<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/Aq1inij.png)</div><div class="floatright">(https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/harrypotter/images/f/f3/DurmstrangCrest.png/revision/latest?cb=20160112161151)</div><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><strong>NAME:</strong>     </td><td>Konstantin König (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=299655.msg14750128#msg14750128)</td></tr><tr><td><strong>YEAR:</strong>     </td><td>Seven</td></tr><tr><td><strong>BLOOD STATUS:</strong>     </td><td>Pureblood</td></tr><tr><td><strong>WAND:</strong>     </td><td>13” | Ebony | Dragon Heartstring | Inflexible (https://i.imgur.com/GfBY56D.png)</td></tr><tr><td><strong>WEARING:</strong>     </td><td>As Pictured</td></tr><tr><td><strong>DATE | TIME:</strong>     </td><td>Thursday, 31 October, 2019 | Evening</td></tr><tr><td><strong>LOCATION:</strong>     </td><td>Hogwarts Grand Hall</td></tr><tr><td><strong>CONTENT:</strong>     </td><td>The Chosen One</td></tr><tr><td><strong>MOOD MUSIC:</strong>     </td><td>Die Walküre, WWV 86B, Act I: Act I Scene 1: Prelude (https://youtu.be/bcJPrH2S8f4)</td></tr><tr><td><strong>TAGGING:</strong>     </td><td>Nadia | <strong>Open</strong></td></tr><tr><td><strong>WARNING:</strong>     </td><td><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Trigger and Content Warnings</div><div class="spoiler_body">Konstantin is delighted by Nadia’s rape in this post. I spoke with Heartsink in advance and got permission to take this scene in an ugly direction. Konstantin’s views are not my views in the slightest.</div></div></td></tr></tbody></table><br/><hr/><br/>Hogwarts was, truthfully, a vacation in comparison to Durmstrang, where the fires were only lit for magical study and where the biting polar winds dumped blizzards of snow upon them more often than not. Though Hogwarts’ curriculum was undoubtedly softer, and their policies on what constituted an acceptable admission lackadaisical (as his own alma mater had become), there was no reason not to enjoy the proffered luxury. Konstantin certainly enjoyed the comforts of home when in Frankfurt with his mother, but they were a frugal pair, and preferred to see their money in the Von Bank family vault rather than manifested through unnecessary grandeur.<br/><br/>Konstantin stood in front of the mirror with a towel wrapped around his hips, the blonde tendrils of his hair gently dripping with water from the shower he’d emerged from moments ago. He was certain that his classmates from Durmstrang were downstairs, busily doing backflips and performing useless and ostentatious spells. They were all<acronym title="Deputy Headmistress">Stellvertretende Schulleiterin</acronym>Wolff’s performing monkeys. In his eyes, she was worse than a mudblood, she’d been born of<em>nonmagical</em>vermin as a complete and total fluke, as was British Minister of Magic, Hermione Granger.<br/><br/>He did not need to hear the prattling of an English sow, nor bear the scrutinous gaze of some American bitch who had overreached her station. Things would change when<em>he</em>was the German Chancellor, of that he was certain.<br/><br/>Without breaking contact with his freckled reflection, he reached for a black bag placed on the side of the sink. A zipper whined and then the crisp sound of metal-on-metal rung throughout the porcelain bathroom as he opened his straight razor (https://i.imgur.com/3vztzsv.png). Hooked onto the towel rack was what looked to be a leather belt with a silver ring at the end, but was actually the sharpening strop. Konstantin grabbed the link to pull it tight, so tight the leather groaned, and then, laying the blade flat against it, began to run it up and back, flipping the razor with each stroke to sharpen each side. Up and back, up and back, with the ease of someone who had handled this blade for years. Indeed, whereas so many at Durmstrang were content to grow beards and look like a pack of stray dogs, Konstantin preferred to keep himself sleek and clean and that required maintenance.<br/><br/>Every motion he made was calculated and exact, wasting no effort and taking great pleasure in his steadfast accuracy.<br/><br/>Once satisfied, he reached for the ceramic cup next to faucet, one lightly brimming with shaving soap that smelled of lemongrass. Using a shaving brush, he dabbed the ebony bristles into the white foam and then drug it across his cheek, repeating until his white skin was even whiter. He tilted his head to the side, pulled the skin tight with his other hand, and pressed the cold blade against his warm cheek. Effortlessly, he swiped down in a clean line that removed every trace of stubble and left nothing but smooth flesh in its wake.<br/><br/>This was a ritual that he enjoyed, one that he didn’t care to replace with magic, regardless of how much more efficient it might be. Konstantin was a disciplined man in every other regard and could afford to spare a moment for himself for the sake of focusing his energy into a singular purpose: victory. As easy as it was to say that he wanted to win the Tri-Wizard Cup, without a plan in place that was little more than a nebulous fantasy from the mind of a child. There was a process to follow, and the first step was to enter his name.<br/><br/>With all the efficiency of a trained soldier, Konstantin strode into the Grand Hall with confidence, holding his uniform's hat under an elbow so as not to to disrespectfully wear it inside, or in the presence of ladies. He was, after all, a gentleman. He was not as tall or as broad as the majority of those in the crimson uniform of Durmstrang, but he walked through the din like a lone wolf who was accustomed to forging his own path and did not care if anyone else was on it.<br/><br/>Without so much as a glance or a wave to anyone at the Durmstrang table, Konstantin marched up to the goblet and ignored the line, walking by everyone else and cutting the person at the front with the swiftness of a hawk. In his hand was a small piece of parchment – his offering to the goblet’s mystical flame. Devoid of pomp or circumstance, Konstantin reached up to place his name into the dancing blue-white flames, his frozen eyes reflecting the color eerily as the color shifted from ethereal blue to sparking crimson.<br/><br/><em> Deutschland, Deutschland über Alles.</em><br/><br/>When he was through, he turned around and strode towards the Durmstrang table, his eyes now taking measure of his classmates and spotting Nadia, lost little lamb, all alone. He grinned wolfishly. Konstantin held no love for the mudblood, feminist bitch but after having witness her long-overdue rape, the thought of her now brought a smile to his face. Perhaps now she would remember where her place was.<br/><br/>Sitting next to her, the German warlock grabbed a large carving knife and pair of metal tongs. His eyes were drawn to the goblet, where several women were in line. He looked back to Nadia, his smug face full of unspoken secrets. Getting a rise out of her would not only be easy, but potentially help break her will.<br/><br/><strong>“I don’t know why you women insist on competing,”</strong>he began, sinking the prongs into a large pot roast and slicing off a clean cut.<strong>“Durmstrang needs a <em>champion</em>, not a housewife.”</strong>He knew it likely wouldn’t take much more than that to start a disagreement.<br/>