There was a killer at Durmstrang. Cassandra turned that information over in her mind once again. As a matter of fact, there were several killers at Durmstrang. She was one of them. Ivanovich was another. Had their killings been justified? Yes, but that didn't change the verifiable truth that they had taken others' lives. The headmaster's hands weren't clean either, no matter how hard he tried to sanitise his past as a Death Eater. Even Tove had condemned her own father to a life of feebleness and pain, which seemed colder and more cruel than murder in a way. But none of these people represented any real danger to Cassandra. Did this unknown killer?

"Cassandra," said Ivanovich sharply, rapping his knuckle on his office desk for emphasis. "Do pay attention when I'm talking to you, girl."

She blinked. "Of course, Boris. You were saying?"

Ivanovich huffed. "I've managed to clear your and your friends' names with the rest of the staff. The fact that your excursion outside the castle happened under the supervision of a teacher helped, no matter what aspersions Karkaroff may be trying to cast on Professor Lasses's character. As if she doesn't have more integrity in her little finger than he does in his entire body."

"Well, she does go out of her way to look objectionable. The Daily Prophet wouldn't need much more than that to paint her as a twisted child murderer," said Cassandra. "To be fair, they wouldn't need anything past my name to do that either."

"I didn't take up your guardianship to have your reputation slandered on my watch. Now that the girl's body's been identified, your innocence is beyond question. Frau Bien vanished from this school in late January; you were still a student at Hogwarts back then," said Ivanovich, lighting his pipe and taking a long draw. He suddenly looked much older, and tired. "The way this case is being handled is obscene. Durmstrang should be rallying to find out how one of its pupils could disappear from the castle and then reappear, dead and mutilated, nine months later. Instead—"

"Instead, Karkaroff tried to use it to take me out of the picture. Calling for me and my friends to be held in the dungeon cells while the extent of our involvement was investigated was a bit much, don't you think?" said Cassandra with equal amounts of mirth and genuine indignation.

"No one could ever accuse Igor Karkaroff of being subtle. He's desperate to clear himself of the responsibility for the girl's murder, and this was just his first attempt of passing on the blame."

"It was a stupid move. The Tiresias are infuriated with him. They want to pull Galena out of school."

"Grindelwald is still a very sore subject around these parts. Karkaroff can't afford to let parents think there's a latent pro-Grindelwald movement resurging at Durmstrang, especially if this movement is kidnapping and killing pure-blood girls for some nefarious purpose," said Ivanovich, scornfully waving his pipe in the air. "Had he managed to make nice with the Tiresias, which I'm sure he planned on doing, he would've given a neat and swift resolution to this tragedy, by blaming it on you and the Rosier girl. A lot of people still remember Vinda Rosier as Grindelwald's right hand."

Cassandra tensed. "If Karkaroff thinks I'll let him do to Fidele what he did to her father, he's very much mistaken. She's innocent for one, and I have enough capital to bury any plot of his ten times over."

Ivanovich shook his head. "I don't think he'll pursue it any further than he already has. He tried. It didn't work, so he'll try something else. He's always been good at pivoting when it was necessary."

Karkaroff had always put self-preservation above all. So far, Cassandra had been relying on his fear of the Dark Lord's return, and of her parents, to keep him from trying to exercise his brand of petty authoritarianism over her. To act as he had, he must've decided she was lying about the Dark Lord not being dead. Or, she reasoned, he considered a real investigation into Merga Bien's murder such a threat to his position and freedom, everything else fell second place.

Cassandra saw two paths in front of her. She could decide to write Karkaroff's actions off as an insolent but ultimately ineffective move against her and carry on as usual, or she could pursue her more spiteful instincts and try to find out what exactly had him so afraid.

Something must have shown on her face, because Ivanovich said, "Tell me what you're thinking, voronyonok."

"I decided it would be fun to solve a mystery last year, and that ended with someone I love kidnapped and me almost sucking a piece of the Dark Lord's soul into myself," she said, her fingers tapping absent-mindedly on the arm of her chair. "Maybe this time I should just… let it be someone else's problem. Don't do anything about it."

Ivanovich raised his eyebrows. "I thought that was a given," he said, sounding surprised. "You know I approve of you poking at Karkaroff, but this goes beyond that. A young witch is dead. It's unfortunate that you and your friends were the ones to find her body, but you needn't involve yourself beyond that. That's—"

He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in," said Ivanovich.

The door opened, and in came Frau Hubermann, the school caretaker. She stopped at the sight of Cassandra, her usual frown deepening.

"Ah, Frau Hubermann. How can I help you?"

The strait-laced caretaker stepped forward, her eyes wandering between Cassandra and Ivanovich.

"I apologise for the intrusion, Herr Ivanovich. The Biens have arrived to claim their daughter's body."

Ivanovich set down his half-smoked pipe, ran his hand over his face and rose from his seat. "We'll continue our conversation later, Cassandra. I have to go and make sure this school doesn't fail Frau Bien and her family any worse than it already has."

Cassandra left Ivanovich's office not long after, disillusioning herself in order to walk to her dorm room unnoticed. The school talked about nothing but Merga Bien's murder. From the accounts Cassandra had heard so far, when the girl disappeared nearly ten months ago, a lot had been speculated about her running away or being killed by Muggles who found her wandering too far outside the grounds. It was so unthinkable that a student could've been taken from insidethe fortress that was Durmstrang, or even worse, that they had been harmed by one of the people who lived in it, that those possibilities had never been raised publicly. For her to be found only a few steps away from the Great Hall, and in the manner that she had, well... The theories about how, why and by whom she'd been murdered had become wilder and wilder. Cassandra was tired of dodging questions from people she had never exchanged a word with before.

Things weren't quiet at Hogwarts either. She'd written to Adrian, detailing everything that had happened during Samhain eve and after, only to receive a letter equally packed with information. Her fugitive cousin Sirius Black had snuck into the castle and slashed the portrait that watched over the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. A few days later, Cedric had fallen off his broom during a Quidditch match when the Dementors guarding Hogwarts decided to invade the pitch. So had Harry Potter, but Cassandra didn't worry for him as much. In her response to Adrian, she had enclosed a rare copy of Illyius's Gyde to the Corporeal Patronus, trusting that Adrian would share the book with her former boyfriend without revealing its provenance.

Cassandra took care to step quietly into her dorm room. Tove sat on the windowsill, drawing; Fidele was on the floor with three different books opened on her lap and Galena was asleep despite the early hour, a common occurrence these days.

Fidele looked up at her, inquisitive. Cassandra nodded and her cousin sagged with relief. Fidele was on the receiving end of most of the grief they were getting from other students over finding Bien's body — she was a Rosier, and as Ivanovich had remarked, the Rosiers were associated with Gellert Grindelwald in the continent just as the Lestranges were with the Dark Lord in Britain. However, Ivanovich's continued support was doing much for their reputations. These days, Cassandra's meetings with her guardian brought more comfort to Fidele than to Cassandra herself

Cassandra pointed at Galena and Fidele shook her head. No nightmares yet then.

She took off her shoes and laid in bed, throwing her arms over her head. To act or not to act? Eyes closed, she pondered that question until she drifted off to sleep.

"INTERNATIONAL STATUTE OF WIZARDING SECRECY"

Professor Vulchanova stepped back from the board and looked around at the class, anticipating a reaction.

"She has gotto be kidding," Fidele said under her breath. She and Cassandra were sharing a desk, while Tove and Galena sat behind them.

"This class is going to end badly," Galena whispered urgently.

"All due respect, Gali," Tove whispered back, "but it's not as impressive when you predict things that we can all tell. What in Freya's name is Vulchanova doing?"

"Causing a stir," Galena answered.

Cassandra touched her wand where it was tucked into her sleeve, readying herself for a skirmish. She felt strangely let down by Professor Vulchanova.

"Who can tell me what's the first credible account of a witch or wizard being burned at the stake?" said the teacher.

A russet-skinned boy raised his hand in the air.

"Herr Bouhouche?"

"It was Hudricus Mallier, professor. He burned in the Vallais Witch Trials, in 1428. There's a statue of him at the Swiss Ministry of Magic."

"Thank you, that's correct," said Professor Vulchanova. "Hudricus Mallier was an eight year old wizard whose brutal death escalated into the first systematic European witch-hunt, in Vallais, Switzerland. His parents had died the year before and he was being raised by Muggelrelations, who were quick to denounce him as a wizard once the first trials began. In his pain and desperation to survive, young Hudricus managed to put out the flames of his pyre in a burst of accidental magic. That, of course, served only to fuel the witch-hunting craze. The populace beat the child unconscious and then lit his pyre once again."

"Most of us think of Muggels as little more than insects. Numerous and bothersome yes, but overall harmless and easy to kill. But historically, this has not been the case. The Statute of Secrecy didn't come to be because wizards, as a society, suddenly realised our superiority to Muggelsand chose to isolate ourselves from them. It was born out of necessity. It was born to protect us from an existential threat."

Professor Vulchanova walked across the classroom while she talked, making sure she emphasised her point to each of her students.

"There were, of course, various contributing factors to the widespread phenomenon of witch-hunting in Europe between the fifteenth and seventeenth centuries. Religious fanaticism; an extended period of bitter winters and mild summers that caused widespread loss of crops and livestock, resulting in sickness and starvation among Muggels; political instability and of course, regular old greed and lack of scruples. Witch-hunters stood to make considerable financial gains from finding and executing so-called witches—Yes, Herr Krum?" said Vulchanova, sounding surprised. They all were; Viktor Krum never raised his hand or participated in class unless he was made to.

"How many wizards were killed in the trials, professor?" asked Viktor in a low voice that had Cassandra straining her ears to hear him.

"Four hundred and seventy-nine, that we have records of," Professor Vulchanova answered.

"And how many Muggels?"

"Current estimates vary between thirty-five and fifty thousand."

"Sounds like they were a bigger threat to themselves than to us," Viktor volleyed back. "Or maybe they aren't a threat at all."

Cassandra exchanged a puzzled look with her friends. Since when was Krum a Muggle lover?

Viktor continued, either unbothered or emboldened by the silence shrouding the room. "The fear of Muggel persecution is just a tool tyrants such as Grindelwald use to control wizards. To put us in a prison where only they hold the key, and our only way to freedom is by giving them power."

Professor Vulcahnova, who'd been staring impassively at Krum as he spoke, turned on her heels, her perfectly straight bob cutting the air like a blade. With a flick of her wand, she cleared the board of its previous contents and started writing down numbers.

"Let's see if arithmetics back your sympathiser politics, Herr Krum. The wizarding population at the height of the European Witch Trials, in the sixteenth century, hovered around one hundred and twenty thousand wizards worldwide. The Muggel population, on the other hand, was estimated at five hundred million."

Someone gasped. Cassandra agreed; that number did seem absurdly high.

"If we decide to go high and assume that the fifty thousand dead Muggels figure is correct, that means one in every ten thousand Muggelsin the world were mistakenly executed for witchcraft between the fifteenth and seventeenth century.

Now, if we take that seemingly small number of four hundred and seventy-nine dead wizards and witches and compare it to the overall wizarding population, we'll see that one in every two hundred and fifty wizards were killed over the same period, and that's accounting for the witch-hunts in Europe alone. America also had their own deadly trials.

We made up less than one per centum of all individuals burned at the stake, and yet our population was affected at a rate forty times greater than theirs. Do you know what Muggels would call that, Herr Krum? A mass extinction-level event."

"Are you telling us to be afraid of Muggels, professor?" a sandy-haired girl said, her voice tinged with incredulity. "But we're wizards."

"And we're still the ones who have to hide," argued another student. "Why aren't they the ones with a Statute of Secrecy?"

"Grindelwald was right!" someone else shouted from the back of the room.

"Take that back!" Krum snarled, rising from his seat.

"He did what was necessary. He stood up for wizardkind!"

"Grindelwald was a murderer! He killed—"

"He did it for the Greater Good!"

Cassandra couldn't tell who shot the first spell — maybe it was Viktor or one of the sad hang-ons who liked to trail behind him, competing to lavish the most praise over their idol (much to his chagrin). It didn't really matter. Tove pulled Galena to the ground and embraced her protectively, putting her body between the Seer and the hexes flying across the room.

It was pandemonium. Spells were being shot in every direction. Several hit the windows, showering the back row with broken glass. A hex, yellow and nasty, came in Fidele's direction; Cassandra erected a shield while Fidele shot something vicious in return. Ink bottles were transfigured into ravening rodents that immediately set out to attack the unfortunate students closest to them, books burst into flames and there was some sort of amorphous creature crawling out of the upended waste bin.

"This is entirely unnecessary, you are all capable of rational argument," Vulchanova proclaimed entirely too calmly.

It had absolutely no effect.

"What is her damage?!" Tove cried out shrilly, as a rabid lemming lunged at her face. A sharp caw echoed through the air and Klaus, who had flown in through a broken window, swooped down and snatched the rodent mid-air, killing it with a snap of his beak.

The doors to the classroom were thrown open with a bang, and in strode Headmaster Karkaroff. Finally, Cassandra thought. His shrewd little eyes blazed as he surveyed the scene of chaos before him, as well as the unconcerned figure of Professor Vulchanova. He drew himself up to his full height, raised his wand and shouted a spell that silenced the room.

"Enough!" he roared, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "What is the meaning of this?"

The students froze, their wands in their hands, as Karkaroff strode over to them. It took a few moments, but eventually, almost everyone had lowered their wands and eyes to the ground. He stared at Cassandra, who had kept her chin up. She jerked her head towards the board. During the fight, someone had managed to spell Grindelwald's mark above it.

A slight shiver ran down Cassandra's spine. Her mind flashed back to the same symbol carved in Merga Bien's belly.

The colour drained from Karkaroff's face as Cassandra watched. A terrible look of mingled fear and fury came over his face.

"I want answers. Now. Who is responsible for that disgusting thing?"

"Why don't you ask Vinda Rosier's niece?" Krum spat out. "She and her friends are the ones showing up with dead bodies branded with that kuchi sin's symbol."

"Tup si kato guz, Viktor Krum," Fidele volleyed back. "And I'm her grandniece."

"If this is true, Frau Rosier—"

"Stop it," said Cassandra, her voice low and dangerous. She looked at Viktor, hateful and fed up. "We've done nothing."

"Tell that to Merga."

Something dark and poisonous bubbled inside of Cassandra. She breathed deeply, trying to keep it from pouring out of her. "You are a vulgar, stupid little boy."

Vulchanova stood off to the side, her arms folded across her chest, with a stillness that could've made a statue twitch. Karkaroff turned his gaze towards her, his lips twisted in a sneer.

"And what did you do to stop this?" he asked, his voice dripping with contempt.

"I did what I could", she said. Her voice was calm, measured, but Cassandra could hear the amusement beneath it. "These are not simple children, Igor. They are young pure-blood wizards and witches, still learning to control their powers."

Karkaroff scoffed. "It is the duty of every teacher at this school to ensure the safety of their students," he spat, a rehearsed line if there ever was one. "If you're not capable of doing so—"

Vulchanova's gaze was cold. "Because you've been doing such a stellar job of it. Perhaps you bit off more than you can chew by accepting the headmaster post."

My post, Cassandra guessed, was what she really meant. Vulchanova wanted the position that should be hers by blood, and this was a good time to make a play for it, dead pupil's corpse turning up and all. Causing more chaos when Karkaroff was trying his hardest to maintain normalcy and avoid panicking parents was a good move.

"I will be speaking with you about this later, Nikolina," said Karkaroff, his anger palpable. As for the rest of you, you should all be ashamed of yourselves. This is an institution for learning and respect.I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour in my school. You will all report to my office immediately for disciplinary action. Make no mistakes, there will be consequences."

As he turned to leave, his robes billowing behind him, Vulchanova watched him go, her face suffused with determination.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. She certainly wasn'tgoing to be suffering any consequences. She looked at Fidele. "I didn't know you spoke Bulgarian"

Fidele shrugged. "I only know the insults."


*According to the official lore, Illyius was a young orphan wizard who, in ancient times, single-handedly saved his village from a Dark wizard and his army of Dementors with his mouse Patronus.

**The first systematic European witch-hunt did begin in Valais, Switzerland, in 1428.

***Muggel: German spelling of Muggle

****The number of people killed in the European witch hunts, as well as the world population at the time, were extracted from official historical sources. I extrapolated the number of living wizards at the time based on the muggle:wizard ratio of the books. As someone on Quora said, JKR is to Mathematics what Stephen Hawking was to the 400 metre hurdles, but all my numbers check out (with the exception, of course, of the percentage of real wizards killed in the witch trials. I had to make that one up).

*****Kuchi sin: Bulgarian for son of a bitch

******Tup si kato guz: Bugarian saying. "You are as stupid as an ass"

Thank you for reading! Before you ask, the next chapter is already done and will be posted on the 7th. Reviews really energize me and motivate me to keep writing, so please tell me what you think about this chapter! Love, b xx