Post by Per Holmsen on Nov 14, 2020 12:00:37 GMT 2
"These mudbloods are pox on our society, and Durmstrang -- forsaken by God."
That was the last thing Per's father had told him, standing behind him on the dock from which Per, he himself and every single Holmsen as far as the lineage went, had set off for Durmstrang. He hadn't whispered the words, no, he had gripped his son's shoulder and said them out loud, looking right at the new Deputy Headmaster, "disgusting blood traitor", Martin Herder. It was somewhat amusing to see the man lack any reaction while some of Per's own Norwegian friends were snickering in plain sight.
While reputation was something he was supposed to uphold and polish with every breath Per took (it wasn't even hard, after all, he was great), Per's father had told him that he wouldn't mind if Per got in trouble if he was waging war against the mudbloods. Well, perhaps he had put it in a different way, but Per had understood the sentiment -- make their lives hell, and you would be rewarded.
Of course, Per was no brute and wasn't going to stain his luxurious robes with the snot of bawling trespassers -- no, he was going to make sure mudbloods would not be accepted, they would know no peace and no friendship in the walls of Durmstrang. Excluding them from the community would show them exactly where they belonged.
From the very first day of the year, he and his friends began their campaign -- the ones he kept around to do the dirty work were told to hide the possessions of their dormmates. Meanwhile Per and a few others, including the distinguished Petra Sandström were coming up with ways to kill any possibilities of integration, as she had phrased it.
The end of September came and one morning Per received the greatest prize of them all -- a letter from home to one of these trespassers. Oh, and what a delight it was.
The next day, during noon, right as lunch ended, Per gathered his friends and entered the inner courtyard, stepping on one of the stone chairs and casting Sonorus on his vocal cords.
"Attention, rightful students of Durmstrang!" he began, pulling the folded letter from the pocket of his light red uniform jacket, "I think it is time you all knew what kind of human garbage has arrived to our school!"
"Here I have a letter to one... Grace Sorensen. I wonder if she is here." He poked one of his friends with his foot, making them scurry off into the forming crowd and locate the girl in question.
"She is, let me see, the daughter of a criminal and a drug addict! Do you think she gets high in the bathrooms between classes?"
Post by Grace Sørensen on Nov 14, 2020 12:50:18 GMT 2
Curled up on a bench in the courtyard, legs drawn beneath her as she sat studying her Transfiguration textbook, Grace was doing her very best to ignore those around her. She'd been all but shoved out of her dorm this morning, told she wasn't even allowed to study there lest she taint the air with the oxygen her "mudblood" (not her phrase of choice) body expelled so… the courtyard it was. If she didn't make eye contact and kept her head ducked, people tended to not bother her as much. Perhaps because they didn't recognise her, but Grace knew that mostly it was because they seemed too preoccupied with their friends, something she… she tended to lack, even more than she had when she'd been in Russia.
Turning the page of her textbook, eyes studiously studying a particularly interesting sentence along the lines of human transfiguration, Grace's breath stilled entirely as she heard a very loud voice cut through the humdrum of busy students. It wasn't the volume of which the boy spoke at that made her stop breathing, although it was awfully loud, but… it was what he said. By now, she'd thought the insults directed at new students would have rolled off her, like a tumbleweed through a field, but that wasn't the case. Human garbage - the phrase crept under her skin, nestling there, lurking. It was one she was already dwelling on, and she knew that later… she'd ask herself if she really was that. She'd wonder for the thousandth time if she truly didn't belong in this world.
The boy speaking looked vaguely familiar with the swoop of his blonde hair but… the letter that was clutched in his hand, it looked even more familiar and dropping her textbook, Grace began rifling through her bag to see if…
No. No, no, no…
It was her letter. The one Anders had written in that messy scrawl of his, ink smudged slightly from his fingers. The one where he had told her what… what was going on at home, that shared intimate details of her life that Grace barely breathed to anyone beyond Anders and bestemor. Grace wasn't careless enough to just leave something so sacred out in the open - it must have fallen from her bag but… but where?
That was a question she'd be ruminating over later, no doubt, but suddenly Grace was all but being pulled up onto her feet by her arm, led forward to the front of a crowd. Perhaps if she was stronger, she would have had the strength to not let herself be led like a lamb to the slaughter, but… she was weak and her tongue refused to work as a boy she didn't even know the name of started to make her the star of some sort of sick performance he was putting on.
All eyes were on Grace, on the red embarrassed flush that took over her body and on the tears prickling their way into her eyes, as the blonde boy started revealing her deepest secrets. "I… I don't…" 'I've never touched drugs,' was what Grace wanted to say but the words lodged in her throat. Instead, she took a different route, quietly begging, "Please. Give it back." She didn't want everyone to know her business. Her personal, private business. The target on her back would only grow tenfold if they learned some of the most shameful details of her life.
Post by Kirsten Winterfeldt on Nov 15, 2020 2:22:15 GMT 2
Ever the lady who walks in the shadow
here were many things which Kirsten had come to love about Durmstrang. It was a beautiful place, in the wild, rough kind of manner that most appealed to the brunette's sense of aesthetic, and full of such exciting people; the sons and daughters of all those people up and down her part of the world who had any power worth speaking of, the kind of people who would be movers and shakers themselves in a year or two; the kind of people, in short, whom it would be well worth her while to make sure that she got in with. The school enjoyed a kind of exclusivity which meant that attendance ensured that you would be brought into contact with the cream of the metaphorical crop.
Or at least it had done, up until this year. But then, of course, because the world hated her so much, everything had just had to take a flying leap out of the window. Already she'd heard that some of the other girls been forced to throw a couple of Mudbloods unceremoniously from the dormitory this morning; their presence had been bothering her in all kinds of little ways ever since the beginning of the year, and it just got worse with every day that passed. Still, she knew many people had been complaining and it didn't seem to have made any difference. Unfortunately.
She strolled in a leisurely manner through the lower floors of the castle, in no particular hurry. Since she had a free period and little work with which to fill it, there was no sense in rushing around the place and getting herself in a fluster. Kirsten had only a very limited set of circumstances in which it was acceptable to appear as anything other than icy cold and perfectly composed, and as delighted as she was to find herself in October, she was fairly sure that that did not count as a special occasion.
Accordingly, she slowed as she passed the archway into the courtyard, catching the sound of a raised voice, and, intrigued by the few words that she caught, she stepped out into the square, slipping through the crowd until she found herself near the front. After all, she had every right to be there, did she not? Her stake in the integrity of this school was as great as anyone else's, if not greater; it was just about the only way she was ever going to persuade anyone to take her bloody seriously, by the look of things, and if she had to spend the rest of her life defending the fact that she'd attended Durmstrang at the same time as a load of useless Mudbloods then she wasn't sure that it would be worth the effort.
Her lips curved up ever so slightly as the boy spoke on, and she watched with relish as some blonde was dragged out to the front of the crowd. Quite right too, she thought. If the scum thought they could just swan in here and get on with life as they did in whatever hellholes of schools had been unfortunate enough to play host to them beforehand, they had better think again. Standards were higher at Durmstrang.
"Awww... Precious princess wants it back," she cooed, taking a firm hold of the blonde's shoulder. "But you don't get to make the decisions here... Sorensen, was it? Someone needs to learn how to respect her betters."
Vika had left lunch early that afternoon, the constant noise of the main hall too much for her to deal with at the moment, while she picked at her pasta and bit her lip, worrying about all her classes for the afternoon. She wasn't sure if Durmstrang's classes really were harder or if it was just that all the professors in the difficult classes seemed especially strict--but either way, she needed to make sure she remembered everything about Dark creatures before Professor Dąbrowska called on her out of nowhere.
But now the chaos had filtered out into the courtyard where she was sitting, and Vika gripped the edge of her notebook harder as a booming voice echoed through the yard, louder than any normal person could speak. She glanced up at the clock, hoping that the start of the next hour would end the whole thing, but the minute hand seemed not even to move.
Only a few of the phrases that the boy in the center of the crowd was reading made sense to Vika's ears--she still didn't speak German nearly as well as all of her classmates seemed to. She'd never needed to, not in Minsk, not at Koldovstoretz, definitely not in her grandparents' village. But she could figure out drugs and she could see the way the blonde girl seemed to crumple at the words, and she shut her eyes tight, wondering if she should just flee the scene now.