Year Two — Chapter 1: Lessons in Power
Durmstrang's gates groaned open as the ships slid back across the black water. The fortress loomed, half-stone, half-shadow, frost already crawling over its spires though summer had not yet ended. The returning students trudged up the path in clusters — laughing, jostling, already sizing each other up for the year ahead.
Ivar walked alone.
At eleven years old, he was still smaller than many of the older students, but the way he carried himself made him look taller. His black hair was combed neat, his green eyes sharp. He moved like someone who had no doubt the path would clear. And it did.
Whispers followed him into the hall.
"That's him… Malfoy, the Black heir."
"Roskov won't look him in the eye anymore."
"They say he speaks to snakes."
"They say he nearly died in ritual last winter—and came back stronger."
Ivar ignored them. Whispers were only proof that people were watching. Watching was the first step to following.
---
The Sorting of Tracks
At Durmstrang, there were no Houses, but there were tracks: Combat, Ritual, Theory, and Elemental. Students could choose one, sometimes two. The truly gifted might be permitted three.
When Ivar stepped forward, Director Karkaroff's eyes narrowed. "Which path?"
"All of them," Ivar said. His voice carried, calm but certain.
Snickers rose in the crowd. Even Jannik whistled low under his breath, muttering, "Bold."
Karkaroff studied him for a long moment. Then he inclined his head. "Very well. Prove you can bear them."
A stir swept the hall. Students stared. Professors whispered. No one had ever been allowed all four before.
---
Advanced Lessons
The change was immediate. While his peers learned their first proper combat hexes, Ivar was pulled into upper-year sessions.
In Charms, he was told to perform a levitation chain. He added a rotation, then split the charm across five objects simultaneously, controlling them like dancers. The professor's quill snapped mid-note.
In Runes, he was handed a first-year puzzle stone. Instead, he recited the sequence to activate a fifth-year ward, in both Latin and Old Norse. Professor Volkov's eyes glinted with interest.
In Dark Arts, students practiced shielding against a Blasting Hex. Ivar muttered in Parseltongue, layering his shield with a resonance that absorbed the spell entirely, leaving nothing but a ripple in the air. The Defense Master's jaw clenched.
And in Battle Transfiguration, when asked to turn snow into stone, Ivar turned it into steel instead.
Each time, he bowed slightly. Courteous. Controlled. Unimpressed.
---
Allies in the Hall
That evening, Klara dropped heavily onto the bench beside him. "You're making the rest of us look like children."
"That's because you are children," Jannik said, grinning as he stole a slice of bread from Ivar's plate. "I mean, look at him. He's already pretending to be an adult. Writes letters like a politician, fights like a soldier, and eats like a saint. Boring."
Ivar smirked faintly. "Careful. I may assign you to carry my crown."
"You already have one," Jannik shot back. "Cold as ice. I don't want frostbite."
Klara snorted. "Don't joke. The professors are watching him differently now. They're not just teaching him. They're testing him."
"They should," Ivar said, calm as ever. "What's the point of a forge, if not to temper the blade?"
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Alone in the Chamber
Later that night, Ivar returned to the ritual chamber. He didn't light candles. He didn't draw runes. He only sat, wand across his knees, and let the silence stretch.
"Good evening," he whispered in Parseltongue.
The stones stirred. He felt it in his bones — not words, not sound, but the weight of being acknowledged. Stronger than last year.
A faint smile touched his lips. "Let's begin."
---
⚡ End of Year Two, Chapter 1
Would you like Chapter 2 to dive into the Duel of Wills (Ivar versus the Durmstrang champion in a public, brutal match), or focus first on his rising reputation among students and letters from Britain warning him about the weight of being Heir Black?