for the dancing and the dreaming

through the porthole

 Draco peered out of the dusty porthole, trying to get a glimpse of Hogwarts. He was worn-out and cranky from making sure the ship wasn't falling apart, which was so close it was unsettling. He clenched his fists as he thought of Karkaroff lounging in his plush room with a glass of fine whisky in his hand, not lifting a finger to help.

Instead of dwelling on his, quite frankly, pathetic headmaster, he rubbed the porthole with his sleeve cleaning out the fog and collected dust. It was then that he saw, over the murky water, a towering castle.

He rushed down the trembling letter that supported his weight, and shook awake Krum. His friend was passed out on one of the bunks, exhausted and possibly scarred from the earlier life-threatening incident. "C'mon, we've arrived."

He grunted and Draco stuck his hand out. Krum grasped it and pulled himself up with a groan.

Normally, under no circumstances would Draco consider helping someone up. After all, Krum could do that himself. However, Krum was handsome, a star quidditch player, and famous. The Malfoy didn't think anyone in the entire school wasn't at least a little attracted to him. Even some of the boys, of which Draco was one. 

Still, their relationship was strictly platonic. They tended to stick together, him and Krum. Draco was a first year and Krum a third year when he rescued the younger from bullies, and they'd been inseparable ever since.

"Thanks, mate." Krum nodded and headed out to the dock. The ship was already at the edge of the lake by the time they left their cabins.

Draco joined the line of people falling off the ship, squinting at the crowd. He thought of Mother's wish for him to fit in and "enjoy himself', and concluded he could find an acquaintance or two, just to please her. She had been worried when he had announced how he was heading to Hogwarts in an attempt to join an ancient wizard tournament that had been stopped because of the number of deaths it caused. He still couldn't imagine why.

Of course, Father had been proud that Draco was going to his old school. He had been quite disappointed when Mother insisted on him attending Durmstrang. Of course, Father preferred the certain type of classes Durmstrang offered, but he was apprehensive to send his only son to a school that he had no sway in.

As Draco stepped off the boat, he couldn't help but fan myself slightly. Apparently Scotland was much hotter than Norway. Everyone in his school was wearing fur coats, and, he realized as he looked around, regretting it.

"Dumbledore," Karkaroff called, and Draco realized how close Krum and him were to the headmasters.

"How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?" Karkaroff continued in his oily voice.

"Blooming, thank you."

Draco turned his attention to an old man with a long white beard and half moon spectacles. So this was Dumbledore. The man his father hated. He didn't look that bad, still, what kind of person said blooming? Not someone who was perfectly sane, for sure.

Karkaroff walked forwards, clasping Dumbledore's hand in two of his. He looked up at the castle with a rather scary expression, as if he was trying to act excited. He was failing.

"How good it is to be here, how good,..." Draco and Krum exchanged a look, Krum snorting in an attempt to hide his laughter. They both knew the only reason Karkaroff was glad to be there was because he had been horribly seasick the entire journey. "Viktor, come along, into the warmth... you don't mind, do you, Dumbledore? Victor has a slight head cold."

He had no such head cold.

Krum shuffled next to Karkaroff, ignoring the mutters that erupted from the crowd of Hogwarts students.