Eleven
You are not alone. I've been here the whole time, singing you a song. (I will carry you.)
- Carry you, Ruelle
"You look like a star."
It is such a strange way to begin a new scene that it gives the hall whiplash. They shake their heads, blink, whisper to each other if anyone understands what that first sentence is supposed to mean. (Those that recognize the voice should not be so surprised; they have been calling her Loony for years, why should she deign to make sense to them?)
There are exactly three people who understand the meaning of this sentence. Who understand the love in the words, who understand what prompted these words to be said. (They glance at each other, as the rest of the hall looks on in confusion, and there are smiles on their faces. This is the beginning of something that will outlast the universe.)
That is the first sentence Luna Lovegood says to the girl who will one day become her best friend, her sister, her god. (The girl who will love her no matter what, the girl who will accept Luna's darkest and brightest sides, the girl who will burn down the world if it means protecting her family.)
If Susan had not stolen his voice, Albus Dumbledore would be demanding to know why Cass is being referred to as a god. If there is a god in that hall, it is him: he, the one who defeated Grindelwald; he, the one who Voldemort fears; he, the one who everyone considers a saviour. Certainly, Cass is not a god, skinny and strange and loathed as she is.
(Oh Albus, how blind you are. Cass is skinny, that is true, but that does not make her weak. She is strange, that is also true, but the students of Hogwarts are strange too, and it is this strangeness which attracts them to hear. She is not loathed, has not been loathed since they began to see her for who she truly was.) (There are gods in your school, Albus Dumbledore, and none of them have your name.)
Many of the hall assume that it is metaphorical, the reference to Cass being a god. They assume it simply implies that she is a leader, that she is the person Luna's whole world revolves around. (They are correct, but it is also so much more.)
Remus Lupin is not so sure that it is metaphorical. He has taught Cass, you see. He taught her for a year, and in that year he saw how her friends look to her, how she tends to them, how she is worshipped and feared in equal measure by the rest of the school. He has seen her eyes glow (with laughter, with hate) and he has seen her Darkness wrapping itself around her (protecting her from the world, from Remus, from herself).
Remus Lupin is not so sure that it is metaphorical, this claim of his daughter as a god. (What does it take to be a god? Power? Belief?) (Cass has both of those.)
Paddy whines slightly, because there is something familiar about this. It feels as though he has heard this before, has heard his daughter (not his daughter, not anymore, but she is always his daughter even when she refuses their relationship) called a queen, a star, a god. He has heard it, but has not heard it at the same time. (He does remember hearing it, but knows that he has. Why can't he remember?) (What can't he remember?)
It is a strange first sentence to say to someone, but Luna has always been unique. (No one understands her. They call her different, weird, freak.) (Cassiopeia is the first person who names her Other but smiles as she says it, smiles like she understands, smiles like she knows Luna is different but doesn't care about it, and for that she has Luna's loyalty.) Luna has always been unique in the way she sees the world, has always been able to see things others cannot, and so while it may be a strange first sentence for a normal person, for Luna is makes complete sense.
Cassiopeia is a star. Luna knows that the moment she sees the other girl after bumping into her in the corridor of the train. Luna knows what Cassiopeia is from the moment she sees those glowing silver eyes (powerful, beautiful), that Darkness draped over her shoulders (a friend, a protector), those pinpricks of light scattered over the girl's skin (invisible freckles of starlight, unseen by everyone but Luna).
Luna looks at her, and she sees the light and darkness that Cassiopeia carries within herself (effortlessly shining, effortlessly darkening, beautiful in her complexity and powerful in her simplicity), and she smiles. "You look like a star."
Edmund smiles when he hears this. He smiles, because he is happy that he was not the first to notice how his twin resembles a star. (She burns so bright. She has always burned bright. It is the first thing he noticed, when he first met her.)
Luna smiles, too, as does Cass. This first meeting is special; it is the beginning of something beautiful, a bond that will never be broken, a friendship that will last eons. They smile at each other, these two girls, these two sisters (who said that the Pevensies are Cass' only siblings?) and there is adoration in their smiles.
Harry does not smile.
Harry does not smile. He does not see anything to smile about. Of course Cass is a star, of course she is: she shines in darkness and guides all who are lost. What else could she be but a star that shines, a star that guides, a star that burns brighter than anything else in the world? Of course Cass is a star. She burns, and destroys, and it is only ever possible to love her from far away.
What else could she be, but a star?
Cassiopeia does not scoff at her, as so many others do, have done, will do. She does not look at Luna as though she is stupid, as though she is a freak. She does look at Luna like she is something different, but there is an intrigued glint in her eyes, and Luna suddenly understands that this is what it is to be accepted even with her Otherness. (Because of her Otherness, and isn't that a strange thought? That someone could love her, not in spite of her differences, but because of them.)
"Differences," Susan muses, ever the wordsmith, ever the thinker. "What a strange word. What makes you different? You are different to some people, but to others you are perfectly normal. Or is it that there is no such thing as normality, and you are all different people trying to be similar because you believe that is the only way you will be accepted?"
No one knows what to say to that. They avoid Susan's eyes, but cannot avoid her words, cannot avoid the truth in her words. (No one mentions how she speaks of them as though they are entirely separate to her, as though she is not human.) (No one mentions it, but everyone suspects the Pevensies to be something other than human.)
(They pray the Pevensies do not see how some of them have treated Luna.) (They forget that Cass has seen everything. And she craves the blood of those who have harmed her friend.)
"Thank you for your kind words," Cassiopeia says, and then she bows slightly (keeping her eyes fixed upon Luna, not willing to trust her with the back of her neck, not yet) and Luna forgets how to breathe for a moment. (She knows that gesture.) (That is a fae gesture. How does this star girl know it?) "My name is Cassiopeia. May I know what you like to be called?"
Many wonder what that gesture means. Hermione voices the question, tone demanding, incensed at not knowing something, but neither the Pevensies nor Luna answer her. She huffs, scowls, acts the part of a child that has not gotten its way, and they trade amused smiles. (They are not nice, you see. They revel in pain and pettiness and spite. They are going to hurt Hermione so much more than this, hurt her as she deserves after hurting their own for so many years. But for now, denying her the information she craves is an act of pettiness that staves off the desire to see how red her blood is.)
Luna's mother warned her against giving her name away, when Luna was just a little girl who didn't yet know how the world treats anyone who is Other. She'd told Luna the stories of fae who stole names, of fae who lost names, of what happens to nameless creatures. Luna has grown up knowing to never give anyone her name. (Wording is so important in these things.) But Cassiopeia isn't asking for her name, as so many others have, as so many others might do. This starlight girl is simply asking what Luna wishes to be called.
It's been a long time since anyone cared enough to bother with Luna's wishes.
Ginny lets out a wounded noise at that, curling around her lover as though to protect the other girl from all the horrors of the world. (All the horrors she has already witnessed.) The redhead grips Luna's fingers tightly, so tightly that the fae fears she may lose all feeling in her hand, and a promise makes its way to Luna's ears, whispered in a tone filled with fury and love and protectiveness.
"We will always care about you," Ginny vows, and Neville echoes her words, and there is a power that rises inside Luna as these two people pledge to always care about her. (They should not be so careless as to make promises to a fae.) (They know exactly what they are doing. They know that this is a promise they will never break.)
"My given name is Luna Ariella Lovegood," she murmurs. (Still careful, you can never not be too careful, and as much as her instinct tells her to trust this starlight girl, she is not ready to share her true name with anyone. Not yet.) (But one day, she thinks she will be ready to let people hold that kind of power over her. She will trust them enough to believe they will not use her name against her.) (She'd like for Cassiopeia to be one of these people.) "But I would like for my friends to call me Luna."
Cassiopeia smiles then, and Luna's breath catches in her throat. Because that is the smile of someone who has seen all of the good and bad in the world, someone who has lived in darkness and danced with light, someone who spurns normality and actively seeks out everyone and everything that is Other.
It is, Luna thinks, the smile of someone she would be honoured to call a friend.
Truthfully, the Pevensies do not understand anyone who sees their sister's smile and do not immediately fall in love.
They fell in love, the first time they saw her smile. The first time she smiled at Lucy, the first time she laughed with Edmund, the first time she and Susan shared a giggle, the first time she grinned at Peter - they fell in love a little bit more on each of these occasions.
How could they not?
This is their sister, their precious sister who they have loved and mourned and lost and found. This is their sister, their family, their world. Seeing her smile is a treasure they never knew they longed for, a gift they once thought they would never have.
Ginny and Neville and Luna and Draco fell in love, too. This, the Pevensies know. And it makes them smile, to know that they are not the only ones who see how precious their sister is, that they are not the only ones who see the world light up every time she smiles.
(Remus Lupin, too, falls in love every time he sees his daughter smile. As does Paddy. The Pevensies know this, but have decided they do not care. They left her. They abandoned her. They are a direct cause of the pain their sister has suffered, and for this, they shall not be allowed to show their love for Cass.) (They abandoned her, and for this, they too shall suffer.)
(Harry remembers when Cass smiled at him like that.)
"It is nice to meet you, Luna," Cassiopeia says, and now it is Luna's turn to smile. (She has never had a friend before.) (Something inside of her tells her that this is a friendship the likes of which the world has never seen.) "My friends call me Cass," the starlight girl says, and there is something tentative in her voice as she looks at Luna that has the other melting with affection, "I'd like it if you would call me that too."
Luna beams and accepts the offer for what it is. (An offer of friendship. An offer of alliance.) She accepts Cassiopeia's offer to join her, as well, following the starlight girl through the train, following her to a compartment inhabited only by one other person. (Following her, as she will always follow her. Luna has finally found someone worth her loyalty.) (A fae's loyalty is precious, didn't you know?)
Luna glides into the compartment, and Cassiopeia pads in behind her, closing the door behind them. And the boy looks up and smiles at them both, unquestioning, accepting in a way Luna hardly dares believe anyone can be. (He looks like Cassiopeia. He looks like Cassiopeia, in that Luna looks at him and does not see just a boy. Much like Cassiopeia has starlight freckles and glowing eyes, there are vines creeping up his wrists. Flowers bloom in his hair, otherworldly blossoms of every colour imaginable, and leaves burst out of his skin at every freckled spot. He is the nature to Cassiopeia's starlight.)
Neville has never known why Luna calls him her flower. He has asked, has questioned her choice of nickname, but Luna is a fae and fae do not like to answer questions. He has asked, but Luna has danced around truths and laughed at his questions and answered his queries with more queries until he gave up and simply accepted it as a quirk of his lover.
(Do not forget that Luna is fae. However confusing she may be, however straight-forward you may think she is, do not forget that she is a fae. And fae revel in trickery and deceit, sow chaos and reap confusion and laugh as they do so. Luna is no different. Do not forget that.)
It is strange now, seeing himself through the eyes of one of his lovers, seeing himself as she must always see him. Neville has long since known she sees the world differently; how could she not? She is not a human, and thus, it is impossible for her to view the world through a human's infinitely limited gaze.
Nonetheless, despite his knowledge that she sees the world differently, it is strange to see how he is viewed through her eyes. It is strange to see the plants bursting out of his skin, to see the flowers twined in his hair as though they have always been there (and perhaps they have been, and he just could never see them), to see his freckles becoming a forest of leaves. It is strange, but intrinsically natural, at the same time. He looks at himself as Luna sees him, and some part of him aches.
(He should look like that. That is him, that is how he is meant to look, that is how he has always been meant to look.) (He should look like that. But he doesn't. And he aches at the thought.)
(Ginny asks Luna, in a voice that no one else can hear, what she looks like, what Luna sees when she looks at the redhead. Luna smiles, refuses to answer. Ginny will see what she looks like, eventually. Why would Luna spoil that surprise?)
"Hello." Luna smiles (she hasn't stopped smiling since Cassiopeia offered her friendship) and holds out a hand to this nature boy, this boy who looks like the calm to Cassiopeia's chaos, the kindness to her cruelty. (Not to say that he is not cruel; nature never appears dangerous, until it is too late.) "My name is Luna Lovegood. What are you called?"
"Neville Longbottom," he responds, and there is a glint in his eyes that has Luna's smile growing. She glances at Cassiopeia, the starlight girl who is the reason Luna is meeting this nature boy, and the other girl smirks at her, a smirk made of mischief and teeth.
(Oh, they are going to cause chaos together.)
The teachers all sigh, shaking their heads at the trio that has just formed, shaking their heads at the group of five they know will soon appear. They certainly did cause chaos. (If there was a word to describe the five, most teachers would use "chaos".) (The teachers think of protests, of elaborate traps, of screaming matches and the smell of smoke. This is what the group has done. This is what the group will do.)
Harry scowls at the sight of Cass having new friends, although logically he knows he should not be so upset to see the girl he once was friends with creating new friendships. He should be happy for her, even if he hates her now.
He finds that he cannot be happy for Cass. He wonders if that makes him the villain, but after a moment decides that it simply makes him indifferent. (You are wrong, Harry Potter.)
It is three weeks into the new Hogwarts year when Cassiopeia meets Ginny Weasley.
It is three weeks into the new Hogwarts year, and Cassiopeia slinks out of the Forbidden Forest after a night spent exploring the depths of the wood, exploring all the parts she had not seen the year before, exploring all the parts no one else knows exist. She slinks out of the Forbidden Forest, and there are thorns in her hair and dirt smudged on her skin; blood drips from her cheek where she got injured fighting with a creature she isn't entirely sure anyone else has ever seen. (Blood drips from her nails too, coats her teeth, a warning to anything that might attack her.) (The fae taught her more than wordplay; she has claws and teeth, and she knows all the ways she can use them.)
"You should not have been in the forest," Remus Lupin sighs, running a hand down his face. He does not mean to speak so loud - he means to whisper the words, a silent admonishment no one but him and his husband will hear - but in the silence of the hall they come out far louder than he means them to.
Draco laughs. It is not a kind sound. The boy clambers to his feet, followed by Peter and Ginny, the three ready to make the scarred man hurt (he abandoned Cass, he left his daughter, he hurt her and hurt her and how wants to pretend he can tell her what to do?) but they are stopped by Draco's mother.
Narcissa's rage is silent.
That does not make it any less deadly.
"That is not your daughter," Narcissa whispers to Remus Lupin, her wand pressed to his throat, a dagger threatening his side. (Where did she get that? No one knows. No one saw her take it out.) "You left her. You left her, as a parent should never do to a child. You do not get to look at her, or talk to her, or try and tell her what to do. You forfeit that right when you walked out of her life."
When Narcissa sits down, she leaves behind a man hexed with several curses no one is quite sure how to heal. The once-Black woman thinks that it should not feel as good as it did to curse him; then she sees Cass' face, sees the smile on her son's lips, and decides that perhaps it is good to enjoy the pain of one who has caused pain.
She slinks out of the Forbidden Forest, only to pause in the shadow of the trees as she finds herself face to face with someone she has only seen in passing.
She stares at Ginny Weasley. Ginny Weasley stares at Cassiopeia.
"The forest is dangerous," Ginny Weasley says without prompting, shattering the delicate silence which has fallen over the two girls. The redhead tilts her head to the side, considering Cassiopeia thoughtfully, and there is something of a smile on her face as she sees the blood still dripping from Cassiopeia's claws nails and the thorns Cassiopeia has made no effort to remove from her hair. "Least that's what my brothers say. But something tells me that isn't too much of a problem for you."
Cass smiles at Ginny, at Neville, at Draco, at Luna, and they smile back, these bloodied people (not children, none of them are children, none of them were ever children) who have given her their love, their loyalty. They know the forest intimately by now, as Cass does. They know where to step and where to pause, know the places where magic demands a sacrifice to let them pass and know where the forest will try to keep them within its borders.
They know the forest, probably better than anyone else ever has.
And the forest knows them, too, knows their hopes and wishes and dreams. It knows the taste of their blood (the blood they've sacrificed, the blood they've spilled). It knows the scent of their love, the scent of their fear, the scent of their excitement.
The forest knows them, and they know the forest.
(Cass knows the forest, and the forest knows her, but less so than it knows her friends, her family. It knows her, but nothing will ever know her as the expanses of Narnia do. In Narnia, the trees dance with her and the waves call her name and the sky sings her song.) (The Forbidden Forest knows her, but it will never know her as much as her home does.)
Cassiopeia sees that smile, and some part of her recognizes it. She knows that look, that considering gaze. She knows that vague wistfulness of someone forced to be tame when they have only ever been wild. (Draco was like that, when she met him. He is still like that, sometimes.) (She will never let anyone try to tame him. He deserves more than to be kept on a leash.)
"You're Ginny Weasley," Cassiopeia says, and if Ginny is surprised she does not show it. Cassiopeia studies her for a moment, much like Ginny has studied Cassiopeia. She sees the redhead's magic. (Fiery magic, blazing and sparking, excitable and dangerous all at once.) She sees the hunger in the girl's eyes, the hunger of a starved creature. (Starved for recognition, starved for power, starved for acceptance.) She sees the flames in her hair. (Ginny has always been made of fire; just because no one bothered to see it does not mean it was not there.)
Cass looks at her now, at this redheaded girl with a penchant for fire. She looks at her, this girl who has loved her for five years, this girl who has followed her without hesitation. (She is so happy to have met Ginny.) (Ginny is the wildfire their little group was missing, the ember with which they were all set aflame. They would not have it any other way.)
Ginny smiles at this scene, because this is it. This is the moment her life changed for the better. This is the first time she meets people who love her for who she is, not who they want her to be or who they think she is. This is the first time she is accepted, loved, protected. (What would her life have been like if she had not met Cassiopeia?) (Ginny doesn't want to know.)
"You're Ginny," Cassiopeia repeats, and she does not mention Ginny's family name. (She saw the flinch, saw the moment of fury, saw the measured breaths.) (People are not their families. She knows that better than anyone. And Ginny is like her, Ginny too is burdened by a family name.) (Cassiopeia does not say anything, but she swears to free the girl of this burden.) "Would you like to join my friends and I for breakfast?"
Ginny smiles in the same way they all do: a little bit broken, a little bit cruel, and with far too many teeth. "I'd love to."
(And thus, the group is complete. Two boys with bruised souls, stepping out of the shadows their families cast. Two girls, bloodied and vengeful, who grew up fighting to be accepted. And the broken girl who has won their loyalty.)
There is something about this scene that touches Paddy in a way few other things have. Perhaps it is because he looks at this, and cannot help but see the Marauders, as they were back in school. (An insecure boy, a werewolf, an heir and a rebel meet on a train. It sounds like the start of a bad joke.)
But that is not quite the reason. He thinks that perhaps, it is because this is the first time he has seen a group of people and known (in the same way he knows that the sun will rise tomorrow) that this is a group that will never break apart.
Even the Marauders did not have that certainty. (Look what has become of them. An insecure boy becomes a coward becomes a rat becomes a traitor. A werewolf becomes a husband becomes a father becomes a runaway. An heir becomes a lover becomes a fighter becomes a boyfriend becomes a father becomes a ghost. A rebel becomes an only child becomes a lover becomes a prisoner becomes broken.) (James, are you proud of us? Have you seen what we have become?) (We were always doomed to fail.)
"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware." Cassiopeia whispers the words as she reads what has been scrawled on the wall, eyes narrowed as she watches the blood paint dripdripdrip down the wall, forming a puddle of scarlet everyone avoids looking at. Next to her, Luna is shaking, and Cassiopeia has never had a good relationship with physical touch but still does not hesitate to wrap an arm around her friend's shoulders, offering what little comfort she can to the other girl.
Lucy smiles when she sees this. She smiles (a tender smile, horrific in its beauty) because she remembers the time when they first met Cass, the days when her second sister shied away from touch but never hesitated to hold Lucy when the younger needed proof that Cass was real.
Isn't it wonderful? How someone can hate something so much (Cass once told her siblings that before she was seven, she thought all touch was synonymous with pain) and yet endure it willingly if it is needed by someone else?
(How can people say that Cass is not selfless? When she let Lucy hug her and hold her hand, even though she did not like to be touched?)
Ginny shudders when she sees the words written on the wall and clasps Luna's hand, but does not turn away from the wall. She is better than she was, when she was just eleven years old, has only grown more furious and powerful and vengeful in the years since. She refuses to let herself be cowed by a ghost. (Tom Riddle is Voldemort, but neither are a match for Cass and her followers.)
Around them, the crowd murmurs with fear-curiousity-nervousness. Draco stands at Cassiopeia's side, gripping her hand tightly, struck silent in the face of what they have just discovered. (In another universe, this would be the moment he speaks a slur. This would be the moment he truly becomes his father's son.) (In this universe, he is silent, and he is at his cousin's side. He has never been less like his father.)
Draco looks at his father now, the man who he once idolized (in the days when he was just a child, in the days when he didn't know any better, in the days when he thought becoming his father would stop the man from hurting him). He looks at his father, sees the blue eyes that they both share (share in colour only; Lucius' eyes are filled with fear, and Draco's show only his love for his family, his willingness to kill anyone to defend them), sees the blonde hair that they once shared (Cass helped him dye it, once, after she found him sobbing because he looked in the mirror and saw Lucius looking back at him. His hair has not been blonde since that day).
Draco looks at his father, the man he once wanted to become, the man he would have become had he not had his cousin, had Cass not looked at him and seen someone worth saving.
He has never been more grateful for the change Cass brought into his life. (He will never be his father, and that makes him happier than anything else in the world.)
Cassiopeia catches the eye of her first-friend once-friend, and there is a terror in Harry's eyes she has not seen since they first arrived at Hogwarts. She smiles reassuringly at her first-friend once-friend, maneuvering so that Luna is tucked under Draco's arm before stepping forward and gripping Harry's hand. He clings onto her, tightly, even as Ron and Hermione glance at her suspiciously. (Why does she seem so unbothered by what has happened?)
"It's okay." Cassiopeia pulls Harry into a hug (like she used to do when they were children, when they only had each other but that was enough), wrapping her arms around him as he shudders. The teachers are there, now, and some part of Cassiopeia wonders where they were before that, but she ignores them, ignores them until Harry is being pulled away from her by Hermione and Ron. (Pulled away by his two friends, like he has always been pulled away from Cassiopeia, like he has been pulled away since they first entered Hogwarts.) (Once they were inseparable. What happened?)
"The teachers want to speak to us, alone." Hermione spits the words out, but Cassiopeia barely notices the venom in the older girl's voice. (She has heard so much worse than Hermione's fury.) She glances at Harry, but he turns away, and Cassiopeia recognizes that for the dismissal it is. She nods, turns away, takes Draco's hand when he stretches it towards her and allows herself to be tucked under his arm, much like how Luna leans into his other side.
She can still feel Hermione and Ron's gazes upon her back as she walks away. (But Harry does not watch her go.) (It hurts more than it should.)
Harry watches this scene with a frown on his face and the lingering taste of regret in his mouth. This is the start of the end; he knows this with more certainty than he has felt before in his life. This is the moment where Cass (not he) starts pulling away, the moment where Cass (not him, never him, he's a Gryffindor and he is strong and he can't make mistakes) chooses other friends instead of sticking by his side.
Why could she not just be a Gryffindor? Like him? She could have still been his friend, if she'd tried to fit in, if she'd cared even slightly about what others thought of her. They could still be HarryandCass, the way they were in the shared, golden years of their childhood. If only Cass wasn't so stubborn (if only Cass did not know her own self worth), if only Cass did not cling so strongly to her years of living in a forest (if only Cass did not remember the happiest years of her life), if only Cass did not turn to the darker aspects of magic (if only Cass did not recognize discrimination and refuse to participate in it).
(Harry, Harry, you should not have to ask someone to change in order to feel you can keep their friendship. (As if friendship is a thing you can keep, not a thing that is alive, not a thing that can die.) Chosen One, Golden Boy, tell me, what is it like to change? Would you even recognize yourself, if you looked your child self in the eyes?) (Harry, Harry, it was never Cass who was the problem.)
Remus Lupin and Paddy watch this scene with heavy hearts and tears in their eyes. This is it, then. This is the time Harry has never told them about, the time that he has always avoided speaking of.
This is the time HarryandCass become Harry and Cass. This is the end of a childhood, the death of a friendship, the fracturing of a bond. This is the time when Remus and Paddy lose their daughter. (Because if she cannot love Harry, then they will have to choose, choose between their daughter and their best friend's child.) (You chose, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, you chose even if you were not aware that you had a choice.)
(You chose wrong.)
There is something wrong with Ginny.
There is something wrong with Ginny, and they have all noticed. She is pale, too pale, wanders around the castle like a ghost. (Like Cassiopeia used to do in the house-that-was-never-a-home.) There are dark circles under her eyes, and a shake to her hands that she cannot quite seem to shake. (Circles matching Draco's whenever a letter arrives from his father, circles that speak of sleepless nights and stress-filled days.)
There is something wrong with Ginny, and they have all noticed, but they don't know what to do. (She won't even speak to them, some days. She goes still and silent in a way Ginny Weasley never has, and not a single word passes her lips.) (It is on these days that they feel the most helpless.)
They do what they can. (They do as much as she allows them to.) Luna drags Ginny into the kitchen, baking sweet treats with the redhead, sharing jokes and cups of hot chocolate until Ginny is no longer quite so silent. Neville coaxes Ginny outside, showing her all of the plants that remind him of her, enticing her into helping him plant a few flowers outside the Forbidden Forest until Ginny's hands are dirty and her skin is flushed where is was too pale before. Draco sits with the redhead in the library, bullying her into perfecting her penmanship, teasing and taunting until Ginny snipes back, until the two devolve into sibling-like fights that return to the redhead some of the fire that drew the group to her in the first place. Cassiopeia shows Ginny the castle, the grounds, grabs her hand and shows her places no one else has ever discovered, until they are both covered in dust and Ginny is laughing at something Cassiopeia has said.
Ginny has thanked her friends-family. She has thanked them countless times, in every way she knows to convey gratitude. She has thanked them with kisses and hugs and laughter and tears and devotion. (They did not give up on her, they never gave up on her, as so many others have done in her life. They cared enough to see that something was wrong (as no one else ever has), and they did what they could to help.) (She has never loved them more than when she realized all they'd done to try and help her.) (She wishes there was more she could do to show how much she loves them for caring enough to see her dying.)
Ronald Weasley should be feeling guilty, because that is (was) his sister, and he should have noticed her fading. He should be guilty, but he isn't. Because the truth of the matter is, he has never known Ginny, has only ever cared to see perfectdaughter-onlydaughter-goldenchild and has never truly tried to see Ginny. (She is not perfect. She is fire and fury and vengeance and hatred. She is the crackle of flames and the roar of a lion and the midday sun burning everything that dares to step into its light.)
But where Ronald is not guilty (he should be), Neville-Draco-Cass-Luna feel the urge to look away from the screen, tears clouding their vision. They should have done more. (Cass remembers seeing Ginny lying at the foot of a statue, a fire whose flames have been doused. She buries her head in Edmund's shoulder and clutches onto Lucy when she hugs her and pretends the scene of Ginny dying does not still haunt her.)
They do what they can. (It is not enough.) (They watch Ginny disappear in increments, more of the girl vanishing by the day. It hurts more than they ever thought something would.) (They have become attached to Ginny, have accepted her into their little group so effortlessly it feels like she has always been there. To see her vanish like this is akin to watching a slow death.)
The Duelling Club is a last resort.
Some laugh at the reminder of the duelling club, muffled giggles that echo in the hall. (No one can quite pinpoint where this laughter comes from.) (It is the laughter of all those who crave violence, those born with cruelty in their eyes and blood on their lips. It is the laughter of broken children who worship a broken god.) (This is what war does. It takes and it takes and it breaks, and then broken things put themselves back together but do it wrong. And now they have jagged edges and shattered pieces, these broken things, but they don't care. This is what war does.)
Some shudder at the reminder of the duelling club, pointed whispers and horrified gazes turning to the girl among their midst, the girl who they blamed for a year (calling her the heir, calling her wicked, calling her cruel). They know her now, know her better than they ever thought they would (and is that not just what the lion hoped would happen?) and they know her siblings, too, although not as well. (How will they react when they see how she has been treated? How many will die? How much blood will be spilled?)
"Come on, firecracker," Draco teases gently, pulling Ginny along, carefree smile failing to mask the worry in his eyes, the nervous twitch of his fingers. "We're watching an idiot go up against a grump. What better way to spend our afternoon?"
Ginny does not even snicker. Draco glances at Neville, and the other boy returns his gaze hopelessly. They don't know what to do to help. They don't even know what is happening to cause her to act like this, and perhaps that is the most terrifying thing of all, to watch someone crumble with no idea why they are spiraling.
Cassiopeia joins them as they walk into the room in which the Duelling Club is to be held, Luna at her side, the two girls frowning sadly when they see the blank look on Ginny's face. (Cassiopeia frowns, but there is anger there too, fury that burns in her veins as she sees the redhead looking so listless, so vacant.) (She will find whoever, whatever, has caused this. She will find them, find it, and she will do everything she can to ensure she never has to see Ginny so devoid of life again.)
Cass smiles at the screen, a bloodthirsty smile that has her siblings laughing softly and the rest of the hall (sans her friends, who know that smile well, who share that bloodlust) shuddering in horror. Her Darkness emerges, shadows crawling down her arms and pooling at her wrists, claws fashioned of darkness stretching from her nails. It purrs, her Darkness, remembers the pain they caused the boy who was the cause of Ginny's fading.
(They found him, you see. Cass found him, followed him, fought him.) (Tom Riddle has paid in blood for all the pain he has caused Ginny-Cass-Neville-Luna-Draco.)
The Duelling Club is entirely uneventful. Lockhart (the idiot they have been saddled with, the idiot who thinks he can smile and laugh at underage girls as though they are merely objects, the idiot who tells them how cruel creatures are and makes Cassiopeia's fingers twitch with the urge to tear him limb from limb) is no match for their Potions Professor. (No one truly thought he would be.) (They are a violent generation; they are not disappointed by Lockhart's ineptitude, they are disappointed that there was no blood drawn in the mock-duel between Potions Master and Defense Professor.) The students are paired up, then, told to practice the spell demonstrated by the two teachers; Neville and Luna move off together, and Cassiopeia refuses to leave Ginny, leaving Draco to be paired with Harry; neither of the two boys look happy at this arrangement.
Cassiopeia knows this spell. She demonstrates once, catching Ginny's wand easily after casting the disarming charm, and even manages to coax the redhead into trying out the spell; Ginny gets it on her third try, and a little life returns to her eyes.
It is shortly after Ginny has managed the spell that they are interrupted, told that there will be another demonstration, this time by two students. Cassiopeia does not find herself particularly interested in what is happening, until she sees her cousin and her first friend facing off against each other on the stage that has been built for this purpose.
A dark smile flits across her face, the look mirroring the smirk on her cousin's face. (Harry panics slightly, does not know what to do, spots her out of the corner of his eye and darts a panicked glance in her direction. She pretends not to see.) (He is in no danger. Cassiopeia is curious as to what her cousin and friend will come up with, how far they will go to win.) (No one ever calls her kind. She has never been kind.)
Narcissa looks at Cass, and there is a small smile on her lips and acceptance in her eyes. Of course Cass is not a kind being; no one brought up in a cruel household can ever be kind. (It is a death sentence, being kind. Theirs is not a world which accepts kindness. Theirs is a world in which kindness is weakness and weakness is destroyed.)
Remus looks at Cass, and there is sadness in the set of his mouth. He wishes his daughter (not your daughter, you don't have a daughter, not anymore) was a little kinder, a little softer. He wishes she knew how to smile (a proper smile, not the jagged things he has seen on her face) and he wishes that she'd known how to be a child (he does not want a wild thing, you see). (You made her this way, Remus Lupin. Accept the consequences of your actions.)
Paddy looks at Cass, and there is recognition in his gaze. He knows that cruelty, that curiousity. He felt it too, once, as did his brother. (They all grew up in cruel homes. They all grew up in the same cruel home. None of them learned how to be kind; none of them ever saw the value in softness.) He wishes that Cass did not live the life he once had, before he left, before he chose to abandon his brother. He knows that it is his fault his daughter is not kind. (Paddy, Sirius Black, you condemned her to this fate.)
They fight, and it seems to be over far too soon. A snake curls up on the stage, summoned by Draco, and Harry freezes as it uncoils. Cassiopeia finds herself slightly disappointed; they have learned enough spells to know how to deal with a situation like this, and yet Harry does not raise his wand to cast a single spell.
The snake hisses, and it is moving towards them, and Cassiopeia knows that it will not harm them but Ginny is tensing next to her and she cannot have that, refuses to let her friend be scared, refuses to do nothing while her friend is scared. And so, Cassiopeia steps forward and grabs the snake before anyone can react.
(In a different universe, one where there is no Cassiopeia - or if there ever was such a girl, she died before anyone knew her - this would be the moment where it becomes clear that Harry is a Parseltongue. This is the moment where the school looks at him, Gryffindor boy with a bigot for a friend and a clear dislike for Slytherins, and name him a villain.) (That does not happen in this universe, because Harry has Cassiopeia, for better or worse. He has Cassiopeia, even if he never appreciated her as he should have. In this universe, Cassiopeia is the one who calms the snake; for this deed, she shall be proclaimed a villain by some. But others will look at her, this girl with no loyalty to her house, this girl with friends from all houses and loyalty to none but her loved ones, and they will wonder if perhaps she is, in the end, a hero.)
Harry does not know how to react to this reveal. He has heard of Parseltongue, but never thought he may be able to speak it. (He never revealed himself, remember that. Cass took the fall instead of him as she always has and it remained a secret, even to Harry.)
His friends do not know how to react to this reveal, either. Ronald is gaping at him, accusations written in his eyes but not spilling from his mouth, an immediate aversion that has Harry cringing. (He only ever wanted to be normal, gods, why can't he just be normal?) Hermione is curious, as she always is, questions and queries and facts and observations destroying whatever silence there may have been between them. (Does she know how to shut up?)
The Golden Trio does not know how to react to this.
The Pevensies do not share their confusion.
They are laughing, the Pevensies, and so are Draco-Neville-Luna-Ginny (the honorary Pevensies). They are laughing, heads thrown back and cackles echoing in the near-silence of the hall. (Isn't this lovely? The Golden Boy, Chosen One, saved only by the girl he once thought to cast aside?) (Cass saved Harry, simply by being there. Isn't that funny? And to think, he called her a problem. Harry, Harry, eat your words. Can you not see how she has saved you?) (You would be a villain without her, Harry Potter.)
There are screams, of course, yells of dismay. But the girl pays them no heed. (She grew up in a forest, did you not know this, students of Hogwarts? She has spent daysweeksmonths with only the company of wild creatures.) (If there is anyone who never needs to fear a creature of the wild, it is Cassiopeia Adhara.)
When Cassiopeia turns to face her friends, it is with a snake curled around her shoulders and a smile on her face.
She is met with looks of horror-shock-suspicion-fear.
(They see a girl with glowing eyes and midnight hair, a snake wrapped around her shoulders as though it is not wild, as though it could not kill any one of them in a single bite.) (The students at Hogwarts are finally beginning to wonder if perhaps, it is Cassiopeia they should be scared of.)
Edmund laughs at that, a quiet laughter that bubbles over his lips and spills into the empty space between him and the rest of his siblings. (The empty space between all of them, except for Cass. It is always EdmundandCass, no spaces in between them.) (They have been alone too much to ever consider parting from each other.)
He laughs, because it is so funny, that Hogwarts is only now realizing that Cass is the one they should be fearing. Have they seen nothing? Cass is wild, do they not understand what that means? (He knew Cass was dangerous the first time he saw her, all sharp edges and missing pieces and a smile more jagged than a shattered mirror.) (He chose to love her anyone, despite her danger, because of her danger.)
A month passes.
A month filled with taunts and insults, whispered spells in the corridors and shoves at the top of staircases. A month in which the entire school (save for four) turns against Cassiopeia, so sure that she is evil, so sure that she is the Heir. (What else could she be, with a father like hers?) (Did you see how she tamed that snake? Did you see how it bowed only to her?) (The Blacks are an ancient family, didn't you know? Of course they could be descended from Salazar Slytherin.)
There is a wolf inside Remus Lupin, and it rages as it sees how these students have treated his daughter. How dare they cast her aside, how dare they act as though she is the villain here. (As though you have treated her better.) (They are children, poisoned by the beliefs of adults; but you are an adult, Remus Lupin. What excuse do you have for your actions?)
The Pevensies entertained notions of pain, once, of harming each and every person who dared to look at their sister as though she is a monster. (They still dream of it, sometimes. They wake with the taste of blood on their lips.) But Cass is loyal to the students of Hogwarts (she has taken her own revenge upon those who have spurned her) and she has no desire to see them harmed. And so the Pevensies do not burn the hall to the ground when they see how she was treated, once upon a time, because their loyalty to their sister far outweighs their lust for blood. (But oh, how they ache to make the students of Hogwarts hurt.)
A month passes, and Cassiopeia becomes more a ghost in the castle than she has ever been. She skips lessons whenever she can, disappears from the imprisonment of stone walls at all hours of the day, never dares to set foot in any space that has more than ten other students in it. She grows steadily thinner, losing what little weight she had managed to put on since the beginning of her years at Hogwarts. When teachers see her, they are torn between worry for the girl and worry about the girl. (She looks so tired, so pale.) (She is a danger, just like her father.)
Narcissa and Amelia do not have it in them to harm children, but that does not dull their anger. Unlike Susan-Peter-Edmund-Lucy, however, they are not angry at the students of Hogwarts. No, these women are angry at the adults who saw this happening, the adults who taught these children to be cruel and vicious and hateful. (Because they are cruel, there is no doubt about that.) (Kindness does not exist in a war. And this is a war.)
Cassiopeia becomes a ghost, and her friends can do nothing but watch. Watch as Cassiopeia disappears, watch as Ginny fades, watch as the school reviles one girl and forgets the other.
And then, one day, watching becomes not-enough, watching becomes something that they cannot bear to do anymore. This change happens suddenly; this change happens within an instant.
This change happens when they leave the castle one day, and see several students surrounding Cassiopeia, all of them standing on the shore of the Black Lake. It happens when they see the students spit insults at her, only growing angrier as she chooses not to react, as she stares at them (lost in memories of screaming-grandmother-slaps-insults-screaming-screaming-SCREAMING-) with a face blanker than stone. It happens, this change, this birth of a hatred of watching, when they see one of the students shove Cassiopeia.
When they see her stumble, off-balance and trapped in memories.
When they see her hit her head on a stone as she tumbles backwards.
When they see her hit the waters of the Black Lake and disappear without so much as a whisper.
There are cries at this, cries from students who never knew this happened, cries from teachers who are horrified that this happened. (How did they never know? A student almost died, and the teachers had no idea.) (You did not know because they did not want you to know. This is what happens when your students do not trust you to help them.)
There are no cries from those who were there. Ginny-Neville-Draco-Luna are silent. (Silent as the grave. Isn't that funny?) They are silent, as they have never been, and there is no emotion on their faces. (They remember this, you see. Of course they do; this is the moment they thought they lost their friend forever.) (How could they not remember this?)
Later on, when they think back to it, they will not remember screaming. They will not remember moving. They will not remember spelling the students (the ones that dared to hurt their friend-sister-cousin) with jinxes that will later send the students to the hospital wing.
They will not remember any of this.
Later on, when they think back to this day, they will remember seeing Cassiopeia disappear. And then they will remember kneeling at the shore of the Black Lake (the movement in between will take years in their memories), searching the dark waters desperately for a glimpse of the girl they all know and love and cherish with all of their hearts. They will remember Neville going to wade into the water, only to have to be pulled back to land when they realize that there is no ground under his feet, that the shore drops off into a cliff underneath the surface of the lake. They will remember holding back Draco as he tries to jump in (regardless of the cliff, regardless of the fact that he does not know where Cassiopeia is). They will remember Luna sobbing, Ginny screaming herself hoarse, the redhead cursing out the waves, the school, the skies, cursing out the world that had dared to take away her dearest friend.
The Pevensies do not think they would react any differently. (They did not react differently, when they saw Cass die.) They too would scream-cry-sob-search. They too would act as though the world is ending. (Because it is. There is no world without Cass; if she dies, so too does the world.)
Remus and Paddy watch this scene, and they are crying. They are crying, because they have just watched their daughter plunge into a lake. (They have not seen her emerge.) They are crying because she could have died, and they would never have known. (Why would anyone tell them? They abandoned her; they don't get to mourn her.) They are crying because they were not the ones to save her. (They have never even tried to save her.)
They will remember the relief that they feel when there is a loud noise (the sound of waves crashing onto rocks, the sound of the ocean roaring) and a shape blurs past them, disappearing into the depths of the Black Lake. They will remember watching with bated breath, hardly daring to breathe as they stare at the water, willing Cassiopeia to reappear. (Praying, wishing, hoping. That is all they can do.) (They have never felt so helpless in their lives.)
They will remember crying their friend's name as she appears a few steps down from where they all crouch at the shoreline, the back of her shirt delicately gripped in the teeth of a mass of something that could be a horse, if looked at from the right angle.
Edmund recognizes that horse-shaped being. So does Lucy, and Susan, and Peter. They smile at the screen; is this where Cass met her dearest friend, her companion in all worlds? (Edmund has always loved this horse-shaped being, but never has he been more grateful to them as he watches them save his twin.) (What would he do without Cass? Surely perish. He has to wish to live in a world without his twin; he has done it once already, and it was a grey world, and it was a cold world. He has not wish to return to that.)
"What is that?" Ronald spits, disgust easy to hear in his tone, derision clear to see on his face as he stares at the thing that could be a horse, if horses were made of thunder and waves and wind and storms.
"A friend," Cassiopeia murmurs, and there is fury in her eyes as she turns to face Ronald Weasley, a fury older than the stars themselves and twice as vicious. "Insult them again, Ronald Weasley, and it shall be the last thing you do."
Cassiopeia still breathes. That is something they will remember later, too, when they awake in the night shaking and in tears, desperate to save her, knowing that they could do nothing but watch her drown. (Do you see, now, why they despise watching? It nearly killed her, their inability to do anything but watch. It almost killed their leader-friend-sister-family. They will never make that mistake again.) She coughs, choking up water that has forced itself down her throat, gasping for breath.
(For a moment, the air beside her blurs. A boy crouches at her side, dark-haired and grey-eyed, hitting her back to ensure she has coughed up all the water in her lungs. He is gone before anyone can truly see him; a lion's roar can be heard in the wind, the only sign the boy was ever there.)
Eyes turn to Edmund, curiousity in the gazes of all those who recognize the boy for who he is, but the black-haired Pevensie ignores them all. He focuses on Cass (as he has always focused on Cass), tucking her closer to his side and pressing a kiss to her hair, remembering that she is alive, remembering that she is there with him.
(He has been alone before. They have both been alone. They have not been alone since they came into their power; they have sworn to never be torn apart again.)
Cassiopeia breathes, and Draco-Ginny-Luna-Neville sob with relief as they pull her into a group hug, tears staining her clothes, their arms surrounding her as though to never let her go again. A creature watches from the side, a mass of water and salt and waves and wind, a mass of ocean and rivers and lakes which forms the approximate shape of a horse. ("Kelpie," Luna will name it later. "Saviour," they will all remember it as. "Friend," Cassiopeia will call it.) (They are all correct.)
Breaths are released across the hall, shoulders relaxing as the scene comes to an end. (They can hardly believe Cass almost drowned.) (They can hardly believe Hogwarts did not burn for daring to injure the beloved girl.)
Cass turns to her siblings, queries something in a language that no one else can speak, a language never heard before in this world. It is a language of consonants and vowels that do not quite seem to be in the right places, a language that is a song and a growl and a silence and a noise all at once. They reply in the same language, and it is Peter who climbs to his feet and turns to face the rest of the hall, Peter (the magnificent, the king) who smiles (a smile that is a command, a smile that commands to be obeyed) as he speaks.
"This has been quite an influx of information," the boy-man-king states, and people nod at his words. "And I believe it might be best if we take a break at the end of the next segment so that everyone might have a chance to think about what they have seen before we continue with this viewing."
People agree. (They did not have much choice, Peter's smile made that clear.) The oldest Pevensie sits down with his siblings again, content. (There is trouble in their eyes; they know what they are doing.)