A meeting was taking place in Dumbledore's office. The professors were discussing work issues and sharing their impressions of the students. Snape was throwing lightning bolts at the Weasley brothers, McGonagall was defending the innocent children, and the headmaster was watching everything with an understanding smile. The other teachers were also talking quietly about something, and only Flitwick, usually cheerful and lively, was gloomy and pensive today.
When the meeting ended, Flitwick and Snape lingered in the office. Dumbledore looked questioningly at his colleagues, and they handed him the scrolls. It turned out that both professors, as world-renowned experts, had been invited to the Tournament of Three Magic Schools: Durmstrang, Beauxbaton, and Uagadi to judge in their respective fields.
Albus calculated the dates and decided that for a week, classes at Hogwarts could be redirected to other subjects.
"Of course, colleagues," he said enthusiastically, "such invitations confirm that Hogwarts is considered the best school of magic. Two of our professors have been asked to be judges at such a tournament. You can go, we'll just need to adjust your class schedule. Please go to Minerva for help now.
When the professors left, Dumbledore thought with satisfaction that he would be sure to remind his colleagues of this moment at the next meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards. The invitation of two school professors to an international competition was an extraordinary event, no matter how you looked at it. Of course, the great light-haired man would never admit it even to himself, but international recognition flattered his ego.
***
Al-Mansur threw off his sweat-soaked hunter's outfit. He did it, yes! The Giza faculty team defeated the stubborn stargazers in the final, and although the Snitch was ultimately caught by a Seeker from the opposing team, the difference in points gave the victory to Hassan's team. The jubilant students in blue uniforms shouted from the stands, cheering on their team. Happy for his friend, Cassius patted Hassan on the shoulder. And even if not all the faculty team members make it to the international tournament, Hassan will definitely be the team captain.
The satisfied boys went to the large hall, where a festive dinner had been laid out and the students who had returned from the match were already chatting. Even the professors sat at their table and watched the students with smiles. Today, the teachers would form the school team, and the boys would have a month to train.
Finally, the exams were over, and school was behind them. Cassius, like many students, was incredibly happy. All that lay ahead was a trip to the tournament and then home.
Memories of dusty scrolls, floating cauldrons, and all kinds of transformations in Transfiguration were not what he wanted at the beginning of summer. Nevertheless, all the exams were passed with "Excellent," and the boy was satisfied. His friend Hassan may not have excelled in every exam like Cassius, but he did so well in Transfiguration that Professor Sarponge, shaking his unchanging dreadlocks on his grey head, officially offered him an apprenticeship. Hassan was looking forward to continuing his education, although until yesterday he was sure he would be going home for good.The joyful students gathered at the portal, ready to embark on their journey. The Quidditch team, made up of the school's best players, the reserve team, and Cassius, as a participant in two other competitions. The headmaster himself was accompanying them, along with the mischievous old potions master. Joe Bliksim, the teacher of combat magic, categorically refused to go, saying that he would definitely kill one of those white misfits. Cassius still hadn't bothered to buy a wand, using either the universal school wand or a simple copper ring given to him by a spellcaster from Angola, where he was doing another internship with his teacher's friends. His father said they would definitely buy him a really good wand when Cassius returned to England.
In an instant, the representatives of the school of Uagadu found themselves on the grounds of Prexestulena, and the cold north wind began to tear at the clothes of students and professors with its damp tentacles. Casting a warming spell on the group, Director Ngono suggested that everyone take a look at the local sights while waiting for the school's guide. The location of Durmstrang was as hidden as most magic schools, which was a natural protection for magical institutions. In ancient times, wizards understood that children were the most valuable thing. Therefore, in every land where a school of witchcraft was located, numerous protective structures were provided. And the educational institutions themselves were well protected from enemies.
Hassan looked around and tugged Cassius's robe sleeve in admiration:
"Look, Cass, how beautiful it is here.
Wooded mountains lined the edges of a small plateau, the ground dropped away into an abyss, and somewhere below, the angry waves of the Lysefjord crashed against the rocks. Many of the students immediately wanted to transform into birds to admire the view from above. But Pierre Ngono forbade them to stray too far, let alone fly.
"Stay on the platform, a guide will be here soon," the magician shook his head, "or you'll be scattered. There are lots of beautiful places here," he smiled. "I'd like to fly too.
Suddenly, there was a crackling sound on the path leading to the cliff, and a tall sorcerer appeared on the platform, wearing a sable hat and fur coat, with a long magic staff in his hand. His beard and bushy eyebrows gave his evil face a Mephistophelean appearance. The students who had read Goethe even sighed with admiration.
Seeing the Africans standing there, the man approached and introduced himself in good French:
"Hello, distinguished guests, my name is Igor Karakara, I am the director of the Durmstrang Institute. I am pleased to welcome you to our school. I will now open the portal arch, and we will move to Durmstrang.
Director Ngono nodded with a smile, and Karkarov, approaching the nearest rock, drew the outline of an arch with his staff. A flash of light appeared, and the wizard silently made several passes with his staff, finally striking the rock. The passageway flashed and lit up with an even white flame.
With an inviting wave of his hand, Karkarov was the first to step through the portal. Pierre Ngono followed him, and then the rest of the school team moved through the portal. The first thing the guests saw was a huge castle with four towers on either side, standing on the shore of a lake, where a lone, gloomy ship lay at a small pier.
"It's also a school in the mountains," the students whispered excitedly, "almost like home. Mountains, a beautiful castle.
"Only we have a waterfall," said one of the Quidditch players, shaking her head defiantly.
The Uagadu team, led by Karkarov, entered the castle grounds. The Africans were greeted by a magnificent view of the inner courtyard of the fortress, which had been built later around the school. The students of Durmstrang School were already standing in neat rows on the cobbled fortress square. A little to the side, in a small group in blue robes, stood the Beauxbaton team, which had arrived earlier. The Durmstrang students were all dressed in wine-red fur coats or warm robes with fur trim. The neat rows of Durmstrang cadets did not differ in colour according to their faculties, as in Uagadu, but each had a badge attached to their uniform indicating their house.
The most prestigious was the Esther faculty, with a gold badge, followed by Zweiter and Dritter with silver and bronze badges. Finally, the least prestigious was Fieter, with a simple iron badge. There was fierce competition between the cadets at Durmstrang. The best students studied at Esther, while those who failed to prove themselves went to Fieter. Even the living conditions were completely different. Esther had apartments for one or two cadets, with luxurious furnishings. Each student had their own bathroom and there was a magnificent living room where students could relax and socialise on a multitude of leather and plush sofas.
The faculty also had several spellcasting halls, duelling halls and physical training rooms. There were also four large potion-making rooms where several students could brew their potions at the same time without getting in each other's way. The Fier faculty was distinguished by its almost Spartan decor, with multi-tiered bunk beds for three or four people and two showers for boys and girls. The other faculties were somewhere between Esther and Fier.
Every Durmstrang student dreamed of ending up in Esther and feared being sent to Fiether, so many cadets studied until they saw dark spots before their eyes, trying to outdo those around them and themselves. There was iron discipline and harsh punishments, and life was practically like in a barracks. Nevertheless, children are children, so you could still hear joyful laughter here and there, and sometimes arguments and fights would break out. The school lived its own life, training its students to become worthy wizards.
Unlike Uagadug, Durmstrang was a multinational school, and there were many representatives of different countries and peoples here. Although, of course, everyone looked at the black and white-toothed boys and girls with some surprise.
The tournament teams were naturally housed on the grounds of Esther, where there were apartments specially equipped for guests. Everyone looked at the gaudy luxury of the surroundings with cheerful amazement. After throwing their things in their rooms and not forgetting to enchant the doors, the students followed their escort to the dining hall. Entering the spacious room, where the Durmstrang students were already seated, the teams sat down at two tables standing nearby, leaving space for the guests. Everyone was seated between the cadets so that the young people could chat in an informal atmosphere.
Cassius sat down between two serious-looking guys and began to serve himself. Today, in order to show respect to the guests, the tables were mainly laden with African and French cuisine. Having served himself his usual food and satisfied his initial hunger, Cassius began to look around curiously.
Opposite him, the French team was eating, among whom Cassius noticed a girl who stood out for her beauty, with a clear hint of a non-human race. Judging by her refined beauty and the mental influence she had on those around her, the girl was either a Veela or had a Veela among her parents. Cassius noticed that Hassan, sitting nearby, could not take his eyes off the girl. The hot-tempered Moroccan sorcerer flared the wings of his aquiline nose and frowned, looking at the French table. Feeling his companion's gaze, Al Mansur looked questioningly at his friend, and Cassius nodded towards the pretty Frenchwoman, then mimicked Hassan's interested gaze, and finally rolled his eyes.
Hassan blushed slightly but put on a stony face, then couldn't resist and smiled. After finishing their meal, everyone remained seated, and Karakarov rose from the teacher's table. To his left sat Pierre Ngono in traditional Cameroonian clothing, and to his left, towering over everyone present, sat the headmistress of Beauxbaton, Madame Maxim.
Karkarov welcomed the schools that had come to the tournament and said that the first part of the competition — potion-making — would begin tomorrow, followed by Quidditch matches over the next three days, and the final competition, a duel, would take place the day after that. This time, the duels would be held in an all-against-all format on the Quidditch pitch.
"Each participant may use not only duelling spells, but any spells except those prohibited by law," Karkarov concluded with a smile.
The directors exchanged glances but shrugged; such changes were allowed by the host and did not cause any particular surprise. The aim of the tournament was to show the strengths and weaknesses of the participating schools so that the focus could later be placed on certain nuances in the students' training.
"Our fighter will be complaining again," Cassius grinned. "He was so upset that there would only be duels and no fighting."
After the tournament rules were announced, the boys poured into the courtyard, and Hassan approached Cassius.
"Let's go meet this beauty," Al-Mansur said decisively. "My heart burns when I look at her."
Cassius snorted:
"Well, let's go, I'll see how eloquent you are, and then I'll tell you something, my friend, that you definitely didn't hear in class.
Resolutely heading towards the group of Frenchmen, Al-Mansur and Cassius, who was following him, approached the blonde girl standing next to two guys. His friend immediately introduced them both politely:
"Hello, I am Hassan Al-Mansur, heir to the vizier of the blessed sultan of glorious Marrakesh. And this is my friend Cassius Malfoy from Zaire.
Cassius nodded in greeting. He smirked inwardly when he saw the astonished eyes of the Frenchmen. It was clear that they recognised the surname Malfoy, but looking at the round, typically African face of a man with such a surname, they could not imagine that they were related. Finally, the Frenchmen's faces relaxed, and they all realised at the same time that it was just a coincidence.
A short, dark-haired guy with thin features even grinned, clearly imagining how he would tell his friends about the black Malfoy.
"My name is Maris Montvoisen, seventh year at Beauxbaton, and I will be representing the school in the potions competition. My family comes from an ancient line of hereditary potion makers in France," the boy said, bowing politely.
"Our lovely classmate is Fleur de la Cour. She is," Maris smiled again, "the captain of the Quidditch team.
The girl nodded easily.
"And I, Bertrand de Foix, you have surely heard of my great ancestors, will represent the school in duels," another Frenchman said proudly.
Cassius smiled broadly at everyone:
"And I will represent our school in two stages, as a potions master and a fighter.
The French looked surprised. Being good at two disciplines was incredibly difficult; it was more likely that Cassius was a fairly average wizard in both areas.
"So, beautiful, we'll meet you on the field," Hassan grinned, devouring Veela with his eyes.
"And I'll show your team how to play," the Frenchwoman said arrogantly, turning up her nose.
"We'll see about that, my beauty," Al-Mansur grinned.
At that moment, another group of guys dressed in Durmstrang uniforms approached them.
"Allow us to introduce ourselves," said a tall, blond guy with strong muscles in broken French. "Lars Magnusson, captain of the Quidditch team and fighter," he smiled.
"Victor Krum, Seeker," nodded a gloomy, slightly club-footed and stooped boy, "fifth year.
The third member of the Durmstrang potions team was a gorgeous young blonde named Lisa Adlerberg. Cassius even thought that the serious Swedish girl might have had a Malfoy ancestor, as she reminded him so much of his own family.
After reacquainting themselves and chatting for a while, the group headed towards the buildings of the Esther faculty. Cassius's attention was caught by a strange symbol carved into the stone wall. It was a triangle with a circle inscribed inside it and a vertical line dividing the entire figure in half.
"What's that symbol?" the boy asked, nodding at the sign.
"That's the symbol of Grindelwald, Durmstrang's greatest disgrace," Viktor Krum said viciously. "That bastard killed my grandfather, and his followers nearly killed my father a few years ago.
"We study combat magic here, which many other schools now call dark magic, but Grindelwald really did delve into such darkness that he was expelled from school," said Magnusson.
"Many considered him great," objected Polyakov, another wizard from the same faculty.
"He's a murderer, not a great wizard," Kram added.
Cassius silently pondered that he had already encountered this symbol in his teacher's scrolls, and that it was much older than the German black magician. Grindelwald must have also read about the death gifts and made this sign his symbol.
Sitting down on the sofa, Cassius looked at Hassan with a sneer. His friend's face took on a sad, dreamy expression, as if he were lost in thought.
"Hassan," Cassius called to his friend, who was lost in thought again. The latter started and came to his senses.
"That hourglass," Cassius mimicked his friend, "must have Veela in her family, and you've fallen under her mental influence. Veela call it charm and can control its power. Moreover, charm ignores any amulets; only a magician with a strong will can resist it. You must have gone soft, since you can't look at her calmly," Cassius teased his friend.
To which Hassan replied thoughtfully:
"My father won't allow me to date a Veela, only to take her into my harem as a concubine. But a sorceress won't agree to such a role with a man, especially a girl like Fleur.
"She's more likely to gather a harem of lovesick idiots like you," Cassius sneered.
"Bah, shaitan," Al-Mansur cursed good-naturedly, "we'll see about you when you fall in love.
"I've already seen one beauty here," Cassius snorted, "I even thought she was my relative at first.
"You mean the blonde potion maker?" Hassan nodded knowingly.
"Yes, my friend, she's a very interesting girl," Cassius smiled. "We're going to compete for the title of best potion maker in the tournament. The judges will arrive tonight, and the competition will begin tomorrow morning.
"I hope you win, Cass, and don't stare at that beauty instead of your cauldron," Hassan grinned in response.
Snape and Flitwick arrived through the portal directly on the school grounds. A stern gatekeeper in a semi-military uniform led them to the staff room, where the headmaster, Carcarus, greeted the judges warmly.
"Hello, colleagues, I'm very glad to see you," he said, shaking hands with both wizards. "I invite you to breakfast, and then straight to the battle. The competition will begin at eleven o'clock sharp.
After satisfying their hunger, all the participants, judges and spectators moved to the central potions lab, where everything was already set up for the upcoming event. Cassius and the other participants stopped near their cauldrons. Malfoy took out his personal set of various spatulas and stirrers and began to carefully lay everything out on the table, while his opponents did the same.
There were three masters on the judging panel for the potions programme. The chairman was Thomas Loft, a heavyset American master potion maker known for inventing special potions that had helped preserve populations of rare magical animals.
To his left sat Severus Tobias Snape, dressed as always in black, the youngest potion master in the last hundred years, who had reworked and created improved versions of several unique potions, including "Aconite" and "Felix Felicis."
On his right sat a teacher from Uagadu, Izem Khune, creator of a colourless poison made from anchara, which was as effective and undetectable as aqua tofana. The directors, professors, team representatives and judges for the other stages of the tournament sat on a small platform in comfortable chairs. The rest of those wishing to watch the potion-making competition sat on another platform, arranged in a semicircle along the wall of the hall.
"Participants, attention!" Thomas Loft announced loudly. "I will now announce your task. You are to make a special potion invented by Sigmund Badge. The greatest potion maker of his time created a truly unique potion. It is difficult to prepare and worthy of a master's skill. The finished potion is a rich golden colour. The ingredients are on the shelves next to you. In Badge's original recipe, the potion needs to be left to steep for six months, but thanks to our colleague — and he nodded respectfully towards Snape — the time has been reduced to four hours. For those of you who haven't guessed yet, this is Felix Felicis," the wizard announced solemnly.
The crowd of spectators gasped in amazement. The potion was incredibly complex and expensive to make. From the sceptical look on Snape's face, he was certain that the students would simply ruin the potions. Khuune remained silent, but he was delighted because Cassius had already brewed this potion twice, once according to the classic recipe and once according to Snape's recipe. The elegance of the English potion maker's solutions had greatly impressed the young Malfoy at the time.
At a wave of the headmaster's hand, Cassius hurriedly lit the fire under the cauldron and, before the water began to boil, carefully added the egg of the phoenix to the water. Once the water boiled, it was time for the sea onion, whose juice Cassius carefully squeezed into the boiling water, then stirred vigorously twelve times clockwise and three times counterclockwise. Quickly grabbing a small knife from the potion kit, Malfoy quickly but very carefully began to cut the growths from the back of the sprawler into slices. Then, throwing the chopped ingredients into the cauldron, Cassius looked at the colour, calculated something in his mind, and added a little thyme tincture, after which he began to stir slowly again.
The potion required complete concentration, and Cassius did not have even a second to pay attention to how things were going with his rivals. And things were not going very well. While Cassius was carefully grinding the shells of the Occumia eggs in a stone mortar, there was an explosion at the table of the Durmstrang representative. The defence blocked the pieces of the shattered cauldron, and the girl, having cleaned her work area with magic, took out a new cauldron and, without hesitation, began to brew again.
Cassius added the powder from the shells to the solution and began to stir the potion smoothly clockwise, mentally keeping the sequence of actions in front of his eyes. The tension grew, but Cassius remained cool and focused. Waiting for the cauldron to cool down a little, Malfoy carefully began to add powdered common rue around the edge. Exhaling with relief, Cassius began to stir the potion vigorously, gradually heating it up again. When the first bubbles appeared on the surface of the cauldron, Cassius drew an infinity sign over it with his wand and uttered the final spell: "Felixsempra tempus maximum," after which the potion in the cauldron instantly calmed down and took on a rich golden colour.
Cassius carefully removed the fire and breathed out happily:
"It worked, I did it again!"
Without paying attention to his surroundings, he conjured up a chair and tiredly sat down on it, or rather, collapsed into it. He had no strength left, but he had to wait another four hours for the potion to stabilise. Khune once said that this potion had to be brewed for the World Potion Championship, but the ingredients had to be obtained independently in the Enchanted Forest, and the winner received a golden cauldron as a prize. The teacher sighed and said that he had never been able to win the championship. Khune dreamed that one day, when Cassius came of age, he would be able to participate in this prestigious magical competition and win first prize.
Finally, silence fell at the neighbouring tables, and Cassius looked curiously at his rivals. From where he sat, he couldn't see the colour of the potion in Manvoazen's cauldron, but judging by Maris's exhausted appearance and disappointed expression, the potion wasn't good enough. Adlerberg, on the other hand, looked satisfied. She didn't try to rush things the second time around, but instead focused on doing each step carefully. Spending the remaining time in meditation, Cassius heard neither the judges' discussions, who were meticulously discussing every stage and every detail of the process, nor the low murmur of the students, nor the quiet whispers of the professors.
Time ran out, and the judges solemnly lifted all three cauldrons onto the table. After another ten minutes of meticulously examining the colour, density and consistency, they reached their decision. Thomas Loft stood up and solemnly announced:
"The winner of the potion-making competition is Uagadu's student, Cassius Malfoy!
The Uagadu team cheered and applauded, and Headmaster Ngono's smile seemed to replace the magical lamps. Even old Khune grinned crookedly in his judge's chair. Despite his almost complete lack of emotion, it was clear how proud he was of his student.
"Second place," continued the chairman, "goes to Durmstrang student Liza Adlerberg, who brewed a flawless potion, albeit a little late.
The Durmstrang students erupted in cheers.
"And in third place is the representative of France, Maris Manvoazen, who brewed an excellent potion, but fell slightly short of perfection. But that's okay," he continued, "it will come with experience.
The hall applauded again, and the judges bowed solemnly.
Headmaster Karakhov rose from his seat.
"And now, my friends," he declared solemnly, "I invite everyone to a festive dinner.
Everyone cheered and filed out of the hall into the courtyard. Cassius was patted on the back and congratulated on his victory, but he just smiled wearily.
Severus Snape, as always with a stony expression on his face, walked beside Karkarov and ignored his remarks about the high level of organisation of the tournament. He was more interested in the winner of the competition. Who was this chubby, smiling young man of African appearance, and what connection did he have to the Malfoy family, with whom he was on friendly terms? He could hardly remember that the Malfoys had another son. But Lucius had said that the boy was born a Squib, so he had been sent away from the family.
As Draco Malfoy's godfather, Severus had never heard any talk of another son of Lucius. Especially from another woman. It was all very strange, but what talent the boy had. At fifteen, brewing a masterful potion was worth its weight in gold. Snape even imagined him as his apprentice for a moment. After all, one could only earn the title of Master by training at least one apprentice to master level, and Snape, due to his quarrelsome nature and constant lack of time, had not yet managed to find a single worthy apprentice. And his obligations to Dumbledore bound him more tightly than any chains. Snape frowned resignedly. When he occasionally managed to leave Hogwarts, he even began to feel better, because the world did not end with England.
"What a pity that I didn't take Lily in my arms and run away to the other end of the world, far away from Lord Voldemort, Dumbledore and their intrigues. Now I'd be living with the woman I love somewhere in America, raising my children and practising potion-making," Snape sighed wistfully, nodding at the right moments during Karkaroff's monologue.
***
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