Chapter 9

The next day.

"Well, well... What a surprise to run into you this morning." A familiar female voice reached me, utterly devoid of any warmth. On the contrary, its owner was barely holding back from openly expressing pure negativity.

"Good morning to you, Fräulein Romanova," I turned on my heels to face my... well, hmmm... as odd as it sounds, my main rival for power. A blonde, though her hair was a more golden shade than mine, and her eyes weren't blue, but a deep, intense sapphire.

"Such impeccable politeness, Stahlwolf. It's almost enough to make my teeth grind." She remarked with a biting tone, stating the obvious. It was like she had some sort of trigger when it came to me. While I could understand why someone like Malfoy would behave that way toward Potter, when it came to Romanova, I had only vague guesses.

Smile, it irritates them — of course, that's a good principle, and it usually helps. But sometimes, with certain individuals, my irritation manages to slip past my self-control.

Naturally, I'm more restrained than Erika, but even my patience has its limits. Especially when I'm treated like this for no apparent reason. She could at least drop some hints.

This girl is one of the few people who can really get under my skin. What, am I not supposed to be annoyed by someone younger? Who came up with that nonsense? Haven't seen any overconfident teenagers who think they're better and smarter than everyone around them lately? Well, I have, and I've had to deal with them for months on end.

"If you try hard enough, Fräulein, you'll manage to use this rather fascinating skill as well," I responded in the same polite tone, motioning for my acquaintances to hold back.

Standing there, lined up against each other with our respective pseudo- and not-so-pseudo subordinates, we couldn't help but resemble Malfoy and Potter squaring off with their respective support groups — whatever they called them, best friends or followers.

Secondhand embarrassment. Once again.

"Before you decide to continue our conversation, I'd like to point something out... Professor El-Melloi is headed this way." Preempting whatever the girl was about to say (she had already opened her mouth to start the usual verbal sparring), I added with a smile full of superiority.

I wasn't lying. I had indeed noticed the professor's figure in the distance, though based on his trajectory, he might very well pass us by. We were standing in one of the inner corridors, one of four similar ones that bordered the castle's inner garden, meaning one wall was completely open to the view of the extensive garden, where a bunch of wizards were always wandering about.

But explain that little detail? Why bother?

Romanova quickly assessed the situation and decided to retreat, unwilling to risk an encounter with this particular professor. Her disappointment showed through in an irritated click of the tongue, which she probably attributed to what she saw as my cowardice (ha, ha, ha), and then she turned and walked off in silence — leaving without a word, as they say. Her followers/servants/friends quickly followed suit.

That said, her actions can hardly be called cowardice. Quite the opposite, in fact — it was a very wise decision on her part. Engaging in a dialogue with El-Melloi, especially if he detects even the slightest hint of wrongdoing on your part, is exhausting, even for me... and I'm someone who is on relatively good terms with him. Compared to him, Snape seems like a fantastic, undemanding teacher. The Golden Trio should have appreciated having such a professor.

As for me, I wasn't particularly eager to start bickering with Tatiana on just the second day of the new school year. We still had three more full academic years ahead of us to continue this... rivalry.

"At least today we're spared from your oh-so-witty arguments," came a quiet voice, clearly relieved.

Ivan had never been shy about voicing his opinions, knowing that I'm usually willing to listen to other points of view… though, in most cases, only from those I consider reasonable enough to have one.

Yes, I know, I'm such a villain, not respecting the opinions of underdeveloped minds, right?

"You barely participate in them, so why are you complaining?" I glanced at him with curiosity as we moved toward the dining hall. As one of my fellow countrymen used to say: war is war, but lunch is on schedule.

"I don't participate until your arguments escalate and drag the rest of us into it," Ivan corrected me, his tone even slightly... instructive.

Still, that's one of the reasons I value him — he's the only one (besides Gertrude, but she's a special case) who dares to tell me unpleasant things to my face. Even Erika, who might seem braver, has never gone that far, driven by her self-preservation instincts and the understanding that she's firmly in my, well, entourage.

Ahem, yes, that does sound a bit crude when applied to a girl. But it's a fact — she's fully ingrained in my, shall we say, inner circle.

"Everyone here, including you, knows perfectly well that such… primitive methods of asserting dominance are beneath me. So, you're grumbling more than offering any constructive criticism." I waved him off once again, almost automatically switching to a more... elaborate manner of speaking.

Nevertheless, what the Russian was saying wasn't particularly interesting at the moment — just idle grumbling.

As for my, hmm, rhetorical habits… Well, my mother knows how to teach thoroughly. No, more than that — how to make sure those lessons stick and become a part of your personality. Now that's true mastery of education and psychology.

Terrifying woman, really.

After a few minutes of leisurely walking and conversation, we encountered three upper-year students dressed in the distinctive crimson semi-military school uniform.

Aaaand… we promptly ignored them, just as they ignored us. It's easy enough to recognize members of the Unjoined, those who refuse, hehe, to bow to the purebloods, staging a kind of pseudo-boycott against us.

However, as I happen to know, they don't wear the school uniform out of some oppositionist principle. It's simply because they're dirt poor. They can't afford other clothes, as the old families who take them under their wing won't pay for anything else, and they're forced to sever ties with their Muggle parents upon entering Durmstrang. They almost always get their memories wiped too, from what I hear.

A strange fact, but the uniform actually helps them in some ways… I mean, the uniform, not the poverty.

Red does draw attention, doesn't it?

Regarding the uniform itself… The thing is, most students stop wearing this rather uncomfortable attire by their second year. As a result, only the younger students and the Unjoined stand out.

This particular trio was from our year, and… there was nothing remarkable about them that would pique my interest. I know that sounds arrogant, but it's the truth.

Sure, one can talk endlessly about how a person can succeed on their own, without any external help, and in a different context, that might even be true… I might even understand if they played their little game of independence and self-reliance for the first two, maybe three years… But now, when they should have matured and at least grasped the reality of the situation they're in?

One word from me, and practically any reasonable employer wouldn't hire them, for fear of angering a powerful family… And let's suppose someone were bold enough to clash with one family, but those in the know understand that the Stahlwolfs are tied by alliances, contracts, and friendships with many other influential families in the wizarding world… So, anyone who hires them would be going up against a substantial part of the current system.

Of course, there's always the Ministry, which is essentially controlled by the Americans and their many small schools, where they train future Muggle-born puppets… But the stigma of studying at Durmstrang — a supposed breeding ground for old traditions and a "den of rotten purebloods who don't let Muggle-borns in" — will close most doors for them even there.

They could drop out and try to join the Ministry, but… in all my years here, I haven't seen anyone do that. They're too afraid to make a change in their lives, too scared to disrupt the established, familiar order. If they lack the courage, that's their problem.

Maybe I'm being unfair. Maybe not. I think time will eventually tell me one way or another. But as it stands, I don't see any benefit in their demonstrative rejection of the current system. They're not restoring any kind of justice with this — assuming that this elusive concept of justice, often called "equality," even exists.

"A bunch of idiots," Erika muttered under her breath, her arms crossed under her noticeably well-endowed chest.

"Underdeveloped members of society," I corrected her automatically. But I didn't lecture her. There's no point at this stage. I have good reason to believe they'll soon do something foolish again... like they did in first year. For example, I recalled the incident when they tried to sabotage our Quidditch team. Yes, we have that same nonsense here as in Hogwarts — a sport competition between the Houses.

Back then, when we were all first-years, they supposedly "accidentally" stumbled into our team's changing room, claiming it was out of curiosity.

But I still suspect someone put them up to it. Not just because it would have been nearly impossible for an uninformed first-year — one without parents who were former students — to find the changing room, but also because the plan was too... too well thought out for a group of eleven-year-olds, none of whom were particularly bright. Had there been an ordinary pureblood in my place, he would have dismissed the trio of idiots with contempt, ignoring the fact that they had refused to acknowledge his superiority. Even if only formally.

And that would have allowed them to ruin the team's uniforms beyond repair. Reparo is not omnipotent, after all.

The element of surprise would have worked flawlessly. Even the teachers probably wouldn't have expected such a brazen and severely punishable action from newly admitted students. But fortune wasn't on the side of the puppet master... someone I still haven't identified. I haven't exactly put much effort into it... but still… Whoever it is, they've managed to stay hidden quite well.

Not that I have any leads on them anyway. I doubt they personally met with the executors — speaking from experience. And whoever passed the idea to them, i.e., the intermediary, must have concealed themselves with magic as well, meaning the half-bloods probably don't even know whether they were dealing with a man or a woman. As for their figure, age, or personality — I wouldn't even bother asking.

But that level of planning… It was clearly someone from the upper years, and by now, they've likely graduated... Ugh, I'm a lousy detective, it seems. Then again, even Sherlock Holmes would have to twist his mind into knots, because magic is no trivial matter.

I locked eyes with one of them.

Their sneering, sideways glances irritate me to no end! My hands are itching…

So, I really wouldn't mind taking out my anger on them during their next dumb scheme. That whole trope of being the saintly protagonist, calm and unbothered by anyone's nonsense? That's for the typical Japanese high school students. I'm more of a down-to-earth person with a more grounded personality. And while using fists would be seen as rather uncultured, given my current status, there's always magic.

One way or another, they'll slip up eventually. Or someone will push them into it.

"Adalbert… that sinister smile of yours is scarier than some of Gertrude's ideas," Anton said cheerfully, despite his words. He didn't look scared in the slightest. Erika's cronies, who were always lurking in the background like furniture, did. Even Erika and Ivan cast wary glances my way.

As for our resident human wall… completely unshaken.

"Ahem. Just imagining something," I said, coughing into my fist with an air of polite serenity as I regained my composure. "Let's pick up the pace. Our Potions Master might be a soft-spoken man, but you all know... he can make us scrub cauldrons if we're late." With that, and a few nods of agreement from my classmates, we quickened our steps toward our destination.

Still, I really need to work on that smile... "Sinister," as Karpishin so aptly put it, doesn't quite suit my public persona. My mask — or something resembling it, if that's easier to explain.

...Suddenly, a memory hit me of a very familiar expression.

D-d-damn it! Now I understand what she meant when she "accidentally" mentioned that certain resemblance starting to show.

She cursed me with that facial expression… Witch!

Honestly, there's no better word for her.