"Cassandra, whatever you're going to show her, please be kind," Galena said, her voice soft as a kiss.
"You know what she's talking about?" Fidele asked, turning to her friend. Her voice carried an edge of betrayal.
Galena sighed and put down the record she was holding. "No. I only knew you'd be upset tonight. It's why I brought out the gramophone, you love music."
"Tell me," Fidele said, talking to Cassandra once again.
She walked to her bed and sat. "I'm going to assume the answer to my alcohol question is no, then. I guess I was being too optimistic. Hux!"
There was a loud crack, and a house-elf appeared, with a snout for a nose, giant bat's ears, and enormous eyes, standing in front of Cassandra's bed and covered in a tea towel. Tove and Galena let out identical gasps. Fidele's eyebrows were raised almost to her hairline as she voiced the thought at the forefront of all three girls' minds, "How did you do that? You're not supposed to be able to do that."
Cassandra put one finger up, gesturing for the other witch to be patient.
"How can Hux serve his Mistress Cassandra?" croaked the house-elf, bowing until its nose touched the floor.
"Underneath the floorboards of the ground floor study, right where the brass globe bar is, there's a box labeled 'Transcripts'; I want you to bring it to me. And one—no, two bottles of wine. The La Fleur-Pétrus should be fine."
"Right away, Mistress. Anything else?"
"No. How are the new house-elves settling in?"
"Hux and Gibbo are teaching their children how to take care of the plants and the animals just the way the old Master Cygnus liked, Mistress."
"Good. Go on then."
Hux gave Cassandra a look of the deepest deference and, with another loud crack, vanished.
"You're not supposed to be able to do that," Fidele continued right where she'd left off. "Students can't call for their house-elves inside the school. Foncé!" When nothing happened, she put her hands on her hips. "See? I'm a Prefect, so if anyone should be able to do it, I should."
"You're right, students' house-elves aren't allowed into the school. But Ivanovich is my guardian, which means my servants, for the time being, are also—"
"His servants," Tove completed. Cassandra hummed her agreement. "Which means even though ours aren't, the teachers' house-elves are allowed into the school."
"Yes. Don't you just love loopholes? I'm not supposed to abuse it, but I don't really care. Also, we're going to need that wine."
The anger Viktor had elicited in her had mostly subsided ahead of the unpleasant conversation waiting for her. Cassandra blew out a breath, untying the ribbon in her hair and shaking her dark waves loose. She predicted a headache in her immediate future.
Hux appeared at the foot of her bed again, and quickly spread out the items she'd requested on top of her trunk. "Hux also brought crystal glasses, Mistress Cassandra, so Mistress and her friends don't have to drink from pewter cups like poor Mudblood swine."
Cassandra smiled. Mimi had truly been the most lax of the Lestrange house-elves when it came to enforcing the familial beliefs. "Very well. Serve us the wine and then you may go home, Hux."
She picked up the heavy box as Hux obeyed her order, digging through rolls of parchment until she found the correct one. Fidele watched her do so with a hawk's gaze.
"Fidele… I don't know if this is the kindest thing for me to do, but I would want to know if I were in your place, so I'm doing it anyway. This," she said, unfurling a long roll of parchment, "is a copy of the original transcript of Igor Karkaroff's trial. It explains how he wriggled his way out of Azkaban after he was captured."
"He lied, didn't he? That's what my mother says, that they all lied, saying they'd been Imperiused. I already knew that."
"No, that's not the route he took. Karkaroff made a deal with the Ministry. He—here, read it." With a twitch of her wand, Cassandra sent the parchment floating across the room. "From where I marked it."
"All right," said Fidele hesitantly. She took the parchment and began to read. "'THE COURT: You have been brought from Azkaban at your own request, to present evidence to this Coucil. Should your testimony prove consequential, Council may be prepared to order your immediate release. Until such time, you remain in the eyes of the Ministry, a convicted Death Eater. Do you accept these terms?'"
"That's Barty Crouch Senior. He was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time."
"'MR. KARKAROFF: I do, sir. I wish to be of use to the Ministry. I wish to help. I know that the Ministry is trying to round up the last of the Dark Lord's supporters. I am eager to assist in any way I can.
THE COURT: You say you have names for us, Karkaroff. Let us hear them, please.
MR. KARKAROFF: You must understand that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named operated always in the greatest secrecy. He preferred that we, I mean to say, his supporters, and I regret now, very deeply, that I ever counted myself among them, we never knew the names of every one of our fellows. He alone knew exactly who we all were.'"
Fidele's sneer worsened as she read on. Cassandra slowly sipped her wine, bracing herself for what was coming.
"'THE COURT: Yet you say you have some names for us?
MR. KARKAROFF: I do. And these were important supporters, mark you. People I saw with my own eyes doing his bidding. I give this information as a sign that I fully and totally renounce him, and am filled with a remorse so deep I can barely—
THE COURT: These names are?
MR. KARKAROFF: There was Antonin Dolohov. I saw him torture countless Muggles and non-supporters of the Dark Lord.
THE COURT: We have already apprehended Dolohov. He was caught shortly after yourself.
MR. KARKAROFF: Indeed? I am delighted to hear it!
THE COURT: Any others?
MR. KARKAROFF: Why, yes. There was Rosier. Evan Rosier.'"
"That's…" Tove whispered.
"Yes," said Cassandra. Fidele looked up at her. She was blinking very quickly, visibly on the verge of a great flood of emotion. Cassandra nodded at her encouragingly, and eyes went back to the parchment.
"'THE COURT: Rosier is dead. He was caught shortly after you were too. He preferred to fight rather than come quietly and was killed in the struggle.
MR. KARKAROFF: No more than Rosier deserved!'"
The silence in the room was funereal.
"He…"
"Yes," Cassandra said again.
Fidele laughed; it was an ugly, scornful sound. "He must think I'm an idiot. All these years… When he handed me my prefect badge, he called my father his comrade. Said that he would've been proud of me. And I believed him. I was grateful to him."
"I'm so sorry, Fi," Galena said, sober and compassionate.
Fidele turned around, buried her head into a pillow and let out a blood-curdling scream.
Cassandra poured herself another glass of wine, drank it, and poured again. If Fidele was anything like her, which she seemed to be, they had a long night ahead of them.
Later, when Fidele, Tove and Galena were deep into a drunken sleep and the morning wake-up call was only a couple of hours away, Cassandra pulled on a dressing gown and slunk toward the common room, stepping lightly and moving carefully in the darkness so as to not alert anyone.
She settled on a carved mahogany settee, bringing her legs under herself. With a sharp movement of her wand and some concentration, she conjured a half-dozen or so candles and lit their wicks, sending them floating above her. The soft candlelight turned the common room furniture into looming black shadows.
She pulled an envelope out of her pocket and ripped it open, then took out a slip of parchment covered in thin, angular handwriting.
Dear Cassandra,
As predicted, the train ride to the castle was rotten. All everyone's talking about is Sirius Black, and how he's bound to come to Hogwarts to kill Potter.
I'd like to stress once again how rude of you it was to abandon me here by myself when all of this is going on. I've had to deny to three different people that the reason you're not coming back is because you were the one who helped spring Black out of Azkaban and are now on the run with him. (Even though I've been discouraging this rumour, I found it to be quite hilarious, and I know you will, too.)
In not-so-funny news, the morons over at the Ministry of Magic thought, for some incomprehensible reason, that it would be a good idea to have dementors search the Hogwarts Express for your escapee cousin. Diggory didn't respond to them very well—when a dementor passed by our compartment, his face went white and he started shaking like a leaf. I thought you'd want to know, especially considering the wretched creatures are going to be stationed around the school for the time being. Do you know of an amulet or any sort of protection Charm that can be used to ward off against them? Money is no object, since I'd prefer to end the year with my soul intact and attached to my body.
Diggory asked me if my letters to you are also being returned unopened, but I didn't have the heart to tell him you've blocked his owls from locating you. It shouldn't take him too long to figure it out, though; when it comes to you he's like a crup with a bone. Are you sure this is how you want to do things? Maybe it would be better to talk to him, at least once. Give the bloke some closure.
I want to hear all about Durmstrang. What does it look like? Is there really a dungeon where students get tortured for infractions? What are the Durmstrang Houses, and which one are you in?
Yours,
Adrian Pucey
Cassandra read and reread Adrian's letter. She pressed down on her chest with the meat of her palm, trying to quell the dull ache inside of it. Cedric. Instead of writing a reply as she'd planned, she Vanished the candles illuminating the common room, hugged her knees, and gazed out the window at the full moon until morning came.
On Saturday afternoon, Cassandra packed her schoolbag, slipped her wand into her sleeve and dragged a grumbling Fidele to the Dark Arts laboratory.
"I don't care if you're still in a bad mood, we need to work on Professor Krauja's project."
Fidele made a face at her. "I'm not in a bad mood."
"Even better, then."
They sat together at the back of the room. There were a few other students of different years there, working on their own assignments.
Cassandra spread out their notes over the table. "Do you remember where we stopped?"
"We figured out the knife was goblins' silver, but that was it."
"Mhmm. I borrowed these books from the library yesterday," she said, taking out The Goblin-Made Blade: Artistry in Silver and 1001 Cursed Weapons from her bag. "I think we should start by looking into what kind of enchantments can be cast upon goblin-wrought silver, and narrow things down from there."
"That sounds good. Do you have it on you?"
"The knife? Yeah." Cassandra put the Dark artefact on the table, untying the piece of dragon skin she'd wrapped it in for safekeeping. The silver blade gleamed between them.
"Maybe there's something that looks like it in here," Fidele said, going for 1001 Cursed Weapons. "I'll check while I'm looking for the enchantments thing."
They worked in companionable silence for some time, until Fidele interrupted it by clearing her throat.
"I wanted to say thank you."
Cassandra gave her a sidelong glance.
"For telling me about Karkaroff. About him giving up my father. I was stupid trusting him in the first place."
Cassandra reached over, putting her hand over Fidele's. It wasn't fair. War had taken parents from both of them, while men like Igor Karkaroff and Severus Snape walked free. Who did they love more than themselves? What did they care about, beyond saving their own necks? Was that the key to coming out of a war unscathed—absolute selfishness? Was that what she would have to do? She couldn't help but think that if her recent actions were any indication, she'd be just fine.
"I think it's inescapable for people without fathers to collect father figures. I've done my fair share of that," Cassandra said as gently as she could.
"Is that what Professor Ivanovich is?" Fidele asked.
"A little bit," she admitted. "I knew I could trust him, and that's why I asked him to become my guardian. There aren't a lot of people I can trust in my life."
"You can trust me," Fidele said, interlacing her fingers with Cassandra's. "Whatever happens, I'll have your back. I promise."
A salve. Cassandra squeezed her cousin's hand. "You can trust me too, Fi."
Fidele smiled and then rolled her eyes self-deprecatingly. "Right, sentimental moment over. We should get back to this thing."
"Well, I actually think I may have something. It says here," Cassandra said, turning The Goblin-Made Blade towards Fidele and pointing out a specific section with her index finger, "that goblin-made blades imbibe only that which strengthens them. That means spells, yes, but also poisons. I'm certain I'd be able to feel the presence of a Curse strong enough to alter the properties of goblin's silver, but you can't feel out for poisons. If you could, no one would get poisoned."
"You think it's a poisoned blade?" Fidele asked with interest.
"I do. I don't know why I didn't think about it before. I finished Spielman's A History of the Use of Poisons in Magical Warfare right before the beginning of term, and there are mentions of poisoned blades all over that book. Rasputin was stabbed with a goblin-made dagger soaked in Bloodrot Poison, but he recovered after ingesting Phoenix tears. Did you know he used to carry a vial of Phoenix tears on him at all times? How paranoid do you have to be to do that? Although I suppose it did save his life."
"If you're right," Fidele said, interrupting her meandering. "That answers two out of Krauja's three questions—what the artefact can do—kill—and how it was created. We'd need to figure out what poison is in it to know how to counter it."
Cassandra rubbed a finger against her lips thoughtfully and said, "Well, I only really think of one way of doing that, but I don't know how you're going to feel about it. I don't know how Professor Krauja would feel about it."
"Spill it out," Fidele challenged her.
"We'd need to test out the blade on something living—a small animal, preferably, and record its effects. Then we compare them to the literature on poisons we have access to until we find a match."
"Is that it?" Fidele asked incredulously. "I don't know what kind of pansy-ass magic you were doing at Hogwarts, but this is Durmstrang. No one's going to blink an eye at killing animals for magical purposes."
"Circe and Morgana, you are so rude," Cassandra said, laughing. "I don't do pansy-ass magic, at Hogwarts or anywhere else."
"That sounds suspiciously like what someone who does pansy-ass magic would say," Fidele replied, flipping her hair. Cassandra caught a brown strand as it flew in her direction and tugged, making the witch shriek.
Cassandra dined with Ivanovich that night. When she arrived at his quarters, a hearty, warm meal had been laid out by the Dumstrang elves, and he sat at his small table wearing dark blue robes and reading, of all things, the evening edition of the Daily Prophet.
"Anything interesting?" she asked as she placed a bottle of Honey Pepper Vodka—his favorite—in front of him.
Her guardian peered at her with the same expression of faint disapproval he had worn since she had first met him. "Not as of yet," he told her. "Where did you get that?"
"Don't ask me questions you don't want me to answer honestly," she said. There were quite a few things Boris Ivanovich took offense to—children and feeble-mindedness being right at the top of the list—but a little bending of the rules was not one of them. Cassandra liked that about him.
He motioned to the spread between them. Cassandra spooned fish soup into her plate and picked up a piece of bread but didn't start.
Ivanovich spoke up. "How were your first days of classes?"
"Great," she said honestly. "I like Professor Kraujas."
"Most young girls do."
"He is quite handsome," Cassandra mused, "but that's not why. His class was really good—great, even. I didn't know what to expect from a Dark Arts professor. Not him."
"Yes," Ivanovich said. "Liutauras Krauja is the best teacher the subject's had in all my time teaching at this school. He took the position because of his wife. Used to make a lot of money as Head Curse-Breaker at Gringotts." He ripped off a chunk of bread.
"I haven't had classes with her yet—Monday afternoon."
Ivanovich huffed. "Nasty little witch, she is. I like her."
"Since we're on the subject of nasty witches one of us likes, did you know I had a cousin here?"
"Miss Rosier?" he asked.
The fish melted in her mouth when Cassandra bit into it. She chewed for a moment and said, "Yes, Fidele Rosier. My grandmother—Grandfather Cygnus' wife—was her grandfather's older sister."
"I wasn't aware before we came here, no, but it was the talk of the teachers' lounge yesterday. Apparently Mrs. Rosier leads quite the infamous trio."
"Viktor Krum calls them Fate, Loathing, and Pestilence. I haven't found out yet why Tove got stuck with Pestilence, though."
"The teachers have another name for them."
Her eyebrows rose. "Really?" she asked.
"Yes. Teachers tend to be awful gossips. Like crotchety old women, the lot of them. They call your young friends the Unhallowed Trinity," Ivanovich told her. "Although it appears to be a quartet now."
Cassandra couldn't contain her laugh. "That is so ridiculous."
"I agree. Miss Rosier seems to rule over her peers with something of an iron fist, which is why she's a person of interest among my colleagues. Do I have to worry about you?" he asked, biting into some more bread.
"No, you don't have to worry about me," she answered him. "I can navigate the scary world of teenage social politics by myself. Plus, I like her. She's… I don't know. Family."
He studied her. "Sirius Black is your family."
"Well, maybe I'd like him too, if I met him," Cassandra said with a shrug.
"By the way," she continued after a moment, "my first session with Krum is tomorrow. I'm giving you a fair warning that I plan on making him regret the day he ever bought a wand, in case he goes crying to Karkaroff or his father after it."
"Good," Ivanovich said. "No one's willing to push that boy on anything that isn't Quidditch. This is a magical school, not some Quidditch training camp."
Cassandra woke up the next day with a grin on her face. Galena's color of the day was red, so she braided a ribbon that looked like an open vein into her hair, ate breakfast, and set off for the Training Grounds. Viktor arrived an hour later, once everything was ready. He grunted out a hello, incapable or unwilling to be polite.
"Give me your jacket," she demanded, not acknowledging the disrespectful greeting.
"What?" Viktor said, his ever-present scowl deepening. "No."
"That wasn't a request. You can do as I say, or you can go back to Professor Ivanovich and explain to him why you're incapable of following simple instructions. Better yet, have your father ask him for another tutor, see how that goes."
"Fine," he snarled out, ripping his jacket from his body and throwing it on her face.
Cassandra caught it and gave him a lazy smile. "Thank you. Hux!"
Her house-elf appeared with a crack. She handed him the garment and said, "Pass it around the creatures just like I told you, make sure they catch his scent." Hux bowed deeply and left.
She eyed Viktor speculatively while they waited for the house-elf's return. Guessing it would annoy him, Cassandra let her eyes travel from his trim waist, up to his chest and exposed arms. He really wasn't half bad in an undershirt. She winked at him, and the pulsing vein on his neck told her she was succeeding at aggravating him.
When Hux returned Viktor his now-slobbered-and-slightly-chewed-on jacket, Cassandra explained how their morning was going to go. "I've hidden ten flags across the grounds, starting from Tyr Lake and ending at Mina's Grove, passing through the forest. It's your job to find and collect all ten flags in the next three hours. Beyond the forest's regular inhabitants, Hux helped me bring in five XXXX magical creatures from my own estate. The five of them have your scent, and won't hesitate to attack when they feel you near." It had been a pain to convince the shallow-water dwelling Kappa to go into the deep lake, but she'd done it.
"And what are you going to be doing while I put my life at risk?" Viktor asked darkly.
"Oh," Cassandra said with a vicious smile, "I'll be right behind you."
*Château La Fleur-Pétrus is a real, delicious, and ridiculously expensive Bordeaux wine.
**The title for The Goblin-Made Blade: Artistry in Silver was borrowed from The Pattern-Welded Blade: Artistry in Iron, by Jim Hrisoulas.
***I've always thought that if there's a notorious historical figure that could've realistically been a wizard, that's Rasputin. He was indeed stabbed in an assassination attempt and did recover from it, although there are no accounts of that knife being coated in poison.
Thank you for reading! If you can, please leave a review. They're really appreciated, and motivate me to keep writing! See you next time, b xx