"He knows this is illegal, doesn't he?" said Cassandra, staring into the hissing face of a cobra. A pink tongue slithered in and out of the conjured animal's mouth.
The Indian wizard (a Snake Charmer, the Muggles had called him) inclined his head toward Ivanovich and explained something in Hindi.
"He said he has to make living somehow. And that Indian Ministry of Magic are bunch of rat bastards," said Ivanovich. He shrugged. "This is truth for all governments."
Cassandra reached out a finger to stroke the snake's back, smiling at her guardian's heavy accent. Her grasp of his native Russian wasn't much better, and she was glad that he was speaking to her in English again. She knew she ought to be practicing her German in preparation for Durmstrang, where she would soon start the fifth year of her magical education, but one could only stand being corrected on their declinations for so many hours at a time.
"Does he have the information we need?" she asked.
Ivanovich said something in Hindi that made the Indian wizard beckon him closer. In order to give them privacy, Cassandra turned around to examine the little statues of Muggle deities that filled one of the hundreds of wooden stands in the frenzied market. She picked up one of the statues, a woman who was all arms with a face bent on terror.
"Kali, the destroyer," said the diminutive dark-skinned Muggle woman behind the stand.
Cassandra looked at the vendor curiously. "Why would you worship a god of destruction?"
"When dark deeds need to be matched with dark deeds, when resolve must be shown, that is when most seek Kali's blessings. She is the original form and devourer of all things, loving mother and demon slayer, Divine champion of death and destruction. We worship Her because through Her mercilessness She protects us from evil."
"So she's good?"
"She is unfathomable. The Beginning of all and also its End."
Cassandra brushed the figurine with the pad of her finger. Professor Snape had accused her of being capable of calamitous violence, just as her mother had been. It was a queer notion that Muggles of all creatures would find that a trait worth revering. "I'll take it."
The vendor named the price and Cassandra handed over a wad of banknotes without bothering to count them out, waving her hand dismissively at the woman's stunned expression. Learning that Muggles chose to make their money out of paper had been its own experience, and the local currency was worth so little compared to the Galleon she might as well be paying with scrap parchment.
She noticed Ivanovich had started walking and followed after him, stashing her keepsake in the satin drawstring bag she had recently purchased and enchanted to safely carry her most valued belongings. Those included a cage housing her raven Klaus, who was not very happy with this arrangement.
They moved through the throng of people crowding the dusty marketplace. Everywhere around them turbaned men and flamboyantly-dressed women shouted and bargained, lifting brightly coloured silks and fresh fruits toward market-goers with brown, leathery hands. A neverending collection of cramped stalls offered every sort of ware and edible. It was nothing like she had ever seen in her life, having spent the majority of it either at Hogwarts or in the British countryside.
The cotton of Cassandra's dress was soaked through with perspiration. For a moment she longed for the cool, lush green of her family estate. For her English sensibility, Mumbai was unbearably hot. She constantly struggled with the impulse to reach for her wand in order to abate her misery. My inheritance for a cooling charm, she thought to herself.
"How soon until we're there? Couldn't we just apparate?" Cassandra asked, swatting inefficiently at the small flies that darted about her face, their buzzing sounding increasingly mocking.
"We are there when we are there," Ivanovich shrugged. "Complaining is no use."
If the wizard had any care for her glares, she would've given him one right then.
She knew better, though. In the past five weeks, Cassandra and her new guardian — a long-retired Russian Auror and recently-reinstated Durmstrang Professor who had tutored her since her preteen years — had travelled all around India together. They had visited ancient temples, bartered information with local wizards and explored seedy magical establishments. She had greatly enjoyed most of it, but had also quickly learned to keep her annoyances to herself. No matter how far they had to walk, how many consecutive hours they had to stay awake for or how many Muggle men kept sending leering stares her way, Ivanovich refused to change his plans in order to accommodate her. She could scowl, grumble and bargain all she wanted, and her guardian would simply acknowledge and promptly dismiss her protests. She had taken to cursing the most vulgar of her street harassers behind his back in retaliation.
She suspected Ivanovich was on some sort of mission, but he hadn't elected to share the true purpose of their trip with her. For the time being, she was satisfied enough traipsing around in a foreign country without asking too many questions. Having an adult wizard with her best interests in mind making decisions on her behalf was something she had missed after her grandfather's death. Even if this particular wizard had a somewhat callous definition of what her best interests were, she wasn't going to look a gift hippogriff in the mouth. She could've been under Lucius Malfoy's thumb instead.
"Today you will learn important lesson about your own stupidity," said Ivanovich.
Cassandra's head whipped around to him, a badly-suppressed laugh escaping her lips.
"You think this is joke?" he said.
"Do I think you calling me stupid to my face is a joke, sir? No, I don't. But it is amusing. You don't have to worry. Whatever lesson you've planned, I'm happy to learn."
He grumbled something unintelligible and Cassandra very pointedly didn't roll her eyes.
They walked past vendors and beggar children and foul-smelling camels, down a narrow side street, and followed twisting, turning alleys, until coming to a stop before an ornate gold and red door between two nondescript buildings. Magic, her body thrummed. Two old men were sitting cross-legged on the ground, smoking small, brown cigarettes that wafted a sweet-smelling purple smoke, watching as they approached. She would bet every Knut on her person that no Muggles were able to see the men or the door behind them.
Ivanovich held up an iron coin she didn't recognize. The elder man saw the glint and reached out to take it. As soon as his fingers closed over the coin, he nodded to his companion, the man with the salt-and-pepper beard, and the door opened.
Cassandra followed her guardian inside. The room was wide and had no windows, and that was all she could discern about it. A few candles were burning along the walls, but they gave so little light that she could not see her own feet. She was about to cast a Wand-Lightning Charm when she felt a hand on her elbow. Ivanovich got close enough where she could see him and shook his head.
"You do not do magic in this place under any circumstance, yes?" he murmured gravely. "There are enough protective enchantments to kill us ten times over if you do."
"If I die in this hut, my ghost will haunt you for eternity," she whispered back, putting her wand away.
Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The building was much larger inside than it had seemed outside. The floor was made of rough stone, her feet told her, covered by thick rugs. She strained her ears, listening for any sound coming from the shadows. Voices floated to her, but they were speaking too softly to make out words. She heard footsteps, leather sliding over stone, a door opening and closing. She could feel the beating of her heart. Suddenly she was somewhere else… back in an abandoned factory in Lancashire running for her life, or in the Chamber of Secrets, bound and gagged as a handsome boy who would become a Dark Lord jeered at her. Dizziness threatened to overtake her. Push past it, she told herself harshly. You're a Lestrange and will not be afraid. She took a long and deep breath, patted her wand for reassurance and strode forward, her steps long and arrogant so no one could tell she had ever felt fear.
A long staircase led downward to an empty corridor with one door on either end. The right-hand door was made of white wood and marked Svarga, the left was gleaming ebony and labeled Naraka.
Ivanovich pressed upon the left-side door with the flat of his hand and spoke a word she'd never heard before, "Raksoganabhojana."
The door made no reply, except to open.
Cassandra was far too well-bred a witch to openly gawk at the sight she was met with, but it was a near thing. In front of her stood what had once been a fighting pit burrowed fifty feet into the ground, massive and threatening. The pit was seven-sided, rows and rows of seats on each side above a steep drop. There were about a dozen wizards dispersed among the stands, kneeling in what Cassandra would've mistaken for Muggle prayer (she'd witnessed it in some of the temples they'd visited), if it weren't for the Patronuses.
For every man and woman on their knees there was a bright-silver, translucent animal floating above the pit. Snakes slithered, birds flew and one very large cow grazed lazily at grass that wasn't there. A peacock strutted past Cassandra, its proximity causing a dozen good feelings to wash over her at once.
"What is this place?" she asked.
Ivanovich leveled his pale green eyes on her, clasping his hands behind his back. "Don't ask stupid question. Think for yourself. What is this place?"
"There are quite a few security measures. The coin, the password, the enchantments. They're trying to keep something out. No—" she said, lifting a finger to stop him from interrupting her train of thought. "The Patronuses would've been outside if that were the case. They're trying to keep something in. This place is... a cell."
"Yes."
Silently, she moved between rows of long limestone benches, making her way down the tiered grandstand until she could finally see what was being guarded at the bottom of the pit. Her guardian walked closely behind her.
There were nine wraithlike creatures crawling on the packed dirt floor at the center of the arena, moaning pitifully. They resembled Lethifolds at first glance, in that they were not much beyond rippling black capes. But looking closely, one could see the faint glitter of red light reflecting off their eyes beneath the hoods and greyed and decayed-looking limbs, like the ones of decomposing corpses.
"Those are not Dementors," said Cassandra. The foul Azkaban prison guards were the closest creature she could compare whatever they were looking at to, and yet they were not the same. Dementors didn't have eyes, for one, and were approximately ten feet tall, whereas the beings (non-beings?) imprisoned here were of roughly the same size as an average wizard or witch.
"Not quite," said Ivanovich.
"Not quite? What are you talking about? What are those?"
"Soul-eaters."
She cast a confused look his way. "That's a children's tale. A made-up monster meant to scare young children into not mucking about with soul magic. And into not trusting Muggles, but that's the moral of most of the bedtime stories I was told growing up."
"Tsk. Must you act so skeptic? You know better. There is some truth behind every story."
"But Soul-eaters? They're not real, sir." Cassandra paused, reconsidering her words, because Ivanovich had no reason to lie to her. "Are they?"
"You deny what you can see with your own eyes? They are in front of you."
She looked at the revolting creatures once again. Not Dementors, not Lethifolds, not anything she could name or had ever seen. "It's… unbelievable is not the right word, but something close. Soul-eaters, of all things. How much of the tale is true?"
"Depends on the version you are familiar with."
"The one every child is told, I suppose."
"Tell me, yes? This way I can make sure you understand."
"Well… all right," she said. It had been Mimi who had recited this story to her years ago, and Cassandra had to give a little cough to clear away the sudden hoarseness in her voice at the thought of her devoted house-elf. "'There was once a powerful wizard who served the King of a small but thriving nation, where Muggles and Wizardkind lived peacefully side-by-side. The King discovered that a mighty empire was preparing to invade his country, and fearing for his people, asked that his wizard advisor find a way to temporarily give him magical abilities, so that he could drive the invading army away.'"
"The King asks for magic for himself?" interjected Ivanovich.
"Yes?"
"The British are always finding ways to smear Muggles, no matter how absurd is the lie. Everyone knows the King asks the wizard to make himself more powerful, so he can fight in battle by his side. You can't give magic to Muggles."
Cassandra held in an exasperated sigh. "This will go a lot faster if you wait until the end to point out all the discrepancies, sir."
"I will do that. Go on," said Ivanovich.
"'The wizard told the King there were dangerous consequences to that kind of magic, but at the monarch's insistence, devised a ritual that would borrow the magic from seven of their country's most powerful witches and wizards, linking their souls to the King's for a period of three days. After those three days, the King would let go of his newfound powers, and the wizards and witches who agreed to participate in the ritual would have their magic and souls restored.'"
"'The King accepted the terms. The ritual was performed, and when the mighty empire's army attacked, the King single-handedly killed them all, ensuring the safety of his subjects."
"'But when the time came to give up the magical abilities that had made him such a fearsome warrior, the King grew greedy. He slew his trusted advisor, believing him to be the only obstacle to keeping his borrowed powers. He didn't know, however, that a number of enchantments, carefully-weaved and sustained by the wizard, had been guaranteeing the stability of the connection between his soul and those of his magical subjects. Without this stabilizing magic, the connection grew volatile, and in a desperate attempt to hold on to the usurped magic, the King pulled at the souls until they were drawn completely into himself, leaving the seven wizards and witches as nothing but empty shells.'"
"'The unnaturalness of such an act triggered a horrible transformation within the King. His eyes turned red, his flesh grew grey and putrid, falling off his bones as a corpse's would, and his humanity was completely extinguished. He became a magical being, as had been his wish, but one entirely mindless and driven only by hunger. Undiscerning and ravenous, he devoured the soul of every single person he came across, magical and non-magical alike, brutally massacring the people he had once sworn to protect.'"
It was a moment or two before either of them spoke again. Then Ivanovich withdrew his gaze from the bottom of the pit and said, "Your tale is mostly right. Only it is the wizard who seeks to make himself more powerful in order to protect the kingdom, and who is corrupted by the magic he steals. The King dies trying to protect his wife and children from having their souls consumed by the Soul-eater. Very tragic story, yes?"
"Yes. And a truthful one, according to you," said Cassandra.
"There is enough truth to make it worthwhile."
"Is that what happened to them, then?" she asked, glancing in the direction of the Dark creatures. She watched as a glowing silver snake Patronus slithered particularly close to one of the Soul-eaters, which shrieked as if it had been burned. "Those creatures used to be wizards."
"Once, yes."
"Where could they have possibly found seven people willing to risk their souls and their magic in a ritual like that? It's so obscene. So... violating."
"That is the part of the tale that is not so true. You don't need seven wizards or witches for the ritual to work; one is plenty. And they don't have to be willing."
"That's nauseating. Why would anyone do that?"
Ivanovich raised his eyebrows.
"Why would wizards split their souls? Offer their child as sacrifice? Eat the beating heart of unicorn? For power. Because they want something, and this is how to get it."
"But the consequences are—"
"They all believe they are going to be the exception to the rule. That they alone won't have to pay the price. They are fools. Powerful and reckless fools," said Ivanovich.
"Your grandfather entrusted me with most important task. Every summer, since you were little girl, he placed you in my hands and said, 'Teach her, Boris. Make her capable. Make sure no one can hurt her.' I tell him this I can't do. All it takes is one lucky spell to kill any of us. But I have done my best to teach you to defend yourself. To take hits and keep going. And you are good student."
"Am I?" she said quietly.
"You lived, didn't you? Two times you have faced death, and two times you have lived. I'm proud of you. Cygnus would be proud of you.
But you need to understand just how dangerous trying to absorb Tom Riddle's soul fragment into yourself was, even if you did it for good cause. That is why I brought you here."
"You're saying I could've become a Soul-eater?" asked Cassandra, taking a step back.
"No. That ritual has more steps than there are hours in the day; you don't become one of those by accident. And horcrux is very different business from whole soul. But you would not have remained unchanged." said Ivanovich. "Horcruxes cannot be destroyed unless their vessels are damaged beyond repair, and that is nearly impossible thing to do. Most likely, you would have become horcrux yourself. Or maybe Tom Riddle would have been able to sublimate your soul and take permanent control of your body."
"That's… Circe. That could've happened?"
"Yes."
"I didn't know."
"Of course you did not. You were in danger and trying to keep that little girl alive. But there are fates worse than death. You are the subject of prophecy that hints at Voldemort's return, and this Chamber of Secrets disaster leaves no doubt that he's capable of it. That castrated pig has meddled with magic beyond our understanding. Soul magic, Fate, Death. You have somehow found yourself intertwined with all of those."
"I didn't mean to be. I don't want to be."
"But you are." Ivanovich said firmly.
"So what do I do?"
"Exactly what you did by coming to me. By leaving Hogwarts. You avoid meddling with those higher powers at all costs. And if you are unable to, if they come seeking you out where you cannot escape, you must be as careful as you can possibly be. When you see into the mysteries of the world, voronyonok, as Voldemort and Harry Potter clearly have, you do not want those mysteries taking notice of you."
*Svarga is a Sanskrit word that means "heaven" or "paradise." In Hinduism, Svarga is a temporary home for the souls of the righteous who have not yet achieved the state of moksha, or freedom from the cycle of death and rebirth when the soul becomes one with the Divine. It can refer to heaven in general or as just one of seven lokas, or heavenly realms.
**Naraka is the Hindu equivalent of Hell, where sinners are tormented after death. It's also the abode of Dharamraj Yama, the god of Death. It is described as located in the south of the universe and beneath the earth.
***Raksoganabhojana is one of the twenty-eight hells described in the Bhagavata Purana and the Devi Bhagavata Purana. Those who practise human sacrifice and cannibalism are condemned to this hell. Their victims cut them with sharp knives and swords, feast on their blood and sing and dance in joy, just as the sinners slaughtered their victims.
****voronyonok: Russian for baby raven, little raven
And we're back! Thank you so much for your patience, 2021 was an ultra busy year for me (I founded a start-up, worked on a documentary and renovated my home office, just to name a few things) and I barely had any time to write. I'm currently on vacation, however, and want to take this time to advance this story as much as I can.
Yelena, this chapter is definitely dedicated to you. Thank you for all your messages, they did motivate me to finish this chapter and post it before the year was over. Happy holidays, everyone! xx b