"The weak speak of fairness; the strong, only of conquest, Tver!"

  "But Professor, isn't the strong's mercy a form of equality?"

  ...

  July, Durmstrang.

  It was a school that couldn't be considered rge; its castle had only four stories, and even in broad daylight, it possessed a somber, almost eerie atmosphere.

  Paradoxically, Durmstrang favored orange and green in the decoration of its towers and archways, a vibrant palette that lent a unique charm to its otherwise severe and imposing architecture.

  Much like its students, they were versed in the Dark Arts, yet equally proficient in defensive magic – a coexistence of the spear and the shield.

  Tver Fawley stood at the castle's highest point, leaning against the railing, gazing down at the pce he had called home for seven years.

  The modest size of the castle belied the school's true scale; Durmstrang possessed vast grounds and breathtaking scenery.

  Before the castle y the dueling arena, where students honed their magical skills. Like the arenas of old, it hosted monthly duels between students of all years.

  A grand dueling competition, involving the entire school, took pce at the end of the academic year to determine the champion and award the coveted Victor's Cup.

  A smile pyed on Tver's lips as he considered this. "From today onwards, you can finally vie for first pce."

  Indeed, since his arrival at Durmstrang, Tver had been virtually unbeatable, except for his initial three years when he occasionally lost to older students.

  For the subsequent four years, his victory was a foregone conclusion.

  Now, they would finally have the chance to experience the taste of triumph.

  "Tver, are you truly leaving? The Headmaster said the school would gdly offer you a professorship."

  "You know Durmstrang is where you belong!"

  A young man with a close-cropped haircut materialized seemingly from nowhere. Cd only in a simple garment, his breath came in ragged gasps. Water droplets cascaded down his muscur physique, pattering against the floor.

  Tver turned, never failing to be impressed by the other's imposing build.

  At least he didn't have to keep his hair short, that was one of his advantages, the strong always have their perks.

  "Off for another swim, Viktor? Be careful you don't age yourself prematurely."

  Viktor bristled, flinging the water from his head in a gesture of mock retaliation.

  It was a hopeless gesture. Not only did Tver possess handsome features, but even the dark circles beneath his eyes seemed perpetually fixed, a permanent feature of his countenance since the day they met.

  With a flick of Tver's fingers, the droplets hurled at him were suspended mid-air, before rebounding towards Viktor with renewed force, spttering against his skin.

  Viktor merely raised an arm to shield his face, unfazed by the harmless assault.

  Regardless, it was the st time Tver would ever do this to him.

  "Study hard, Viktor," Tver said, cpping him on the shoulder. "My decision is made. I'm going to that school. We'll have occasion to meet again, I'm sure."

  "But I heard you refused them seven years ago, choosing Durmstrang instead?" Viktor asked, his voice tinged with urgency.

  "I had reasons for coming here, just as I have reasons for leaving."

  Leaving Viktor behind, Tver strolled through the castle, reflecting on his seven years within its walls.

  A ritual, it seemed, that all graduates must undertake.

  To the outside world, Durmstrang was perceived as a dangerous institution.

  In truth, it was.

  Yet, this danger was tempered by comprehensive safety measures.

  Most notably, the school boasted the finest Dark Arts healing facility, capable of mending most of the wounds inflicted by the practice.

  For the first three years, students were primarily instructed in healing and defensive magic.

  Only in their fourth year were they introduced to the Dark Arts, and then only to those within prescribed limits.

  Excessive delving into dangerous practices and malevolent intent would not be tolerated, even by Durmstrang.

  Simply because they could not guarantee a means of recovery.

  However, to those outside, the mere study of the Dark Arts was an unforgivable sin, indifferent to the school's rationale that understanding was the key to defense.

  This reputation, of course, was rgely attributable to the school's less than savory "honorary alumni."

  Tver greeted passing students with a cordial nod, as many were as unfamiliar with him as they were with the Dark Arts.

  After managing to fend off a few friends, he sauntered back to his dorm room.

  It looked exactly as it had when he arrived seven years ago, clean, tidy, with luggage neatly pced beside the beds.

  This time, however, they were leaving.

  It was the first day of graduation for their year, as well as their st day at the school, their roommates had long since left.

  But he couldn't depart just yet.

  Changing out of his crimson robes, Tver donned more casual attire.

  His slender physique ensured that whatever he wore always seemed to suit him.

  After smoothing out the creases in his clothing, Tver sat primly on his bed, adopting a posture as upright as a graduate about to attend an interview.

  It was one of the virtues he had acquired at Durmstrang.

  The sound of rustling fabric was the only thing heard in the silent room, betraying his inner turmoil.

  He was awaiting a letter, a reply of great importance.

  Time trickled by until, at st, a soft *thud* from the window shattered the silence and his reverie.

  Tver's heart leaped.

  A powerful owl stood perched on the windowsill, weary from its long journey, yet faithfully performing its duty, its beak tapping insistently against the gss.

  With a wave of his wand, Tver opened the window, allowing the owl to fly inside.

  It nded gracefully on a chair, offering Tver a leg bearing a letter.

  A letter from Hogwarts.

  Tver swiftly untied the missive.

  The envelope bore his name and address in precise, almost obsessive detail:

  Scandinavian Peninsu,

  Durmstrang Institute,

  Student Dormitory, Second Floor, Leftmost Room,

  To Mr. Tver Fawley.

  A smile touched his lips.

  Like the letters he had received seven years prior, apart from the different address, the almost compulsive accuracy evoked a sense of déjà vu, a pang of the intense anticipation he had felt upon receiving his Hogwarts acceptance letter in his previous life.

  On the reverse, was the familiar crest of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

  Eagerly, he tore open the envelope and extracted the letter:

  Dear Mr. Tver Fawley,

  We are pleased to inform you that your application for the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts Teaching Assistant has been accepted. An interview will be held at ten o'clock on the morning of July 31st.

  Professor Quirinus Quirrell and Professor Albus Dumbledore will conduct the interview. Please come prepared. We await your reply by owl post before July 10th.

  You may choose to Apparate to the school gates, or utilize the Floo Network, where a designated guide will be avaible to assist you.

  Sincerely,

  Minerva McGonagall,

  Deputy Headmistress.