Eighteen
Let me tell you that you're messing with the wrong bitch now, can't let you forget, it's me who wears the crown. And if you dare stand in my way then baby, I'mma cut you down. You're messing with the wrong bitch now, I'm calling out for blood; it echoes in the crowd. And if you're gonna beg, then do it now, or else I'm gonna stain my gown.
- MWTWB, Amalee
It's a beautiful night for a bloodbath. Well darling, dance with me. Feel the beat in your chest, let your feet do the rest, and make this dance complete. It takes two to tango, it takes two to swing, it takes two like you and me. My dear monsier, my femme fatale, please make this dance complete.
- Femme Fatale, Coyote Kid
"We weren't sure when to give this to you." Susan approaches the place where her siblings have sat themselves down on the bank of a stream, just a few steps away from the tree they had managed to coax Cassiopeia down from. She holds something in her arms, a blanket knotted into a bundle which contains the gifts she and Peter and Lucy were given to pass on to the twins. She smiles at her siblings, the smile that only they ever get to see, fierce and bold and brighter than the sun itself. "But I think that this is the perfect time."
It is a strange sight, for many in the hall, to see Cass sitting so close to the ones they now know to be her siblings. It is strange, to see her so at ease so quickly with these people she does not truly know, when even with Draco-Luna-Neville-Ginny it took daysmonthsyears before she stopped flinching when they moved too close too suddenly. And even now, it is only with those four that Cass loses some of her seemingly-permanent tenseness, the rigid lines of her body softening to something vulnerable and tender.
It is a strange sight, to see Cass lying with her head in her older brother's lap, to see her smiling slightly even when there seems to be nothing to smile at, to see her take a breath and close her eyes and trust that no one around her will hurt her.
It is not a thing they have seen before, this easy trust. Cass trusts in increments; the only people she trusts with secrets are Draco-Luna-Ginny-Neville, and even then she only ever trusts them in hidden places, places no one will see her vulnerability. No one outside of her inner circle has ever seen how her nose scrunches when she smiles, how she hums quietly with each breath as she relaxes into her older brother's lap.
She seems, suddenly, all-together too human. It is a beautiful sight; it is a terrible sight.
Edmund looks up from where he is leaning against Peter, and Cassiopeia tilts her head, glancing up at her older sister (and isn't that a strange thought?) from where she lies with her head in Peter's lap. Susan looks at the twins (together, like they were always meant to be) and an old wound in her heart begins to scab over. (One day, she will look down at her hands and they won't be stained with the blood of her mother.)
"What is it?" Edmund leans forward as Susan sits down by her siblings, setting the bundle on the ground before raising an arm and resting it around Lucy's shoulders when her baby sister darts towards her. Cassiopeia sits up, intrigued, and the twins shuffle closer, Cassiopeia reaching out and deftly untying the knots holding the bundle closed. The blanket falls away, revealing the objects that are meant to be the twins', and Edmund tilts his head to the side in curiousity.
Sirius takes a breath upon seeing his daughter so relaxed, so happy. (She is still on edge, shoulders tense and eyes darting around her surroundings. What does it say that even when she is still wary, it is the most relaxed he has ever seen her look?)
He forgets to let the air out again after seeing Edmund (her twin) tilt his head.
He forgets to breath, because that is the exact same gesture Cass makes when she encounters something that puzzles or entices her. It is something he has always loved about her (loved from afar, because she would never let him love her from closer), her tendency to tilt her head akin to a bird or a cat.
It takes his breath away, for a moment, to see someone else do that gesture. Someone looking so similar to his daughter (not his daughter), but so different at the same time.
They are twins. They are one and the same.
Is this what they would have looked like, had they grown up together?
(Something inside of him aches for these children who were separated before they even knew of each other.)
There are four items lying in the blanket, two for each twin. (Four for the twins, because everyone knows better than to think they will not share their gifts with each other.) Two rings tangle together, simple bands made of a material none of them can name, gleaming every colour imaginable but at the same time existing without any colour at all. A bracelet carved with flowing runes which glow slightly, the light pulsing like a hearbeat. And a collapsable staff, the same blue as the midnight sky, unfamiliar constellations twining around it.
The twins look at the objects, then at each other. Their siblings smile at them, the elder two fondly (it's so good to see Edmund whole, to see the sister they never got to know) whilst Lucy beams at her siblings, bouncing up and down as she waits for them to pick up their gifts.
Gasps echo around the hall at the sight of these objects, these undeniably foreign things, these otherworldly beautiful gifts. People chatter about the constellations (how they gleam as though stars themselves, taken from the sky and trapped in a staff), and they awe over the rings (the absence and existence of colour all at once, everything and nothing given physical form) and they marvel at the bracelet (runes that none of them recognize curve around its surface, and a few that are known, each carving shining with a power not known in this world).
Heads turn as the students and professors of Hogwarts peer at the Pevensie siblings, a mass of eyes trying to see if the twins have their gifts with them. Someone catches sight of a staff hung at Cass' hip, constellations swirling through it for a moment before she shifts, her cloak hiding the weapon once more. A Ravenclaw peers at Edmund, and practically begins to salivate as they spy the bracelet clasped around his wrist.
The only thing the students of the hall cannot see is the rings, those everything-nothing bands. People crane their heads, trying to catch a glimpse of the matching bands, but it is to no avail; many begin to wonder what made the twins abandon that gift.
(Here is the truth: Cass wears her ring on a chain around her neck, hanging as close to her heart as it can get. Edmund still wears his ring on his finger, but has cast a glamour over it, not wanting it to be seen by any eyes bar his and his siblings.) (Here is the truth: the rings are the only gift the twins would never think about giving up.)
They reach out together, after a moment of hesitation, each picking up one of the rings. Cassiopeia slips it onto the middle finger of her left hand, and Edmund places it on the same finger of his right hand. The rings shift as soon as they have settled upon the twins' skin; Cassiopeia's burns golden for a moment, and Edmund's shimmers mint green. The colours remain for just a moment, flashing and changing until it seems the rainbow has been trapped inside the rings. Susan-Peter-Lucy wonder at the meaning behind the colours, and Edmund's brow furrows as he ponders at the significance of there being two matching rings, but Cassiopeia merely tilts her head. (Her magic purrs at the ring. She knows that there are things hidden about this ring, qualities she does not yet know about.) (Orange lights up Edmund's ring, disappearing as quickly as it appears.)
"What do the colours mean?" Blaise Zabini asks from where he lounges on a seat not too far from the Pevensie siblings, his arm wrapped around Theo Nott and his eyes fixed upon the Pevensie twins, knowing that they are the only ones who have the answers he seeks. (He knows colours, Blaise Zabini. He grew up with a mother as deadly as she was graceful, a mother who taught him types of poisons one day and showed him what flowers look best together the next.) (He knows colours, and he knows magic. And this is how he knows that there is more to these rings than anything one might think of them at first glance.)
Cass meets his eyes, and there is laughter dancing across her face, wild and mischievous and perhaps just a little unhinged. She shakes her head, just a little, and Blaise sighs but cannot quite hide the laughter flashing through his eyes, the joy of the queen-general-god infectious.
"Tell you what," Cass calls after a moment of deliberation, winking at Blaise. "Bring your boyfriend over here in the next break and I'll tell you both what the colours mean."
Blaise laughs now, properly, a long and loud sound that has hackles raising across the hall. He looks at Draco, and his friend inclines his head. He looks back at Cass, and he grins. (It is not as feral as hers, not as jagged. But it is sharp, and cunning, and something in her purrs.) (This is another one like her, she knows. Another one like her siblings. Another one she will protect, because he is like them, because he is a part of Narnia despite never having been there.)
"I'm taking this," Cassiopeia grins at her twin, snatching the staff and holding it close to her chest. Edmund huffs, laughing quietly when his twin sticks her tongue out at him, and reaches for the bracelet. He holds it close to his face, examining the runes etched into the metal with an intrigued look on her face. His twin leans closer, and he holds the bracelet out to her, but she shakes her head after a moment of consideration. "I don't know what it says," she murmurs, the words apologetic. "The Court used a different means of writing. And I have not yet read the books on runes in the library."
At this closer look at the bracelet, every Ravenclaw in the hall (and more than a few students from the other three houses) leans forwards, breathless with their desire to study that intriguing metal jewelry piece. Edmund sees this from the corner of his eyes, and a smile creeps onto his lips, one he cannot stifle. (One he does not want to stifle.)
(These are his sister's people, whether they know it or not. And as such, they are his people, too. Why should he not smile at them?) (It is lovely to see that they can still be children, despite the war going on around them.)
He does not promise them anything. He does not dare. (Twin or not, Cass would have his head should he promise them false hope of any kind, should he make a promise and then break it.) But silently, Edmund thinks to himself that perhaps he will allow these students to study the bracelet he has never taken off. Perhaps they deserve to be allowed to study the secrets of Narnia.
Perhaps (just perhaps) they will not have to die in a senseless war. (Maybe he can save them. Maybe they can save them all.)
Edmund places a hand over hers, smiling in a way that tells her that there is nothing for her to apologize for. (Susan and Peter smile tenderly. How wonderful it is to see their little brother smiling.) (How wonderful it is to see their little brother whole for the first time in his life.)
(All of them carefully do not mention the offhanded comment of 'the court'. They will wait for Cassiopeia to tell them that story, in her own time. They will not pry; she has lived a whole life without them, and needs time to learn how to have siblings.)
Lucy tackles them in a hug when she can no longer bear to simply watch, filling the air with her laughter. Cassiopeia and Edmund wrap their arms around her without hesitation, smiling in a way that is both heartbreakingly tender and unbearably sorrowful. (This is what they should have been, what they should have had. They should not have had to grow up apart.) Peter and Susan then join the embrace, wrapping their arms around the twins, and all five of the siblings sigh quietly.
It is in Narnia, on the cusp of a battle and having left behind everyone they have known, that a family is reunited.
Narnia brings them together, and for that they owe her everything.
Something in Remus' heart aches at the sight, a sharp pain which steals his breath and leaves him pained and bereft.
He sees his daughter, curled into a family he has never known, curled into the people she claimed as siblings because he left her because she was alone and she was a child and she wanted to know what it was like to be loved.
(He watches her turn to others, because he abandoned her.) (And he did abandon her, didn't he? There is no use trying to phrase it differently. Remus Lupin abandoned his only daughter.) (And she is his daughter, no matter if her soul was once someone else's. He knows this now, as he sees the smile on her younger face, so similar to how he looks when he is happy.)
(Remus Lupin abandoned his daughter. The words taste like grief on his tongue.)
Before a battle commences, there are things that must be done. Steps that must be followed, preparations made, to give the army their best chance of making it through the soon-to-be fight alive and mostly intact. There are things that must be done, in the time before a war begins.
It is a difficult reminder, that this is not a happy story. (Is any story a happy story? Has there ever been such a thing as a happy story?) It is a difficult reminder, that as much as these are children who have discovered the entirety of their family for the first time in their lives, they are also children who have stumbled into a war that was never meant for them. (A war that was only ever meant for them.)
Amelia shakes her head, sighing slightly as she holds onto Narcissa Malfoy's hand, the two women trading tear-filled looks. (For a moment, just a moment, they could pretend that the children would be allowed to simply be children.) Ginny scowls, sparks flickering from the tips of her fingers as she clutches onto her girlfriend and boyfriend. (Is Cass ever going to be allowed to be happy without needing to fight for her happiness?) Sirius Black closes his eyes and swallows the scream rising in his throat. (He should have been there. He should have been there. He should have been there.)
Weapons must be made ready.
Peter runs a whetstone down the blade of the sword given to him by the man he knows as Father Christmas, gaze pensive as he sharpens the blade he never thought he would have to wield. He holds the sword up to the light, and the metal gleams as the sun strikes it. (He can almost hear the sword begging to spill blood.) (For a moment, just a moment, the reflection in the blade changes. Instead of a boy walking into a war for the first time, there stands a king with thunderstorm eyes and lightning flashing through his hair. But Peter does not notice the image of the he-that-he-will-be, and it has disappeared in another blink of the eyes.)
Edmund does not have a sword that is already his, nor does he particularly want one. He is more than just Peter's shadow, and refuses to wield the same weapon as his elder brother. Aeliv is the one to present him with an array of daggers, crafted from a fallen meteoroid and blessed by the spirits of winter. Edmund looks at the daggers, sees how they seem to absorb all the light that touches them, and a smile cuts across his face. (Jagged and sharp, filled with the promise of pain.) (This is the smile of someone looking for vengeance.) (He does not see the poison ivy which creeps across the ground, but Aeliv does, and the dryad smiles.)
Albus Dumbledore shudders at the sight of these siblings preparing for a war, not quite able to shake the dread creeping down his spine. He sees the gleam in Peter Pevensie's eyes, sees the subtle smile on Edmund Pevensie's lips as he holds onto daggers gifted to him, and he shudders.
(There is something terrifying, about children who are not afraid to shed blood. There is something world-ending about a child prepared to kill.)
(Albus Dumbledore shudders, but he hardens his heart too.) (This is why we must kill them, he writes on a piece of parchment for the few people who still listen to him. They see his words, and they nod. They are monsters, he writes, and none of them seem to realize that perhaps a monster is not such a bad thing to be.)
(If they are monsters, then what are you, Albus Dumbledore?)
Plans must be made.
Susan stands at the head of a table, looking at the maps laid in front of her as those who will become her subjects look on with wariness. She is the youngest in the room by far, but that matters little to a girl who has spent her life surviving a war. She knows what it takes to fight, what it takes to win. Edmund stands at her side, and Peter inputs his own ideas whenever he walks by them, and Susan smiles. (A cruel thing.) Girls who grow up in war know how to spill blood, and with her siblings at her sides there is nothing Susan will not do in order to ensure that they win. (She remembers what the twins looked like, after their escape from the White Witch, and fury sparks within her.) (The other leaders of the army see the singed handprints on the table where she is leaning, and look at her like a ruler for the first time.)
All who have seen Cass preparing before the eve of a battle are intimately familiar with this sight, a head of dark hair bent over maps strewn haphazardly over every available surface. They smile at this, this sibling-similarity. (From the back, without being able to see Susan's bluer-than-sky eyes and the paler shade of her skin, one could fool themself into thinking that this is Cass.)
Ginny laughs, cruelly, darkly. Indeed, girls who grow up in war do know how to spill blood. What else would they learn when they grow up in the shadow of those who have died, surrounded by all the places that were once battlefields? (Look at Luna, wielding curses and creatures without remorse. Look at Ginny, fire and blood and teeth. Look at Cass, queen-general-god that she is, being of fury and starlight.)
Little Lucy Pevensie wanders into the forests surrounding the place they now know to be called Cair Paravel, her elder sister at her side. Lucy has no wish to be involved in the war plans, and Cassiopeia has chosen to accompany her little sister whilst her twin assists Susan. Cassiopeia chooses to accompany Lucy, because there is a wildness inside the younger which Cassiopeia knows well, a wildness she wishes to see thrive. And so they wander into the forest, and Cassiopeia shows her sister how to walk without making a sound, and when they come across creatures the two sisters trade smiles and open their mouths and make offers. When they walk out, they walk out closer than before and with an army of wild creatures ready to go to war with them. (As they leave the forest, the scent of rotting seaweed fills the air, and for a moment, the blue of Lucy Pevensie's eyes is the colour of a raging ocean.)
Sirius Black sees the tempest in the youngest Pevensie's eyes, and he swears that he has seen those eyes before. (One does not forget seeing a hurricane everyone Lucy looks at you.) He does not know where he has seen those eyes, or how he has seen them when it seems the Pevensie siblings have not set sight upon him before.
But he knows that he has seen them. And he is not deranged enough (or perhaps, a little too insane) to not be aware that there is something wrong with his brain.
Someone has obliviated him.
But why?
Warriors must be trained.
Edmund and Cassiopeia commandeer a corner of the training fields for themselves, the two with the most to prove, the two with the most to fight for. (Whoever said revenge is not a good motivator?) No one dares to approach them, not even their siblings; there is a certain fury which weights down the air around the twins, a hatred that creates an immovable barrier around them.
Edmund trains with the daggers Aeliv gifted him. He drops them, and fumbles, and falls, but every time he fails his twin is there to help him up and smile at him and promise him that he will succeed. He trainstrainstrains, with his twin at his side. (His reason for fighting.) He teaches himself to fight. He teaches himself to get up off the ground when he falls down. He teaches himself to reach for the hand Cassiopeia extends to him, to accept the help she wishes to offer instead of forcing himself to do it all alone. (Every time he picks up his daggers, he thinks of stitched together mouths and frozen tears and near-silent sobs of fear.)(When he stabs the dummies, he imagines that they are the Witch. It is not enough. He aches to see her blood spilled.)
Remus Lupin looks at this boy, this child-warrior with scars on his body and an unrelenting fury surging through his veins, and he thinks, not of himself, but of Sirius. He looks at Edmund Pevensie, and he remembers his husband, in the days when they were still children who were also preparing themselves for a war. He remembers the fury, the hatred, the desperation to keep his loved ones alive.
(He remembers Sirius waking up screaming in the middle of the night, plagued by nightmares that hadn't happened and memories of things that had. He remembers how Sirius refused to be more than two steps away from Remus and James, utterly terrified that they would disappear the moment he took his eyes off them. He remembers how ardently Sirius ached to reconnect with Regulus, to protect Regulus.) (He remembers how Sirius failed in this last task.)
Remus Lupin looks at Edmund Pevensie, and he thinks of Sirius Black as he once was, and he thinks of how his husband has ended up. And he cannot help but close his eyes and pray that Edmund is given a happier fate than the one his lover has had to endure. (He prays that Edmund will be able to save Cass like Sirius was unable to save Regulus.)
Cassiopeia takes to the staff gifted to her faster than anyone thought possible, learning how to use it to bruise and break and shatter. Many who see her think that staffs are not meant to be able to cause that much damage, and they would be right, but this is a staff gifted by Father Christmas and wielded by a star. Cassiopeia trains and trains and trains, and she has to be reminded to stop by her siblings. She trainstrainstrains, and she begins to learn that there are people in this world she can rely upon.(Cassiopeia runs her hand over her staff and thinks of bloodied smiles and bloodied bodies and enchantments born in pain, and continues to train even as her hands bleed.) (Later, she allows Peter to wrap her hands, and she leans in Susan as the elder embraces her, and she runs through the forest with Lucy, and she allows her walls to drop as she smiles freely at her twin.) (There is companionship, in war. There is family.)
"There is something special about that staff," Luna whispers to her lovers, and to Draco, who is close enough to hear every word she has to say. They smile at her, and they peer at the staff, and they glance at Cass, wondering whether they will get to see what it is that makes such a staff worthy of being wielded by one such as Cass.
"At least we now know why she can always hit with such accuracy," Draco jokes, and Cass laughs lightly from where she has been listening in. (They are sitting so close to her; how could she not listen in?) Her friends smile at the sound, and they smile more when she comes to join them, curling up next to Draco and reaching out to tangle her fingers with Ginny's. It is lovely, to hear her laugh, to see her smile.
She is their general and their god, this is true. But she was their friend first, and she will always be their friend first.
Peter learns how to wield his sword from the centaurs and the fauns, those who have wielded a blade and know what it means to take a life. He is a natural when it comes to swordwork; his subjects are not being flattering when they say he may be the greatest swordsman they have ever seen. (He thinks of the twins lying collapsed on the ground, of the fear on their faces when they woke up, and he climbs to his feet and keeps fighting. He will not lose this war; he will have the Witch's head on a plate for what she has done to his siblings.)
Susan trains with the bow she was given, but when it seems that no matter what she does she will always hit where she aims, she abandons the endeavour. What is the use of training a weapon sure to hit whatever she wishes it to? And so she drifts for a few days, unsure what to do, unsure how she can help beyond planning how they will attack, until one day a faun who escaped from the White Witch (a faun who still bears marks from the shackles that were placed on her) pulls Susan aside and smiles as she hands the almost-Queen a vial of something that glimmers in the light. The faun smiles and so does Susan, an expression that is a little cruel and a little wicked. (The expression of a girl raised in a war.) Susan does not train with her bow; instead, she sits with the dryads and the fauns, learning all she can about the poisons of the world. (She adds them to her siblings' weapons, coats Peter's sword and Cassiopeia's staff and Edmund's knives and Lucy's daggers.) (Some would say that poison is a woman's weapon. Susan smiles and vows to prove them right.)
Lucy learns to wield her little dagger from the dwarves who are adept at using their small size to their advantage, and she learns swiftness from the dryads who emerge from their trees to speak to her and Cassiopeia and Edmund. (And only them.) Lucy spends days in the woods in the company of Cassiopeia, and later the company of Edmund too (because he can hardly bear to leave his twin's side for even a second, now that they are together for the first time in eleven years), and from the creatures that lurk in the shadows she learns to sharpen her nails and sharpen her teeth and howl at those who would dare to oppose her. (For the first time in her life, Lucy is free to succumb to the wildness in her veins.) (She found Narnia, and she brought her siblings to Narnia, and she will fight for her siblings, for her country, until there is no life left in her soul.)
The students of Hogwarts know what it looks like, to prepare for a war you should never have had to fight in. (To prepare for a war that only you can fight.) They know the bloodied hands, the endless hours spent poring over healing spells, the curses stolen from the restricted section and whispered in the darkest parts of the night. They know the tears, the grief, the rage.
They know the desperation. They know it intimately.
It is for this reason that they have come to admire Cass. Their peer, who has stood amongst them for the best and worst periods the school has faced. Their leader, who has refused to bow to those who would attempt to brainwash an entire generation. Their general, who does her best to keep them all alive in any way she can.
It is for this reason that they begin to admire the other Pevensie siblings, for more than just their relationship to Cass. (They know what warriors look like; and these siblings are warriors, that is clear to see.)
This is how a country goes to war: with blood and screams and fury. (With tears and hope and a reason to fight for.)
Peter stands at the head of an army he is too young to lead. (Breathe in, breathe out.) He looks at the people he has named enemy, those creatures that stand on the other side of the soon-to-be-battlefield and jeer and laugh and the boy-king. (Breathe in, breathe out.) He thinks of his siblings: Susan who has always lived in the shadow of their mother, Edmund who walked the world as half-a-person for the longest time, Cassiopeia who never had the chance to learn what a family is, Lucy whose only wish is to see her siblings happy. (Breathe in, breathe out.) He remembers Susan's tender smile, Edmund's quiet laugh, Cassiopeia's hesitant touches, Lucy's fierce devotion. (Breathe in, breathe out.)
Clinging to the thought of the siblings he would raze the world for, Peter Pevensie stands at the head of an army only he can lead and raises the sword he will one day be known for and screams. "FOR NARNIA!" He cries. "AND FOR OUR FUTURE!"
(This is what Peter Pevensie's future looks like: easy smiles and easy laughter. Shared blankets on a cold night. Hugs that are secure in the knowledge that they will always be welcomed. Happiness.) (This is the future he fights for.)
"Did you ever get that future?" Little Dennis Creevey asks the eldest of the Pevensie brothers, longing shining in the eyes of the child. He wants that; he wants a happy future, one where he does not fear for the lives of himself or his friends. He wants that safety, that peace, that belonging.
Peter Pevensie looks at this boy, this tiny child clad in green and silver, this canny student who has watched as his friends are belittled and who has prayed for the safety of his brother every night for the past two years. "Yes," Peter says, because who is he to deny this child the hope he so desperately yearns for? "Yes, I did get that future. And so shall you; we will ensure it."
Edmund and Cassiopeia charge onto a battlefield that they have every right to be on, into a fight that they have the most reason to be in. They follow their eldest sibling into war, and do not hesitate for even a moment. They think of stitched-shut-mouths and enchantment-made-betrayal, and they hold their weapons and scream their fury. (They think, too, of Susan's tears and Peter's shaking hands and Lucy's cries. They think of their siblings and the pain the White Witch has caused them, and they grit their teeth.) (They will never let her cause that pain again.)
Thinking of their siblings who have smiled and wept and screamed for them, Edmund and Cassiopeia Pevensie bare their teeth with a fury that they are too young to wield and tighten their grips upon the weapons that will soon be dripping with blood. "FOR OUR FUTURE!" Their brother cries, and they smile as they charge towards the enemy.
(This is what Cassiopeia and Edmund's future is: wild things running through the woods, knowing that they have a home they can always return to. Unrestrained laughter and freckled limbs. Stargazing from the roof of a palace and fighting in the midst of a thunderstorm. Free.)
Up until now, it has not struck Narcissa Malfoy to wonder how long her niece has spent in this other-place, this Elsewhere world.
She has seen the weeks pass, has seen the days turn to nights turn back to days, has witnessed as Cass' hair grows a little bit longer, as her niece becomes that much thinner. And yet, it has not yet struck her to wonder how long Cass has spent in this Elsewhere world, has not occurred to her to stop questioning how none of them noticed and start questioning how much there was for them to notice.
She wonders, now. How much time did Cass spend in Narnia? Will they see the girl grow into a woman? Will they see her get married, have children, grow old? Can she bear seeing her niece change and live in a place that cannot be reached by anyone who does not already belong there?
(Worse, what if Cass died? Can she bear to see this happening? Can she bear to witness her niece enduring more trauma, more loss, more grief?)
Narcissa Malfoy hopes-prays-wishes that her niece does not spend long in this other-place. (She already knows this prayer will prove to be unanswered.)
Susan and Lucy enter a place older than either of them, a place others would not dare to feel comfortable in but which enfolds them into its presence easily. (It feels like coming home.) They see a lion lying on a stone table, sacrificed in place of their youngest brother, and where others might cry they simply bow their heads in reluctant thanks. Lucy wanders over to examine the lion's claws, thinking of nails sharpened to a point and teeth that look like fangs and the security of knowing that you can hurt the world before it hurts you, and she aches with the longing to have claws of her own. (She thinks of Cassiopeia's pain and Edmund's loss and Susan's grief and Peter's mourning, and aches with the longing to protect them as they have protected her.) Susan traces a finger over the words carved into the table, ageless and ancient at the same time, and she thinks of enchantments and gods and monsters, and there is a burning need inside of her. (She thinks of siblings loved and siblings lost, and the truth of magic, and she burns with the need to hoard knowledge, because if she has enough knowledge she will know how to stop her siblings from ever being hurt again.)
Susan and Lucy Pevensie remember the anger and grief and sorrow that have marked their lives, that have marked the lives of their siblings, and they look at the lion-god-monster and wonder what it would take for them to become like him. (To become more than him.) "FOR OUR FUTURE!" Their brother cries as he leads the twins onto the battlefield Susan and Lucy will soon join, and the two Pevensie sisters choose to do whatever it takes to protect their future.
(This is the future Susan and Lucy yearn to protect: wild dances around a bonfire and a castle that rings with unrestrained laughter. Inside jokes and carefree smiles, a language no one but siblings can understand. Swimming in the ocean in winter and standing together on a battlefield under the summer sun. Love.)
Edmund Pevensie (and his desperation to keep his family safe) reminds Remus Lupin of Sirius.
Susan and Lucy Pevensie (and their desperation to protect a future in which all of them are alive and happy) remind Remus Lupin of himself.
He was like that too, once upon a time. He also fought to protect a future in which James and Lily laughed as they swung Harry between them, a future in which Sirius rolled over and traded lazy morning kisses with him moments before their daughter tumbled into the room laughing and breathless. He also fought to protect a future filled with love and smiles and laughter.
(He fought with bared teeth that looked more like fangs and claws that drew blood from those he loved just as easily as they injured those he hated. He fought with fury and bloodlust and a touch of insanity.) (He does not remember when that fury disappeared and left him with this apathy. He almost wishes it would come back; perhaps, if he were furious, he would not have abandoned his daughter to drown himself in drink.)
This is how a war ends: with bloodshed and screams and death.
Edmund Pevensie snaps the White Witch's wand with his bare hands.
He does this, because he is the only one who can. He does this because he is the only one of his siblings to have been enchanted by the wood through which she channels her magic, and thus he is the only one with the right to break her source of magic. He does this because his twin pulled him aside before the battle and whispered the only way she knows to cripple a magic-wielder. ("Snap her wand," she'd whispered, staring into his soul. "Snap her wand, and they'll be unable to fight any longer. Snap her wand, and we win.")
Edmund Pevensie snaps the White Witch's wand with his bare hands, and is gifted a sword through the back just moments after.
Someone screams at the sight of a sword emerging from the back of a child-warrior-king, a sword covered in the blood of a too-young boy, a sword that gleams as though laughing as the once-child gasps for breath that is no longer in his lungs.
Someone screams. Several people, actually. Narcissa does, a shrill sound of terror emerging from her mouth, her eyes clouded with horror as she imagines Draco in Edmund's place. Sirius Black does, too, although the sound that escapes his mouth is less a scream and more a sound of vengeful rage. (Edmund looks too much like Regulus, and for a moment that is the only person Sirius can see.) Luna cries out as well, because for a moment Edmund's face blurs and all she sees is Cass, Cass lying in a pool of her own blood and oh gods there's so much blood-
The Pevensies do not scream, but they are not composed, either. The air around Cass heats, her Darkness appearing at her side as her rage makes itself known. (The same rage she felt back then, world-ending fury burning through her veins.) Susan goes still, utterly still, her face appearing to be made of glass that would cut anyone who dared to approach. Peter cries, tears of flame burning down his cheeks, his fists clenched in anger but with no one to take his fury out on. Lucy snarls, claws flickering in and out of existence as she shifts closer to Edmund, daring the world to try and take her brother away from her again.
Albus Dumbledore narrows his eyes and wonders how, exactly, the middle Pevensie survived this. (He wonders how he can ensure the boy will not survive the next near-death.)
And so it is that Edmund Pevensie, boy turned traitor turned warrior, the not-yet-king of Narnia, falls. He hits the ground silently, or perhaps he does not; if he does make any noise as he collapses (a broken building that has weathered one too many storms) it is swallowed up by his siblings' screams. (Their screams echo throughout the entirety of Narnia, awful and vengeful and desperate.) (This is the sound of breaking.)
Cassiopeia is the only one of the still-standing Pevensie siblings to not scream as their brother lies on the ground, a butterfly pinned to the board of an uncaring scientist. Cassiopeia stands, even as Lucy falls to her knees and Susan screams like she is breaking and Peter drops his sword as he stares at the prone body of his younger brother.
Cassiopeia stands, even as her siblings break apart at the seams, because what else would she do? (She has never had the chance to break, to weep and mourn and grieve. Why would she start now?) (The Pevensies learn to break. Cassiopeia forces herself to stand, as she always has.)
Although Sirius mourns that his daughter has ever had to force herself to be strong (he wanted her to live a better life than he did), he cannot help but feel proud at how she remains standing even as her siblings crumple to the ground.
He has no right to feel proud of her for this. And he mourns it, too, this ability that he has no doubt has been honed through years of turmoil and pain and grief.
But he is proud, too. Because she is strong, his daughter. And that means she can survive anything this life throws at her.
(She is far stronger than he or Remus ever were.)
The White Witch laughs at the sight of Edmund sprawled at her feet, the sound high and cruel and colder than the ice she spread across a once-green country. The White Witch laughs, and for a moment Cassiopeia's vision blurs. (She thinks of laughter, and cannot tell if she is hearing the woman-once-known-as-grandmother or the tyrant standing before her.) (Cassiopeia looks at the Witch, standing above the prone body of a child, and for just a moment sees a black-haired green-eyed boy scrambling away from the raised fist of his uncle.)
Cassiopeia looks at her twin, and she looks at the Witch who is the cause of the blood spreading from her other-half's body. (She thinks of Draco, who flinches upon hearing the name Malfoy. She thinks of Neville, how quick he is to believe he is worth nothing. She thinks of Luna, of her absent smiles as she speaks of a mother she saw die. She thinks of Ginny the fiery, Ginny the protective, Ginny who was always made to feel as though she could never be herself.) (She thinks of Harry, and she thinks of herself.)
Cassiopeia looks at her twin, and she moves before she can think about what to do.
Upon seeing how she thought of them, how she remembered their trauma and remembered the cause of their trauma, Cass' friends crowd closer to her. They huddle around her, a shield against the stares of those in the hall, a group embrace that they know she needs but will never admit to needing. She sobs, once, and Edmund is at her side in a breath, arms around her shoulders as he embraces his twin tightly.
Her siblings join the group embrace, too, integrating themselves into the huddle her friends have formed but not taking over the embrace. Everyone is touching, everyone is brushing up against someone with each breath taken, and yet it does not feel crowded or awkward.
It feels, they are surprised to think, rather like home. Like family.
Later, when stories are told of this moment, they will tell of a girl backed by the army of stars, a girl who wore darkness like a crown upon her brow and commanded the respect of all who saw her. The stories will say that the Witch and the Queen battled for three days and three nights, until finally the Witch was vanquished and Narnia was freed. The stories will say that the Queen emerged from the battle, victorious and smiling as her subjects cheer her name and her siblings watch on in awe.
This is how it actually happens:
A girl sees her brother fall with a sword sticking out of his back, and she hears her siblings screaming the name of the brother they have loved for as long as he has lived, and something inside of her cracks. She draws her staff and channels all of her rage-grief-pain into it, her magic complying with unspoken-unrealized wishes and twisting around the staff she wields, strengthening it, changing it. Her Darkness is at her side, snapping and snarling and raging with all the fury of a broken thing.
There is no army of stars. There is no crown. There are no subjects cheering her name.
There is just a girl, and her Darkness, and her fury. (And in the end, that is enough.)
It has been a long time since Severus has wondered how strong Cass is. He has seen her stalking through the castle, has witnessed how the torches on the walls flicker with each breath she takes and seen how the shadows curl around her form like a lover might, and he has known that she is strong. (Too strong, some might say.) (He also would have said that, once. Before he saw some of what she was doing to help his students survive. Now he knows her to be exactly what they need to survive this war.)
It has been a long time since Severus has wondered how strong Cass is, but he wonders now. (This is a girl, a general, a star (if the Lovegood girl is to be believed). How much magick can a mortal body contain?) (Severus Snape, why would you ever assume she is mortal?)
Minerva also wonders how strong Cass is. More than that, she wonders how the girl can hide it so well. (On the screen, Cassiopeia faces a tyrant, and years in the future Minerva McGonagall shudders upon feeling the echoes of this once-girl's power.) (And Cass has only grown stronger since then.)
Minerva wonders whether it is less or more terrifying that she can feel young-Cassiopeia's power years in the future, but cannot feel anything unusual about the Cass sitting in the hall with her. She knows that Cass has only gotten stronger; she knows that Cass has only gotten better at concealing her power.
It is more terrifying, she decides, to be sitting in the same room as a predator who knows how to hide their wildness.
The war does not end with a three-day battle. It does not even end in a three-minute battle, because the Witch is weakened and the girl is channeling her fury and her pain into strength.
The girl darts across the battlefield, her Darkness at her side and the force of her pain at her back. The Witch has just enough time to turn around and see her Fate approaching, before an explosion of light blinds the entire battlefield. (No one knows it, but the face of the girl is the last thing the Witch sees. It is a terrible sight.)
When the light clears, the White Witch is gone, only ashes left of the tyrant who has terrorized Narnia for so long. The girl stands where the Witch stood just moments before, eyes glowing and freckles of light sparking to life on her skin, her staff gone from her hands, a scythe made of starlight taking its place. (She looks utterly Other, even to those as Strange as many of the Narnians are, and it has them shuddering.)
Draco looks at his cousin, as she once was, in a world none of them knew she'd walked in, in a time long gone by. He looks at his cousin, the once-child she used to be, sees the glow of her eyes and the way her hair moves as if alive and the flickers of starlight shining from her skin. He sees her beauty; he sees her Otherness.
Then he looks at his cousin, as she is now, sitting in the school he has watched her grow up in, surrounded by people who understand her and yet have never known her in the slightest. He sees the dimple in her cheek and the shake of her hands and the wrinkle of her nose, hears the raspiness in her throat and the sighs she exhales so silently he wonders if he is imagining them.
He sees her as she was. (Other, wild, strange.) He sees her as she is. (To all appearances, utterly normal.) And as Cass meets his eyes, Draco tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes. (He thinks he sees the slightest shimmer on her skin, a telltale sign of glamours concealing something from view.)
He wonders if she will ever show him her true form. (He wonders if he will even be capable of viewing her true form.)
This is how the war ends: with the Witch weakened at the hands of Edmund and killed by Cassiopeia. (And truly, was there ever another way for it to end?)
This is what the aftermath looks like:
Lucy is the second to Edmund's side, falling to her knees next to Cassiopeia and pulling out the bottle gifted to her by Father Christmas with shaking hands. Tears blur her vision and her hands shake, but she manages to pour a single drop of the vial into her brother's mouth. She is sobbing; this is her brother, her hero, her world. (If Edmund dies, the world will die too. This, Lucy is certain of.)
Susan staggers over to her younger siblings, collapsing next to Lucy and wrapping her arms around her youngest sister, clinging to the only one of them who is uninjured. (Clinging to the only one of her little siblings she has not failed entirely.) She stares at Edmund, her younger brother who loves hot chocolate and enjoys music even though he does not often dance. She stares at Edmund, her younger brother who lies in a pool of his own blood. (Her lungs ache with each breath she takes. What right does she have to breathe when her brother is choking on his blood?)
Sirius knows that feeling intimately. He remembers the daysweeksmonths after Regulus' death, the hours he spent lying in bed and staring out the window and beggingpleading the universe to allow him to trade his life for his younger brother's. He remembers the grief, the aching, the part of his heart that died with his little brother and never returned to life.
Amelia grimaces at the sight of the thirteen-year-old girl collapsing at her brother's side. She closes her eyes, takes a breath, grips onto Narcissa's hand tightly in an attempt to stabilise herself. It doesn't work. (She opens her eyes, and the sight in front of her blurs, superimposed with an older woman sitting at her brother's side, screaming his name.) (Amelia doesn't think she will ever look at her hands without seeing Edgar's blood dripping from them.)
Peter clutches Edmund's hand tightly, his shoulders shaking as he sobs over the body of his brother. (The brother he swore and failed to protect.) His sword lies somewhere behind him, abandoned at the sight of his brother being skewered like a butterfly on a board, and perhaps Peter should care but he cannot bring himself to because this is his brother, his sibling. He helped birth Edmund, he has been there throughout the entirety of Edmund's life; he cannot imagine life without his younger brother. He does not want to imagine life without his younger brother.
Harry thinks of Sirius, and the time he thought his godfather had died. (Do you remember who saved him, Harry Potter?) He remembers the scream that had torn itself from his throat as his godfather, the last hope he had of escaping the Dursleys, tumbled backwards into a veil none had ever returned from. He remembers the rage, the helpless fury, the looming surety of a future without his godfather.
Blaise Zabini thinks of the time he'd been certain Theo had died. He thinks of those holidays, just a few weeks before, when he had received word that the Nott manor had been burnt down, when he was told that no one was seen to have escaped. He thinks of how he had smiled, and thanked the messenger, and then proceeded to destroy half the forest surrounding his house in his grief. He thinks of all of this, and he tightens his grip on his boyfriend, because who is he without Theo at his side? (He cannot fathom a world in which his lover is no longer alive.)
Cassiopeia kneels at the side of her twin, her other half, her soul. Every inch of her drips with blood that is not hers (and some that is) but she hardly notices; all of her attention is upon the boy she now knows to be the other half of her soul. Her Darkness has retreated into her once more, but she feels it shuddering, silently screaming promises of destruction should Edmund ever leave this world. Her magic writhes through the air around her, sparks flying from her fingertips and thorns tangling in the air, powerful and desperate and terrified. (This is the first time she has had a family, one that is hers by blood and by heart. She cannot bear to lose them.) (She will destroy the world before she loses them.)
Neville Longbottom looks at this scene, and he thinks of all the times he has thought he'd lost his friends. He thinks of every time Draco went back to Malfoy Manor, pale and shaking. He remembers Ginny, a ghost of herself for an entire year, half a person with half a soul surrounded by friends who had no idea how to help. He considers Luna, the tears in her eyes when she wakes up screaming for a mother she can never save, the blankness in her expression whenever she leaves to go home for the holidays. He recalls Cass, blood streaming from her side as she stumbles into his arms after a battle gone wrong, her eyes cloudy in a way that they never are.
Neville Longbottom remembers the times he has almost lost those he holds dear to him, and the pieces of his long-since-broken heart ache.
Edmund opens his eyes, and the first thing he sees is Cassiopeia, who has tears in her eyes as she stares at him. The second thing he sees is the rest of his siblings, who throw themselves onto him and sob their relief over his newly-healed body. He is alivealivealive. (He was so sure he'd died.) (There are two halves of a wand lying beside him, and a strange feeling thrumming through his veins. He does not think about this. Right now, he is happy to be breathing. He will think about what this thrumming may mean later.)
This is how a war ends: with five rulers staggering to their feet and demanding surrender. With a lion approaching the battlefield with an army of statues-turned-living, only to find the battle already over. With tears and laughter and relief.
With fiver children-warriors-rulers standing before their army, and the ashes of the White Witch at their feet.
The scene is one that has many in Hogwarts feeling hopeful. Hopeful that they will survive this war they have found themselves fighting in. Hopeful that they will defeat Voldemort, as the Pevensies have defeated the White Witch. Hopeful that there will be an end to the war at all, that this fight will not continue until there is no one left to fight.
The students of Hogwarts look at the Pevensie siblings, standing before an army they have lead into a battle they emerged victorious from, and for the first time in months, hope surges back to life within the castle walls.
(The air itself lightens, brightens with the hope of over 700 students, and the Pevensies trade smiles.) (Cass looks at them, these students who she has given hope to, and vows to herself that they will make it through this war alive.)
Three days after the White Witch dies at the hands of Edmund and Cassiopeia, the Pevensie siblings are crowed on the greens of Cair Paravel, titles bestowed upon them by a lion none of them trust as their subjects cheer their names.
Lucy is crowned first, the youngest Pevensie and the youngest queen. She is clothed in a dress that seems to have been made of the sea itself, blues and purples and greens shifting and swirling as the fabric moves, foam splattering onto the grass at her feet and the sound of waves following her every movement. At her waist hangs her dagger, and her cordial; healing and death side by side, as they always should be.
"To the glistening Eastern Sea," Aslan says, looking into eyes that gleam with the ferociousness of the ocean and a smile like a shark's, "I give you Queen Lucy."
(Her crown is made of a metal the same green as seaweed washed up on the shore, with teeth sharp enough to draw blood hidden amidst the emerald waves. A sign of the ferocity hidden behind an innocent face.)
Lucy stretches as her title is announced on the wall, cat-like contentment seeping through her at this acknowledgement of the queen she was, the queen she is, the queen she will always be. She twirls a curl around her finger, idly admiring the Title she has sung into being and wound through her tresses, the Title which adorns her hair, visible only to those who already know it is there.
For a moment, as her title is announced and spoken into being, the glamour Lucy has cast over herself flickers. She does not notice; nor do her siblings, used as they are to her true form.
Neville-Ginny-Luna-Draco notice, though. (They have been looking for a hint of a failing glamour ever since realizing that the five Pevensies have hidden themselves.) They see the momentary waver in her appearance, the momentary truth that is soon concealed by magic once more. They see the too-wide too-dark too-hungry mouth stretching across Lucy's face, the green-tinted locks of hair interwoven amongst the vibrant ruby strands, the patches of skin where skin turns to roaring ocean waves that crash and scream with all the fury of a vengeful god.
The moment passes. The glamour is back.
But they cannot forget what they have seen.
Next is Cassiopeia, who bares her teeth at the lion much like her younger sister did, her shadow deepening as her Darkness creeps out to watch over the ceremony. Like Lucy, Cassiopeia has been given new clothes; a dress sung from starlight, edged in the blue of a midnight sky and whispering in a language no one can understand. Her skin is glowing slightly, and no one is sure whether it is a trick of the light.
"To the roaring Stars and Galaxies above," Aslan stares at Cassiopeia and she stares back, eyes alight with the fury of a broken child and the love of a found sister; the lion bows his head slightly, and she returns the gesture, an understanding born of knowledge blooming between them, "Queen Cassiopeia."
(The crown that he places on her head is a jagged thing, formed of broken mirrors and shattered dreams and a desperation to protect those who are dear. A homage to her past, and a warning of her nature; a symbol of what she is fighting for.)
As her title is announced, as the crown is placed upon the head of her younger self, Cass smiles. (A jagged smile, emulating the broken smile her younger self wore at her coronation.) She smiles, and her Darkness appears at her side, the two of them rolling their shoulders as some of the tenseness seeps from their frames.
Cass' glamour does not drop, because she is well-versed in the art of disguise and has had more practice in glamour than her younger sister has. But for a moment, her magic thrums through the hall, singing a tale of kingdoms risen and empires fallen, a song of fear and hope and grief and rage, a story of a broken girl who took her fate into her own hands and refused to bow to any who tried to break her.
The song echoes through the hall, soundless and yet deafening. Every person experiences it differently. (In this, her magic is the same as the Olde Magick of Narnia.)
Draco and Ginny grin sharp grins and laugh loudly at this noiseless-noisy tune that sings of the triumphs of their friend-leader-god. Luna-Narcissa-Neville weep soundlessly, tears of joy at the hopeful ending of a song filled with pain. Susan Bones smiles at the tender sound of a girl learning how to heal and be a sister.
Albus Dumbledore hears this noise of rage and vengeance and death and he shudders, trying to hide just how disturbed this leaves him. Harry-Ron-Hermione listen to the song that sings of pain and abandonment and hatehatehate, and they flinch away from the sound. Lucius Malfoy whimpers at the sound of a predator stalking its prey, a girl-turned-creature who stalks through shadows, awaiting the perfect moment to strike.
Edmund meets Aslan's gaze squarely, his chin tilted up proudly in the face of a lion he once would have worshipped but now only respects. Clad in white to match his twin, and with a cape made of the secretive forest depths thrown across his shoulders, he appears every inch the king he will soon be. Every time he moves, there is a moment of silence which drifts in his wake, a moment in which all noise disappears from the world and leaves nothing but him and his siblings.
"To the wild Western Wood," Aslan states, seeing the daggers hidden up Edmund's sleeves and the barely-hidden wanderlust shining through the boy's eyes, "I present King Edmund."
(As his clothes mirror his twin, so does Edmund's crown. His and Cassiopeia's crowns are the only identical ones, symbols of how they have built themselves out of the fragments of their shattered pasts. Where others might be jealous, Edmund is ecstatic to share this with his twin.)
Edmund's back straightens as his title is laid upon him, his eyes gleaming with something no one dares to name. He reaches out to his twin, and for the first time in a while she accepts the touch, brilliant smiles lighting up both of their faces as they acknowledge their bond, shown even in the clothing chosen for them at their coronation.
Unlike either of his sister's, Edmund's glamour does not falter, nor does his power show itself. (Edmund is of the wild Western Wood, has grown up in secretive depths, has taught himself to walk the line between dark and light and to hide himself from both.) (Edmund is the best versed in secret-keeping, and for this reason he is the only one of them to not let go of the grip he has upon his magic.)
And yet, this lack of showing is auspicious in its own way. It is, for a heartbeat, a lack of everything entirely. The world holds its breath, but nothing is revealed, so the world keeps holding its breath. For a heartbeat (just a heartbeat) there is nothing, and this nothingness is a physical weight in the air, a syrup-thick force which drapes itself across people's limbs and sinks into their souls. (This is what secrets feel like. This is what shadows feel like. This is the weight of mysteries and darkness, the shroud that hides all things better left unknown.) (This is the weight of Edmund's power, and it is the weight of the absence of his power.) (Both these things can be true at once.)
Susan smiles at Aslan, but unlike her sisters, there is no teeth in this smile. She smiles at Aslan, this regal girl draped in blues so cold they chill the air around her and shades of purple the same colour as a bruise, and the lion sees a promise of death should he ever dare to harm any of her siblings. With each breath she takes, snowflakes dance through the air before her, disappearing so quickly no one is sure they were there at all.
"To the clear Northern Sky," Aslan says, because what else could this cold-cruel-sharp girl rule? "I crown Queen Susan."
(Susan's crown is placed upon her head, a smooth thing made of silver, curling and swooping around her head like the whispers of the wind as it drifts through the land. Gemstones sparkle within the whorls of the crown, glistening as they catch the light; each one is filled with a poison strong enough to kill a fully grown griffin. This is a homage to the sharpness hidden behind a smile.)
As past-Susan's crown settles upon her head, a breeze flits through the hall, icy and cold and sending shivers down the spine of everyone it touches. The wind creeps into every corner of the hall, frost curling over the stones for a moment before fading once more. Upon this wind comes the scent of mountainous lakes and clear open skies, the smell of truths and sight and screams that echo through valleys for miles. It is a smell that is everything and nothing all at once, the smell of something utterly alien and the smell of home.
No one can quite put a name to the aroma, and yet it is an intrinsic part of their souls nonetheless.
The wind carries the smell through the hall, and although it goes unnoticed by everyone but her siblings and Neville-Draco-Ginny-Luna, Susan smiles, the expression just a nostalgic quirk of her lips that speaks of memories experienced and sights seen and places that are no longer.
Peter is the last Aslan crowns, the eldest of the siblings standing tall and proud, meeting the lion's eyes with not a single ounce of fear but all the wariness in the world. Golds and reds have been thrown across his form, fluttering fabrics resembling nothing so much as fire, leaping and twisting as the wind catches them. The air around him is hot, an antithesis to the coolness of his eldest sister at his side. When he meets Aslan's eyes, the lion-god-monster sees death and life and ferocity in his gaze.
"To the fierce Southern Sun," Aslan calls, because there is no other title he can give to this golden-child lion-boy who will burn the world down for his siblings, "I present King Peter."
(Peter's crown is golden and red and orange, twisted and interwoven in such a way that it is impossible to look at it and not think of fire. This is his crown, and it is a symbol of the fierceness with which he protects his family. This is his crown, and it is a warning to all who would dare cross him, and it is a sign of warmth for all those who would seek his aid.)
When Peter sees the crown that was once placed upon his head, he smiles the smile of a man greeting a lifelong friend, a friend who has stood at his side for years gone by and will continue to stand at his side for years to come.
Peter sees the crown, and he smiles, and there is a sudden shift in brightness as all the torches in the hall leap upwards, the flames crackling their laughter as they cheer for the only king they have ever known. The air in the hall heats, a wave of warmth washing away the remnants of the chill that Susan's wind brought, and with the heat comes an unmistakable feel of protection and love and passion.
This is Peter Pevensie, all that he was and all that he is and all that he could be. This is the heat he carries in his heart and the flames he wears upon his brow. This is the sun shining in his soul. (Is it not a wondrous thing to behold?)
In a different universe, Cassiopeia Adhara does not live past her seventh birthday, and when the Pevensie siblings arrive in Narnia, only four siblings are crowed: a high King, estranged from his siblings, a Queen always told she must be her mother, a King who never knew that he had been enchanted, and a second Queen wanting her family's happiness but never seeing her dream realized. In a different universe, Cassiopeia Adhara does not survive to meet her siblings, and in this universe, this is the reason the family does not remain a family.
But that is in a different universe, a more tragic one.
Draco tries to imagine a world in which his cousin does not exist, and he shudders as he considers the person he would have turned out to be. (A boy grows up in a household that forces him to emulate his father a monster. A boy meets a cousin, a boy doesn't meet a cousin. A boy becomes kind because he is shown how to be, a boy becomes cruel because that is the only way to survive.)
Ginny thinks of a world in which Cass is not there, has never been there, and the entirety of her being recoils from the thought. She thinks of a world in which Cass did not show her how to accept herself, a world in which Cass did not follow her when Ginny disappeared below the school, and some part of her wonders if she would have survived past second year. (In some worlds, Ginny Weasley does not survive past second year. In each of these worlds, Cass Adhara Pevensie is dead.) (In every world that Cass lives past her childhood, Ginny survives, and this shows how important Cass is to the fire-haired fire-hearted girl.)
Sirius considers a universe in which he escapes Azkaban to reunite with his family only to find that his daughter never lived to enter Hogwarts. He considers a universe in which his daughter dies, having only known the face of a deranged grandmother, and some part of him screams in anguish. (He is seized, suddenly, with the urge to tear a hole through the fabric of reality, the urge to fight his way into every other universe and save his daughter from every untimely death she might face.) (This is the love of a parent, fierce and world-ending.)
Harry contemplates a world in which he grows up, and there is not a year-younger-girl at his side, a shadow that does not leave until he forces her too. He contemplates a world in which he is not told of the Wizarding World until his eleventh birthday, a world in which he is left to face Quirrel on his own. He swallows, tells himself that he would be fine, that it would actually be better without Cass tainting everything. (The words are bitter on his tongue.) (Liar liar, pants on fire.)
In this universe, Cassiopeia Adhara lives to be crowned a Queen of Narnia alongside her siblings. She holds hands with Edmund and puts an arm around Lucy's shoulders, trades smiles with Susan and flashes grins at Peter as their subjects cheer their names.
In this universe, Cassiopeia Adhara Pevensie is crowned alongside her siblings as a crowd screams their names. The siblings hold onto each other, and they laugh; who would have thought that they'd be Kings and Queens, in a world that they were not born into but has now become theirs?
In this universe, Cassiopeia Pevensie stands at her sibling's sides, and thus does the Golden Age of Narnia begin.
Remus Lupin wonders whether they will see Cass return to Hogwarts soon. Because it seems as though she has already spent weeks in Narnia, but she cannot spend much longer there, not while staying the same age.
And she is the same age as she should be, there is no doubt about that. So surely, his daughter returns to Hogwarts soon, returns to the world she was born into. She has fought a war, has won a war (he thinks of a Witch lying dead and mourns for the innocence his daughter never had); surely Narnia cannot want more from her.
She will be back soon. Safe. Whole.
Surely?