Once haunting and bare, the cave underneath the Frozen Lake had been completely transformed. Dozens of lanterns floated high up in the air, relieving much of the cavern's natural gloom. Three-foot-high brass vases adorned with white peacock feathers and red roses caught and reflected the light, while the cave's walls were draped with crimson canvas, cascading down like a waterfall of blood. Danceable, upbeat swing music filled the air, emanating from the enchanted jazz orchestra that had been gifted to Cassandra's late grandmother by an exiled American wizard.
Cassandra led her friends through the vast circular space, past plush chairs and intimately arranged tables nestled against the cave walls. Their destination was a hidden passage, artfully carved by her house-elves into the limestone, leading to a secret alcove. This concealed room, located several metres down from the makeshift dancefloor, was no larger than one of the cells found in the dungeons of Durmstrang Castle, and just as fortified.
"These turned out nicely," Fidele observed, crouching down to examine the golem modelled after her. The construct was sitting lifelessly between the ones resembling Tove and Cassandra. "It looks like me."
Tove spoke up, her wand at the ready. "I'll transfigure their outfits to match what we're wearing."
"How exactly do these work?" asked Viktor, nudging one of the golems with his foot.
"Don't fucking kick my doll," ground out Fidele, kicking him in turn.
"It's old Hebrew magic," said Cassandra. "I shaped them out of clay into our images."
Viktor looked puzzled. "By hand?"
Fidele rolled her eyes. "No, idiot. Using magic."
"Yes, with magic," said Cassandra. She pulled out three pieces of parchment inscribed with runes from her handbag and passed them around. "These will go in their mouths, to animate them. They're instructions. Do this. Don't do that. If a condition is met, react like this."
"So they're not sentient?" said Viktor.
Cassandra shook her head. "They don't think or feel. When their environment meets a predetermined condition, they react as advised. I've enchanted them to stand, sit, stroll, dance—basic movements to blend in at a party. If approached, they'll nod their heads and walk away. The illusion doesn't stand too much scrutiny, but it'll be convincing enough to a room full of drunks."
Viktor crossed his arms. "I'll stick by them, make sure no one looks too closely."
Cassandra smiled appreciatively. "Thank you."
Fidele's gaze fixed on Cassandra. "What about the other thing? Did you get it?"
With a graceful, wandless gesture, Cassandra summoned a small, rectangular gilt-silver ceremonial box adorned with intricate high-relief designs of a pair of wings. Opening it slowly, revealed a single ostrich feather resting delicately within.
"Of course I did."
Pure-blood society was stuffed to the brim with magical artefacts, and to its members, collecting was all the rage. The old pure-blood families, Cassandra's included, collected everything—from goblin-made jewellery to cursed books, wands, swords, and even human bones. They held a devotion to the magic of things that could not be wholly understood under the umbrella of mere financial value or personal attachment. These objects held power. They carried meaning and could stand for every facet of a family's magic and morality. Often, they told important stories about wizarding nature.
As a child, Cassandra had been exposed to various bedtime stories featuring such artefacts: Babbity Rabbitty's cackling stump; the Mirror of Erised; the Hopping Pot. However, one tale in particular had come to mind as she lay in a hospital bed, thinking of her revenge.
The Feather of Truth was a story about a justice-minded witch who came to own a feather that could determine whether a person was virtuous or not. Moved by her desire for a better world, the witch took it upon herself to judge the souls of her townsfolk. When all of their souls were deemed impure, the witch despaired and took her own life.
If Ivanovich had taught her one valuable lesson over the past year, it was that most legends were anchored in truth. It was this belief that led Cassandra, from her convalescence bed, to reach out to various auction houses and private collectors across the continent, seeking any trace or hint of this fabled feather.
She had found it with a little help from Galena and the Tiresias' extensive network of favours.
"There's no such thing as absolute virtue, of course," Cassandra mused. "We all have darkness within us. This artefact," she twirled the feather lightly on her fingers, "reveals just how deep that darkness runs."
Tove's expression turned grave. "Cass, when you use it… I'd rather not know what it sees in me."
Cassandra's eyes softened. "I won't tell you, I promise."
"Remember guys, don't eat or drink anything. It's all been spiked. No one will be able to trust their memories of what happened tonight."
The afterparty was already in full swing when Cassandra, Fidele, Tove, and Viktor discreetly re-entered the main chamber. The orchestra was playing enthusiastically; floating rounds of champagne and cocktails permeated the room; the air was alive with drunk chatter and laughter; and each Portkey arrival added to the crescendo of excitement and revelry.
The three girls wove separately through the crowd, engaging in casual innuendo and laughing at jokes they forgot on the spot, and enthusiastically greeting people they'd never talked to before, all to ensure they were seen and remembered by all. The laughter grew louder minute by minute. The groups of partygoers changed rapidly as they swelled with new arrivals, dissolving and forming in the same breath. Cassandra moved confidently amongst them, becoming the centre of a group for a sharp, brilliant moment and then, triumphant, gliding on through the sea-change of faces and voices under the pulsating light.
"You should stay near me," said Viktor when he eventually caught up to her, a tense edge to his voice. She had already slipped away to a quieter corner, looking around with eager eyes.
"It's time," said Cassandra.
Viktor's brow furrowed. "Now?"
"There are no active Portkeys left. Everyone's here."
"What do you need me to do?"
"Block their view of me."
Viktor moved closer, shielding Cassandra from prying eyes as she retrieved the Feather of Truth. With a deliberate motion, she pricked her finger on its hollow shaft, watching in fascination as it greedily drew her blood. Then, she tucked the feather into her hair and felt an immediate rush of dizziness as the world transformed.
Colours and light, like nothing she'd ever seen, emanated from every person in the cave. It was overwhelming, disorienting. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. Everything around her was shimmering. Viktor touched his hand to her face and cleaned some dampness from her upper lip. "Your nose is bleeding—"
She stumbled, the room spinning, but Viktor was there, his arms steadying her. To any onlooker, he was merely a boy taking care of his too-intoxicated girlfriend.
Through her blurred vision, Cassandra could see souls in a spectrum of technicolour, each tinged with varying shades of black. Viktor's soul was a tapestry of red, orange and lavender-blue, with only a superficial darkness that didn't taint anything beneath it.
She glanced over Viktor's shoulder and came eye-to-eye with Fidele, who looked as though she understood exactly what was happening. Fidele's soul was more complex—fine black tendrils wound deeply through it, ever-shifting and moving. The darkness seemed to be a part of her very being, yet it was interspersed with bright rays of mulberry, salmon, dark blue and brown.
Fidele stepped forward, concern etched on her beautiful face.
Cassandra clung tighter to Viktor in an attempt to steady herself. "I'm okay. Let's go around the room. He's in here, somewhere."
Viktor and Fidele, playing their parts perfectly, flanked Cassandra, supporting her as if she were too inebriated to walk by herself. They slunk around mostly unnoticed, though here and there was a sympathetic or amused face. In the meanwhile, Cassandra was caught in a maelstrom of colours, her senses overwhelmed by the lights emanating from every soul in the room. Despite the dizzying array, she kept her focus, scouring the crowd for any hint of her target.
They eventually spotted Tove, lively and engaged in conversation with a group of older students. Cassandra stopped Fidele from advancing towards them. A hum filled her ears and she realized it was coming from the feather. She looked in Tove's direction again—past her, to the boys she was talking to. The hum rose, vibrating through her bones. She recognised one of them. Kuznetsov, with the sandy hair and the cleft chin, who'd made a face at her during the Transfiguration G.M.A. They had a few classes together. Beside him stood a wizard whom she guessed was Kuznetsov's older brother. They shared the same features, but the second boy was taller and more muscular. Their souls were made up of barely visible stripes of cyan and royal blue, devoured by a hideous, pitch-dark gash that seemed to consume all light around it. The sight of it sent a shiver down Cassandra's spine.
The older Kuznetsov had his arm around another boy, whose azure aura bore a similar tear.
And Tove. Tove with the white-blonde hair and the icy-blue eyes. With the dead mother and the social-climbing, murderous father she's poisoned in a desperate act of self-defence. Her friend. Her covenmate. Her sister. Tove's soul danced in a brilliant kaleidoscope of purple, yellow, lime and amethyst, sporting her own dark wound, shallower and less ugly than the boys'. Cassandra could not see her own soul, but she understood right then and there that if she could, it would be wounded as well. After all, she was also a killer.
"Go get Tove," she said to Fidele in a hushed, urgent tone. "Tell her I drank myself sick and you need her help to take care of me. Make sure you're within earshot of the guys she's talking to. You know where to bring her."
Fidele narrowed her eyes. "You got him?"
She nodded.
"Come on," said Viktor, taking her arm and leading her away.
Cassandra wasted no time putting the feather away once she and Viktor reached the secret alcove. She inhaled deeply, feeling her head clear a little. As she slid down to the ground, she summoned an ice-cold bottle of champagne, which she then held against her neck, and closed her eyes. A few minutes. She only needed a few minutes. She heard a voice and realized Viktor was talking to her. She should've paid attention to what he was saying, but the chilled glass felt cool and forgiving against her clammy skin.
"They're here," Viktor said.
Cassandra looked up at her friends.
"It's the Kuznetsovs. Both of them. And their friend, the beady-eyed one with the long nose. The older one had his arm over his shoulders."
"Albert?" said Fidele abruptly. "Albert von Preussen?"
"I have no idea what his name is. Did you see the older brother put his arm around anyone else?"
"No."
"Then yes, him."
Tove was suddenly haunted by a thought. "I was talking to them, just now."
"I know. You helped me figure it out. Well, your soul did."
"Oh… I'm glad I could be of help."
Fidele crossed her arms. "Cass, Albert von Preussen's great-grandfather is the Prussian Chancellor of Magic."
Cassandra considered this. "Then the Prussian Chancellor will soon find himself one great-grandson short," she said solidly.
"I'm so stupid. How could I not see it?" said Viktor, very quietly.
Fidele's gaze snapped to him. "That's right. Aleksandr is your dormmate, isn't he?"
"He said—All year long, he made vile jokes about Merga. But I thought they were only jokes. So many of the guys were making them."
"Because you wizards are all disgusting pigs."
"Fidele, now is not the time," Cassandra interjected. "And Viktor, if multiple guys were making these comments, there was no way for you to know Kuznetsov in particular was involved."
"You don't get it. He brought you up. Just before one of our Sunday sessions, he said that I ought to put you in your place, and I fucking agreed with him, because I was so angry at you. I'm sorry," said Viktor, seeming genuinely distressed. His fists clenched. "I should kill him."
"No. His life is mine to take," said Cassandra, her face hard. "I'm going to animate the constructs now. You'll take them up there, and ensure everyone at the party thinks that's us. That's how you make it up to me. All right?"
He closed his eyes for a second, then looked at her, and said, "All right."
"Tove, get the scrolls from my bag and place them inside the golems' mouths. Under the tongue."
As Tove did so, Cassandra stood up and walked towards the constructs. She animated them, one by one, by speaking only one word. Rise.
Tove helpfully herded the golems toward the passageway. As Viktor was about to steer them out of the room, he turned around and looked at Cassandra… And then, without warning, his mouth was on hers. Completely unyielding. His hands were on the back of her head, holding her in place. And for a long, suspended moment, Cassandra was frozen, unsure of whether she wanted to push him away. Then, all at once, she allowed herself to soften into the kiss.
"We're not talking about it," said Cassandra peevishly after Viktor left.
Tove could barely hold back her smirk. "It was a moment of careless passion."
"It was traumatizing," said Fidele. "He was holding you like he thought you might escape."
Cassandra laughed. By Circe, she needed to focus. "Hux!"
The house-elf made himself visible at her side. "Mistress Cassandra calls for Hux?" croaked the house-elf, bowing until its nose touched the ground.
"Yes. Do you remember the set of instructions I gave you earlier?"
"Hux was to follow Mistress Cassandra during the party, without being noticed by any of the wizards. Hux was to pay attention to everything happening around them and watch out for any threats against his Mistress. Hux did as he was ordered."
"You did good. Now, I want you to quietly apparate back into the party and grab the wizards my friends and I were talking about before. Aleksandr and Yevgeny Kuznetsov, and Albert von Preussen. Viktor can point them out to you if necessary. I believe they were the ones who poisoned me. Be discreet. No one can see them being taken. Then bring them here."
"Should Hux follow Master Rodolphus' protocol for abductions?"
Fidele and Tove stared at her.
Of course her war criminal father had established a protocol to conduct abductions. What good parent didn't? "Don't be too rough."
The house-elf's eyes shone with excitement as he disapparated.
Cassandra cast a meaningful look over at her friends. "You don't have to be here for what's next. When Hux comes back, I can tell him to take you two back to the castle."
"No," said Fidele. There was no hesitation in her tone.
"Fi did this for me once," stated Tove. "I'm glad to do it for you. And for Gal, who wouldn't have had to leave if it weren't for what they did. For Merga and her baby. Them, most of all."
Together, they braced for the confrontation, their resolve as unwavering as the darkness that awaited them.
Hux dropped the bound, unconscious wizards in a heap on the ground. Off Cassandra's raised eyebrow, the house-elf arranged them side by side in a kneeling position. Then, Hux offered up three well-crafted wands, which Cassandra handed over to Tove.
"What happened to their mouths?" said Fidele, sounding both disgusted and fascinated by the piece of skin seamlessly covering the area where the boys' mouths should've been.
"It's an old Lestrange family spell. I'll teach it to you some time. Rennervate."
Cassandra, Fidele and Tove watched their unwilling guests regain consciousness and come to the realization they'd been taken. The witches' silhouettes loomed over the wizards as they tried unsuccessfully to struggle against their magical bonds.
Cassandra fixed them with a cold smile. "There's no point in me explaining why you're here. You know the reason," she began, her voice echoing slightly off the cave walls.
"Instead, I would like to ask you a question. Are you familiar with Legilimency?"
There was a flicker of recognition on von Preussen's face. The Kuznetsov brothers merely stared, discombobulated.
"Albert seems to recognize the term. Good for you. Now as for you two, Legilimency is the magical art of navigating through the many layers of a person's mind. A skilled Legilimens can not only parse through their target's thoughts; they can manipulate their memories and even implant false ones. Its counterpart, Occlumency, is the art of shielding one's mind from invasion and external influence."
Cassandra took a step toward them and noticed Yevgeny stiffen, telling himself not to back up. The world they inhabited was all about wand magic, fighting at a distance. You didn't step to someone directly. You didn't look them in the eye. You made veiled threats. You put a mask on so they couldn't see your face as you burned down their house.
She leaned in. "My mother's family used to be renowned for their aptitude for Occlumency. It's an uncommon and not easily developed skill, yet the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black has consistently produced at least one formidable Occlumens per generation for as long as can be remembered. But curiously, not a single Legilimens ever sprouted from the Black family tree.
"I understood the reason for this once I started my magical training. We all know that every witch and wizard has an innate affinity for certain magical disciplines and that affinity is often passed down through blood. Legilimens favour subtle, intricate spells — their magic is sharp and precise. They wield it like a very fine blade. And Black wizards… our magic has the bluntness and explosive power of a mace. We can't be careful enough to practice Legilimency safely.
"So why am I telling you boys this? Well, for context.
"You see, my parents are serving life sentences in Azkaban prison for a litany of crimes, most infamously the torture that left two Aurors named Frank and Alice Longbottom in an irreversible, incapacitated state. As the story goes, my mother held them under the Cruciatus curse for so long that their minds… shattered. But I don't believe that's what really happened.
"Healers have long been able to, if not reverse, at least mitigate the damage caused by prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus spell. Yet despite Augusta Longbottom's efforts and extensive resources, her son and daughter-in-law's condition remains unchanged after 12 years.
"My theory is that after being unable to extract the information she wanted from the Longbottoms using the Cruciatus, my mother resorted to Legilimency—which she did not have the aptitude or training for. As a result, instead of gaining access to their thoughts and memories, she ripped their minds apart."
Cassandra crouched down across from the three teenage boys who tried to take her life. For the next part of the conversation, she wanted to have them at eye level.
"This brings us to this moment. I don't care for torture. I would engage in it if necessary, but I don't find joy in it. And I don't need any information from you. I already know you're the ones who killed Merga. What else is there to know? Your motive? You wanted to. You decided amongst yourselves you had the right to. You probably figured you could get away with it. Isn't that always how it goes?
"So this is what's going to happen instead: I'll ask you simple, yes or no questions. Should I believe you're being untruthful, I'll rape your minds until you're nothing but a flesh sack, incapable of forming a coherent thought or casting a simple spell for the rest of your lives."
Yevgeny Kuznetsov's eyes narrowed. Even bound, voiceless, and on his knees, everything about him said 'You'll regret this'. Next to him, the younger Kuznetsov attempted to maintain a similar attitude. But his uncertainty was given away by his quick, worried glances at his brother. Von Preussen, on the other hand… Von Preussen regarded her with raw, unmasked fear.
She turned to the most visibly shaken of the three. "Albert, why don't we start with you?"
Once she lifted the Oscausi spell, Von Preussen immediately went into a tirade of pleas for his life.
"Albert, shut up. Or I'll have to make you mute again."
His mouth snapped close. His lower lip looked wet. Had anyone ever spoken to Albert Von Prussen this way?
"Did you participate in the kidnapping of Merga Bien?"
"None of it was my idea. I only did—"
"Yes or no, Albert, please."
"Yes."
"Did you participate in the sexual assault of Merga Bien?"
Fat tears were freely rolling down his cheeks. "Y-yes."
"Did you participate in the murder of Merga Bien and her newborn child?"
He vehemently shook his head. "No, I didn't. I wasn't part of that."
Cassandra had the sense he was being honest.
"I believe you," she said gently. "Did you know about your friends' plans to murder Merga Bien and her newborn child?"
He lowered his head more. "Yes."
"Did you participate in the plot to poison me, to stop me from finding out the truth?"
He kept his eyes on her shoes, defeated. "No. I didn't know anything about it."
"Thank you for being forthcoming, Albert," she said softly. She squeezed his shoulder. "I really appreciate it."
Albert's soft sniffling continued as Cassandra's focus shifted to Alexandr Kuznetsov. His ocean-blue eyes were fixed on her and aflame with loathing.
"You caught my attention during the Transfiguration G.M.A with that sneer of yours. That wasn't very smart. I'd never taken a second look at you before then."
His nostrils flared. He was definitely not happy.
"Did you participate in the kidnapping of Merga Bien?"
Cassandra unsealed his mouth.
"Fuck you," he spat out venomously.
"Did you participate in the sexual assault of Merga Bien?"
"I'm going to participate in your sexual assault, cunt."
"Did you participate in the murder of Merga Bien and her newborn child?"
"I'm going to rip your head off, then fuck your bloody skull as your friends watch. Then I'm going to do the same to them."
"Did you participate in the plot to poison me, to—"
"You'll wish I had fucking poisoned you once I'm done with you, bitch. You have no fucking idea what—"
She silenced him. "Thank you, but that's quite enough. You've said all I needed to hear."
Cassandra's eyes settled on the older Kuznetsov brother. "You seem deep in thought, Yevgeny. Care to share?"
Even as she restored Yevgeny's mouth, his only response was a blink. He didn't posture or make any threats. There was only silence.
"You wouldn't allow anyone to disrespect you like that, would you? But your brother's words are bluff and bluster. An attempt to regain some sense of control in what must be a new, frightening situation for him. I don't fault him for that."
She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. "You and I are similar, in a way. I don't shy away from brutality. The satisfaction I feel now, having your life in my hands, must not be unlike what you felt with Merga. I get it. Hunting is a savage pleasure, and we were born to do it. But the fundamental difference between us is that it would give me no prey on something weaker than me. Where's the challenge in being cruel to someone who can't fight back?"
Cassandra studied him. There was nothing there. No fear, remorse or regret. She sighed. "Let's get this over with. Tell me, Yevgeny, did you participate in the kidnapping of Merga Bien?"
Silence.
"Did you participate in the sexual assault of Merga Bien?"
"Did you participate in the murder of Merga Bien and her newborn child?"
"Did you participate in the plot to poison me, to stop me from finding out the truth?"
"No."
Cassandra jerked in surprise. Why out of all of their crimes, this was the one he chose to deny? "Lying about that will change nothing."
"I've answered your question."
"Very well, thank you for that."
Rising, Cassandra stretched her body, easing the stiffness that had built in her muscles. She rolled her shoulders, relishing the release of tension.
"Albert, you were very helpful during our conversation, and I believe in rewarding helpfulness. Therefore, I'm giving you a choice," said Cassandra, her voice resonating through the alcove. "You can leave this cave in one of two states: a drooling, permanently incapacitated hospital patient; or dead. Think well about your answer. Your friends won't have the luxury of choice."
"Please, you don't have to do this."
"I don't haveto, but I will. Dead or drooling, Albert?"
"I'm begging you. My family—"
"Fine, I'll decide for you."
"Drooling! Drooling…"
Cassandra let out a sigh. "Did you hear nothing I said earlier? There's no treatment for what I'm going to do. You'll suffer for as long as you live."
"I… I don't want to die. Please."
"As you wish. Look at me, Albert."
His wet, puffy eyes met hers. Cassandra peered deep into them, releasing her magic like the crack of a whip. It clamped Albert's mind in its grip. She tasted his terror like acid on the back of her tongue. She would only need one brutal hit to break his mind open. When she spoke, her voice came out uncharacteristically low. "Legilimens."
Albert screamed.
His mind unravelled before her. She ruthlessly tore through his consciousness, ignoring the chaos of memories, thoughts and feelings washing past her, over her. Cassandra scratched, pulled and ripped until she'd stripped him of his very essence.
When she finally released him, what remained of Albert von Preussen collapsed on the ground, an empty husk, his hoarse moans coming from a slack mouth.
Cassandra was aware of Fidele and Tove's shocked presence, the urine running down Aleksandr's leg, the way the very light around her seemed to have shifted, the shadows dissipating so that the brothers and maybe even her friends could see her clearly for the first time. You couldn't keep sidling up to the edge of darkness and touching your toe to the line. Eventually, it would grab your ankle and pull you to the other side. So she did the only thing there was to be done. She lashed out with her magic again, clamping Alexandr next.
Once it was his turn, Yevgeveny had asked her to kill him. Cassandra had expected him to. The worst fear of a sadist was not death but helplessness. She'd smiled as she cracked his mind open. He'd fought her with every terrible memory he could muster up. His and Aleksandr's father hurting their mother. Their mother hurting their younger sister. The sick fantasies he'd indulged in about numerous Durmstrang witches. The many nights of torment he, Alexandr and Alber subjected Merga to. What he did to her—his child. His will and magic were strong, but Cassandra's were stronger.
The following morning would finally bring an end to the untasteful speculations about the perpetrators of the crimes committed against Merga Bien. The three young wizards, now catatonic shells of their former selves, would be found at the entrance to the Great Hall, the same spot where Bien's body had been found, naked and with one message carved across their stomachs: FOR MERGA.