102Quick A/N: Can't really believe I'm back on here after so much time, but after just having fun playing around with this idea I had to ask myself why I was holding back. If you've by any chance seen my old content please give this one a chance; the quality of writing has improved, even if this piece is not as seriously produced as many of the phenomenal works on this site. Just aim to enjoy it for what it is, really, and thank you for reading.
Chapter 1
The halls of the Durmstrang Institute had never been described as warm. They never emanated a welcoming comfort either, especially while they remained under Igor Karkaroff's stern rule. Even the classrooms and dormitories did not present an admirable atmosphere, with heat related charms being exchanged amongst every student in order to combat the late night chill of the castle. While the fact that the Institute was situated in the far north of Europe was often given as an excuse for the consistent spinal chill, there was a feel of dark authority in the air that had always remained unaddressed.
There was only one, single room in the castle that combated the silent cold of the night. It housed a talented individual as a result of tremendously exceptional circumstances, and was the only student dormitory within the Durmstrang Institute that did not contain multiple copies of the same furniture. While a regular dormitory would consist of beds, cabinets, and other irrelevant domestic furniture, Thorfinn Rowle's space was much different.
It had only one bed, which was a small double with a wine red duvet that was decorated by the extravagant Durmstrang crest, as well as bedside tables on either side. A tall mahogany wardrobe stood with an exuviation of pride against the left wall, with a desk of the same colour beside it which held an organised mess of books, parchment, and damaged quills. The right of the personal space was much less studious than the former; it possessed a dainty table and on it was a worn glass, a bottle of exquisite firewhisky, and a record player. Under it was a stack of records that were a surprising mix of Wizarding World releases and Muggle World contraband, and beside the table was a black leather armchair which currently held one Thorfinn Rowle.
His large, bulky form was the epitome of relaxation. It wasn't often a pureblood wizard could slouch in such a way, which was one of the reasons why Thorfinn enjoyed the solitude of his private space. His legs were spread out across the brown carpet and his arms hung almost lifelessly over the sides of the chair. In fact, the only active area of the limbs were his fingertips, as they uncontrollably flinched to the repetitive beat of the smooth, traditional Wizarding World record. Even his head had been thrown back over the top of the chair, allowing the short blonde cut to contrast sharply against the darkness of the leather.
By now it was late in the evening, and Thorfinn had still not changed out of his school attire. Instead, he had thrown off his furs and shirt, replacing them with a warming charm as it was not wise to battle the northern elements shirtless without a little magical aid.
For a wizard on the verge of being officially considered an adult, Thorfinn was exceptionally well built. He had always been one of the larger boys – with many of his classmates referring to him as 'golyam chovek' negatively during his earlier years at the Institute – but the once prominent chubby cheeks had soon altered themselves, and the extra weight once situated on his stomach had righted itself once training became more rigorous. The students still called him golyam chovek as well as its English equivalent (big man), but it had soon moved from an insult to a point of admiration.
Being tall with a strong, broad physique was not awfully common in the Wizarding World and it had the power to attract various kinds of attention.
And as nice as it was to be considered physically superior and sometimes magically greater as well, Thorfinn's heart still remained on his solitude and music. If any of his peers wished to engage in a conversation about schoolwork or sports, he'd acknowledge their curiosity during meal times. If any of Durmstrang's sparse collection of young women wished to engage him in something else entirely, he would humour their curiosities in their space only. Because no one, not a single soul, would dare taint the privacy of Thorfinn Rowle's personal dormitory. It was his home and escape; it had been for the past six years.
So when there was a knock on the closed door, Thorfinn initially played it off as a fragment of his imagination. Perhaps he had indulged in one too many drinks that evening, or simply even underestimated the strength of the relatively new luxurious brand. But then the knock rang out again. Three times in a row. And Thorfinn knew that someone was disturbing his time of solitude. Knowing that only one person would bother to try, the young man lifted his head with a guttural groan and opened the door with a lazy twist of his empty right hand. His suspicions were proven correct when Igor Karkaroff entered, dressed in his white winter coat and attire.
Usually, a student at the Durmstrang Institute would rise from their seat and greet the headmaster in a respectable manner. In public, Thorfinn often did the same thing. This, however, was an unscheduled meeting in his private space, so Thorfinn didn't even bother to cover himself up with his discarded shirt; the trousers would be enough to remove the argument regarding indecency.
"Good evening, headmaster." Thorfinn said neutrally, reaching over to detach his record. He could tell immediately that Karkaroff, being as strict as he was, was unhappy with the reception he had received. It was obvious that the issue would not be touched upon though, as there were evidently more important matters to discuss considering the fact that Karkaroff had made the move to visit Thorfinn's dormitory.
"I see you've made no move to prepare yourself." Karkaroff stated, making his student aware of the topic of conversation. Thorfinn was far from injudicious; he knew that the oncoming onslaught was about the fact that he had been avoiding everything to do with the Triwizard Tournament. Once the news of the trip to the famous Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had been spread, Karkaroff had quickly labelled Thorfinn as one of his chosen twelve to travel alongside him. Viktor Krum was the frontrunner, and he was the second. But Thorfinn did not want to be. He had no care for the tournament, nor the idea of staying in Scotland for months while the school year progressed back at Durmstrang. But Karkaroff had been insistent and unluckily for the headmaster, Thorfinn had been just as much so.
"The competition is not for me sir, neither is the travelling. I've said this many times."
"Come, boy," Karkaroff demanded. "Whether you like it or not, you are one of my chosen twelve."
"I'm not of age." Thorfinn scoffed, unresponsive to the manipulative form of flattery from his usually strict headmaster. He had no desire to leave the comfort that the confines of the Durmstrang Institute provided him; a lifelong creature of habit would not be abruptly swayed by an insistent compliment.
"You will be in two days." The headmaster snapped. "So while you will not be of age at the time of departure, you most certainly will be when the time comes to put your name in that cup! While it remains undeniable that Mr. Krum is the frontrunner and will probably be chosen to represent this Institute honourably, I am relying on you to fight in his place should his name not be produced."
"If you're so sure on Krum being champion, sir, then perhaps you should decide on a less talented insurance plan."
"Why, you-"
"As much as I appreciate all that this establishment has done for me over the years, I do not wish to waste a school year while everyone fawns over the rightful celebrity champion." From anyone else, Karkaroff would take the words to be both smug and ignorant. Coming from the enigmatic Thorfinn Rowle however, they were too dry – neutral, even – to come across as patronising. "It isn't lost on me that you understand and value my worth, sir. But the Triwizard Tournament is not the task for me… games, simply, are not my thing."
"Of that I am deftly aware." Karkaroff scoffed. "A serious soul, not unlike myself." He noted strongly. While the former death eater would never claim to see Thorfinn as a son, the young man was the closest thing to it that Karkaroff would ever have. He saw small parts of himself within the Rowle family heir, but would still not waver his demands despite the notable minuscule soft spot. "Now allow me to reassure you that this tournament is far from what you believe to be a game; it is designed to test only the strongest young wizards and witches, pushing them beyond their comfort-"
"I quite like my comfort zone here, sir."
"I know, boy." Karkaroff said. "But you cannot expect to live within these walls for the rest of your life." Thorfinn bristled at the comment, in denial of the fact that it was true. "You find an understandable solitude in your lifestyle here because it does not present you with the tribulations that you were exposed to as a boy, but not all of the world is as you have seen it in the past. Trust me when I say that Hogwarts is a light that you have never seen, and, while I do not agree with all of his methods, Professor Albus Dumbledore creates an atmosphere that cannot be mirrored."
"The atmosphere within this room cannot be mirrored either." Thorfinn argued, glancing around his private space. "Even after your most brutal training and practices… closing the door to this room, sliding a record onto the player, pouring a glass of only the finest drinks the Wizarding World can provide, sitting back in this chair – it calms me more than anything."
"Well you'll just have to find something else to calm you while we are away, Mr. Rowle. Because despite your efforts to escape this trip, you are boarding the boat tomorrow and if you do not arrive on time so help me Lord."
"Are you truly going to remove my right to choose, headmaster?" The blonde questioned, finally rising from the chair to stand before authority.
"You have no right to choose." Karkaroff retorted. "As you coincidentally mentioned before, you are not yet of age. And so due to you being under my guardianship until your seventeenth birthday, your right to choose still extends to my decision-making." Thorfinn's electric blue eyes narrowed slightly as he struggled to maintain an indifferent façade. There no way out this predicament, and he was becoming increasingly more aware of that fact as he continued to argue his case.
"Why must I be forced?" Thorfinn bit out, grinding his back teeth in attempt to quell the brewing agitation. His relaxation had already been intruded upon and ruined for the night, and now he was learning that tonight would be his finally opportunity to enjoy his space for a relatively long time.
"You know exactly why." The headmaster stated absolutely.
"Because you don't trust me." Thorfinn muttered, a flash of realisation crossing his handsome features. His fists began opening and closing involuntarily, with his right hand specifically craving the comfort of his wand. The annoyance had built, and now the anger was to follow. As if on cue, the fine wood of the wardrobe across the room splintered under a magical pressure, cracking loudly while a few shards fell to the ground. It looked as if a werewolf had clawed the centre.
"And that there is why." Karkaroff tutted before casting a swift, classic mending charm. "It is not that I don't trust you when you are thriving in your own space, it is the actions of others that concern me most. Well… the actions of others and your affinity for forms of darker magic beyond even what we offer within these walls."
"But you're the one who showed me some of-"
"Do not think that I do not know that it is you who steals the books that are hidden beyond even the restricted areas of the library, Thorfinn." The headmaster said firmly. "While no student has been found with devastating injuries that only you are capable of, I do not wish to be absent should that event occur."
"So you're throwing me into a place with hundreds of new people instead of leaving me somewhere I'm comfortably familiar with?" Thorfinn said in disbelief. His voice had raised slightly towards the end of the question, but he was too on edge to be concerned about the repercussions of yelling at Igor Karkaroff. "I'm not just going to start throwing dark magic around because you aren't here to tell me no!"
"Careful with that tone." Karkaroff ordered sharply, clamping a hand down on Thorfinn's broad, bare shoulder. The young man could feel the red print that was beginning to form under the harsh grip, but knew that he had brought this upon himself. It was worth it though… to fight for what he believed to be best for himself.
"Please, sir," Thorfinn mumbled, altering his approach. "We both know that Krum is more than good enough to win the Triwizard Tournament, so in that aspect I'm not needed. If you just let me remain here… I'll even undertake an Unbreakable Vow as a promise to not do anything you'd disagree with." Karkaroff's grip on his shoulder loosened gradually, eventually disappearing entirely. He looked down, pondering his words carefully before standing tall once more to stare Thorfinn directly in the eye.
"This trip will be good for you boy." Karkaroff said finally. "Trust that I wish for you to gain at least somewhat of a positive experience outside of this castle before you finish your education. Six years within these walls is a very long time, and the Triwizard Tournament is the best opportunity for you to extend your knowledge of the Wizarding World."
"But-"
"I wasn't finished." Karkaroff snapped. "This visit to another school, despite the fact that ours is undeniably superior, is one of the safest ways for you to finally explore. And perhaps… you'll even finally find yourself an adequate witch."
Thorfinn's relatively pale skin flushed from the neck upwards, and he raised his hand to cover his awkward cough.
"You know about that?"
"You think I am unaware of what goes on within my own establishment?" The headmaster scoffed. "The students talk, the faculty hear, then I hear my staff. You know, if you weren't so reluctant with allowing people in your dormitory, your exploits would be much more discreet."
"Okay, okay," Thorfinn muttered sheepishly, thoroughly embarrassed about the new topic of discussion. Although talking about the Triwizard Tournament frustrated him greatly, it was still better than the nature of his limited social life. It was hard to believe that the teachers gossiped as much as the pupils, but he dialled it down to the fact that most of them likely had not been away from school for long and were reduced to old habits. "I'll get my stuff together as long as you never bring that up again." Karkaroff clapped his hands together loudly as a devious grin of satisfaction wormed its way across his lips.
"Excellent!" He chuckled. "We depart after breakfast." Karkaroff stated before moving to leave, not allowing Thorfinn to go back on what had been said.
"Sir," The blonde piped up as he was halfway out of the door, making him turn back to the room once more. Karkaroff raised an eyebrow as a gesture for Thorfinn to continue. "Will I have my own room on the ship?"
"Yes, of course." The headmaster answered before moving away. "Baby steps, after all."
"Baby steps?" Thorfinn scoffed to himself, now finally back in the comfort of solitude. "More like being thrown to the wolves… baby steps… kissing Merlin's ass would be more fun than this trip."