Henrick Hanz and the Demon of Durmstrang

Chapter 9

By the time he reached the common room, it was already growing dark. It had taken some pulling and a lot of yelling to get him from his seat on the floor. She had been forced to guide him so that he didn’t fall down the steps and in up in another heap. Once more, it was Fiona who turned the knob to open the door. The state of the common room snapped him out of his numbness. The room looked almost like a library, minus the smells and the burn marks. And instead of books, personal belongings were scattered about the place. Family albums and personal diaries were strewn about along with letters and other personal treasures.

Henrick immediately went into the mess. Fiona soon followed. Quickly, he started to rifle about, trying to find if anything of his hand joined in this mess. He didn’t think it possible as he tended to lock his door and put a rather nasty spell on it before leave for the day. To his great displeasure, he swiftly discovered a very antique looking book. The German first edition of the Grimm’s Tales had been tossed aside, as if it was rubbish. He got to it before his friends could see the inscription on the inside. He turned to see her holding a few letters. They had hearts on the front. They disappeared into her shirt. She was hiding her love letters from him before continuing to pick up strewn about mail.

He took notice of one very plane envelope. It was addressed to him but there was no return address. She started to open it. He got to her before she could. He ripped it right out of her hands and placed it firmly into his book. His voice was harsher than usual. “Fraulein, it is rude to read ozher people’s mail.” Later, he’d have to remember to burn it as he always did to those special letters. He glared at her before she could protest. The look was obvious. It said he’d be more than happy to kill her if she should ever try to do such a thing again.

He tried to reign in his anger over his personal life being rooted through. But he wasn’t the only one. Soon, the castle would be filled with the angry cried of students returning from the town to find their treasured memories and dreams out for all to see. It had taken the night to get things sorted. It had been a violent sorting out. And tempers continued to run high the next day.

The teachers seemed terribly tired. Once breakfast, he’d heard a rumor that the school might get closed down once winter break hit. That morning also saw the resignation of the Care of Magical Creatures professor. The man had thrown down his silverware down as he stormed out shouting. “Imps, succubae and abyssal creatures are NOT MY AREA! Stop trying to get me to do Professor St Clair’s job! She’s the Dark Art’s Professor. You keep this up and I’ll quit!” By mid-afternoon, the tattered man had packed his bags and left the school.

It wasn’t just the teachers engaging in all kinds of shouting matches. As days ticked into weeks. Accusations and rumors compounded. People like Nessmont, whom were usually bore the brunt of many accidents and attacks, were the first to suffer. Had he not interrupted one angry, frightening mob of students, he doubted the boy would live to see his next year.

“It was him!” The ringleader had suddenly decided. Painfully gaunt Burkov pointed a nearly skeletal finger at the small Egyptian. “He placed a curse upon this whole school. We’re all going to be sacrificed to his pagan gods! I have proof. Here’s that ridiculous thing he’s always wears!” The bully held up the gold thing Hanz had seen in the circle down in the dungeon. He’d thought it’s looked familiar. Now he knew why. It was Nessmont’s ankh. Had Henrick not known where the boy had been that evening, even he might have believed such compelling evidence. The crowd seemed to fall for it quite easily. It was far easier to blame a person few understood than to try and discover the truth.

The mob grew ugly when Ness tried to deny involvement. Hanz knew it was partially his fault. Because of their arrangement, Ness could not tell the crowd he was healing in Hanz’s room at that time. He doubted anyone would believe the kid anyway. He believed the Egyptian though. He believed then boy when he claimed it was Burkov who had taken the symbol from him. He believed. The mob did not seem to want to listen to anything other than their own anger and fear.
Though he knew he could do nothing to save the boy without being turned on, he knew he could not walk away. Turning his back on his brother, adopted though he might be, was not an option. To do so would be like turning away and denying the responsibility he’s accepted back in Germany. He was left with little choice.

He’s always been quite skilled at shielding and deflection. His defensive magic was top notch. While he enjoyed letting off curses and counter curses in Dark Arts, he’d always excelled in dueling because his first spell was always a shield of some sort. Practiced over four years, he’s managed to make them terrifyingly effective. It was one of those spells that le lent to Nessmont, casting it from a distance, so as to not look like he was involved in any way. A difficult thing to keep up, as the boy was being pounded with all sorts of spells. He doubted even he could keep them all from hitting or that his shield would hold under the bombardment. It was rather a relief when a teacher arrived to stop the commotion before someone uttered one of the unforgivables. He knew his shield could not take an unforgivable.

He remained where he was, recovering from the strain. He also wanted to insure that the boy got to his own room. From what he understood of the final moments of the confrontation, Nessmont had been confined to quarters until further notice. When the boy passed him, he said nothing, only putting his wand away. He was sure the kid knew who’d shielded him.

Unfortunately, that was no the only attack Henrick bore witness to. They were becoming increasingly more common. He went from one scene of brutality to a different sort. He’d gone back to his tower to see Fiona and another girl going at it like a couple of cats. The one was hissing and spitting at the red head, blaming his friend for the disappearance of a brother. It seemed almost a repeat of what had occurred in the hallways. In fact, it seemed a bit more violent than the previous engagement. Hair pulling and scratching seemed to him far more dangerous to intercede in. he knew better to get into one of Fiona’s fights. She could hold her own.

“Bitch! I saw you! Last night. You took Geoff away, you slut. You came to his room and seduced him. Next thing, he’s on his back like he’s dead. You did it. Give him back!”

“I did nothing to that moron! My tastes run higher than your pathetic brother. As if I would kiss him. How dare you even insinuate that I’d want anyone else. Why would I want a little snot nosed boy when I already have a man!” A sharp sound echoed as the girl slapped Fiona. She only smiled.

“You…you can’t. That’s why. You went after Geoff because you knew he liked you! All because your so called man is too stupid to know how to use it. He won’t fuck you and so you have to get it elsewhere, you tart!”

When Fiona slapped the girl back, Henrick thought her neck would snap. He’d seen Fiona hit people before, but it was never like that. He’s never seen such a vengeful fury from the French girl. It would seem that this time, he’d have to save someone from his friend. He cleared his throat just as Fiona was saying “Say that again and I’ll kill you. You are NOT allowed to talk about H…” She trailed off at the sound his voice made. She seemed to loose whatever venom she had and returned to that strange catty meekness he knew from her. “Oh, hello Henrick. Don’t mind Rosalie. She was just leaving.”

The other girl glared for a moment before retreating to lick her wounds. Hanz seriously doubted that would be the end of it. Girls held grudges for a lot longer than he did. A truly mortifying thought as he’d held quite a few grudges for a great many years.

It also made him wonder a little who the girls had been talking about. He had always known quite a few boys liked Fiona. She was a rich and powerful pure blood after all. She was a good catch, politically. He also knew she had turned them all down, no matter who they might be. He’d asked her once why she did it. She’d hinted that there was already someone she liked. He’d never asked who. It wasn’t any of his business. In fact, there were days when he would have been more than happy to give Fiona to her mystery man and let him deal with her for a bit. Still, it had him puzzled. Someone who was a man and yet clueless. He could only think of Viktor, but he’s never heard her say anything nice about him.

He’d never been very swift when it came to figuring out puzzles. By the time Henrick had worked out what Fiona had meant, it was too late to do anything about it but be more puzzled than before. After all, even then, he’d really not figured out anything at all.