Henrick Hanz and the Demon of Durmstrang

Chapter 3

With only three floors above ground, getting places in the castle was rather easy. The classes, dining area and most study areas were upon one of those floors. The floor hidden below the ground was the dungeon. It had remained a dungeon for the most part. Students in the first years of Durmstrang’s existence had inhabited the dungeon when they’d done wrong. There were still ancient, rusting manacles on the walls and the echoing screams of those still bound to that place. A few centuries after, it had been converted into a rather extensive library. It was kept below ground because of the lights needed to read by. Fire, after all, was forbidden at the school except for magical purposes.

The students lived in the four large towers at the corners of the castle. At the bottom of each tower was a large room. It was this room in the third tower that Henrick found himself. Already, students were willing about, ordering their elves to move their things to their rooms. He already moved his manually. Others were laying down the rules of existence with their roommates for the year. As per usual, Hanz had not been assigned a roommate. Sometimes he wondered if it was because who ever was in charge of housing knew of the times he had used the spare bed in his room to play nursemaid to a battered and broken Nessmont. As secret as he tried to keep it, it was bout to have drawn some notice. He knew he’d have to be more cautious about it in the future. Still, he was fortunate enough that Burkov lived in the fourth tower so he didn’t have to see the gaunt sixth year often.

The overstuffed leather chair creaked when he sat upon it. The loveseat sat before an unlit fireplace, along with many other fine leather furniture pieces. It helped give the room a warm elegant feel it might have lacked otherwise. Even the overly large seat seemed not to fit him that well. He took up much of the chair his head piled against the headrest, the darkness of the hide making the silver shade of his hair stand out more.

There, he waited. He wished he’d have brought along a book. After all, he knew it was going to be a long wait before Fiona returned. Professor Massengruber’s from of punishment was for force students to scrub out the pots the elves had used for dinner, all of them. The potions mistress even cooked up her very own cleaner for the chore. The universal solvent could eat even flesh with enough contact. Knowing that woman, Fiona would not come to the tower until very late in the evening. He had promised her though. Even if it had been the somewhat absentminded shaking of the head, it was still a promise. As a man, he could not break his word.

He’d done that enough already in his first year. Even four year later, he could still remember tears in those rust shaded eyes when he’s said those unforgivable things to his cousin. A cousin he’d completely purposely lost track of over the years. His memories swam with the thoughts of long past. When he dwelled upon such things, it made him feel angry and bitter and cold all over again. It made him wish his life had been been plagued with so much turmoil so suddenly. His cousin had thought he’d be happy for what she told him. Instead, it had ruined everything.

He didn’t even notice the passage of time, or the fact that he had drifted off. He’d been lulled by the banter of fellow students. Though dangerous to sleep in the middle of the common room, Henrick always felt like he was lagging after the journey to the school. Besides, most of the students were just chattering about how odd it was not to see Krumm at school. A remark that was already growing tediously annoying to him. So tedious in fact, that he could actually find a strange comfort when he usually required absolute silence.

It was a sudden slight weight upon his thighs that cause him to wake. Henrick could think of no one stupid enough to sit on his lap. For one, he was not at all a comfortable seat. For two, he wasn’t one to welcome such close intimate contact. The last time someone had attempted to sit upon his lap, he had dumped them quite violently, bristling in the most intimidating manner possible. It had never happened again. Yet, there was that most uninvited of personal space invasions. He cracked an eye open to glower at the offender. Had it been anyone else, Henrick would have dumped her, a curse already on his lips.

In fact, he was still in half a mind to curse Fiona into oblivion, just on principle. However, she seemed in such a wretched state that he could not bring himself to pull his wand and utter the words. He was also just waking from his slumber, so he knew anything he might say would probably not work. Sometimes, his accent made certain spells terribly difficult for him. Some of them were nigh impossible. So, instead, he sluggishly moved his hand away from his hidden wand. He opened his other eye and muttered, voice still filled with sleep.” It vas zhat bad?” Regardless of the fact that he had held himself back, there was little concern in his voice or his gaze. Henrick was not at all pleased.

All the girl had to do was hold her hands out. The very tips of her fingers were terribly enflamed and looked like they were about to burst and peel away. “That damned woman! That…Damned….woman.” Her voice shook but Henrick knew she would not cry. A witch of Durmstrang was stronger than that. She would die before she let anyone catch her crying.

Reaching out, he took one of her wrists in his hand. “Vell, ve cannot let it stay like zhis. I vill move jour zhings und zhen ve vill get ju bandaged up.” Though he was very poor at medical spells and charms, he did what he could. He had to. Just ash she would never cry, Henrick would never go to the infirmary wing. He’d sew himself up before he allowed the psychopaths on the third floor get hands upon him.

He was about to stand when she suddenly demanded that he carry her. After one sharp glare and some words spoken in even harsher German, Fiona decided that she could walk on her own after all.