Twelve
We used to be close, but people can go from people you know, to people you don't. And what hurts the most, is people can go from people you know, to people you don't.
- People you know, Selena Gomez
Some things, they're solid, they're built to last. Some things they fall apart, they break like glass. Sometimes it's scary what they call "Love", and how fast what is can turn to what was.
- If I died last night, Jessie Murph
It is in second year that Harry's relationship with Cassiopeia truly comes to an end.
This is not a happy story. This is not a story about laughter and smiles and joy. (Although it has all of these things in it.) This is not a story in which everyone lives and no one dies and friends remain friends forever. (Some do live, and others die, and a few people do remain friends forever.)
This is not a tragedy. This is not a story about tears and mourning and pain. (Even though these things all feature in this story.) This is not a story in which there is no one left alive and every friend is betrayed and families tear apart at the seams. (There are always some people left to tell the stories, and betrayal does not always come with friendship, and sometimes families stay together even in troubled times.)
This is a story about friends, and the ending of friendships. This is a story about happiness and sadness, laughter and tears. This is a story about redemption and betrayal. This is a story about life and death.
This is a story about life.
(If it were a perfect world, this story would not have a friendship so broken it can never be repaired. But this is not a perfect world, so this story about life is also a story about betrayal.) (A boy betrays a girl, a friend betrays a friend. This is life.)
(No one ever said life would be kind.)
It is not an explosive ending, a dramatic ending that will scorch the foundations of Hogwarts forever. (That will come later, when it is far too late to do anything but fight.) No, the end of HarryandCassiopeia comes slowly, seeping into their lives through the entirety of their second year, staining everything bitter shades of purple and grieving shades of black. (They will look back, later, and they will see it for what it was: a doomed relationship. They never could have saved their friendship; it was always fated to be destroyed.)
No, it is not explosive. (Not until it is far past the point of saving.) When Harry and Cassiopeia's friendship crumbles, it crumbles in the way a building does: bit by bit, and then all at once.
Cass lets out a quiet noise, one that is not quite grief but something close to it. (She does not want to relive this. It is over, she has moved past it, it is over it is over IT IS OVER-) (Is a betrayal ever truly over?) (Cassiopeia Adhara Pevensie, do not fool yourself into believing it does not still ache. Even fae-others can hurt.)
Cass lets out a quiet noise that is not grief but is something similar, and her siblings waste not a single moment. (They were separated from her for too long; she went through too much on her own. They will never leave her to face her troubles on her own again.) They surround her, Lucy clambering fully onto her sister's lap, Edmund pulling her into his side, Peter taking Lucy's former spot next to Cass, Susan perching behind her middle sister and encircling both Cass and Edmund in her arms. They cling to each other, all of them, and cling to Cass, and although it still aches, it aches a little bit less.
Draco-Luna-Neville-Ginny smile at the pile of limbs that has formed around Cass, stopping as they find themselves reaching out to comfort, to hold, to protect. (They are so used to having no one but each other. They are so used to needing to help Cass themselves, because no one else has ever been willing to do it.)
Peter catches these aborted movements out of the corner of his eyes, and although his first instinct is to reach for his sword (too many people have tried to kill his family) he forces himself to take a breath. He looks at them then, at these children (who are not children) who have stood by his sister when he and his siblings were unable to. (A crime he will never forgive Asland for.) They look back at him, haters and hated, the loyal abandoned. (He sees glimpses of Narnia in every face.)
Peter smiles (the smile of a king defending his people) and gestures for Draco-Luna-Neville-Ginny to come closer. They obey without hesitation, surrounding where the Pevensies sit, throwing pillows to the ground and sitting before these siblings who their friend is a part of.
A king finds new members for his court. A family grows a bit bigger.
The first signs of a crumbling start when Harry stops seeking Cassiopeia out. Perhaps it is not a purposeful maneuver; perhaps it is simply forgetfulness. Nevertheless, whether it is purposeful or not, the end result remains the same: where Harry once sought Cassiopeia out, where he once disappeared into the forest with her and listened to the stories she told him (was that only the year before? It feels so long ago now.), now Harry does not see Cassiopeia unless she approaches him first. He sits with Ronald and Hermione in the morning-afternoon-evenings, walks with them in the halls, talks with them in the lessons. It is only when Cassiopeia walks up to them, when she actively seeks him out to spend time with him, that the two once-friends have a chance to reconnect.
She doesn't seek him out often.
It isn't in her nature, seeking out someone who does not seem to want anything to do with her. (She has never been a dog, eager to return to its master.) She chafes at restraint and fights authority, and when it feels that Harry is trying to chain her to him it takes all the willpower she has to keep from lashing out. (She still lashes out, but it is the forest that bears the brunt of her anger, not her friends, not the students of Hogwarts.) (She examines the chains Harry is trying to place upon her, and wonders if this friendship is worth it.)
(Cassiopeia cannot exist with someone who tries to keep her contained. A force of nature cannot be kept like a dog.)
Someone tried that once, in the days when Narnia was still thawing after a winter that lasted for too many years, in the days when others thought that because they were young the Pevensies were weak. (As though they did not fight a war and win.)
Someone tried to take Cass, to capture her, to chain her. They believed her to be the weakest Pevensie. They believed her easy to capture, easier to chain. They believed she would allow them to keep her (like a dog) (like a pet) whilst they tried to take over Narnia before it became a proper country.
They believed wrong. (And oh, did the Pevensies enjoy watching them bleed.)
It is second year, Harry is twelve and she is still a few months shy of turning eleven, and the friendship that once saved both of them is crumbling. (Brick by brick it falls.) Harry turns away from her and a window cracks. She walks over to Draco in the Great Hall instead of Harry and a pillar collapses. Harry tells her she should try to be a better Gryffindor (trying to change her, like he once promised he never would) and the foundations begin to crumble.
How did this happen?
Remus Lupin has been watching what has been happening in the hall.
He has seen how the Pevensies surround Cass, how they group together around her as though expecting an attack at any moment, how they watch everyone in the hall with eyes just a little bit too ancient. (It is a strange feeling, to see his daughter surrounded by people she calls family. He is happy she has found people who she loves as much as they love her; he is distraught that he is not part of her family.) (What have they been through? What have they done?)
He has seen the aborted movements of Ginny-Neville-Luna-Draco, the near reaching out and then rethinking their movements, the almost attacks turned into sharp gestures and sharper words. He has seen how Peter's hand never strays far from his sword, has seen the glint of a knife in Lucy's hands, has seen the promise of pain glinting in Edmund's eyes.
He has seen the grimace on Harry's face. He has seen how Hermione and Ron scowl at the wall, at the scenes playing before them, how they look at Cass and her siblings and something very much like suspicion settles on their faces.
And as the younger version of his daughter wonders how this has happened, he looks around at these children (these war-torn soldiers, these laughing warriors, these broken survivors) he cannot help but wonder the same.
How did this happen?
Four months into the second year at Hogwarts, and Cass remembers the deal she made with the Sorting Hat for the first time in many months.
She remembers it only because of Luna, the golden-hearted girl who Cassiopeia met on the train going to Hogwarts, the fae who sees things that other cannot and knows things that she shouldn't. (Just like Cassiopeia.) She remembers it because of Luna, who turns to face her as they lie in the grass next to the Black Lake one day, who turns to her and smiles as she whispers a question no one else would ever think to ask. "Where are you going to go?" Luna asks, and Cassiopeia knows what she's asking the moment the fae says the words. "When your deal is up, when you are re-sorted...where are you going to go?"
Cassiopeia has not thought of the deal in many moons.
Narcissa Malfoy looks at the girl now, at this girl who her son has claimed as his family, at this girl who has stolen a part of Narcissa's heart. She looks at her, and she wonders. Where does this girl belong? (In a land no one knows of, far away and around the corner at the same time.) Ravenclaw? Slytherin? Hufflepuff?
Narcissa isn't sure. Draco never told her; it seems Draco has not told her much of what has happened during his time at Hogwarts. (It hurts her, this omission of information. She tries to pretend it doesn't hurt, the thought that he does not trust her.)
She is intrigued. What will happen? What will Cass choose?
She is glad that Luna has reminded her of it. She knows that the deal has failed; she'd bargained for more time to try and help Harry (who never wanted her help, who never wanted her company) (who never wanted her), but he had never been willing to listen. (He is poisoned, Cassiopeia Adhara Pevensie, poisoned by the people he calls friends, poisoned by the man he calls Headmaster.) She tried to help him however she could (the Wixen World is not kind to those who do not know its ways) but he refused her help.
Now, her two years are almost finished. Soon, she will be moved, will be sorted into a different house. (A house that feels more like a home than Gryffindor ever has; Cassiopeia has never been one to abandon cunning or intelligence or dedication in order to wield bravery.) (It still will not be home. Her home is not a place, but rather a family that she hasn't met yet.)
The Pevensies smile at their sister as she says this, somehow curling around her even tighter. Cass laughs lightly at this show of affection, wrapping an arm around Lucy, melting into Edmund's side. Susan presses a kiss to her sister's hair, and Peter leans into her other side, and Cass smiles the content smile of a lion resting after a hunt.
(She can't remember the last time she felt this warm.)
"I don't know," Cassiopeia answers Luna's question after a long moment spent lost in thought. Truly, she does not. She thinks she would be happier anywhere except Gryffindor; perhaps she will go to Ravenclaw or Slytherin, or she may shock everyone and join the house of black and yellow. "Wherever the Sorting Hat places me, I guess."
Luna hums consideringly and turns away from her friend, eyes dancing over the clouds that drift above the two girls. Cassiopeia turns to face the clouds too, silver eyes tracing shapes formed by the drifting masses of white, but inside, her thought are racing.
Where does she belong?
Has she ever belonged anywhere? Is she destined to be alone?
"You're an idiot sometimes, you know that?" Ginny rolls her eyes at Cass, Neville nodding in agreement besides the redhead. "Really? Alone? What are we, Hippogriff feathers?"
"Hippogriff feathers are prettier than you," Cass responds playfully, making a gesture that leaves the hall echoing with the aftershock of someone unmistakably ancient and undeniably insulting. Draco lets out a noise of offense at her words, and Cass turns in his direction; however, when she next speaks, it is not to Draco, but to the fair-haired fae sitting at his side. "Except for you, Luna. You're gorgeous."
Draco-Ginny-Neville gape in offended silence. The Pevensies laugh. And Cass smiles.
"Harry?"
Cassiopeia slips into the Hospital Wing like the ghost she seems to have become (like the ghost she once was, in the house-that-was-never-a-home, like the ghost she one day will be, haunting Harry's every breath), feet making not a whisper of a sound as she glides towards the bed upon which her once-friend-now-something rests. She stops at his side, perches on the side of the bed (a movement that would have woken him instantly, once, in the days that he lived in an abusive household but was happy when he was with her). Silver eyes glow in the darkness as she peers at this person, this boy she once called friend (still calls friend?), this child who taught her what it is to love someone.
Severus Snape sighs as he sees this scene. He has seen this before. (And he never liked the ending.) He remembers doing the same thing, sneaking into the hospital wing to visit Lily-Lucius-Regulus-Narcissa. He remembers sitting at their bedsides; sometimes he'd laugh with them, when they were not too badly injured, when they could still smile and joke like they always did.
Sometimes he'd pray to a God he never believed in, and he would do it alone. Those were the darkest days, the days where school unity was but a distant dream, the days where the colour of your uniform could get you cursed and your family name could be the cause of your death.
Severus Snape watches the younger Cass visit the younger Potter boy. He sees her perch on his bed (like Lily once did for Severus, like Severus once did for Lily). He sees her examine him for injures (like Regulus and Lucius did for Severus, like Severus did for Narcissa).
Severus Snape has seen this before.
And he knows that it will nlever end happily.
He has changed, from the boy she once knew, from the boy she once loved. (Still loves, despite everything, and isn't that strange? That she can feel him leaving her behind and still love him as much as she did when she was a seven-year-old girl and he was an eight-year-old boy and they had no one but each other.) He has grown slightly taller, put on a little bit more weight - not much, but enough to smooth out the sharp bones of a starving person that accompanied him throughout their childhood. He is quicker to smile now, but it isn't the same as when he used to smile at her; in their childhood, his smiles were rare, but always genuine. Now, he smiles often, but they are flimsy things put on only for show. And he angers quicker than he used to; he always preferred to use cunning over fury, stating that he never wanted to use anger like Vernon did. ("Besides," he sued to joke, "I think you have enough fury for both of us, Cassie.") (A joke, a statement, a truth. What is the difference between them?)
Cass smiles at the words. Her siblings have said much the same, over the years she has been with them. They, too, have seen her anger and named it Fury. (They have praised her Fury, in ways that Harry never did. They love her for her Fury, not in spite of it. That is something her once-friend never did. He always loved in spite of, not for.)
Once, Cass wondered if her Fury is all she has.
Now, she knows that it is as much as part of her as her Love and her Grief. And she loves her Fury, loves it because of the strength it has given her. (Her Fury has started revolutions. It has toppled tyrants and brought freedom. Why would she not love it? How could she do anything but adore it?)
Harry winces slightly, glancing away from his friends-Remus-Paddy when he sees all them looking at him. He does not want this, these lies, these untruths. (These truths that reveal everything he has tried to hide, everything he has denied to even himself.)
Of course he has changed. No one can stay as they were when they were a child. Perhaps he does not smile as he once did (he can't remember what it felt like to grin so genuinely) but that does not mean he is unhappy. Perhaps he does anger quicker than he once did, but there is so very much to be angry about.
(Harry Potter, you do not smile, but you fool yourself into thinking you are happy with the choices you have made.) (Harry Potter, it is not your anger that Cass worries about, it is how you show it. You learned your fury from Vernon Dursley; there is no worse role model to have.)
But he hasn't changed so completely that she cannot recognize him. (He will, one day. But not yet. Not yet.) His brow still furrows when he is confused, like when he was eight-and-some-months and he spent an hour trying to solve a Rubix cube that they found cast onto the pavement. He fidgets with his hands, unable to remain still, like when they were eight and nine respectively and trying to catch butterflies, and he could never stay still long enough for the insects to come within reach. He does not like to eat fatty foods, pushes them away when no one is looking at him, and she knows that they remind him of Vernon and Dudley.
There are other things, too, countless little ways that he has both changed and stayed the same. She aches to see it, to see how he is the same as he always was, to see how he is becoming someone she does not know. (Did she ever really know him at all?) (She knew him better than he knew himself.)
"And yet, he did not know you," Lucy whispers from where she has tucked her head into her sister's neck, the words coming out a low growl that has all those who do not know her stiffening and moving slightly further away. She pays them no mind, curling closer to her sister, feeling Cass' arms tighten where they wrap around her body. "He did not care to know you as you knew him," Lucy continues, as though that is the worst crime she can imagine. "He did not care."
(It is a crime. Remember, Lucy grew up in the wilds of Narnia, adopted by the wolves and raised among the dryads. She grew up knowing the importance of pack, grew up loyal to her pack. Wolves are strong because they know each other, because they love each other. It is a crime, that someone did not care to know her sister despite her sister caring enough to know them.)
"No," Cass murmurs. "No, he did not know me."
Once, she thought he did. She thought he knew her as she knew him, and perhaps once it was true. Perhaps once they were both equally known to each other. But then they went to Hogwarts, and they changed, and he did not reach out when she tried to bridge the distance.
Once, she thought he knew her. And then she met Draco-Ginny-Luna-Neville, who came to love and know her as much as she loves and knows them. Then she met Edmund-Lucy-Susan-Peter, who know her better than she knows herself and love her with everything they are.
(And she knows now, that Harry never truly knew her at all.)
"Harry," Cassiopeia whispers, when her observation is done, when she cannot bear to look at her friend, when she can hardly blink away the tears that fill her eyes at the thought of their paths splitting and never crossing again. (Oh, Cassiopeia. Your path has always been intertwined with Harry's. Friend-enemy-family-stranger.) She swallows, wipes her eyes quickly, pokes him in the side. "Harry, wake up."
Harry wakes up with a quiet gasp, but other than a slight widening of his eyes and a quiet groan of protest he has no reaction to the sudden disruption of his sleep. That is another thing that has changed; once, just her sitting at his side would have had him leaping away with a yelp. (This, at least, is a change she can be happy about; it means her friend is healing, and that is a reason for celebration.) (When will she be allowed to heal?) "Cassie," he murmurs, and there is a surge of warmth at the nickname that has survived these upheavals, these changes. (Perhaps there is hope for their friendship after all.) "What are you doing here?"
Peter frowns as the younger version of his sister wonders when she will be allowed to heal. He looks at her, this twelve-year-old girl with too-big eyes and a too-skinny frame, and his heart aches for the younger sister he didn't know for far too long.
(He would give anything to have had her in his life for longer than he could remember.) (He cannot forgive Aslan for taking her away from them, for being the reason she grew up in pain and darkness. He cannot forgive Aslan for being the reason it took eleven years for her to know Lucy's smile, Susan's wit, Edmund's laugh, Peter's embrace.)
"You've healed," Peter says quietly, the words only for their family to hear. (Luna-Neville-Ginny-Draco hear the words as well. They are Cass' family, therefore they are Peter's family too.) He grips Cass' hand tightly, wipes away the singular tear that dares to mar her face as she turns towards him. "You've healed," he promises, an oath he knows to be true. "And we love you."
Cass takes a breath, blinks. Then she smiles, and it is a smile no one in Hogwarts has seen before - it is a smile that is brighter than the very sun itself, a smile made of love and protectiveness and adoration and loyalty.
Cassiopeia shakes her head fondly (the way she used to when Harry did something stupid) and pokes her friend in the side once more. "I'm here to check up on you," she whispers, laughing quietly at his look of confusion. "I still can't believe Lockhart removed the bones in your arm. Do you think he'd teach me how to do that if I asked?"
"I don't think he knows how he did it," Harry snickers, and there is a moment of silence, then they are both laughing, the silence of the Hospital Wing shattering as the two laugh as though they are still children. (As though they have not been forced up to grow up too fast.)
Susan laughs lightly at her younger sister's words, and the sound is something akin to a dagger sliding out of a sheath. The Hall shudders, glancing around for the threat, hands twitching to wands and eyes darting to possible exits. (They forget, for a moment, that they are trapped.) (They do not know that they would not be able to land a single spell, should the Pevensie siblings wish to decimate them.)
Susan laughs and laughs and laughs. And her siblings look on adoringly. (She does not laugh much, when she is not in their company.) (It is a good look on her, laughter. It makes her seem almost as dangerous as she truly is.)
Susan laughs, because she remembers a man who dared to try and touch her without her permission. She remembers spinning around, a dagger drawn, only to find the man already on the floor with her sister standing in between him and Susan, fire in her eyes and a curse on her lips. Susan remembers seeing the man fall to the floor, screaming.
Susan remembers the bones of his arm falling to the ground next to him.
And so Susan laughs, because she knows that Cass needed no one to teach her that curse. Her sister has always been creative; of course Cass would be able to recreate a curse no one taught her. And of course Cass would use that curse in defense of her siblings.
(What else would Cass use her magic for?)
For a moment, it feels as though she has her friend back. For a moment, all is as it was, when they were younger and full of life and happy. (Will they ever be happy again? Have they passed their golden years?)
But then there is a loud noise (it sounds like a gunshot, and Cassiopeia reacts instinctively, twisting to place herself in front of Harry, bracing herself for the pain that is sure to follow the noise) and a creature appears in front of them. It is bald, with large ears and larger eyes, and it is dressed in nothing but a dirty pillow case.
It reminds Cassiopeia, uncomfortably, of the house-elf that lived (lives?) in the house-that-was-never-a-home. (It reminds Cassiopeia of herself, in the days when she lived with the woman who called herself her grandmother.)
Draco frowns when he sees the house-elf. He frowns, because he knows that house-elf. He frowns, because that was once the only friendly face he knew. He frowns, because Dobby betrayed him.
He frowns, because he hates that someone he once knew reminded Cass of her past, the past she tries so hard to forget, the past she has done everything to heal from.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, turning beseeching eyes up at his friend-leader-god. She smiles (a smile that shows no teeth, a smile full of forgiveness) and runs a hand through his hair. (Across the hall, the Golden Trio frown; are those nails, or are they claws?)
"There is nothing to be sorry for," Cass responds to his apology. Were it anyone else, Draco would doubt their words, but this is Cass. This is his cousin, his friend, his family. This is the girl who has spent time with the fae, who lies by omission but never lies directly to those she calls friend.
Were it anyone else, Draco would doubt them.
But he has never doubted Cass, and he never will.
She doesn't listen, when the house-elf tells of how it has tried to kill save Harry. (Her grandmother tried to save her once, too. Or perhaps she was trying to kill her. Cassiopeia has never truly known how to tell the difference; if someone kills you to save you, is that good? Is that bad?) The house-elf speaks of bad things to come, but that does not make any sense to Cassiopeia, because there is always something bad happening at Hogwarts. Has no one realized that yet?
And then the house-elf is gone, and Cassiopeia is slipping beneath Harry's bed as the Hospital Wing flares into life. Someone is levitated into a bed opposite where she crouches, and she frowns when she sees the youth on the boy's face, as well as the terror captured in the petrification keeping him frozen. The teachers talk, but Cassiopeia cannot bring herself to focus on them; they will not do anything, she knows that. They will not do anything, and now there is fury licking at her insides, her Darkness rising as it tastes her anger.
How dare they stand by whilst their students are in danger. How dare they.
The teachers protest at this. They claim that they did all that they could; they claim that they protected the students as much as they were able. Minerva McGonagall is particularly loud in her protestations, but next to her, Filius Flitwick is quieter, looking thoughtful.
Albus Dumbledore is silent, voice still stolen, but there is a glower on his face as he looks at the Pevensies, a dark expression that has Narcissa scowling and Amelia reaching for a wand. (It is only a matter of time before he snaps.) (Cass looks forward to it. They will annihilate him.)
The teachers protest, but few of the students pay them any mind. They know who has saved them, time and time again. They know where their loyalty lies. They know who their leader is.
(Albus Dumbledore, step down from your throne.)
When the teachers leave, Cassiopeia darts out from underneath the bed, shaking off the bitter memories that crept up on her after being stuck in such a small place. She debates whether to see the petrified boy, but decides against it; she does not know him, and anyway, there is nothing she can do to help. (She wants to, though; she knows what it feels like, to be stuck, to be frozen, and she would not wish that on anyone.) (Why do you think she loves her freedom so?)
She turns to Harry, because although she is aching to leave these walls, although there is an itch beneath her skin begging her to return to the freedom of the outdoors, she will not leave her friend without saying goodbye. He is watching her already, green eyes shining in the darkness. (Shining, but not glowing. Only Cassiopeia has that kind of power.)
"Did you do this?" He whispers, and Cassiopeia's breath catches in her throat. (How could he think that? Does he not know her at all?) (He has convinced himself he never knew you at all, and that, dear Cassiopeia, is the problem.) She does not, can not, say anything.
She turns away and disappears from the Hospital Wing without another word.
(She does not say goodbye.)
There are many things Edmund would like to say to Harry Potter, if given the chance. There are many things Edmund will say to Harry Potter, when the nature of the Pevensie siblings has been revealed to those who have not yet guessed, when Edmund will not lose them their only advantage should he open his mouth to curse. (Edmund has dealt in secrets and information for almost his entire life. He knows the importance of advantages. He knows that he cannot give away this secret, not yet.) (But oh, how he wants to.)
There are many things Edmund will say to Harry Potter. He will state all the ways Harry Potter has wronged his twin. (You left her when she needed you most.) (You used and discarded her.) He will lay out all the truths the other boy has never wanted to face. (You are only where you are today because of Cass.) (You would never have survived without her.) He will use every insecurity, every weakness, will bring them all into the light and use them to tear the other boy down, bit by bit. (You call yourself a Gryffindor? It would have been braver to stand at her side even when no one else did.) (Look at who you have become, Harry Potter. Vernon Dursley would be proud.)
Edmund is not a kind being. He has never been a kind being. His subjects never called him kind; they named him Just, they named him Loyal, they named him Knowledgeable. Edmund has never been known as a kind being.
Harry has hurt his twin. So Edmund will hurt Harry.
It is simply a matter of when.
It is Yule, and Cassiopeia is in the Slytherin Common Room. It is not one of the places she frequently visits; beautiful though it is, being in a place with only one exit has her feeling trapped and helpless. She lashes out if she spends too long in that place (if she spends too long in any place; standing still has never been in her nature), snarls and snaps like a cornered animal until she manages to flee the room.
Severus Snape opens his mouth to point out that Cass should have not been in the Slytherin Common Room. His godson looks at him, cold eyes filled with ice daring him to comment on his cousin's presence in the Common Room. Severus Snape closes his mouth, and says nothing. (He has never thought of Draco as anything but a child.) (He may have made a mistake in doing this.)
Susan glances at her three younger siblings, a fondly exasperated sound escaping her lips. (Lips that have been painted with poison, lips that drip death.) She reaches over Cass' shoulder, runs a hand through her youngest sister's hair, and Lucy grins up at her, the feral smile of a wild animal that has never been tamed.
"I wonder who that reminds me of," Susan laughs lightly, and now Cass and Edmund mirror Lucy's grin. (They have always been far more feral, far more wild, than Susan or Peter.) (Peter ruled the courts, once, controlled the nobility with an iron fist and a lion's roar. Susan ruled the ladies, the peasants, the underestimated, her power lying in sharp words and sharper blades. But their younger siblings were not like that. Edmund made himself at home in the shadows of Narnia, walking the line of dark and light with just his cunning and his cruelty to keep him alive. Lucy hunted with the creatures that bowed no one, sharpening her teeth and claws on the bones of those she killed. Cass danced with the old, nameless things, the parts of Narnia even Aslan cannot name, and she came back intrinsically different.)
(Susan and Peter, they may be the eldest. But oh, how wild their siblings are. And oh, how Susan and Peter love them for it.)
Her friends often won't see her for many hours, after that, or even days. They do not look for her. (Draco did, once, because she is family and he will never abandon family. He will not be like his father. He returned with scratches all over his arms and a haunted look in his eyes. They have not tried to seek her out since; it is best to let her come to them, they have found. Treat her with all the respect you would show a wild creature, and you will be safe.)
Cass glances at her cousin, and dips her head slightly in acknowledgement. It is not an apology, because she feels no guilt for how she reacted when she was pursued after having fled into the forest. (She is wild, she has always been wild, she will always bite when she feels cornered.) It is not an apology, but it is an acknowledgement. It is a gesture of her thankfulness that he worried enough to come after her, even if only once.
Draco returns her gesture with a careless motion of his shoulders and the soft smile on Cass-Luna-Neville-Ginny have ever seen. Of course he went after her; of course he cared enough to go after her. She is his family. There is nothing he would not do for her, no mountain he would not climb or creature he would not battle to assure her safety. (Not that she needs him to protect her; he knows this now.)
But Cassiopeia is in the Slytherin Common Room, because it is Yule, because she wants to spend the holiday with her friends. She is curled up on the floor in front of the fire place, leaning against Draco's legs, eyes closed as she listens to Neville regale them with some story about a plant in the Greenhouses. Luna is sitting next to her, head resting on Cassiopeia's shoulder, sharing a blanket with Ginny, who smiles occasionally but spends most of her time staring into the fire. (The redhead is absent again; she is more ghost than girl these days, and it scares them.)
When the entrance to the Common Room slides open, Cassiopeia does not react, simply closes her eyes and rests her head on top of Luna's still form. It is only when she hears someone clear their throat that she moves, glancing up with a frown, wondering who would dare interrupt them. (Someone did interrupt them, once. Insulted them, told them they were not allowed to be in the Common Room, threatened them. He was found in the greenhouses the next day, near-dead after eating a plant known to damage the throat irreparably.) (Neville does not forgive those who threaten his friends, you see?)
There are speculative looks cast towards the thought-to-be gentlest of the group of five. The school has always considered Neville to be the calm to Ginny's chaos, the kindness to Cass' cruelty, the reason to Luna's fancy, the warmth to Draco's ice. They have always seen him as a stabilizing agent, steady and stable, the sole reason Ginny-Draco-Cass-Luna have not destroyed Hogwarts yet.
They have thought this for so long it has become near-fact in the minds of the Hogwarts students. To see the scenes playing out on the walls, it is beginning to occur to the students that perhaps, the nature-loving boy is not what they thought he was. (You are only just now thinking you may be wrong? Darling students, have you not been watching? Of course he is dangerous; you have just been too blind.)
Neville smiles at them, then, and it is nothing like the sunlight-thawing-an-icy-lake smiles they have seen on his face in the years before. This smile is sharp and mocking, the smile of a rose that has been hiding its thorns in order to fool the world.
As one, the entirety of Hogwarts shudders.
(Augusta Longbottom sees this smile, and for the first time, her grandson does not seem like the copy of his father she has always seen him as. He is someone new, she sees that now, someone dangerous, someone loyal.) (She wishes she had seen him for who he was earlier. Is it too late to make amends?)
(To the side, Albus Dumbledore is fuming. His voice is still stolen, but he can cast spells without speaking. His reason holds him in check, for now, but it will not last forever. He will snap. And then he will die.)
Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle stand there. But there is something wrong about them - they slouch more than they usually do, fiddle with their sleeves in the way no raised pureblood does, shift from foot to foot in a manner she has never seen them portray before.
Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle stand there, but they also don't. This is not Vincent or Gregory; someone is playing a game of imposter, and they have been caught, although they don't know it yet.
She glances up at Draco, but he is already sneering at the boys. He has also seen what she has, has also seen the differences, has realized that these boys are not who they are pretending to be. She smiles; Draco looks down at her, and he smirks back.
Harry and Ronald stiffen in their seats, ignoring the wary look Remus sends them as he catches the miniscule movement out of the corner of his eyes. The two boys exchange a glance, fear-anger-disbelief flitting across their faces. Hermione feels those emotions, too, as she looks at her friends. (They assured her no one had noticed. They assured her they hadn't been caught.)
Amelia's eyes narrow, and she stops taking notes on her parchment in order to focus more fully on the scene. It is not illegal to make Polyjuice Potion (and of course this is Polyjuice, what else could it be?) but it is dangerous. There are meant to be wards to stop this from happening inside Hogwarts; why did these wards not interfere?
They lead them on, her and Draco, playing a game of cat and mouse. (Except the mice are not aware that they are being hunted. Foolish mice.) The imposters ask questions: who is the heir of Slytherin? (Their eyes slide to Cassiopeia.) Who might want to kill all of the muggleborns in the school? (Draco tells them it is probably Snape. Cassiopeia laughs as she suggests Lockhart.) Do they know what the monster is? (A person, naturally. Only people are ever monsters. Otherwise, it is just a beast. And beasts cannot be blamed for doing what is in their nature.)
When the imposters leave, it is with no more information than they had when they arrive. When the imposters leave, it is to the sound of Neville and Luna laughing loudly at the game of cat and mouse that has just taken place. (Even Ginny cracks a smile, absent though she is.) (The mice still are not aware they were hunted.)
When the imposters leave, Cassiopeia is the only one who glimpses a flash of crimson hair and a scar creeping down the side of a face. She swallows her pain (as she has always done) and smiles at her friends.
(Harry, Harry, who are you becoming?) (Cassiopeia almost does not recognize her friend anymore.)
Remus buries his face in his hands, and lets out a slow breath. (Gold begins to creep into his eyes as his wolf howls its anger.) He loves Harry, because Harry is James' son and the last piece of his best friend still living. (He is trying to love Harry, but the boy makes it so hard.) He loves Harry (he is trying to love Harry) but Remus is not sure he can take much more of this without snapping.
How many times has Harry hurt his daughter? How many times has Cass been in pain because of someone she once thought was a friend?
She may not call herself his daughter anymore, but he is still her father. A fucked-up father who has made too many mistakes to count, that is true, but a father nonetheless. He cannot stand seeing his daughter in pain.
(Will he still be able to look at Harry, when this is over?) (No, not if Harry continues to hurt Cass as he has done.)
Hermione Granger is found petrified outside the library. She is found lying next to Penelope Clearwater, another victim of the monster. The younger girl holds a mirror in her hand; both of them have expressions of terror on their faces.
Cassiopeia is not aware of this. When she enters the castle, it is with leaves in her hair and a smile on her face. She has been in the forest again, has spent the day leaping over logs and ducking into hollows. There are leaves in her hair, and dirt on her skin, and a smile on her face.
She does not know that Hermione has been petrified. (It would not bother her much if she knew; Hermione has always been Harry's friend, not hers.)
Hermione gasps when she sees this. She gasps, and her head snaps to Cass, and there are a million different statements rising in her throat. She is offended. (Cass should at least care if Hermione died.) She is disgusted. (How can anyone be this callous about human life?) She is angry. (How could Cass be so indifferent?)
Hermione shrieks something (too many words are in her throat; the scream is unintelligible even to herself) and some in the hall wince, but many others give her a cold look.
"Cass has never been under any obligation to care for you," Susan Bones points out, tone bland, her face utterly bored with this scene. (She has never liked Hermione much.) "She's right, you're Harry's friend. Would you care if Cass died?"
"Of course I would!" Hermione shrieks, scandalized. (Would you really, Hermione Granger? Would you mourn her, or would you be relieved?) (No tears would fall from your eyes, and everyone knows that.)
She does not know that Hogwarts is about to be closed. (She would not care if it did. She can make plans to see her friends, can find books on magic in Knockturn, can teach herself spells even without a school.)
She does not know that she is blamed. (Of course she is blamed; she is a Black, is she not? Never mind that she has buried that name, never mind that she has disowned that family, never mind that she has created a new family for herself.)
Paddy whines, tucks his head beneath his paws. He doesn't want to see this. (And yet he keeps watching.) He doesn't want to know the pain his name has caused his daughter. (His name, his curse. A curse he passed on to the daughter, even though she tried to bury it.) (He has never felt more ashamed.)
He can't speak, but if he could, there would be apologies spilling from his lips like a winter blizzard that does not stop until it has covered the world. He doesn't even know what he wants to apologize for - leaving her? Not being there when she needed him? Condemning her to the very place he ran away from? Cursing her with his name?
He wants to apologize for all that and more. But he can't speak, because dogs are not people and dogs do not have the vocal chords for speaking.
(Besides, he thinks, looking at where his daughter sits and seeing only a few stray curls spilling out from the tangled limbs of all the Pevensie siblings, even if he could speak, he has nothing to say that she would like to hear.)
She does not know any of this, when she enters the castle. When Harry finds her wandering down an empty corridor, a smile on her face as she enjoys the lingering taste of freedom on her tongue. When he calls her name to get her attention, because she has not noticed him stalking towards her. When she turns around, smiling at her friend, only to stumble into the wall as his fist collides with her jaw.
Remus has been angry before. He has been angry, world-screaming-in-his-ears furious. He'd always thought his anger was loud, an explosion that erupted and left devastation in its wake. He can still remember screaming at Sirius after their sixth year, can still remember yelling curses at the Death Eaters that dared to attack Diagon Alley, can still remember screaming himself hoarse upon learning of his husband's supposed betrayal of the Potters.
And Remus was right. His anger is loud, in a way the werewolf has never been. But his fury? His fury is colder than ice, and twice as deadly.
"You hit her," Remus growls, and there is more wolf than man in his voice. At his side, Paddy is growling, and then suddenly there is no longer a dog beside him but a man, his husband leaping forward with his face twisted into a rictus of fury, restrained at the last moment by Minerva McGonagall. And now there is screaming around them, people panicking over Sirius Black's abrupt appearance, people screaming at Harry for what he has done, but Remus cannot pay attention to any of them. He stares at Harry, and the boy stares back, eyes wide as he sees (for the first time) the predator that has always lurked underneath Remus Lupin's skin. When Remus next speaks, it is a snarl that should not be able to be heard, but he knows that Harry does indeed hear it from how the boy pales. "You...hit...my daughter."
(Idly, some part of him points out that she isn't really his daughter, that she has long since cast aside that particular title. But she will always be his daughter - he held her when she was born, he named her, he watched her eyes open for the first time. She is his daughter, forever and always, even if she does not claim him as her father.)
Remus launches himself forwards, but a spell catches him before he can reach the boy. (The boy who dared to hit his daughter, the boy who dared to break her heart, the boy who dared to betray her.)
"ENOUGH!" Minerva McGonagall roars, and then she waves her wand and Remus is tied to his seat, next to Sirius. His husband is snarling and tearing at the ropes, promising vengeance, but Remus remains silent, staring at Harry until the boy has no choice but to look away. "Remus, Sirius, that was an utterly disgraceful display, and I have never been so ashamed of you." Remus finds he doesn't care much about her shame; he cares more about the fact that she is keeping him from avenging his daughter. "Everyone, yes, this is Sirius Black. He is innocent of all his crimes. If you do not believe that, at least believe that I will do my best to keep all of you safe. And lastly, Mister Potter, it might be best if you moved away from your current seating."
She looks at Harry once, but then looks away, finding herself unable to see him without feeling the urge to cast several jinxes. She glances at him once, and sees Lily's eyes but none of her kindness, and sees James' skin but none of his loyalty, and it is too painful to look at him again after that. (How could he have betrayed Cass like that?)
"How could you?" Harry is screaming at her, something he has never done before. There is fury in his voice, an anger she has never before seen in her friend. (Are they still friends? Does she still know him?) It reminds her of Vernon's fists, of Petunia's shrieks, of her grandmother's screams. (Harry, what have you become?) "How could you?" Harry repeats, and now he is hitting Cassiopeia, and she is letting him because this is Harry, this is her first friend, this is the boy who saved her life by teaching her how to love. How could she hurt him? (How could he hurt her?) "This is all your fault," Harry rages, and a numbness is creeping over Cassiopeia now, a blankness she has not felt since she was five and living with her grandmother. "You petrified Colin, and Justin, and now Hermione too?"
Cassiopeia stares at him. He scowls, shoves her away, face twisted into a rictus of fury as she falls against the wall once more. "You're a monster," he spits, and that hurts her more than it should, hurts more than it would if it came from any other person. Because this is Harry, who has seen her good and her bad and has stuck by her through it all. (Has he really?) This is her friend. (This is her enemy.) "YOU HEAR ME? YOU'RE A MONSTER! I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS! I'LL KILL YOU LIKE YOU TRIED TO KILL HERMIONE! I HATE YOU! I WISH WE'D NEVER MET!"
This time, it is not Sirius that lunges at Harry. It is Ginny who throws herself at the black-haired boy, fire curling around her hands as she rains punch after punch down on his skin, snarling as she makes him feel an ounce of the pain he caused her friend-leader-god. The teachers make to intervene, but Neville twists his hand and vines curl around the professors limbs, thorns digging into their skin, a warning of what will happen if they continue.
(He does not spill blood, not yet. He will not do that until payment has been demanded.)
Draco is the one who pulls Ginny off of Harry, and the boy lets out a sigh of relief that is cut off by Draco spinning around and pinning Harry to the ground, one hand wrapped around his throat, icy eyes staring down at emerald gazes. Ronald yells and rushes him, Hermione casts spell after spell at the blonde boy, but then Luna is standing next to him, defending him from those who would wish to get in the way of his revenge.
"You don't touch her," Draco spits, and there is frost creeping down his hands as he stares down at Harry, ice so cold it burns the other's skin. "You don't look at her. You don't speak to her. You don't touch her. If you ever do, you will die. And it will be by her hands, and we will watch and laugh as you burn."
Dumbledore rises then, wand in his hand as he advances towards the two of them. He makes to cast a spell upon Draco, but his wand spins out of his hand as he raises it, falling to the ground with a quiet thud that echoes through the silent hall.
Cass lowers her hand, eyes fixed upon the headmaster, daring him to do anything to her cousin. Luna stands hand in hand with Ginny before the beanbag the Pevensies are sprawled upon, and Neville stands behind them, four pairs of eyes glowing as they stare down the headmaster. Plants crack the stone at the headmasters feet, deadly flowers and thorny bushes surrounding the aging man. The air around him heats, the edges of his beard singeing as sparks fill the space around his face. Words are whispered in his ears, oaths of retribution, words of power.
"Try us," Cass smiles. It is not a nice smile. It is the smile of someone aching to spill blood.
Dumbledore, wisely, sits down again.
(This will not be the last they see of him, he swears to himself. He will not let these children intimidate him.)
She blinks. (The world is foggy around her, Harry blurring with her grandmother, voices overlapping as they scream incoherently.) Her lungs burn, and she opens her mouth to breathe but cannot seem to get air into her lungs. (She can't breathe, but that's okay. She doesn't need to breathe anyway. Air is only for people, and she isn't a person.) She is moving away from the screaming now, only she isn't because she doesn't have a body, cannot feel her body, but the screaming is vanishing, or she is vanishing. (She vanished once, a girl turned ghost turned memory. It felt a lot like this.)
She walks, although she isn't sure how she does that, because she doesn't have a body.
The taste of blood fills her mouth.
Behind her, someone is screaming.
As the younger form of Cass stumbles away from her once-friend, dripping blood and betrayal behind her as she goes, all eyes in the Hall turn to the Pevensies. The Pevensies, who have been far too still as Harry attacks their sister. The Pevensies, who many don't think have even breathed since Harry first attacked Cass.
The Pevensies, who everyone forgot for a time are the ones they should all be scared of.
They remember now, as Susan rises to her feet with daggers in her hands, as Lucy slips off of Cass' lap and prowls closer to Harry, as Peter draws his sword with a whisper of steel, as shadows curl around Edmund's wrists. (As Susan's lips curl into a bloody smile, as Lucy's teeth curl into fangs, as Peter's nails sharpen to claws, as Edmund's eyes dim until there is no light to be seen in them.) They remember who it is they should be fearing.
They smile, the Pevensies, and some animal instinct has the entire hall scrambling away from them.
"Our sister," Peter whispers, and they are sure they did not see him move but then he is standing in front of Harry, and the boy has a cut on his cheek, blood dripping onto the boy's clothes. "Our sister," Peter repeats, and now there are more cuts decoration Harry's skin, "is not some toy you can leave behind when you grow tired of it."
Harry scrambles to his feet, backs away from Peter, draws his wand and fires off spells with stumbling lips, paling as the spells splash against the Pevensies and fade away into nothingness. (Only Olde Magick affects those who have grown up amidst the wilds of Narnia; did you really think your spells would do anything to these not-mortal beings?)
"You should never have touched her," Susan hisses, dancing forwards and pressing a kiss to Harry's cheek, the skin where her lips touch burning like acid. He yells, rubs at his face, but he is Marked now, Marked by the Queen, Marked for punishment.
Lucy follows on Susan's heels, the youngest Pevensie darting forward and slashing her claws down Harry's chest, gouging the skin with the mark of the wild creatures. She spins, rakes her claws down his back as well, and then laughs when Hermine tries to spell her, cackling as she sprints towards the bushy-haired witch. When Lucy retreats to her siblings, climbing back onto Cass' lap and glaring at the Golden Trio, there are claw marks marring Hermione's face, and Ronald is missing a chunk of flesh from his arm.
Edmund is the last of them to step forwards, thd darkness coming with him as he walks, shadows roiling in his footsteps, stretching out from his fingers. He is cold, Edmund, colder than the winter snows, colder than the deepest part of the ocean. There is a promise in his eyes, a promise of pain. "I curse you," Edmund hisses, eyes gleaming with power as he calls upon the Olde Magick his twin loves so, "I curse you, Harry James Potter, Hermione Jean Granger, Ronald Bilius Weasley. May you feel the pain you have inflicted upon others return to you tenfold. May you never find peace, not in this life nor the next."
Hermione does not believe in curses that do not come from a wand. Ronald does not believe in anything he cannot see. Harry does not believe in curses, but only because Hermione does not.
None of them believe in curses, and yet, a shiver runs down their spines at Edmund's words. (They feel hunted, cornered, trapped with no way out.) Hermione glances at where Cass still lounges on the beanbag, Lucy perched on her lap watching this happen with a smirk on her face and death in her eyes. Hermione begs the other girl with her eyes, beseeches her to reverse whatever Edmund has done, begs to her spare them. (What right do you have to ask this of her, Hermione Granger? You, who convinced Harry she was not trustworthy? You, who has been a cause of her pain?)
Cold silver eyes meet pleading brown orbs. Hermione looks away first.
When she next looks at Cass, the other is facing the wall once again. She is not furious, like her siblings, who have long since sworn to avenge their sister. She is not angry, like her friends. (Her friends, who watch this with smirks on their face, who keep Albus Dumbledore and the professors from interfering.)
Cass simply does not care about them. (And that hurts more than her friends' anger, her siblings' rage.)
It is only when a flash of red passes her vision that Cassiopeia comes back to herself; not entirely, but enough to be aware of her body, enough to be aware that she has a body. (She could have sworn it had disappeared.)
A flash of red passes her vision, and Cassiopeia blinks, and then Ginny is standing in front of her, mouth moving as the redhead says something. Except there is something wrong with Ginny, too, a jerkiness to her motions that has a bubble of near-hysterical laughter rising in Cassiopeia's throat as she thinks of marionettes twirling about on strings. (Aren't they all just puppets in the end, obeying the whims of someone more powerful than them?) There is a blankness in Ginny's eyes that would scare Cassiopeia, if she was aware enough to be scared.
Red drips from her friend's hands, staining the floor.
Seeing the blankness on the younger form of his twin, Edmund flies back to the beanbag where she lounges, placing himself at her side and allowing her to lean into his side, the two halves of one soul curling together on the seat until it becomes nigh impossible to see where one ends and the other begins.
He whispers things to her, in a language no one but them knows, the tongue of darkness and light that even their siblings cannot speak. He assures her she is safe, promises she will never feel like that again, swears to be at her side for all eternity. And she does not smile, but he feels her relax slightly against him, and when she tells him that she knows he will stay with her, it is Edmund who smiles, pressing a kiss to her hair and holding her even tighter.
(He will do anything for her. He will burn the world to the ground if that would make her smile. He will capture the stars if that is what makes her laugh.) (There is nobody Edmund is more devoted to. There is nobody more devoted to him.)
Ginny is still speaking, saying something, but the shape of the words is all wrong, silky smoothness and rounded edges taking the place of Ginny's usual chaotic jaggedness and sharp edges. And there is something wrong with her magic, too, a weakness Cassiopeia has not seen before, a dullness that is nothing like the usual sparkle of the redhead's magic. Cassiopeia reaches towards the magic, frowning, wondering if she can fix it, but Ginny stops her hand, and now there is a scowl on her friend's face as the redhead begins to walk away, dragging Cassiopeia behind her with a strength no one knew she had.
Ginny lets out a noise akin to an injured animal and flees back to her seat by the Pevensies, pressing her forehead to Cass' knee and murmuring apologies over and over. She has never known what happened in this time, has never known how Cass ended up in the Chamber of Secrets with her - she has asked, of course she has, but Cass has always refused to tell.
("There's no need to be forgiven," Cass had said, with eyes a million years older than she was, "because that wasn't you.") (She'd refused to tell Ginny what the not-her had done, because as much as Ginny has always wanted to know, Cass refuses to allow Ginny to blame herself for something she did not do.) (She'd never wanted Ginny to know how close the not-her came to killing Cass.)
Cassiopeia would fight, but to fight she needs to be angry, and there is no anger inside of her now. There is no anger, no fury, no hatred. (It is the first time those feelings have left her. She feels empty.) Cassiopeia would fight, but her body still feels like a stranger's, and besides, this is Ginny Weasley, this is her friend, why would she fight her friend?
But Harry fought her, so maybe she is meant to fight her friends?
Cassiopeia blinks, and now they are underneath the school, in a massive room made of stone. Ginny has let go of her now, and some part of Cassiopeia wishes that she hadn't, because she is so cold and Ginny's hands were warm. Ginny is speaking, as she had spoken before, but now the words filter through Cassiopeia's ears, sounding dull and hollow but understandable.
"You saw me," the Ginny look-alike (because it must be a look-alike, that isn't Ginny, Cassiopeia knows her friend she knew Harry too and this isn't her) snarls, and there is fury on the redhead's face. Idly, Cassiopeia questions if it was Ginny who stole her fury, and wonders if her friend will return it to her. "You saw me," the Ginny look-alike repeats, and then a noise like a thousand snakes slips out of her mouth, and something in the room begins to move. "It's a pity; you could have been a good asset. But now you must die. I cannot have you spoiling my plans."
Neville-Draco-Luna follow Ginny now, fleeing to their spots by the Pevensie siblings, huddling around Ginny (they see the comfort she needs, and they have never withheld comfort when it is needed) and casting Cass worried looks. (They know she is powerful; they know that she can protect herself.) (They hate that she has had to save herself because no one else was willing to help.)
(They would have helped, if they'd known, if they'd been there.)
Cassiopeia still feels detached from the world, but her mind is waking up again, and suddenly two things become startlingly, terribly clear. One, this is Ginny, but it is someone else too, someone who is killing her friend slowly, who has been killing her all year. (Ginny would hate that, dying in such an understated way, dying quietly and near unnoticed.) Two, Cassiopeia has to run, because there is something terrible in that room and if she wants to live long enough to help Ginny she needs to move, now.
As something moves towards her, Cassiopeia turns on her heel and begins to run. She sprints into a tunnel that seems to appear out of nowhere, and something is chasing her, but she is fast, and she is a lot smaller than whatever is coming after her. She can twist and turn in ways that the creature (because what else could it be?) cannot, can dart through offshoot tunnels and slip through the bars of grates that close off certain tunnels.
It is a strange feeling, to be running in a body that still does not feel like something that is hers.
Susan knows that feeling, more intimately than any of her siblings would wish. She knows what it is to live in a body that does not feel like something that is hers. ("Just like your mother," people had whispered for her entire childhood, and she'd lost herself. Who was Susan, but a copy of her mother?) (It was only when they entered Narnia that she'd felt alive, that she'd felt like her body was hers and no one else's.)
Susan knows that feeling, and that is why she flits to Cass' side, draping herself against her younger sister's side, running a soothing hand down her middle sister's arm. Cass shifts slightly, legs stretching over Susan's lap, and the older Pevensie smiles softly, moving even closer towards the curled-together forms of her middle siblings.
(There is nothing in this world that she would not do for them.)
The creature behind her hisses (so it is a snake, then) and Cassiopeia darts to the side moments before a massive head snaps at the air where she was standing just moments before. Off-balance, the girl stumbles into a smaller tunnel, but there is a stone she does not see and now she is falling but she can't fall because there is a creature right behind her and she has to save Ginny and she can't die, not until she is sure her friends are okay, but she is still falling and the snake is looming behind her with an open mouth and she opens her mouth to scream-
She is falling, and then she hits something soft and cold.
She is falling, and then she is lying on the ground in the middle of a snow-covered forest.
She is falling, and then she is not.
There is silence, for a long moment. It is a fragile silence, a loaded silence, a silence filled with horror-apprehension-confusion-fearfearFEAR. It is the silence of the professors, whose eyes are wide as they stare at the scene, as they see what they have failed to protect their students from. It is the silence of Narcissa and Amelia, mothers who hate seeing children in pain, clutching each other tightly as tears trail down their cheeks. It is the silence of Peter Pevensie, standing in front of the beanbag upon which his siblings lie, standing in front of the people Cass has claimed as her friends, hand on his sword as he eyes the rest of the hall warily.
In the end, it is Peter Pevensie who break the silence.
"I believe we are all in need for a break," he says stiffly, a lion's growl echoing quietly beneath the spoken words. (He hates seeing his sister flee for her life; he hates that he was not there to help her, to save her, to protect her.) There are protests, but Peter does not listen to any of them, and the magic that is powering this seems to listen to him, the scene on the wall remaining frozen and not continuing even when Remus Lupin leaps to his feet and yells for it to continue.
Peter ignores all the protestations. He turns to his siblings, something fierce and protective rising in his chest as he sees them all huddled together, not a single space between any of them.
As the hall fills with yells and protests and accusations, Peter Pevensie sits by his siblings and smiles.
(How will they react when they see Narnia?)