Year One — Chapter 10: The Inevitable Path
Durmstrang's year ended as it began: with tests of fire, ice, and will. But for Ivar Malfoy, these were no longer examinations. They were confirmations.
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The Trials
The first was Charms.
Students lined up to demonstrate complex enchantments. Most struggled, fumbling incantations, wandwork faltering. When Ivar stepped forward, he raised his wand and whispered three languages in one breath: Latin, Russian, Parseltongue. The result was seamless — a levitation charm not only lifting, but weaving three objects together into a precise pattern.
The instructor said nothing. But her quill scratched furiously in her notes.
The second was Battle Transfiguration.
An arena of stone. Targets advanced, iron-shod and rune-marked to resist spells. Ivar transfigured the floor beneath them to swallow their legs, then turned the air above into a rain of sharpened ice that shattered on impact. The examiners called halt before he escalated further. He bowed politely, as if it were nothing more than breathing.
The third was Dark Arts.
Not casting curses — resisting them. Roskov himself was called forward as his partner, bitterness in his eyes. He hurled curse after curse, frustration mounting when Ivar parried each with casual efficiency. Finally, Ivar flicked his wand, not with a curse but with a silent disarming hex that tore Roskov's wand from his hand yet again.
The crowd roared with whispers. Roskov burned red with shame. Ivar only said, "Competent," in Russian, the word Makarov had once given him. The insult was not missed.
The final was Runes and Rituals.
Ivar stood at the center of the ritual chamber, chalk in hand. His circle was not simple. It was beautiful. Four languages layered in concentric runes: Latin, Old Norse, Parseltongue, and French. He bound elements into harmony — not clashing, but singing. Fire licked against ice, wind spun around earth.
When the circle closed, there was silence. Then Volkov, for the first time in years, spoke a single word of praise.
"Mastery."
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The Professors' Verdict
At the year's end, the staff gathered privately.
"He's no ordinary child," Volkov said. "He's already beyond us in Charms, Runes, Dark Arts, and Transfiguration."
Makarov grunted. "He is sharp steel. One day he will cut someone's throat. The question is whose."
Karkaroff steepled his fingers, eyes glinting. "Then let us keep sharpening him. Better the knife we know than the one wielded elsewhere."
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The Dormitory
Back in the mess hall, Jannik slapped him on the back hard enough to slosh his drink. "Top of every damn class. I ought to hate you."
"You do," Klara said flatly, though her grin betrayed her pride.
"No," Jannik protested. "I fear him. It's different."
Ivar smirked faintly, lifting his glass. "To fear," he said, "and to friends who know the difference."
They clinked mugs.
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The Letter Home
Mother,
I have passed every trial. More than passed — I have outgrown them. The professors know it, though they won't say it aloud. The students whisper it, though they dare not say it to my face. The world is not waiting for me. It is already watching. Let them. I will not bow.
—Ivar
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Alone
That night, in the ritual chamber, he drew no circle. He needed none. He sat cross-legged in the dark, wand across his knees, and whispered into the stone:
"Good evening."
And for the first time, the stone whispered back in a voice clear as fire on ice.
We see you, Ivar Black. You are inevitable.
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⚡ End of Chapter 10 — Year One Complete
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Would you like me to start Year Two at Durmstrang (Age 11–12) Chapter 1: "Lessons in Power" and continue the narrative?