few were willing to fund her hobby to the extent it required. Even so, she wasn't entirely without options.
Gertrude, being quite savvy in these matters, had chosen her sponsor in the simplest way possible. She picked the one who knew potions best. And she hadn't made a mistake. Stahlwolf was surprisingly patient with her failures and generous enough with funding. At first, he had demanded detailed reports on what she was doing and why, but now he seemed to trust her more… or so it felt.
He had probably come to the conclusion that she wasn't wasting his money and had been truthful from the start. Gertrude had no intention of recklessly burning through her resources — then or now.
Besides, if the esteemed matriarch of the Stahlwolf family hadn't reached the same conclusion, Gertrude doubted she would still be receiving such generous support.
"Now that is a real woman. Unlike my mother. Running off with some Muggle-born, throwing away the excellent financial base of our family? What idiocy. How could such a fool have been born into a side branch of the legendary Prince family? Unthinkable!" Thoughts of her parents ran through her mind, brought on by memories of meeting Adalbert's mother.
As these thoughts irritated her, Gertrude's hand jerked, causing her to spill too much amber salt into the cauldron. Her venomous green eyes, magnified by her round glasses, flashed with clear displeasure.
"Emotions really do interfere with work. They get in the way — badly!" she exhaled, trying to calm herself as she prepared to add extra rat tail to compensate for the spill.
That should balance the excess ingredient.
In theory.
...But in practice, as often happens, things didn't go as planned. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The ingredients were chopped, ground, squeezed, poured, and tossed into the voluminous cauldron without issue… But at the next step, much to the student's surprise, the potion changed to an unexpected color. Sensing trouble — thanks to plenty of bitter experiences of her own — Gertrude took the only reasonable action available...
She quickly stepped back, practically scampering backward several meters.
The explosion that followed a few seconds later only slightly splashed her, leaving some of the potion on her clothes. The cauldron, by her calculations, didn't seem to have been damaged. She'd inspect it more closely later, but for now, she needed to change her outer clothing. Unfortunately, the splatter had landed in a particularly inconvenient spot — right on the white fabric of her shirt near the collar — and regular cleaning spells wouldn't remove it.
Taking off her gloves and placing them on a clean spot on a nearby table (thankfully spared from the recent explosion), Verberg briskly left the room. The empty classroom had essentially been granted to her as personal space by the Potions professor, in recognition of her outstanding performance in the subject.
...She didn't notice the small figures that slipped into the room just half a minute after she left.
Gertrude returned to her workspace about six minutes later. So absorbed in her dangerous hobby, she failed to notice that several Chameleon Potions were missing, along with a couple of tonic and body-strengthening mixtures.