Chapter 364: Bastet
"Is it you speaking?"
Newt's cheeks were flushed with a rare, youthful vigor.
"It is I. I am no ghost or phantom," the black cat replied.
"Are you a Kneazle?" Newt asked.
The old man had completely shed the bashfulness he usually displayed toward people, becoming focused and entirely at ease.
"...Yes," the cat replied after a moment of hesitation. It was indeed a Kneazle, at least for a portion of its existence.
"How extraordinary," Newt whispered, his voice tinged with excitement. "If you are willing to answer... might I ask where we are?"
"The World Behind the Veil. My Lands Between," the cat said.
"Then... my lovely Bastet, have you come to guide me toward death? To reunite me with my family?" Newt asked, his gaze momentarily losing its focus.
As a wizard of profound learning, Newt was well aware of the legends surrounding the Lands Between. It was the realm beyond the living—the starting point of the next "Great Adventure." In his mind, he had named the cat Bastet, after the Egyptian goddess of war and the home, known for a temperament that was simultaneously gentle and fiercely protective.
"I have not," the cat said, giving a very human shake of its head.
"Then I am merely a guest..."
Newt turned to survey the vast, clinical space. Kaleidoscope-like clusters of mist drifted through the air; a wizard who wasn't careful could easily find one of those vapors sinking into their mind. He noticed that the black cat seemed remarkably adept at handling these clouds, using its tail to bat away any that drifted too close.
"Wandering souls... are the stories true?" Newt asked tentatively.
"Perhaps. If a soul is neither ready to move on nor resistant to the concept of death, one might encounter them here." The cat's ears flicked as if it were considering its words.
"Leta Lestrange... have you seen her?"
A look crossed Newt's face that the cat couldn't quite decipher.
"I have not. Wandering souls typically manifest at the cusp of dawn. By then, I have already departed." The cat looked toward the horizon; currently, the realm was bathed in the stark light of "day."
"Will I ever have the chance to see her again?" Newt pressed.
"That requires time... and stay here too long, and you will lose yourself," the cat warned, its whiskers twitching.
"I see. My dear Bastet... if I wish to achieve this, what must I pay?"
Newt's eyes crinkled into soft arcs, reflecting the ambient light of the realm. He was a man who had spent a lifetime reading the truth in the eyes of magical creatures. He sensed that this cat possessed a power far beyond his imagination—a power that could bridge the gap.
"You miss her very much?"
The cat was confused. It didn't know who this woman was.
"We all do," Newt said, his voice trailing off.
Only much later in life would Newt Scamander truly admit to the weight of his history. He was the man who had first captured Gellert Grindelwald. But before that, he had been a man enduring the same agonizing grief that war brings to everyone.
Leta Lestrange had been his best friend since childhood. To this day, a photograph of her remained in a frame within the workshop of his magical case. He would never forget 1927—the Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris. Leta, who had become engaged to his brother Theseus, had sacrificed herself at Grindelwald's rally. She had used a powerful spell to destroy the dark wizard's skull-hookah, creating a distraction that allowed Newt and Theseus to escape. She had been swallowed by Grindelwald's blue dragon-fire.
It was her death that had finally galvanized them to fight the terrorist who had ended her life.
"She was my friend. My brother's fiancée. She died to save others, lost to a war... and war only brings despair, tearing apart families that should have been happy."
Bastet, goddess of war and the home... do you understand?
Newt didn't speak the final thought aloud. He simply explained it in a low, weary voice. He knew this was a dream, and within the safety of the dream, he finally allowed his emotional walls to crumble. He looked lost, wounded. The polite, professional smile he usually wore first froze, then slumped downward as if it could no longer bear the weight of his memories.
Suddenly, he felt a weight on his shoulder. The black cat had leaped up, fixing him with a steady, empathetic green gaze.
"I will try... to stay a little longer next time," the cat promised.
Newt looked at the creature and wondered if even the gods possessed hearts.
"What is the price?" Newt asked, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Knowledge," the cat replied, using a paw to catch its own tail and keep it still.
"I would be honored to share it," Newt said, a small smile finally returning to his face.
Newt found the "god" to be quite charming, despite the fact that he wasn't a religious man. He viewed the dream as a manifestation of a rare, magnificent magic. If an entity could conjure such a realm, he didn't mind treating them with the reverence reserved for a deity.
Besides, he had read Dreamland Tales. He knew that only the legendary Merlin was supposed to have mastered this path. To have such a miracle descend upon him was staggering—especially since the entity in question was a cat currently trying very hard to learn the intricacies of spatial magic.
Mist swirled through the white, clinical void. Sean realized that within this realm, traditional wizarding magic was useless. Only Intellect (represented by the mists of knowledge) and Desire (the mists of emotion) held sway.
Sean's understanding deepened. Knowledge and Emotion—the rational and the sentimental. These were the core components of magic he had identified in his notes.
The rule of the Lands Between is that it externalizes the makeup of a wizard's soul, Sean mused.
According to Godelot's theories in Magick Moste Evile, magic resided within the soul itself. This explained why wizards produced ghosts and why they could enter the World Behind the Veil—they were essentially magical energy given form. Only when that magic was stripped away—when the soul forgot both its wisdom and its love—did it truly "pass on."
Sean's careful contemplation was not lost on Newt, whose smile widened as he watched the "cat" think.
Finally, the fog began to thicken.
Sean had mastered the theory of the Separation Charm; now, all he needed was practice. He had also learned a Frost-Working Charm, a specific weather spell. He was already planning to use it to create a snowy environment—perhaps even a mountain—within his Tome.
If I can just figure out how to lift a mountain...
"Goodbye, Mr. Scamander," the cat said with a flick of its tail.
"I am happy to return whenever you wish," Newt replied warmly. "Provided I have an invitation, of course."
The cat's whiskers twitched. It understood the joke.
"Wizards have long lives," the cat noted.
Sean knew Newt would be alive and well as late as 2017, still writing forewords for new editions of his textbook.
The Stone Cottage, Ilvermorny.
Sean's Quick-Quotes Quill had been awake longer than he had. It had already scratched a fresh line onto the parchment:
[Five minutes. Phenomenal progress.]
[End of Chapter 364]
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