Sitting by the lakeside and enjoying the rare, warm glow of the Norwegian sun, Cassandra smiled as she watched Klaus hop around, eagerly snatching up the flobberworms Viktor offered him.
"Isn't it wonderful to finally get a break in the weather?" she mused, tossing her head back.
Viktor flung another flobberworm in the air. "It is."
"What's the weather in Bulgaria like?"
His face softened as he spoke. "Perfect. The winter air isn't biting like it is here. It snows in the mountains, but you can go outside and there's sunlight. In the spring, the meadows start flowering and the mineral springs get warm enough for swimming. And there's nothing like a summer on the coast. One of my favourite things is to go sailing in the first weeks of July before the tourists start coming in troves."
"It sounds like you miss it."
"I do. It's my home," he said. "Do you miss England?"
Cassandra considered how to answer Viktor's question, then decided to do it honestly. "Do you know what I think of when I think of home? War."
Viktor paused. "Because of your parents?"
Cassandra's eyebrows drew closer, her face tightening. "They're part of it."
"Then don't go back to England. Home isn't the place you were born. It's wherever you can be yourself."
She pondered the deeper meaning of that, studying Viktor. In the sun, his brown eyes looked like pools of honey. "Do you feel like you can be yourself around me?"
He shrugged. "I did from the first time we talked. It's why it stung so badly when you picked Rosier's friendship over mine."
"You were the one who made it either-or."
He nodded, conceding the point.
"Back at Hogwarts, I used to worry constantly about how people perceived me. Better not to be noticed, to keep my head down, remain the studious, reserved witch, ever repentant for my family's crimes, no threat to anyone. It was exhausting. I've never been more myself than I am at Durmstrang. The girls have made that possible. So have you, in a way."
"Me?" he said in a disbelieving tone.
"Yes," she laughed. "You went head to head with the pettiest, most vicious and intolerable version of me every Sunday for almost an entire year. You've seen all the scariest parts of me. What happened last night… I wouldn't have dreamed of asking any other wizard to play a part in it. I would've been too afraid of the aftermath—of finding their horrified, accusing finger pointed at me."
Viktor took that in. "I think sometimes, the only way to get justice is for someone to take it for themselves. Merga got hers because of you. Nothing's horrifying about that."
This time, Cassandra had no doubts about kissing Viktor Krum.
Nobody at Durmstrang knew the truth of what had happened the night that Albert von Preussen, Aleksandr and Yevgeny Kuznetsov were attacked except Cassandra, Fidele, Tove and Viktor. As the last days of term approached, Cassandra heard many different theories about who had punished them for their crimes, but none of them came close to the truth.
Karkaroff was furious. When he tried to interrogate the fifth-, sixth- and seventh-year students who'd been out of the castle during the attack, he found that none had clear recollections of that night. Professor Lasses, meanwhile, had openly toasted to what she'd called "the righting of a grievous wrong" during the end-of-term feast.
Cassandra had never reached the end of a school year in better spirits.
As the Durmstrang ship emerged from the water to take the students back home, she gave Fidele and Tove some exciting news.
"I've settled it with Boris and Mr and Mrs Tiresias. They're chaperoning our holiday trip. Two weeks in magical Costa Rica."
Tove let out the highest-pitched noise Cassandra had ever heard come out of someone's mouth. "That's amazing! I'm so glad I won't have to wait until the World Cup to see you again!"
"It'll be us, Gal and her parents, my friend Adrian and Boris, who gets hilariously sunburned the second he crosses the Equator."
"I can't wait," said Fidele, hugging Cassandra tightly.
After the ship departed, Cassandra went up to the Owlery. She'd never bothered with buying an owl for herself, as Klaus was way too territorial to allow her to keep another bird as a pet. This suited her fine because she hated owleries. They were always cold and draughty, because none of the windows could have glass in them, and covered in straw, owl droppings and the regurgitated skeletons of mice and voles. Typically, she would ask one of her house-elves to deliver her mail, but Boris had recently discovered the security loophole that had allowed her to call her house-elves into the castle all year and banned her from taking advantage of it. As a result, she would have to use his owl to send a letter to Adrian before they left for Copenhagen, where they would be staying until the second week of July. Adrian would be ecstatic to know that the trip to Costa Rica was a done deal.
She greeted Dagfinn Kobberskjegg, the burly, red-haired groundskeeper, who was cleaning the many perches that now stood empty. She spotted Boris' owl, Mokosh, between a barn owl and a tawny, and walked over to her, trying to avoid slipping on the dropping-strewn floor. As she tied her letter to Mokosh's leg, the sight of a familiar, plain grey owl made her stop in her tracks.
"Herr Kobberskjegg, do you know whose owl is this?" asked Cassandra calmly.
"Oh, let me see," said the groundskeeper, looking at the bird she was pointing to. "That's Dimma. She's no one's really, just a chick from two of our school owls. Headmaster Karkaroff uses her sometimes when his owl is busy."
"Does anyone else ever use her?"
He shook his head. "Not that I've seen. She's lazy, that one. I reckon she only indulges the Headmaster because he's extra generous with treats."
Cassandra sensed Klaus before she saw him. Her faithful familiar, feeling her shift in mood, tore through the grounds in search of her, swooping down to land on her shoulder as she walked down the North Tower steps.
The poisoned chocolate intended to kill her had been delivered by an owl used exclusively by Headmaster Karkaroff.
It didn't make sense. Once she'd invaded Yevgeny Kuznetsov's mind, he'd thrown memory after memory at her, desperate to force her out. She'd seen Bien's kidnapping, torment and death through his eyes. Karkaroff had not appeared at any point in time. He'd had no involvement in what happened to Bien.
But neither had he tried to investigate it. Yes, he'd made a few speeches and talked about how tragic the incident had been, but at no point in time had he allowed the Ministry to enter Durmstrang to look into her murder. Instead, he'd cast aspersions on her character, mentioning the possibility of a Muggle boyfriend.
Karkaroff was not beyond murder—his Death Eater past was proof enough of that, but he did not appear reckless or unhinged. He was moved by, above all, self-interest. He would've needed an incentive, something big, to try to kill a student.
Well, not just any student. The poisoning had happened after she'd announced to the entire school that she was close to finding Bien's murderer. But why stop her? As Headmaster, it would benefit him to have the crime solved. Why go out of his way to protect an unknown killer?
Unless this killer came from a family so influential, so powerful, that Karkaroff would have much more to gain from protecting them, than from uncovering the truth behind another student's murder. A family like Albert von Preussen's, whose great-grandfather was now weathering a scandal of disastrous proportions. Could cowardly, sheltered Albert have gone behind his friends' backs and asked the Headmaster for protection once he believed they were going to be caught?
Cassandra Lestrange would die, leaving the mystery of Merga Bien's murder forever unsolved, and Chancellor von Preussen would be in Karkaroff's debt, forever grateful to him for protecting his great-grandson—and his political career.
Maybe I'm wrong, she thought. And even if she was right, that didn't mean she had to take matters into her own hands. She could go to Boris and share her theory. He'd insist they go through the proper channels. She'd offer up her memory of the incident and the groundskeeper would likely be questioned about the identity of the owl's owner. He'd tell them what he'd just told her—that it was no one's owl, and that the Headmaster used it sometimes when his owl was occupied. Karkaroff would argue that everyone at the school had access to the bird. There was no hard proof that he'd been the one to send Cassandra the poisoned chocolate egg. What motive did he have to do something like that?
Cassandra looked down at the signet ring she'd taken to wearing this year, which bore the Lestrange family crest. She twisted it back and forth on her little finger as she made a decision.
"Frau Lestrange, are you all right?"
Her gaze snapped to Professor Krauja, whose handsome, respectable face was etched with concern.
"You've been standing there for a while," he said politely.
"I'm sorry, professor. I was thinking about the future."
Krauja offered her a warm smile. "That's a topic that merits pondering. But perhaps you'd be best suited doing it somewhere other than the corridors. I, for example, do some of my best pondering when I'm sat in a comfortable chair."
Cassandra returned his warmth. "Of course. Thank you, professor. I hope you and Professor Lasses enjoy your summer. It's been a pleasure to study under both of you."
"The pleasure has been ours, Frau Lestrange."
"Before you go, professor—do you know where Headmaster Karkaroff is? I have something to discuss with him."
"I believe he's in his office. The faculty has an end-of-term meeting tonight that he should be preparing for right about now."
"Thank you," said Cassandra.
Sometimes, the only way to get justice is for someone to take it for themselves.
Five minutes later she stood in front of a suit of armour guarding a set of thick double doors.
"Inform the Headmaster Cassandra Lestrage wants to talk to him," she said at it.
The enchanted knight stood frozen, indifferent to her request.
"Tell him I have new information regarding last week's attacks."
After a moment, the suit of armour sprung to life and stepped aside. Cassandra pushed the doors open.
Inside, Karkaroff was leaning against his desk with his arms folded in front of his chest. He smiled at her, but his eyes were cold and shrewd.
"Miss Lestrange," he said in English. "I understand you have some information you'd like to share. Please, come in and sit."
Cassandra closed the doors behind her. "I know what you did."
"Remove yourself from my office, girl. I have no time for teenage nonsense."
"Is that what you called what Albert von Preussen and his friends did to Bien when he confessed to you?"
Karkaroff startled, then scoffed unconvincingly.
"Yes, I know about that. I'm also aware of the deal you struck with the von Preussen family to cover up Albert's involvement in Bien's disappearance and murder," she bluffed. "And that it was you who poisoned me."
"I will not tolerate these outrageous accusations—"
"Aren't you curious about how I came to know all this?"
Cassandra leaned in, taking the opportunity to discreetly palm her wand, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I extracted that information from Albert's mind before I reduced it to glop."
The colour drained from Karkaroff's face. A terrible look of mingled fury and fear came over it. "I knew it was you! The state those boys were in… A page ripped out of Bellatrix's book. But I couldn't see how you could've kept them under the Cruciatus for long enough to cause that amount of damage without suffering any aftereffects."
"Like mother, like daughter."
He unfolded his arms. Cassandra was paying special attention to his left hand—his wand hand. "So what?"
She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but that wasn't it.
"So what, Miss Lestrange? Are you planning on going to the authorities and explaining how you discovered this? I don't think so."
"Going to the authorities? I'm a Lestrange. Have you forgotten what that means? No; I'll be anonymously sending copies of Albert's memories to every magical newspaper on the continent. Then I'll watch as they destroy you."
"Name your price," said Karkaroff. Cassandra could tell he was trying to sound disdainful, as though this conversation was barely worth his time, but his hands gave him away; they had balled themselves into fists. "What do you want from me?"
"I want you out of Durmstrang. Resign today and never return. I'll leave the rest to the Dark Lord once he rises again."
With a flick of his wand, the Headmaster sealed the office that was his by right. "I'd rather kill you," he said quietly. "Avada Kedavra!"
Cassandra did not even open her mouth, she had already launched an armchair at Karkaroff that blocked the spell. Before the fragments had even hit the floor, she had drawn back her wand and slashed the air. A razor-sharp piano wire whip lashed at Karkaroff as he began to cast a shield spell, cutting him open from shoulder to stomach.
Karkaroff let out a guttural scream, thrusting his wand towards Cassandra's chest. She quickly Accioed his desk, which burst into hundreds of wooden fragments as it intercepted another Killing Curse.
"No wonder we lost the war!" yelled Cassandra as she blocked another jet of light, this time red, countering it with a Reductor Curse. "If this is how the Dark Lord's best men fought!"
As Karkaroff parried her magical attack, Klaus swooped down, opened his beak wide and bit into his right eye, flying away as the wizard screamed. At the same moment, Cassandra slashed her wand up and forward in two short, sharp movements, raising a large, jagged piece of what had once been a desk leg into the air, and launching it at Karkaroff. There was a thumping, wet sound as he was impaled into the wall.
And then, as if the very office they were in had realized its owner was no longer alive, it opened its doors wide, putting Cassandra face-to-face with her guardian, wand in hand, and every one of her professors.
So... this is it! It took me a while to finish part 3, but I am incredibly happy to be able to deliver an ending that I'm proud of for this chapter of Cassandra's life. She's a character that is very near and dear to me.
I couldn't be more grateful to the people who have liked, saved and commented on this story. I don't think I would've been able to continue with it if it weren't for your support. Thank you, thank you, thank you.