Henrick Hanz and the Demon of Durmstrang

Chapter 6

Three days came and went. And then three more. A month passed. The school had been buzzing for a time about the girl who had been attacked by the harbinger of death. However, nothing had come of it. The girl, Hanna, was alive and well. It was an anticlimactic month. Days stretched on endlessly. Rumors of death became cheers of celebration when the interim headmistress announced that Viktor’s name had been pulled from the goblet. He had not joined in the cheering. It has been obvious to him as to who would be chosen. He’d not even bothered to hear the names of the others. He didn’t care about the pretty fraulains of Beauxbaton, and he certainly didn’t give a damn about Cedric what-his-face and the Boy-Who-Lived. He was too busy with his own school work to care. Too bust watching his own back and keeping his points up to even care what went on thousands of miles away on a dreary little island and a dreary little school he was never ever going to visit.

Day in, day out it was the same. The girl had become a hero for surviving the tree day period. The classes were as they always were. Meals were filled with chatter. However, he had noticed one less annoying gaunt Russian sixth year hanging about trying to see Fiona lately. Perhaps he’d finally gotten the hint that she didn’t like him. Then again, Hanz wasn’t sure. After all, he was pretty thick headed when it came to things like girls liking or not liking people. In a way, as the days dragged on in an endless copy of the one before, Hanz almost wished he had gone with Viktor and the rest. Almost. Anything was better than another mundane school year.

It changed rapidly though. A few days after it had been announced that Viktor was Durmstrang’s champion, the sky had suddenly grown darker. Night was closing in fast. In fact, all that day, the darkness had been brewing over the castle. Cloud after cloud gathered, looming with the threat of a huge storm. Such an occurrence might not have been strange where the cream of Durmstrang was, in far off England, but here, in Austria, at this time of year, violent storms didn’t gather. Still, throughout the day, the clouds kept coming, building upon each other until the sky just over the castle was filled to the brim with them. Outside the castle, not a cloud was in sight. Something had drawn them all there. The gathering continued late into the evening, yet not once did a drop of moisture fall from the menacing cloud cover. Not once did a bolt of light full the sky.

As night fell, the wind started to pick up, howling around the heave stone walls, causing the corridors to grow colder than normal. It was still not even into the fall season yet and by the end of the day, frailer students had donned their fun lined winter cloaks. Though it was decidedly frigid, Henrick didn’t bother. There would have to be snow on the ground before he wore his. Besides, he was too bothered by a strange interruption in his painfully rigid schedule. He’d arrived at the heavy iron doors that led down to the dungeon library only to find them shut. They would not budge. He even fired off a spell of two to no avail. The dark mark that had been placed upon the wall above that door seemed to mock his effort.

He’d collected Fiona on his way back to the dorms. He’s only done it to tell her to go back to the common room without him. He’s been a familiar little boy leaned against a pillar, looking not at all like Hanz had seen him that very morning. Nessmont was bleeding quite badly and he could already tell that the Crusio curse had been used upon the boy. Most of all, Hanz noticed that the Egyptian was missing some of that strange pharaohic jewelry. That funny looking cross was missing.

The boy tried to speak but only blood poured from between his lips. Hanz said nothing. He just pulled the younger student along to his dorm. Later, he’d make sure to ask the boy what happened, but for now, he was just focused on getting his adopted brother someplace safe so that he could heal. He set up Ness in the spare bed before he managed to get to the common room where Fiona was waiting for him, hands on her hips. She always looked rather put out when he paid more attention to someone other than her.

“Henrick…” She never called him by that name. He knew it did not bode well at all. Either she was very angry with hi, or she wanted something from him. “A storm is brewing. You know how I am about storms. But you had to leave be alone so you could go play nurse to that little nothing! It could start at any moment and you abandoned me!” she startled towards him with dangerous steps. He knew why she was so angry with him. Fiona felt about storms the way he did about the infirmary. She was terrified of them.

“Fraulein…Fiona. Don’t. I know, okay. It’s just zhat…” He couldn’t explain. He’d never been taught about social graces. Apologies just weren’t something he uttered. As a man, his decision was the right one, no matter what. As a Hanz, there was no such thing as an excuse. He did what he did and that was final. Besides, he doubted she would accept any explanation he might give. She, he gave up before he could say something truly moronic and end up getting cursed by her. Instead, he muttered a half-decent half-hearted apology in German before crashing down into the chair that he had claimed his. “You are forgiven.” She ended up standing before him. “Just don’t let it happen again.” She moved to sit in a chair next to him when the first bolt of light shattered the darkness. The boom that followed close behind sounded almost like an explosion from deep inside the Earth.

Fiona screamed and launched herself at the standoffish German. As before, he allowed her the closeness she desired. Despite the light show outside the tower windows, Hanz could hear no rain. That was odd in and of itself because such a storm should have brought a great deal of rain. As the girl clung tighter to him after each successively louder boom, he could only sit and hope it passed soon. But like the gradual gathering of clouds, the storm only gained momentum. The wind tore through the castle so strongly that it shattered windows as it passed and extinguished even the magic used to light the area. Plunged into darkness, Henrick allowed his hand to move towards his custom made wand. The flashed from outside painted the walls red.

There was another earsplitting crack of thunder and a fire suddenly leaped up from the unused fireplace. It had spontaneously lit, regardless of the fact that there was no wood for it to burn. It hissed and popped, mocking all the rules about fires the school had in place. For that one night, Durmstrang flickered like a beckon, between the storm outside and the sudden fires blazing within.

The petite French girl clung together to him, making it impossible to get his wand. Still, the blazing fire railed against Henrick’s strict standards about rules and laws. Unable to use his wand, he was forced to resort to the most difficult sort of magic available to him. Wandless magical was normally only taught to the most advance and astute of students. He sometimes assumed that he had been taught it as a joke. With his accent being what it was, windless magic was an exercise in frustration for him. At times like these though, he was rather glad he had learned at least the rudimentary talents.

After a half-dozen attempts, he managed to snuff out the fire. He didn’t know if it was the frustration or the lights flickering, but for a moment, he thought he’d seen a figure in the smoke. It was gone before he could make it out. The room once more went dark. But the electrical storm outside continued on long into the evening, forcing Henrick to stay right here he was until the dawn.