Unplottable

7 - Draco

"Mr. Lupin, my curse teacher." The remark had been bothering Draco the whole morning. It had kept him from concentrating during Advanced Transfiguration, during Combat Magic, and now, during Quidditch practice held on the large, unusually sunny Durmstrang pitch, the words were still obstructing Draco's view onto the real world. "Mr. Lupin, my curse teacher." It had to be a mistake, but then again, Chad, the American, did not seem like a person who would get the names of his teachers wrong. Of course, Draco reasoned with himself, maybe it was just a coincidence - for all he knew, North America could be flooded with Lupins. The large country across the ocean might very well contain dynasties over dynasties of wizards bearing the name Lupin, what's more, wizards born with an incomprehensible urge to become teachers.

"Hey, Malfoy, are you daydreaming or what? Can't believe I've seen the Snitch before you did!" Rechter, the captain of the Inostranit Quidditch team, knew how to keep his people under his thumb. He seemed to have eyes everywhere, Draco thought as he obediently brought himself into position - eyes on the back of his head, eyes on top of his head - Draco had been about thirty feet higher than Rechter; probably, Draco thought wryly, Rechter even had eyes on his arse.

"We'll never beat the Gospods with a Seeker that won't concentrate on what he's doing!" Rechter, repeating his seventh year at Durmstrang, was tall and strong; his tanned, angular face was framed by short-cropped blond hair. On his Kampfflieger broomstick, he looked imposing indeed. Draco did not like him. For one thing, if Rechter had been smart enough to get his degree and leave Durmstrang last year, Draco might have inherited his post as the team captain. For another, Draco detested the way Rechter spat while talking, and the German accent of the Inostranit Quidditch captain was nothing short of an insult to Draco's ears.

"Crabbe, Goyle, get your bats ready, and try to stay on your brooms today." Rechter was obviously in a foul mood; however, Draco could not very well blame him for yelling at Crabbe and Goyle. By all rights, the two of them should not have made the house team due to their lack of the adequate skills; however, there weren't many students who could have taken their places. Inostranit was a small house, newly re-awakened last year by the change of politics in the wizarding world. All of them were transfer students, most of them Slytherins from Hogwarts, some coming from other countries: Rechter, for example, had left the Brockenschule in the German Harz, because the school's open opposition to Voldemort's supporters did not agree with his parents. In contrast to the other four houses of Durmstrang, consisting mostly of Eastern European students who were mainly taught in Russian, the Inostranits were educated mainly in English. They did not mix well with the other four houses. Many of the Eastern European students of Durmstrang detested the newcomers; competition was high. Beating Durmstrang's most prestigious house, the Gospods, in Quidditch was a top priority; in so far Draco had to agree with Rechter.

Draco gave his Lightspeed 4500b the mental spurs. The acceleration had not lost its magic for him yet; even though he had owned the racing broom, presently the most expensive on the market, since last spring, he was still amazed by its special features. It had been a gift from his father, of course, who wished that his son should do well in the new school. Dodging the bats of the immensely stupid beaters, Crabbe and Goyle, who were just as likely to hit him instead of a Bludger, Draco sped after the practice Snitch. It was a handy little thing, charmed to come at the blow of a special whistle when practice was over, but otherwise it worked like a real Snitch. Hogwarts should have some of them, but of course they were too stingy to buy any novel equipment, Draco mused as he flew a neat, elegant loop and deftly caught the practice Snitch. But of course, what did he care for Hogwarts? Hogwarts is history, Draco decided - history for him, and soon it would be history, period.

Rechter nodded joylessly as Draco presented the Snitch. "Not a bad catch, considering that you have no opponent here on the practice pitch," he sneered. His harsh Rs and mispronounced THs made Draco wince inwardly, but he managed to reply politely: "You will see, Rechter, I will make the team proud tomorrow."

After practice, Draco took one of the tepid showers that were typical for Durmstrang and changed into his school uniform, leaving off the fur coat, as there was still some summer left. Here in the Northern Ural, the climate was much rougher than even in Scotland. Sometimes he was homesick, or even schoolsick: The philosophy of Durmstrang translated into something like 'nobility through hardships;' in spite of the outrageous school fees, students were far from spoiled in the Russian wizard school. Correspondence with his parents was strictly limited, as was the amount of sweets that parents might send their children. Narcissa, who had made a habit of sending owls to Hogwarts nearly every day, was not pleased by such policies. Neither was Draco. If he did not watch it, he might actually long for the school he had left behind.

Consulting his watch, Draco realised he had almost an hour of spare time which he could spend in Durmstrang's computer room. Unlike old-fashioned Hogwarts, the school was connected to the internet; an expensive anti-magic isolation ensured that the Muggle devices functioned properly in the magic-soaked atmosphere of the ancient school. The school philosophy of Durmstrang might say that it was the birth right of pure-blooded wizards to rule the world, but this did not mean that the school had any anti-technology policy: Ignoring the Muggles' scientific progress would have put wizards at an undue disadvantage. A true wizard, Draco's teachers believed, did not shy away from even using a combination of magic and technology to achieve his ends; there were plans to establish Digimagic as a school subject next year. Above all things, the advantages of the Muggle telecommunication system were not ignored in Durmstrang any longer. After all, international magical cooperation was crucial.

An exchange program with Boston Magical Highschool had provided many students with American pen-pals. The Americans had come for an international sports competition between the two schools, which had yielded the predictable results: Durmstrang, or rather, the notorious and over-privileged Gospod team, had flatted their guests in Quidditch, while - surprise - the Americans had utterly defeated the Hudojnic Quidditch team in a Quodpot match. Of course, the teachers insisted, the meeting was not about sports, but about international friendship and contact. Draco had adopted this policy by befriending the Varsity Quodpot team captain Chad, and by exchanging e-mail addresses on the day of parting. Chad was probably a useful person to know, especially as the two boys seemed to be on the same political wavelength. The BMH student was the founder and president of the school club Future Death Eaters of America; he had assured Draco that in the United States, there were hundreds of wizards willing to support Voldemort. Draco already saw the two of them as grown wizards and Death Eaters, cooperating across the ocean, sharing and dividing the power between them.

"Mr. Lupin, my curse teacher." Chad's last e-mail had awoken Draco's curiosity; it was like a dust particle on the lens of his mind - something that should not be there at all. In his reply, Draco had included the following remark:

>>By the way, I am intrigued by your mentioning of a certain Mr. Lupin. At my former, British school, we once had a loser of the same name, teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts (a typical Hogwarts thing - they are too noble to learn the proper stuff!). I wonder if this is just a coincidence, or whether there is any connection between the two teachers. If we are talking about the same Lupin, you should be aware that he is a dangerous werewolf. Of course, it is highly unlikely that the two Lupins are identical,, as by British laws, such a creature is not permitted to leave the country in any way.<<

Draco checked his e-mail account. Yes, Chad had replied. Draco sat back on his cushionless, wooden chair and read the words on the screen:

>>Hiya, Draco,

thanks for your mail and for asking about the team. We have flattened two more schools this season, and are well on our way to the regional cup. There have been no more than seventeen injuries taken from exploding Quods this year, which is also pretty good.

I'm looking forward to you lot coming over next spring. I will make sure that you'll stay at my house; my mom and dad will be delighted to have a real English noble wizard around. Hope you'll get a chance to practice Quodpot a bit in the meantime, though, or the next game will probably result in a few casualties, haw haw.

About that teacher: I'm pretty sure we are not talking about the same person - after all, I should know if my curse teacher is a werewolf, shouldn't I? He is medium-sized, in his mid- to late thirties, has greyish hair, green eyes, a ridiculous passion for chocolate - does that ring a bell??

Anyway, gotta go deatheating, the club is meeting in five minutes.

See ya,

Chad<<

Draco frowned; he stared at Chad's e-mail until the screen-saver went on, displaying, ironically, silly, waving cartoon witches on broomsticks. The description, vague as it was, failed to convince him that Chad's teacher was not Remus Lupin; actually, it fitted him pretty well.

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The stranger was smallish and balding; apart from his silvery right hand prosthesis, he looked conspicuously unimpressive, not at all like an idol of future Death Eaters. Draco had never seen the wizard before, but he knew at once that his Combat Magic teacher, Ludmila Davies, must have had a good reason to ask the Inostranits to meet him. An Anglo-Russian with an almost tolerable pronunciation of English, she was the head of Inostranit house. As Draco's father had said, Professor Davies was a person to be trusted; she would support their cause, and she would not assemble her students for nothing.

"Dear students of Inostranit, I would like you to meet Mr. Petrodent, who has come from England," she announced slightly pompously. "He is visiting zis school to talk to you, and to seek your aid on a verry important matter."

The wizard cleared his throat and let his gaze wonder over the group of students. "Dear students of the newly-reopened house Inostranit," he addressed them. It was obvious that he was giving a speech he had practiced, maybe even memorised for this occasion. "I have come to see you for a very special reason, no, for three very special reasons. Even more than the other four houses of Durmstrang, Inostranit traditionally stands for support of pure-bloodedness, for bravery and stealth, for students willing to earn themselves power in this world. In times of crisis, when the riffraff of the progressives taint the old honourable wizard schools of Europe with their petty new customs, students of many countries assemble here to pursue their education true to their ancestral roots. Therefore, my first reason for coming here is to congratulate you on choosing Durmstrang, and especially, Inostranit as your Alma Mater, which in itself is almost a pledge of loyalty to my master. My second aim is to get to know you all, and to establish contact between us, for surely we will be of use to each other in the future."

Mr. Petrodent gave the Inostranits long, wannabe-significant looks. Draco found the stranger's watery blue eyes slightly appalling, particularly the way they were framed by pink, bulgy lachrymal sacs. Alright, Petrodent was finally coming to recruit them for You-Know-Who, that was at least something - but couldn't the Lord of Darkness have sent someone a little more glamorous? In spite of his expensively tailored new robes, the Death Eater (for surely he was one) looked like something picked up from the gutter, someone whose fate it was to follow, not to lead.

"Thirdly and most importantly, I have come to ask your help on behalf on the Dark Lord," Petrodent continued at last. "If you are willing to serve him, he will greatly reward you and give you power over wizards and Muggles alike. He commanded me to tell you the following: 'I call all of you into my service. The way to fame, to riches and to power is to become a Death Eater, a servant of Darkness. Join my ranks, and you will not regret it. Shirk your duty, and you will be known as a weakling, as a coward. Oppose me, and you will regret it more than words can say.'"

"We are willing to serve the Dark Lord!" Siegfried Rechter exclaimed immediately, his right hand raised high into the air in a dramatic gesture. Draco cringed inwardly; the German had no trace of style or tact. Even Ludmila Davies, who was so hopelessly ugly and unstylish that Draco found it hard to feel even the slightest respect for her, bit her bottom lip and kept her eyes on the floor. Petrodent, however, looked pleased. Consulting his notes, he said:

"Siegfried Rechter, is this correct?"

"Rechter, Siegfried - Inostranit Seventh Year, at your service and at the service of our master, Sir Petrodent," Rechter replied with military promptness, raised his right hand again and then lowered it to roll up his left sleeve, just as if he was expecting to be awarded a Dark Mark on the spot. In spite of the serious and long-expected occasion, Draco found it hard not to snicker.

"I am grateful at your display of faith in my master," Petrodent replied. "It is wizards like you he needs most. As I said, he needs your help, and I am most glad that some of you are willing to offer it on good faith."

Draco did not really consider it a good idea to offer his help before he knew what exactly would be requested of him, but neither did he want to seem less enthusiastic than a moron like Rechter. After all, he had always known he would join the ranks of the Death Eaters one day.

"Many of us have longed to serve the Dark Lord since our childhood, and we are glad that the time has finally come," he remarked evenly, once more congratulating himself for his smooth, calm, but already manly voice. Erecting himself to his full height, he said: "Mr. Petrodent, what would the Dark Lord have us do for him?"

"The Dark Lord has big plans for all of you," Petrodent replied. "To fulfil his greatest ambition for this year, he needs many powerful wands, and he hopes that yours will have the honour to be among them. Your first task in the service of the Dark Lord will be to aid him in the utter destruction of Hogwarts."

At first, Draco hoped he hadn't heard correctly; next to him, he heard Pansy Parkinson gasp. Destroy Hogwarts? Sure, he hated his old school, every true Inostranit did, but to destroy it seemed a bit preposterous, if not, well, over-ambitious.

"Please tell us, Mr. Petrodent, how the Dark Lord is planning to destroy Hogwarts? Do you want to teach us the Glaciera curse?" he heard himself ask, wishing at the same time he could take back his words for fear of being thought insubordinate. His father had warned him a long time ago that the Dark Lord did not like wizards who asked too many question; the look in his eyes had told Draco that Lucius Malfoy had some personal experience in this matter, and that the experience had been rather painful.

"Draco Malfoy, is it?" Petrodent shot him a cold look of interest. "You are well-informed, but nevertheless, misinformed. As useful as the Glaciera curse is, the Dark Lord has found another, more effective way to annihilate the whole school of Hogwarts. As you know, this school hosts some of my master's most celebrated enemies among its teachers and even among its students; recently, it is rumoured to even hold a refugee camp of the dirty cowards and criminals who call themselves the League. This time when we attack Hogwarts, we will destroy it completely; no stone may remain standing upon the other, and no one may be left alive."

Draco was getting sick of Mr. Petrodent's wannabe-significant looks, but he did not let on; instead, he nodded, stating agreement with all the Death Eater had said, encouraging him to continue.

"This time, our attack on Hogwarts will succeed. The curse we will use is called Eliminatus; if we assemble the amount of power to conjure up the necessary amount of anti-matter, Hogwarts will disappear from the face of this earth without leaving a trace. All students, all teachers, all refugees, all buildings and everything the castle holds will simply cease to exist. Eliminatus is a complicated curse which requires a superhuman amount of power if used on such a large and well-protected aim; however, with experienced witches and wizards conducting the curse, all that you students will have to do is learn to channel your powers and to lend them to us. With your help, our biggest enemy, Hogwarts, will soon be no more."

For the briefest moment, Draco thought of the owlery, of the giant squid, of Professor Snape and some of his former housemates in Slytherin. Cease to exist, be no more.... He shook his head to ban such doubts where they belonged. You-Know-Who promised his servants power, and Petrodent openly offered it to them in his stead. He, Draco, wanted this power; he would step into his father's shoes, would even outshine Lucius. One day, he wanted to be the second-in-command, the most powerful wizard besides You-Know-Who. The only way to achieve this was to do the Dark Lord's bidding, and to prove that he could do better, significantly better, than all his peers.

"Teach us what is required, Mr. Petrodent," Draco said, knowing that he looked and sounded great as he said this. "Lead us the way into the Dark Lord's service, so we can prove our devotion to him."