"Mother of Circe!" Cassandra cried out, jerking awake. Disoriented, she looked from one end of her room to the other, trying to figure out where the blasted bugle sounds were coming from. Her heart was racing from the volume of the unexpected wake up call.

"I got it, I'm up!" she yelled, getting out of bed. The bugle call ceased after about a minute; by then, there wasn't even a vestige of sleep for her to cling to. She summoned her wand from the bedside table. With a swish and flick of it, the bedsheets were straightened, the pillows were fluffed and the duvet moved itself into place.

That had been one of the first things her guardian had told her about life at Durmstrang—pupils were expected to fix their beds every morning, and maintain their dorms clean and organized without the aid of house-elves. Something about discipline and mastering useful household spells. As long as she could use magic to do it, Cassandra didn't mind.

As she walked to the bathroom, Klaus came soaring through an open window, landing on top of the lavatory's door frame.

"Hello, handsome," said Cassandra.

The raven cawed at her.

"That's right, everyone does arrive today," she answered.

Cassandra looked in the mirror, staring determinedly at her own reflection. "This is the start of a new chapter in your life. You won't do the same things that you've always done. From now on, you start treating yourself like a Lestrange. No more pretending."

She washed her face, swished and gurgled a Mouth-freshening Potion, and donned the high-collared crimson jacket, wool trousers, and black boots that were a part of the school uniform. To keep the hair out of her face, she braided double-sided fishtail braids and secured them on the back of her head, where the rest of her jet-black hair fell loose.

After breakfast, which she had by herself, Cassandra set out to Ivanovich's office. They hadn't been able to talk the night before, as the wizard had been invited to dine with the Headmaster, without her. She had poked the hornet's nest, and the queen was buzzing.

"Good morning," she greeted, closing his office door behind herself.

"German."

"Guten Morgen," she repeated, rolling her eyes.

"Good morning to you, too. How did you find your wake up call?"

"You're not funny at all, did you know that?"

He gave a half shrug. "I disagree."

She sat down across from him, peering at the papers on his desk. There was a piece of parchment with Kampfmagie written across the top. "Is that the class syllabus for the year?"

"Yes. Do you want to look at it?"

"Mhmm."

Cassandra picked up the parchment. Kampfmagie, or Combat Magic, was the discipline her guardian taught at Durmstrang. Effectively it was a mixture of Athletics, Duelling and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and one of the pillars of the school's reputation. Students had a two-hour block dedicated to the subject in the afternoon of every weekday, and the course was mandatory throughout all seven years of schooling.

"Nothing we haven't done before," she noted.

"Cygnus paid me ridiculous amounts of money. Your curriculum has never been anything close to standard."

Cassandra sighed at the mention of her grandfather.

"What did Headmaster Karkaroff want to talk to you about?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

Ivanovich snorted. "The man spent all night dancing around the subject of his former Master. After we talked about the school, he asked what I knew about what has been happening at Hogwarts, and wanted to know whether I trust your word or think you're just a little girl telling tall tales. You scared him shitless. Good job."

She leaned back on her chair, her face lit up with glee. "Let no one say I haven't used my powers for evil."

Just then, a knock sounded on the door. With Ivanovich's permission, the door was opened, and a wizard who looked to be about Cassandra's age came into the room. He was broad-shouldered and not terribly tall, with a large curved nose, thick eyebrows and dark hair cropped close to his scalp, as was the style for male Durmstrang students. When he noticed her, he bowed politely, his eyes flitting between her face and the raven perched atop her head.

"May I help you, Mr. Krum?" said Ivanovich.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. Should I come back at another time?" said the young wizard, glancing at her once again.

"Are the matters you want to discuss private?"

"No, sir. I arrived just now with my father, and wanted to give you this in person," he said, and handed Ivanovich a sealed missive. "It's a request from the Bulgarian National Team, to dismiss me from your Monday, Wednesday and Friday classes, so that I can attend group training. I can make up for those missed classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, or on the weekends we don't have games. Whatever would be best for you, sir."

Ivanovich took his time unfurling the parchment and reading its contents, looking unimpressed.

"I'm not in the habit of making exceptions, Mr. Krum, but the Headmaster has made it clear to me that you are to be accommodated. So be it," said Ivanovich. He had a close-lipped smile on his lined face that didn't spell out anything good. "Cassandra, this is Viktor Krum. He's recently been drafted by the Bulgarian National Team and is by all accounts a Quidditch prodigy."

Cassandra gave Krum a speculative once-over. She had no idea what the caliber of the Bulgarian team was, but it was nonetheless impressive for an underage student to be drafted by any national team.

"Mr. Krum," Ivanovich continued, "this is Cassandra Lestrange. She's going to be a new student here, one year below you. I have been training her since she was eleven, and she's recently become my charge. She'll be overseeing your make-up sessions on Sunday mornings for the rest of the term."

"I will?" said Cassandra, her eyebrows raised.

"Yes. I have better things to do than spend my weekends with entitled Quidditch players."

"It's nice to meet you," said Krum solemnly, ignoring the older wizard's rude remark and turning his attention to her. "Welcome to Durmstrang."

"Thank you," she smiled. He didn't smile back.

Ivanovich was scowling at Krum's easy acceptance of his demand. "If you think you're getting off easy spending time with a beautiful girl, Mr. Krum, you're mistaken. Cassandra is one of the most unpleasant witches you will ever have the misfortune of crossing wands with. I will demand she be nothing but brutal in your practices, and trust me, she will deliver."

"Awww, Boris, you say the nicest things," said Cassandra, one hand pressed over her heart.

"Silent, you foul girl. As a matter of fact, if you have no other matters to bring up to me, Mr. Krum, why don't you show Cassandra around the castle? I have classes to prepare and don't want her getting in my way."

"Yes, sir. Miss Lestrange?"

"Sure. And you can call me Cassandra, if I can call you Viktor?" she said. He nodded. "Great. Come on, Klaus. We know better than to overstay our welcome, don't we?"

Klaus cawed and jumped to her right shoulder as she got up from her chair.

"Don't mind him," Cassandra said to Viktor once they had left Ivanovich's office. "What he said about you being an entitled Quidditch player—he's that rude to everybody. When I first asked him to take up my guardianship, he told me he had better things to do than take care of a rich brat. Yet here we are."

"Thank you," he said stiffly. They walked in silence side-by-side for a while. Cassandra took notice of the tapestries hanging on the walls, watching their movements as she passed them by.

"It's not an insult."

"What?" he questioned.

"Me, overseeing your practices. It might seem like one, which is exactly why he's doing it, but he wouldn't waste my time putting us together if he didn't think you had something to learn from me. He's really a fantastic teacher, even though most of his lessons will leave you begging for death."

Viktor's scowl somewhat lessened at that. "I don't want to miss his classes, but I can't miss out on training either. Coach is pinning a lot of his hopes on the team qualifying for the World Cup on me."

"Seeker?"

He nodded.

"Makes sense. Don't worry, I really am quite good. You won't be left behind."

"And what's in it for you?"

"Mhm?"

"Why did you go along with it? You must have better things to do than spend your Sunday mornings with entitled Quidditch players too," he said self-deprecatingly.

"Considering I know exactly zero people here, I really don't," she answered. "And, well, he's my guardian. I respect him. I trust him. If he's asking this of me, I'll do it. It's not an absurd request."

"It's inconvenient."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I've been inconvenienced before. I lived."

"I just don't want…" He paused, as if he was trying to find the right words. "You can say no. I'll tell him my father asked for an older student. A seventh year. You're new here, and I shouldn't be dragging you down. The curriculum is tough enough as is, you're gonna need all your free time. You don't have to do it just because…"

"Just because…"

Viktor's thick eyebrows contracted slightly. "Ever since I got drafted, people keep bending over backwards to do things for me. I don't like it."

"You don't like people being nice to you?" she teased, cocking her head to one side.

"They don't do it out of niceness; they don't even know me. They just want the status that comes attached with being close to me. The whole reason I arrived separately from everyone else is because my father didn't want me to be mobbed on the ship."

Cassandra rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Don't worry, Mr. Quidditch superstar, I'm not expecting anything in return for doing this—not even your friendship. And if you're concerned about me trying to get under those Quidditch pads, don't, I already have a—"

"A what?"

Cassandra looked away from him, embarrassed. She was about to say she already had a boyfriend, but she didn't, not anymore.

"It doesn't matter. Just—I know what it's like to be hounded by people who want something from you. With me, it's usually something related to my money or my family name. So I get it. I'm doing this because Ivanovich asked me to. That's the beginning and end of it."

After her proclamation, Viktor grew somehow even more sullen. He pointed out classrooms and paintings to her as they walked through the castle. Otherwise, he stayed silent, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched in.

When they reached the Great Hall, Cassandra decided to end his suffering. "Thank you for doing this. I'm going to go to my dormitory to organize my things—I don't want whoever will be sharing with me to think I'm a slob."

"I'm sorry," said Viktor, shuffling from foot to foot.

"About what?"

He shrugged.

Cassandra couldn't help it, she laughed. "You're terrible at making small talk."

"I know. You should sit with me."

"What?"

"You don't know anybody here, right?"

"No, I don't."

"Sit with me during dinner. We'll be the only ones here before everyone else, anyways, so it won't look weird."

"Okay."

"Good," he said, and his tone was so serious it made her laugh again.

"I'll see you later, Quidditch superstar."

Bolstered by her good mood, Cassandra turned and walked away.

Viktor Krum found her again just as the sun set. After lunch, she'd found the castle's library, and had been perusing its shelves since. Unlike Hogwarts, Durmstrang didn't have a Restricted Section. The books containing powerful Dark Magic that would've been kept from the younger students at Hogwarts sat on the shelves just as any other. She shuddered at the thought of a sheltered and arrogant kid like Draco reading the tomes she was leafing through.

Klaus warned her of Viktor's approach before she had seen the boy herself. She pretended not to notice him, continuing her reading until he interrupted her.

"You're one of those," he said warily, eyeing the copy of Forbidden Rites: A Necromancer's Manual of the Fifteenth Century she was holding.

She smiled. "You have no idea," she said, because he didn't.

"The ship is arriving soon, if you want to see it."

Cassandra gazed out the closest window at the school grounds. Dark and heavy clouds announced a big storm was coming, the kind no one would want to be trapped outside for.

"Let's go," she said. They stopped by the fifth year dormitories first, and she summoned a cloak from her trunk, pulling it around herself as she and Viktor walked out of the castle. It was a beautiful sable cloak; thick, black, soft as a whisper, and enchanted to be impervious to water. It had been a birthday gift from her aunt Narcissa she'd refused to acknowledge some time ago. It was a useful garment in more ways than one—it spelled out exactly which social strata Cassandra belonged to.

Outside, a terrible wind made the trees rustle like living things. Cassandra had thought she knew the cold before—she had lived through fifteen British winters, after all—but the cold she was familiar with was nothing like this. She pulled her cloak's hood up over her head, trying to protect herself from the elements.

She followed Viktor down a stone path until eventually a gap appeared in the trees. Slowly, it widened to reveal a lake and a clearing. There were a few people gathered by the lakeshore, near a modest pier. With scant moonlight, the placid surface of the lake seemed made out of black onyx, reflecting the grove surrounding it.

"That's Dagfinn," said Viktor, pointing to a very tall man with a broad chest, a massive belly and a long beard as orange as a pumpkin, gathered in a single thick braid. "He's the groundskeeper. His family has been tending to the grounds for generations. On his left, that's Professor Krauja. He teaches Dark Arts."

Cassandra was surprised by that. Were she asked to imagine what a Dark Arts Professor looked like, she would've thought of someone dark and moody like Severus Snape. In reality, Professor Krauja was a blondish, fair-skinned wizard in his early forties, who seemed to be laughing affably at a joke told by the groundskeeper.

"He's married to Professor Lasses, she's the terrifying one," said Viktor, catching her train of thought.

"What does she teach?" said Cassandra, looking for a woman among the staff assembled at the pier.

"Runology. But she's not here. She never comes to orientation, she hates these things. She hates most things, except for Professor Krauja and her work. They say she's brilliant."

"You don't take her subject?"

Viktor shook his head. "I got a dispensation to not take any elective subjects. I need the extra time to train."

Karkaroff was really not shy about playing favorites.

"Who's that one?" said Cassandra, indicating who she meant with a tilt of her head.

"Professor Vulchanova."

"Like Nerida Vulchanova, the school founder?" she asked, remembering the painting at the top of the grand staircase that Mrs. Hubberman, the school caretaker, had pointed out to her the day before.

"Yes. Professor Vulchanova is her many times great-granddaughter."

Cassandra gave the woman a second look. She was a slender, immaculately well-put together witch in what looked like her sixties, with snow-white hair that fell in a smooth, severe bob.

"Let me guess… Transfiguration?" she said, thinking of the stern-faced Professor McGonagall.

"History of Magic."

The black night was illuminated by a flash of lightning. Seconds later, the air shook with the roar of thunder, and raindrops started to fall all around them. Viktor pointed his wand towards the sky, uttering the incantation to create a magical shield that protected them from the rain.

"Do you hear it?" asked Viktor.

Cassandra listened; a loud and oddly eerie noise was drifting toward them from out of the darkness: a muffled rumbling and sucking sound. And then, the smooth black surface of the lake was suddenly not smooth at all. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the center; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the banks—and in an instant, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, and very slowly, a ship's mast began to rise out of its center.

Gradually, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the night. It had a peculiar skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, it emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water.

As the vessel began to glide toward the bank, the wind increased, the heavens opened and the rain came in such a torrential downpour that it seemed almost as if it was trying to sink the great, staunch ship back into the bottom of the lake.

"I WOULD NOT WANT TO BE IN THERE!" Cassandra shouted, trying to make herself heard over the deafening noise of the rain crashing against Viktor's shield. The ship was being tossed about like a child's toy, wavering side to side, completely at the mercy of the rain and the wind.

Thunder crashed again. She watched as the teachers conferred amongst each other and pointed their wands at the ship. Together, they performed a spell that stabilized the vessel, enveloping it in an eerie purple light and bringing it smoothly to shore. A few moments later, an anchor was thrown down in the shallows, and a plank was lowered onto the pier.

People were disembarking; Cassandra could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship's portholes. They came out in a single file, younger students first, with their heads bent and eyes narrowed against the downpour. Some tried to perform spells to protect themselves from the rain, others simply hugged their cloaks around themselves, looking wet and miserable.

"LET'S GO BACK INSIDE!" she shouted, squeezing Viktor's arm. He agreed, and together they made their way back to the castle, taking off on a run halfway through, when Viktor's shield finally lost the battle against the torrential rain.

"Circe," Cassandra laughed breathlessly as they finally reached the castle's entrance. "Has no one taught you how to maintain an Umbrella Charm properly?"

"I didn't see you t-taking out your wand," Viktor said through chattering teeth, shaking his head and sending freezing-cold water everywhere.

"Stop that," she said, giving his shoulder a shove. "What are you, a Muggle?"

She pulled out her wand and gave it a complicated little wave while bringing the correct incantation to mind so that hot air streamed out the tip; she then pointed this at Viktor, whose robes began to steam as they dried out.

"Thank you," he muttered.

"And make sure you Scourgify your boots," Mrs. Hubermann ordered angrily as she hurried past them. "I won't have anyone dragging mud all over my floors; not even you, Herr Krum."

"Where do we go now?" said Cassandra, cleaning her shoes as instructed.

"Great Hall," said Viktor. "Dinner."

The Great Hall of Durmstrang was not quite as splendid as Hogwarts'. There was no enchanted ceiling, and it sported no decorations other than the banners that draped its walls. However, it was still a room of impressive proportions. Out of habit, Cassandra headed towards the leftmost of the four long tables reserved for students, Viktor in tow. She noticed Ivanovich was seated with the rest of the teachers on a raised platform at the top of the hall.

Rapidly, the other students started to fill in the empty tables. If Viktor had been wet, it was nothing to how some of them looked—they appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed.

Whispers broke out like little hissing fires whenever someone took notice of Viktor and her. "Is this about you or me?" she leaned closer to ask.

"Both," he grunted unhappily.

At the High Table, Karkaroff got to his feet. Talking ceased immediately as all turned to face the headmaster. The man was peering down at the students, arms open wide, as if he thought himself a king addressing his subjects.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at the great institution of Durmstrang. Before we start our feast, some announcements. First years ought to know—and some older students ought to remember—that anyone found to be defacing the castle will be sent to the pillory."

Cassandra's lips twisted into a half-smile. She'd been made aware by her guardian that Durmstrang still employed corporal punishments, but she sincerely wished good luck to whoever tried to enforce them on her.

"We also have a change in staffing this year. I am delighted to welcome back into our fold Professor Ivanovich, whose reputation I am certain precedes him. He will once again helm the Kampfmagie department, as he did for over two decades under the previous Headmaster."

There was a round of enthusiastic applause, which she happily joined.

"And last but not least, Quidditch tryouts will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for the Ullr Cup should contact Mr. Krum."

Cassandra turned to Viktor inquiringly. He shook his head. "My father."

"I will refrain from delaying our banquet any longer, as I am sure you are all ravenous. That is all."

The students clapped once again. When Karkaroff sat back down in his chair, the feast began. The selection of dishes was distinctly North European. Cassandra reached for the lamb ribs, mashed rutabaga and sour cabbage.

"Mead?" Viktor asked, raising a flagon.

"Yes, thank you. I didn't know your father taught here."

Viktor shrugged over his gigantic plate of food. "He's the flying instructor. He used to coach a team in the Bulgarian League, but he quit and followed me here in my second year. He thought I needed someone to coach me year-round."

Cassandra ate as she watched him speak. He was scowling as he explained the unorthodox arrangement, but that hardly gave her any clues as to how he felt about it, since he always seemed to be scowling. Ivanovich had also taken a job at Durmstrang for her benefit—Karkaroff hadn't been particularly keen on accepting her transfer from Hogwarts when she'd first requested it, so her guardian had made it a condition for his return to his old post—but he wasn't here solely for her. She thought it would drive her a little crazy to receive that amount of close attention from a parent. But then again, she didn't know the particulars of Viktor's relationship with his father, and had grown up receiving exactly zero attention, close or otherwise, from her own parents.

A familiar tingling at the base of her skull made Cassandra look upwards in search for Klaus, and she spotted him perched on a wrought iron chandelier. She hadn't seen her familiar since it had refrained from following her into the rain to watch the arrival of the ship. Those candles are going to burn you, she thought at it, receiving an indignant denial in return.

"Is your bird always with you?" asked Viktor, following her line of sight.

"He's clingier than usual because this is a new place, but he tends to stick close to me wherever I go. We're bonded."

Klaus sent her something else then, an image of three witches who were in the Great Hall with her. She looked around discreetly until she saw them. Huddled together one table over were three incredibly beautiful girls. They sat, heads together in conference, staring at Cassandra almost hungrily. One of them had white blonde hair and an ivory face that was unmistakably Scandinavian. The girl in the middle had an aquiline nose that agreed with her olive complexion, and the loveliest mane of hair Cassandra had ever seen, which fell in large, perfectly round black curls down to her waist. When she turned her head, her profile was that of a classical sculpture. The one on the right, however, was the one who caught her attention. She seemed in some way different from the others. Her light brown hair was arranged loosely in a low bun, but even so, there was something wild about it, as if the pins wouldn't really hold it. Arched eyebrows framed grey eyes that made Cassandra's jaw slacken. Those were her own eyes, staring back at her.

"Who are they?" she asked Viktor, not looking away from the trio.

Viktor turned his head to see the girls, and his face darkened once he realized who she meant. "Those are Fate, Loathing and Pestilence. Whatever you do, stay away from them."

The brown-haired girl, clearly the leader, was smirking at her. For some reason, the gesture sent a thrill down her spine that was terrifying and alluring. "What's her name, the one on the right?"

"That's Fidele Rosier," said Viktor, like he was spitting out something sour. "I'm saying this for your own good; stay away from them. They aren't good people."

Cassandra broke eye contact with the mysterious girls to look at Viktor. They had spent a good portion of the day together, and she had treated him much like she would Adrian or Cedric, but right then it was undeniable to her how much of a perfect stranger he was. She gave him a humorless smile. "Neither am I."

*As much as Hogwarts was modeled after real-world boarding schools, Durmstrang, at least in the movies, seems to strongly mirror a Muggle military academy. To build this world, I decided to take that tidbit and run with it. The wake-up call, the obligatory daily physical training, and many other small things still to be introduced, were taken from real-world military academies—particularly Suvorov Military Schools in Russia and Belarus, which are boarding schools for boys 11-17, that focus on military related subjects.

**Forbidden Rites: A Necromancer's Manual of the Fifteenth Century is a real book by medievalist and religious historian Richard Kieckhefer. It's a scholarly text that includes the full transcription of a real necromancer's manual in its original 15th century Latin. A must have for every magical school's library.

***There are few good fanfics that take place at Durmstrang. "Für Das Größere Wohl", by Pseudonym Sam, is one of them. The idea of Durmstrang students arriving at the school by ship was totally taken from it.

****The Ullr Cup was named after Ullr, the Norse god of sports.

*****My idea for the trio of witches (or as Viktor calls them, Fate, Loathing and Pestilence) was very much inspired by the movie The Craft. I adore that film, and the undercurrent of female friendship that I'm imbuing this book with is owed to me rewatching it a few months ago and going, "Wait! I want that in my story!"

What did you think? As always, reviews are really appreciated, and motivate me to keep writing this story! Mwah, b xx