I'm in love with a fairytale, even though it hurts

You're gone, gone, gone away. (I watched you disappear.) All that's left is a ghost of you. Now we're torn, torn, torn apart, there's nothing we can do. Just let me go, we'll meet again soon. Now wait, wait, wait for me, please hang around. I'll see you when I fall asleep

 - Little talks, Of Monsters and Men

Cassiopeia's third year at Hogwarts begins with an announcement that Sirius Black (her father, her abandoner) has escaped from the prison thought to be inescapable. Perhaps in another world, a kinder world, she would be proud to be descended from the first person to accomplish such a feat; in this world, cruel and harsh as it is, all Cassiopeia feels is fury. (An old fury, one that has festered and survived even the thirteen years spent in another world. Something bitter and rotting and explosive.) 

Some part of Sirius dies a little at this knowledge, this understanding that even thirteen years in a world not haunted by him were not enough to heal his daughter's wound. (His daughter's wound that he caused, that his husband caused.) (Parents are never meant to harm their children, and yet what else have Remus and Sirius done?) 

Sirius' breath hitches, and he hides his face in Remus' neck, curling further into his husband. (Every time he closes his eyes, he sees his daughter burning, watches her plummet from a tower while he stands by, unable to help.) His heart is a furious thing, and it is raging against his past self and his present self and his future self, the searing flames of his anger burning no one but himself as he forces himself to confront the legacy of pain he has left his daughter with. (Once upon a time, Sirius cradled her in his hands and pressed kisses to her dark head and swore to always be there to support her.) (Sirius is not a fae, and promises made by mortals are easily made and more easily broken.) 

"Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban," Albus Dumbledore says, and initially not many people make the connection, not when Cassiopeia has spent her first two years at Hogwarts refusing to answer to the name Black, refusing to claim the name that she buried. (It has been years since Cassiopeia Adhara has been a Black, and as such, there are few who remember her by this name.) "Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban, and it is believed he wishes to have contact with his daughter. For what purpose, we are unsure. Regardless, the dementors have been placed around the school as a means of protection for the students, as Sirius Black is a highly unstable and dangerous individual."

Someone snickers, quietly, and that breaks the silence, all of the students in the hall bursting into laughter. Blaise and Theo lean on each other, crying from laughing so hard. Susan Bones cackles, the sound only cutting off when she overbalances and falls off her armchair, prompting further laughter from all those close to her. Somewhere in the hall, so quiet that he has thus far gone unnoticed, Cedric Diggory chuckles, eyes lighting up as he laughs at the thoughts of the students so many years before. 

Even Harry and Ronald and Hermione laugh at this, as they have not truly laughed at anything that has happened in this hall thus far in the showing. 

The students laugh, and the teachers and adults look at them in bemusement. The teachers remember how terrified the students once were of Sirius Black - they do not understand why the students are now laughing at the thought of the presumed-murderer being dangerous. The adults, however, think that they understand a little more - they have seen the darkness of Cass and the Pevensies, and there have been allusions to these children partaking in the war, and of course that would make the threat of Sirius Black seem like a laughable thing. 

Sirius Black was never a threat; the students laugh at themselves for ever thinking he was dangerous. (Everyone knows its his daughter you need to look out for.) 

Now, all eyes turn to Cassiopeia, sitting at the edge of the Gryffindor table. Next to her, Ginny growls, and Cassiopeia can see the girl's fiery magic flaring in indignation at how Cassiopeia has been singled out like this; a few people flinch at the look on the red-haired girl's face. Cassiopeia does not growl, but silver eyes dance with fury and hatred at the mere mention of the person (not father, never father) who abandoned her when she was a child. (Those who did not flinch from Ginny cannot help but cower from the look in Cassiopeia's eyes.) 

"Sirius Black has escaped," Albus Dumbledore tells the school, and he does not hide the slight hint of suspicion in his voice quite as well as he thinks he does. (He does not accuse Cassiopeia of helping the convict, but many can tell he thinks she has aided him.) (Some agree, many disagree. Some choose to wait before casting their judgement.)

Now, the students know that this would never be true. They've seen too much of Cass to ever think she would help her father escape from prison - they have seen her grudges and felt her fury, and know that even if she had known he was innocent, she would not have helped him. (Does this make her a monster? The students don't think so.)

Those who'd thought she aided him flush slightly when faced with their own prejudices, ducking their heads and avoiding the knowing eyes of their friends. (Harry and Ronald do the same; they no longer think that she'd ever have helped Sirius escape, if only because that would be doing something good and Cass isn't good, has never been good.) (Hermione raises her chin, does not shy from her past thoughts. She made a mistake in thinking Cass had helped Sirius, she knows that now. But she can't take her thoughts back; she can't take back her mistakes. This was her fault, and this is something she'll have to live with. There is no point in hiding from it now.)  

Cassiopeia tips her chin up and stares down everyone who dares to stare at her, a snarl on her lips as she silently promises pain to whoever is bold enough to assume she would ever help the man-who-left-her. (Never never NEVER-) 

Someone coughs, and all eyes turn back to the front of the Great Hall. There should not be anyone there to make any noise, other than the teachers of the school - the first years have all been sorted, and none of the teachers would dare to speak whilst Dumbledore remains standing in front of the Hall. (There is a new teacher on the staff, some note absently, a thin man with a scarred face and sad eyes. He is not introduced, an oversight - he does not step up to correct this. He is too tired, too scared, to speak up.) 

Does Remus regret not being introduced at the beginning of the year? No, he can't say he does. He got to see his daughter being sorted; he got to sit through a feast in the same room as his daughter for the first (last) time since she was just a few months old. 

He does not regret the fact that he was never introduced, if only because it meant that his daughter got to sit through a feast without knowing who he was. If she had known, he is sure that she would have walked out immediately; it is nice, that she could instead sit with her friends, laugh and smile and eat without her fury taking over her actions. 

And yet, there is a hat perched on a stool, and it is the hat which coughed, which drew attention to itself in order to make an announcement. "There is another student who must be sorted," the sorting hat murmurs, coughing once more when the hall erupts in whispers, only continuing when silence falls. "Cassiopeia Adhara." 

Ginny clings to her, when Cassiopeia moves to get to her feet, clings to her with the fierceness of a girl who does not know what is happening but is willing to protect her friend anyway. It is with gentle hands that Cassiopeia pulls her friend off of her, squeezing Ginny's hands in reassurance before stepping away from the Gryffindor table and striding towards the front of the hall with her head held high. (She looks every inch the queen, although no one there recognizes this.) 

Eyes trail her as she makes her way forwards, gazes faltering between derision and judgement and curiousity. (Harry's eyes burn with hatred as she passes, but she does not deign to look at him.) (Cassiopeia Adhara is a warrior and a queen; she will not be cowed by the memories of a once-friend who cast her away thirteen years before.) She perches on the stool at the front of the hall, lifting the hat onto her own head; when she sits down, she sits with her back to the students and her front to the teachers, a clear sign of who she trusts to have her back. (The last thing she sees before the hat slips over her eyes is the face of Albus Dumbledore; there is anger simmering beneath his facade, but she does not know what it is for.) 

Truth be told, the students of Hogwarts are touched at the thought that they have earned Cass' trust. 

They've always known that she trusts them to some extent, of course. They have seen her cousin carry her into the Great Hall when she's gone a few too many days without sleep, Neville and Draco propping her up as Luna coaxes some coffee and food into Cass' mouth and Ginny talks nonsense to distract her friend. They have watched Cass stumble after a battle gone wrong, fall to the ground like she never would in front of an enemy, grimacing as she presses her hand to her side. They have witnessed Cass' Darkness creep out of her, fluid and ominous and protective all at once, sometimes defending the castle in battle and other times making faces to amuse first years. 

These are all signs of trust. Perhaps not unconditional trust, perhaps not the kind of trust that exists between Cass and her friends and her siblings. But the students of Hogwarts know that she trusts them, to an extent, and to have confirmation of this fact is a heady thing. 

They swear to honour this trust. They won't break Cass' faith in them. (They all know the consequences for that.) 

It is a long time before Cassiopeia's new house is announced to the hall. The hat has much to say about the thirteen years she spent in Narnia, much to whisper in her ear concerning queens and olde magick and secrets long since buried. She listens carefully; Edmund is no longer at her side to feed her whispers and rumours, but he has made sure she knows the value of such things, even if she does not naturally share his proclivity for information-gathering. 

The hat imparts all of the knowledge it thinks she must know, and Cassiopeia listens intently, mind working to parse out what she can use and what she can tell her friends, what can help her in the future and what can help all those around her. And then it moves on to what house she must go to next, for they both know she cannot stay in Gryffindor. (She does not belong there, has never belonged there, will never belong there.) The hat muses over her placement; she could, apparently, suit any house, and so it becomes a question of what she wants to achieve, rather than where she belongs. 

What does she want to achieve? She wants to protect as many of the students of Hogwarts as she can. She wants to make sure her friends survive whatever is coming. (Because there is something coming, that she is sure of.) She wants to learn everything she can get her grubby little hands (hand) on, because that's what Susan would do, and she misses her sister. 

She wants to see her siblings again. Her country. Her people. 

She wants to be whole. (But that won't happen until Edmund is at her side.) 

"Thank you," Susan Bones says, and the words are loud enough to be heard by the entire hall, for everyone is so silent that a falling pin could be heard. The brown-haired Hufflepuff looks towards where Cass sits, and the fae-descended girl knows exactly what she's doing when she touches two fingers to her forehead and extends her hand towards Cass. "Thank you," Susan Bones says again, and there is a solemnity in her words that adds gravitas to her sentence, "for wanting to protect us even when we did nothing to earn your protection." 

Cass bows her head slightly, and there is the ghost of a smile on her lips as she looks at these students who she once despised, but who have since clawed their way into earning her loyalty and protection. (How could a god ever abandon their devotees?) 

"You were children," Cass murmurs, the end of her sentence going unsaid but not unheard. (You were children and I was not.) "You were children. Of course I would protect you; war is not a place where the innocent survive, and there has been so much death already." 

These are ambitious dreams, ambitious enough to place her in Slytherin where her cousin is. But the hat does not put her there, because the hat likes her enough to want to see her plans succeed, and should people feel unable to trust her, her dreams will never be realized. And so the hat turns to the other house it has been considering, the house Susan could have belonged to. (A pang of longing shoots through Cassiopeia at the thought. She misses her siblings so much it hurts.) 

This time, when the hat makes its decision, Cassiopeia does not try and fight the words that spill out of its mouth. "Your friends will have need of you," the hat whispers before its declaration. "And you shall need all your friends to succeed with your ambitions. I wish you the best of luck, Queen Cassiopeia of Narnia." And then the hat screams for all the hall to here, "RAVENCLAW!"

Luna is the first to cheer, shortly followed by Neville and Ginny and Draco. The Ravenclaw table applauds too, once they come out of their shock; no one else in the hall does, but that doesn't matter to Cassiopeia. (She steps away from the stool, and for a moment she is a queen again.) (Cool fingers brush against her hand, but when she glances to her side her twin is not there. She knew he would not be there, but the empty space still hurts.) 

In the beginning of her third year, Cassiopeia is given a new house. She has no siblings at her side, but she has her friends, and when she sits down next to Luna, she understands that this will be enough. (It will have to be.) 

"And we're happy to have you!" Lisa Turpin yells from where she has moved to sit close to Susan Bones, the Ravenclaw flashing Cass a grin and lifting a hand in something that could be called a wave, but could also be called a salute. Then the other girl's smile turns wicked, and she adds on a tease, unable to resist the temptation. "Even if you do insist on destroying parts of the castle and losing us house points for murder." 

"Innocent until proven guilty," Cass laughs delightedly, silver eyes glowing with amusement. She waves a silver hand dismissively in Lisa's direction, lips quirking into a smirk as she sees how several eyes follow her prosthetic. They want to study it; she's getting tired of the weight, anyway. Maybe she'll let them have a look soon. "And they never actually accused me of anything, anyway." 

Several eyes glance towards Amelia, who suddenly seems to have gone hard of hearing, her gaze fixed upon the ceiling. Next to her, Narcissa laughs, and the auror winks at the other lady. Truthfully, Amelia has no intention of accusing Cass of anything - chances are she'll be seeing what happens in any case, and depending on what the murder in question is (because of course Cass has murdered someone, that's not even a question anymore) Amelia may just award the girl a medal for public service. 

(If Cass has been protecting the Hogwarts students, Amelia owes the girl far too much to ever consider accusing her of a crime.) 

Truth be told, Cassiopeia is not all that concerned with Sirius Black's escape from prison. 

She is furious, of course. (She does not think she will ever feel anything but fury when it comes to the people who birthed her.) She is furious and she is hurt and she feels so much contempt for the ineptitude of the Ministry she thinks she could drown in it. 

But she is not concerned, not terrified as so many of her classmates seem to be. They shuffle through the corridors, trading rumours in low voices, eyes darting all over as though expecting Sirius Black to leap out from behind a painting and murder all of them. They share newspaper clippings and speculate (fearfully) how he broke out of the most secure prison in the world. The students are terrified of this man, this murderer, this escapee. 

Cassiopeia is not. 

This is partly because she cannot find it in herself to feel anything other than disdain for the man who abandoned her at birth. But it is also partly because she grew up in Narnia, a country with Wilde Magick and Olde Magick and prisons built by non-human beings. She is both twelve and twenty-five, and in both stages of her life has become intimately acquainted with the truth that there is no such thing as an inescapable prison. 

Either someone is dead, or they are still a threat. (And even death may not be inescapable.) (After all, she's died before.) (Flames and screams and sacrifice decorated her tomb. She still feels like she's burning when she closes her eyes.) (Cassiopeia Adhara, are you sure you truly came back from that?) 

(Here is how Cassiopeia knows that nothing is inescapable: once, she was twelve and trapped in a house that was a nightmare, with a woman who was a psychopath. Once, she was nineteen and captured by an enemy during a war, chained so deep underground that not even the faintest glimmer of light could be seen.) (Cassiopeia has escaped from impossible places many-times-over. Did she inherit this skill from Sirius Black, or is it something she has learned?) 

"Oh, I remember that," Edmund speaks for the first time in a long while, chin propped on his twin's shoulder as he twines himself around her, surreptitiously pressing his fingers to her pulse point just to feel the thudding of her heart. (Every time he blinks, he can see his twin dying.) (He is terrified of wat he'll see should he fall asleep.) Edmund knocks his head against his twin's, carefully avoiding hitting her with his antlers, grinning when she relaxes into his warmth. "Wasn't that the place you burned down?" 

Susan laughs, high and cold and amused, the dangerous sound sending a shiver down everyone's spine. She leans closer to her siblings, placing a hand on Edmund's shoulder. "Ed, darling, you're going to have to be more specific. Our dear Cass has burned down too many places to count." 

This time, it is Peter who laughs, and Lucy and Cass join in soon after, the sounds forming an unholy symphony. "This is when she took over the fortress, remember? We gathered an army and by the time we got there she was waiting outside with blood all over her and a pile of scrolls at her side." 

Edmund snickers at the memory, remembering it fully now. He laughs, and so do his siblings, as well as Cass' friends. (Ginny's laugh is a little too bloodthirsty, a little too manic. Lucy smiles at the other redhead appreciatively, and both Neville and Draco wisely move a little further away from the two of them.) Surprisingly, so do many others in the hall; looking around, Edmund can see more bloodthirstiness than he ever thought to find in the halls of Hogwarts. Instead, he sees reverence, and hunger, and joy. 

And so it is that Cassiopeia cannot bring herself to feel concerned with Sirius Black's escape. She does not give in to terror, and following her example, nor do her friends. (They do not know it at the time, but Harry and Ronald and Hermione see this non-concern as guilt, as admittance of a crime that has never been committed, as joy that a murderer has escaped.) (Cassiopeia is not scared by the escape of Sirius Black, and the Golden trio take this to mean it was she who helped the man get free.) (Harry Potter, did you ever really know her at all?) 

Instead, Cassiopeia settles into her new house, and she plots. 

The first of these goals is easier than the second, surprisingly. Ravenclaw house accepts Cassiopeia with open arms, and in the house she finds a community who accept her quirks in a way that none in Gryffindor ever did. When Draco sneaks into the Ravenclaw Common Room and the two cousins stay up all night poring over ancient manuscripts, the elder students simply smile and point them towards more books the cousins may be interested in. Cassiopeia chooses not to room in a dorm, and the students do not blink, simply showing her where there are hammocks and beanbags for those who prefer to not sleep in the confines of a bed. Luna and Cassiopeia disappear for long periods of time, returning from the forest with bare feet and twigs in their hair and a Darkness at Cassiopeia's side, and the first-years pester them for stories about what resides in the forest while the elder years smile knowingly and pass on stories of the fae. 

(It is lovely, to be accepted so easily, to be folded into the family of the Ravenclaw house as though she'd always been there. Is this what she could have had, had she let the hat sort her correctly in her first year?) (Ravenclaw and its students remind her achingly of Susan, and Cassiopeia loves the house all the more for this similarity, even as it tears her heart to shreds.) 

The Ravenclaw students are proud to see that they managed to make Cass feel welcome in their house. They remember seeing, both in real life and in this showing, how she never spent time in the Gryffindor Common Room, how she did not interact with the Gryffindor students, how it did not seem as though she was part of that house in any way. 

Truth be told, when the hat called out the name of their house, the Ravenclaws knew from the moment Cass got up from that stool that they would do anything to make her feel welcome in their house. Many of them know what it is to be cast out of families, or to lose loved ones, and many more know what it means to be more creature than human, or to not be human at all. They'd always been determined that their house would be, if not a family, a community for Cass. 

To see their friend-leader-god smiling and laughing as she never did in her previous house soothes something inside many of the Ravenclaws. They did it. They managed to make their house feel like a safe place for Cass. (The knowledge leaves them smiling, happier than they have been in years.) (They feel like they have repaid their god for her actions and protection, at least slightly. Who would not be joyful at this knowledge?) 

As for the plotting, there are many plans that Cassiopeia makes and discards and enacts. She spends much of her time scouring books and seeking out ever-older legends, trying to figure out how to return to Narnia. (Because it is her country, it is her kingdom, it is her home more than anywhere else has ever been.) She devours all knowledge on magick that she can find, refusing to differentiate between dark and light and grey, practicing in abandoned classrooms and secret spots by the Black Lake. (Cassiopeia is not less powerful than she was in Narnia, but there is less Wilde Magick Olde Magick for her to channel.) (Her friends copy her lack of division. Magic is magic; why should they limit themselves to one form of it only?) She discusses with her friends how to change the world, because she is going to do this, and they will be at her side when she does. (Neville thinks she must get rid of house divisions. Luna encourages her to speak up for the non-human beings. Draco is convinced that she must destroy all notions of 'light' and 'grey' and 'dark'. Ginny does not think there is a way to change the world without revolution.) 

(Her friends are all correct in their estimations of how best to change the world, and so she grins and tells them to make their ideas a reality. Neville reaches out to all the houses, forging connections and testing loyalties, charming everyone with his easy smile and gentle aura. Luna vanishes into the Forbidden Forest for a day and an hour, and when she returns she has been named the advocate of the Centaurs. Draco studies and plots and murmurs, dropping hints to fellow students and writing essays on the dangers of limiting magic. (Not many listen to him, not yet, but that's okay. They will eventually.) Ginny begins to find all those who are angry, who are hurting, who are tired of being ignored; they gather to her, to Cassiopeia, like moths to a flame, hungry for more, hungry for everything the world has never given them.) 

Narcissa covers her mouth when she hears of what her son and his friends have been doing, and Amelia is not sure whether the motion is one of horror or amusement. She, herself, is rather impressed in the actions these children-warriors have been taking to change the world for the better; if they succeed (she knows they will) Amelia thinks that the world will be a much more beautiful place, somewhere she could be utterly proud to live in. 

Sirius is proud of them, too, these children-warriors-survivors. He has lived through a war, has experienced the divisions and bigotry and cruelty of a hating humanity. He looks at Remus, and there are tears in his husband's eyes, sobs in his lover's throat. (It means more to both of them, that Luna would think to advocate for non-human beings, that Cass would encourage and support her friend in this endeavour.) Holding his husband tight, Sirius thinks that he'd like to see what world these children-warriors-survivors create. (He's so proud of his daughter.) 

"And you, darling Cassie?" Peter looks at his middle sister, grinning at her, the flames on the wall tilting towards the Pevensies in curiousity to hear the sister's answer to the Sun King's question. Susan, all-knowing, smiles as she idly twirls one of Cass' curls around her fingers, waiting for the question and the answer. "How do you wish to change the world?" 

"Just say the words, and we'll make it happens," Lucy laughs, holding onto her sister's hands, sincerity dripping from her every word. The waves in her eyes settle slightly, a calm sea reflecting Lucy's sincerity, her devotion to her middle sister. From where he is wrapped around Cass, Edmund lets out a noise of affirmation, his embrace tightening as he agrees with Lucy's words. 

"I wish to change the world through love and fury," Cass admits easily, smiling at her siblings and friends and students, her entire being glowing as love for these mortals and non-mortals wells up inside of her. She leans further into Edmund's embrace, feeling him relax into the warmth she is emitting, and when she smiles the torches shine so brightly there are almost no shadows to be found in the hall. (Stars are fire, too. Flames listen to Cass as much as they listen to Peter.) "There is nothing more you need to do to help me achieve that goal, dearest Lucy. You, all of you, are already helping me achieve it." 

Perhaps settling into Ravenclaw tower is easier than Cassiopeia thought it would be, but Edmund is her twin. Plotting is easy too, not quite as natural as it had been for her twin but close enough. (She plans and waits and schemes, because Edmund used to do the same and now this reminds her of him.) (There are so many ways to mourn - some people forget and others cling to every haunted memory. Cassiopeia falls into the latter category.) 

And so Cassiopeia does not wait in terror for Sirius Black to reveal himself. (Nor do her friends, but they have seen how she hates him and so they hate him too. They plot, as she does, but their schemes revolve around ways to make Sirius Black pay for what he did to their friend.) 

No. In Cassiopeia's third year, she schemes and she studies and she mourns. 

Lucy drapes herself across Cass' lap, now, while Edmund holds onto her tighter than ever. They are saddened by this, hearts aching every time they are reminded that they left their middle sister alone and in pain. (Nevermind that it was not their choice, nevermind that they would never have done it if they'd known what walking past that lamppost would mean, nevermind that they would have done anything to get back.) 

Susan and Peter sigh quietly, well-used to this pain by now, well-used to the reminder that while they had each other, Cass was forced to suffer without her siblings. The two elder Pevensies hold onto each other's hands, knuckles white as they try to forget about the sight of their sister mourning them, their sister ruling a kingdom alone, their sister burning as she falls from a tower-

A tentative hand is placed on Susan's shoulder, and a slight gasp leaves her lips when she looks up only to find Luna crouched in front of her. Neville is there, too, smiling softly at the eldest Pevensie sister, while Draco moves to sit next to Peter and Ginny pats the Sun King's shoulder in consolation. 

"She wasn't alone," Neville murmurs, and oh, isn't that a balm to Susan and Peter's pain-filled hearts? "You were gone, and she was hurting, but she wasn't alone." 

It is three months after her third year at Hogwarts has begun when Cassiopeia meets the Kelpie once more.

The sun has not yet risen, but Cassiopeia is awake, wandering the shores of the Black Lake with bare feet and no jacket. She should be asleep, but ever since her Return she has found herself unable to sink into the endless depths of slumber, napping for a few hours before being woken by nightmares or by insomnia. (Is this so surprising? Cassiopeia Adhara, since when have stars needed to sleep?) This early in the morning, she should be cold too, and yet there is no jacket to be seen as she wanders the Lake edge. (Cassiopeia Adhara, you are more star than girl. You burned and you continue to burn; the cold would not dare to brush across your skin.)

"Do you ever actually wear jackets anymore?" Susan Bones cannot help but ask, because she has come across the star-girl many times on early morning walks, and has never seen Cass wearing more than a cloak. (At least, not after second year. It makes sense, now. A lot of things make sense, now.) Susan Bones looks at Cass, curiousity clear to see on the Hufflepuff's face, and several Ravenclaws look at the interaction, ever-eager to learn more about their friend-general-god. 

"I'm never truly bothered by cold," Cass says after a moment, considering what she wants to share and what she feels should remain unsaid. (There is, truly, little she wishes or feels the need to hide from these students. The realization of how much she trusts them leaves her a little breathless.) (Trust always feels like faltering on the edge of a precipice, and this time is no different.) "I'm a star, Susan Bones, and what do stars do?" 

Cass turns to the girl, and Susan Bones' eyes go wide with awe as she takes in the glowing silver eyes, the freckles of starlight bursting from Cass' skin, the brightness blurring the edges of her form. The answer comes naturally to the Hufflepuff, dripping from her lips in a reverent whisper. "They burn." 

Truth be told, Cassiopeia is not sure what she is doing at the Black Lake. She'd spent the night in Ravenclaw Tower, a rare night spent under a roof and curled up next to Luna, enjoying the feel of someone else's warmth bleeding into her. (If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she was lying next to Lucy, the two of them curled up together somewhere in Narnia.) She hadn't gotten more than a few hours of sleep, and when she got up and detangled herself from Luna's grip, her feet stole towards the Black Lake before she could think of where else to go.

Why did they bring her here? Cassiopeia cannot be sure. Perhaps it reminds her of Narnia, perhaps it reminds her of Edmund, perhaps it is simply a place she can feel at peace. Whatever the reason, it is as good a place to spend a morning as any, and so she wanders the shores, brushing past plants and softly greeting the animals that dare to approach her.

Truth be told, the Black Lake does remind Cass of Edmund, more than any places other than the Unseelie Court and the Forbidden Forest do. Strange, is it not, that a water domain reminds her of her only earth-oriented sibling, her twin who was crowned King of the Forests. And yet, it is true, that the Black Lake reminds her of him. 

It is something in the stillness of the water, perhaps, or something in the darkness of the water that only ever lets people see what the Lake thinks they should see. (These things remind of her Edmund's skill for moving unheard by all but his siblings, his penchant for keeping and revealing secrets only when it suits him.) When Cass is at the lake, she can feel her twin's presence in the whispers of the wind and the surprising sharpness of the grass. 

She's often found herself at the Lake, longing to feel Edmund near her, aching to have his presence with her, just as she goes to the Forest for much the same reason. (Cass adores the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest, because in these places she feels closest to her twin.) 

It is there, at the border between land and water, that the Kelpie approaches her for the second time. The being looks much the same as she remembers it appearing, so many years before, oceans and rivers and storms forming an approximation of a horse-shaped creature; when it surges out of the still waters of the Black Lake, skittering to a stop in front of Cassiopeia and looking at her with eyes the colour of seaweed, she cannot contain a smile.

"Hello," Cassiopeia greets the Kelpie, and the horse-shaped being prances a few steps closer, not fearful in the slightest. (The Kelpie chose Cassiopeia, years before, when she tumbled into a lake, a star that, even drowning, shone brighter than anything else in the Black Lake.) Cassiopeia reaches out, and is surprised to find that the Kelpie is soft and solid to the touch; her hands come away a little damp, but she does not mind. (Lucy always leaves wet footprints when she walks, and oftentimes water residue dampens Cassiopeia after they hug. How could she ever mind being wet, when it has always been a reminder of her youngest sister?)

The Kelpie leans into Cassiopeia's touch, and she laughs lightly, the sound surprising herself. (It has been so long since she has had cause to laugh as though nothing is wrong.) At the sound, the horse-shaped being lets out a gleeful noise (it sounds like waterfalls and rain) and prances a few steps closer, hauling itself out of the Lake and pushing at Cassiopeia until she sits down on the grass, proceeding to lie down and curl itself around her. She laughs again, unable to stop the sound from bubbling from her lips, and continues to pet the being, staring in fascination at the magic writhing beneath the being's skin. (It looks like ocean depths and still river beds, seaweed swaying gently from side to side and waves crashing wildly as a storm rages.)

"I am glad that you saved me, all those years ago," the star-girl murmurs to the horse-being, and the creature's magic flickers in what she can only interpret as a gratefulness that it had not been to late to save her from drowning. She does not say anything else, the early-morning silence stealing the words from her throat before she can even dream of saying them. Instead, she simply sits there, stroking the Kelpie as it curls around her. (The smell of seaweed and salt settles on her clothes, and Cassiopeia sobs. She feels closer to Lucy than she has since her siblings' departure from Narnia; she has never felt more removed from her younger sister.)

Lucy leans into Cass' warmth, now, aching as she sees how her sister missed her upon their banishment return from Narnia. 

She'd always known that Cass had missed her, of course. There was never any question of that, not when Lucy knows how precious their pack is to Cass, not when Lucy knows how much Cass loves and adores her siblings. But it is one thing to know that her sister missed her, and another thing entirely to see how Cass clung to every reminder of her siblings, desperate to hold onto whatever parts of them she could find. And Lucy aches for her sister, her lonely sister, her left-behind sister. 

(Lucy had done the same. They all had clung to reminders of Cass, because if they pretended hard enough it was almost like she was there with them.) (Peter collected anything silverish, because the colour reminded him of Cass' prosthetic. Susan devoured every book about stars, myths and facts alike. Edmund's room was filled with his twin's favourite flowers, the thorns still left on every single bloom. Lucy kept a lighter in her pocket at all times, because the flame reminded her of Cass' warmth.) 

Hours later, well after the sun has risen and breakfast must have been served in the Great Hall, someone approaches the place Cassiopeia has not moved from, pausing momentarily when the Kelpie lifts its head but then choosing to settle down at Cassiopeia's side. Glancing at the new person, the star-girl is unsurprised to see the familiar life-green magic of Neville; she offers him a small smile which he returns, before glancing down at the Kelpie with a raised eyebrow. Cassiopeia shrugs at the look, not knowing how to explain this to him, and her friend laughs because he does not know what else to do.

"I remember you," Neville addresses the horse-shaped being, and there is pain on his face at the reminder of that awful day, but there is relief there too. (He will never forget that he almost lost Cassiopeia. He will never forget that this Kelpie saved her.) "You have my gratitude for saving my friend."

It is dangerous, to admit your gratitude so readily. (A sign of debt towards the other.) Neville is aware of the danger of his words; he has spent too much time with fae-born Luna and fae-taught Cassiopeia to not know the dangers and wonders of words. As it is, the boy knows exactly what he is saying to this creature who once saved his dearest friend. (If there is a debt the Kelpie wishes to collect, Neville will happily pay it.) (He would pay any price to ensure Cassiopeia survives.)

"Brave of you, to confess gratitude to such a thing, even knowing the risks," Peter looks over at Neville consideringly. The Sun King thinks that it could be rather stupid, too, to do such a thing, but does not say this; he understands the other boy's actions, for he too would incur any debt to ensure his siblings' survival. 

Neville hears what the Sun King is thinking even though the words do not pass Peter's lips, smiling wryly at Cass' eldest brother. There is something dark in Neville's eyes, something protective in the curl of the sandy-haired boy's fists as he glances towards his lovers and his friends. "Anything to ensure that they survive," Neville echoes his thoughts from so many years before, with a slight alteration, meeting Peter's eyes fearlessly. 

The Sun King bows his head in acknowledgement, and Neville grins back. (They understand each other, these two protective beings. There is a companionship there.) 

The Kelpie looks at Neville, and there is an impression of kindness-pride-safety, and Neville does his best to convey the depth of his gratitude. And then Cassiopeia hums quietly, disrupting the moment as she looks at the Kelpie. "Would you mind if I gave you a name I can call you by?" When the horse-shaped being does not protest this, the star-girl smiles a brittle smile, one which speaks of a pain Neville cannot understand the cause of. "Would Anwar be an acceptable name?"

Neville enquires into the reason she chose that name, after the Kelpie conveys its acceptance of such a title. Cassiopeia does not look at him; her eyes remain fixed upon the Black Lake, something sad and yearning filling silver eyes as she gazes at the sunlight dancing over the waters. "I knew someone whose name meant Light, once," she finally murmurs, long after Neville has given up on receiving an answer. "She loved the ocean, and would undoubtedly have loved to be a Kelpie had she been able to shapeshift. It seems fitting that this Kelpie should share a name-meaning with her."

And she does not say a word after that, no matter how much Neville tries to pry.

Narcissa thinks it's lovely, that Cass named the Kelpie for her youngest sister. (Who else could Cass be referring to? Of course Anwar is named for Lucy Pevensie, the Queen with the ocean in her veins.) The name suits the horse-being, sitting easily on the Kelpie's being; truly, now that the being has been named, Narcissa cannot think of another name that would suit them better. (Is it her imagination, or did the horse-being glimmer slightly as it was named, the light reflecting off of it shining a little brighter in response to the new title?) 

Sirius is going mad, because he knows that name. He knows that title, that horse-being. He recognizes the shape and the size and the title. And yet, when he tries to think of where he has seen Anwar before, his mind fails him, a blankness coming to the fore that he recognizes. He is going mad, except he isn't, because he has been obliviated and he knows this. But why would someone take the memories of Anwar? 

In between planning and plotting and acclimatizing to this old-new world, Cassiopeia spends much of her time remembering her siblings. She no longer lets her grief consume her, as it had at the end of the previous year, when she'd disappeared into the Forbidden Forest to scream and rage and mourn where no one would see her.

Her grief does not consume, but it does not disappear. Instead, it becomes part of her, an intrinsic thing that she keeps tucked next to her heart, hidden and protected by her ribcage. (Why should she not protect it? What is grief if not proof of love?) (What is this grief, if not the only thing she has left of her siblings?)

And so, as much as Cassiopeia does her best to immerse herself in this not-Narnia world, she mourns too. She remembers. She is haunted, but not by ghosts.

The students of Hogwarts understand this feeling intimately. They have grown up knowing this feeling, this un-ghostly haunting. They have experienced things that have left them haunted. (Memories, they think, are the most haunting thing in the world. You are never rid of them.) 

Blaise Zabini grew up haunted by all the siblings who died before they could take a breath. Theodore Nott grew up haunted by the mother who died protecting him, and the father who caused her death. Cass grew up haunted by the fathers who abandoned her without a second thought. Luna grew up haunted by the death of a beloved mother. Harry grew up haunted by the demise of both of his parents. Ginny grew up haunted by a family that viewed her as lesser just because she is a girl. 

Draco and Neville are haunted by witnessing Cass disappear into the lake. Dennis Creevery is haunted by the attack on Hogwarts that left his elder brother unconscious and bleeding. Daphne is haunted by the time Astoria came back from Umbridge's detention, weeping and with blood dripping from her hand. Hermione and Ron are haunted their visit to the Department of Mysteries. 

Hogwarts is a haunted school, and the students are all haunted beings. 

Peter haunts her in the moments of boldnesss and bravery, the times where she draws every eye in the room and becomes the leader he used to be.

("Gather all of the younger years," Cassiopeia says to Luna and Draco and Neville, her voice loud enough that all those near her can also hear what she is saying. She glances around, sees how the first and second years are shaking as they stand in the Great Hall, some of them crying quietly, all of them still in their night clothes. (She is twelve and twenty-five all at once. She has never felt so old.) "We'll put them closest to where the teachers sit, and have the older years sleep by the doors. If Sirius Black wants to break in tonight, we're not letting him get to the children without a fight."

Her friends nod, and scamper off to direct the younger ones towards the back of the Hall, further away from the doors. Many of the older years follow suit; a Hufflepuff with dark hair and kind features catches her eyes, nodding his thanks as he herds the young Hufflepuffs closer to safety. She dips her chin in return, looking around at what is happening, making sure all of the first and second years have been placed behind the barrier of their older peers; the children are still scared, and a few are still crying, but they have begun to comfort one another, chatting and huddling without regards for house or gender.

Despite the terror of Sirius Black breaking into the castle, there is joy here, in these children who can put aside their differences to comfort each other. Cassiopeia swears to protect this, and as she does so, she can feel warm hands resting on her shoulders, squeezing proudly. She knows those hands, she knows that warmth; Cassiopeia spins around, but Peter is not there. It was just a memory of him, and now the memory has faded.)

Peter does the same thing now, reaching over to rest his hands on his younger sister's shoulders, squeezing slightly. He is proud of her, just as the memory of him was, proud beyond belief to see how she took control and organized the students and placed the protection of the young ones as the utmost priority. And he is proud that she thought of him, in that time, that she had the memory of him to encourage her. (He would have done anything to be there in person.) 

The teachers remember this. They remember the night that Sirius Black broke into the castle, forcing them to have all the students sleep in the hall while the teachers searched for the murderer's whereabouts. Flitwick remembers how, when they came back to the hall (left undefended in a lapse of judgement) they'd found the older students wide awake and ready to attack, while the younger students slept happily behind them. He hadn't known, back then, who had organized the hall so that the students would be protected; he hadn't bothered to ask, too relieved that his students were safe to look any closer. 

But they know now, the teachers, who kept the students of Hogwarts safe. And so Flitwick turns to Cass, smiles at her as he dips his head in a half-bow. Pomona places a hand on her heart as she bows more properly to the star-girl, eternally grateful that the girl had kept her Hufflepuffs safe. Minerva does not bow, nor does she smile, but she does nod in acknowledgment at Cass' actions, and that's as much as the star-girl expected. Severus does bow, a proper bow in the style of Slytherin house, and there is gratitude in the action, more gratitude than he has ever shown anyone before. 

Cass does not bow back, but she does dip her chin in acknowledgement, the regal movement betraying her past as a queen. She does not say anything to the teachers, nor do they say anything to her; everyone knows she did not do it for the professors. Cass protected the students for the students, for no reason other than that they are children and if she can keep them safe she will. 

Then there is Susan, her kind-cruel-wise older sister, whose memory exists in moments of knowledge and threats.

("You don't belong here," an older Slytherin spits as Cassiopeia creeps through the portrait, entering the Slytherin Common Room as easily as she has so many times in the past few months. The older Slytherin pulls out a wand, curse on her lips, only to startle when Cassiopeia flashes a smile so sharp it leaves cuts on the Slytherin's skin. The star-girl skips forwards, appearing at the Slytherin's side before a curse can be cast, and what Cassiopeia says next is whispered too quietly for anyone else to hear, but the Slytherin girl staggers backwards, face paling as her wand drops to the ground. Cassiopeia grins and turns away, and as a breeze gusts past she swears she hears Susan's laughter.)

"What did you tell her?" Edmund asks out of idle curiousity, eye scanning the hall but not seeing the Slytherin girl. (Has she graduated, or did Cass get to her? Both options are distinct possibilities.) His twin laughs, the sound light and warm and playful, and he tightens his hold on her. (He doesn't hear her laugh nearly enough.) 

"Oh, you know." Cass tilts her head back so that she can see her twin's face, smiling into the silver-eye scarred-eye of her other half, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. He leans into her touch, eyes slipping half-closed with contentment, and Cass' lips quirk into a smile at the action. "I just mentioned a few things she didn't expect me to know - divorce, early pregnancy, something like that." 

Edmund huffs a laugh, and maybe Cass will tell him exactly what she said to the girl at some point, but truly, there is not a need to. It was such an insignificant little thing, hardly worth remembering. There are better secrets for her to share with her twin. 

(Draco drops his head down and groans loudly, ignoring the scolding this actions gains him from Madam Pince. Next to him, Cassiopeia sighs, offering Neville a tired smile when the boy hands her a coffee he'd managed to sneak into the library. They are looking for knowledge, for traps and tricks and ways to be more powerful. (They have to be more powerful, they have to know more, else they stand no chance against anyone at all.) Cassiopeia looks at all the books strewn around her, of which many are fascinating but most are useless, and cannot help but sigh. Is she ever going to be able to find something that will allow her friends to survive whatever may be coming?

"Breathe, Cassie," a voice murmurs in her ears, cool hands brushing against her cheeks. "Breathe. You're panicking, but it's okay. Everything's going to be fine. You see that book over there, the one half-hidden underneath the shelf? Looks like someone forgot it a while back and it hasn't been picked up since then. Should be something fun in there, don't you think?"

Cassiopeia closes her eyes. She breaths in, and out. In, and out. The memory of Susan has already vanished, but she still gets up and drags the book out from under the shelf. Warfare and Battles, the cover reads, and Cassiopeia clutches it tightly as she silently thanks her elder sister.)

Draco grins at the sight of the book, something cold and cruel glittering in his eyes that reminds those around him of silently cracking ice and creeping shadows. He knows that book, as he knows many other books in the library; he and Cass have spent many nights bent over that tome, studying strategies and battle plans. 

(Cass has spent less time with the book than he has; he knows, now, that it is because she knows enough about warfare from living through it.) (Draco is the strategist of their group, the one who plans and plots and manipulates situations until they cannot lose. Everything he knows about warfare, he learned first from this book.) 

And then there is Edmund, the most common of her ghosts, the most painful. Her twin, her world, her other half, who is both present and absent at the same time. He is there in the big moments and the small moments, all the times she tries to turn to him for help only to remember that he isn't there, all the times she swears she hears him laughing.

(The Kelpie has taken to joining Cassiopeia, whenever she ventures outside. "Anwar," she has named the being, and the sometimes-horse-shaped-being nickers with delight every time it hears the title. Luna will often find her sitting on the shores of the Black Lake, the Kelpie at her side as she stares at something no one can see; sometimes, if Luna can get close enough to see Cassiopeia properly before the other girl notices her presence, she swears she sees the silhouette of a young boy standing at her friend's side.)

(The snow falls from the sky in small white drifts, and Cassiopeia is inside the castle, curled up next to Ginny in front of a roaring fire, but she can still feel the ache of the cold in her bones. Her lips sting with the remembered pain of stitches through bloodied lips, and bruises decorate her skin - they are caused by nothing but her memories. Ginny leans into her side, and Cassiopeia startles, gaze searching for dark-hair silver-eyes before remembering that there is no twin here to seek comfort from. Instead, the star-girl curls around her friend, clinging to the redhead with a desperation neither of them will mention. It is still so achingly cold.)

(Cassiopeia reads a passage in a book, and hears Edmund laughing at it. She turns a corner a bit too fast, and watches the familiar coat of her brother flare as he disappears around the next corner. She wanders through the forest in the night, searching for a part of her lost in another world, and although she feels Edmund's hand in hers, he is not there.)

Cass twists in order to further curl around Edmund, ducking under his antlers so as to bury her face in the crook of his neck, her claws scraping against his skin as she tightens her grip on his shirt. She breathes in, breathes out, focuses on the scent of forests and darkness that always accompanies her other half. 

Edmund does the same, curling around Cass protectively, lowering his head to rest on her shoulder until his antlers encircle them both, a barrier protecting them from anyone who might dare to approach. His arms tighten around her, vines cracking the stone floor beneath them to copy this motion, until the two of them are held tightly together by limbs and shrubbery. (No one is taking them away from each other. Not again.) 

"I'm here," Edmund whispers to his twin in the language of darkness-light that only the two of them know how to speak, and she repeats the reassurance back at him in the same words. They lean into each other, their breaths and heartbeats slowing down to match, so intertwined that it is impossible to tell where one twin ends and the other begins. 

And then there is Lucy, the second most common her ghosts, the one who appears when everything seems impossible and Cassiopeia needs just a little bit more hope to make it through the day.

(Cassiopeia is curled up against a wall, somewhere within the maze of tunnels that is the dungeon, so deep that she prays no one will find her. She can't breathe. A cauldron had exploded near her and her sleeve is still singed where it caught fire and she is burningburningBURNING-

Hands wrap around her wrist, cool metal brushing against the place where her prosthetic meets her skin, and a forehead leans against hers. Cassiopeia sucks in a shuddering breath, a sob escaping her throat when the tang of salt hits her tongue. (She knows who this is.) The person does not say anything, simply breaths and holds Cassiopeia so tenderly she fears she might break. Lucy is gone when Cassiopeia's breathing evens out.)

The students of Hogwarts look at Cass, and they wonder if she still has flashbacks of her death. If she still panics when her sleeve catches alight, if flames sometimes make her flinch, if sometimes when she jumps from something she thinks she is falling again. 

They think that she does. They have seen her flinch away from the torches, sometimes, when she is particularly distracted and the fire is just a little bit brighter than normal. They remember when someone mentioned the word "catapults" near her and she snarled at the person instinctively. They know how she sometimes looks at the edge of a high drop as though a single move will send her tumbling down. 

The students of Hogwarts understand that her death still haunts Cass. (As is only natural.) And they ache for her, this girl-queen-goddess who had to die to be reborn, this warrior-survivor who went through so much but never told anyone. Silently, an understanding is birthed amongst the students: they will protect Cass as she has protected them, because what are devotees and followers for if not to ensure that their god-general-leader is safe? 

(Already, this is a task they have taken upon themselves. The Ravenclaws have taken care to only use bluebell flames in their Common Room, the colour less bright and the flames incapable of burning anyone. The Slytherins have banned the word "catapults" from the school's vocabulary, and the Gryffindors ensure no one murmurs this forbidden word. The Hufflepuffs one all stayed in the castle over the winter holidays, and when school restarted safety railings had been added to every tower.) (The students of Hogwarts follow Cass, and as she protects them, they will do their best to protect her.) 

(The first flakes of snow take Cassiopeia off guard. She is outside, barefoot as she always is these days, and although her breath is visible every time she exhales, she cannot feel the cold. Anwar is at her side - the horse-being has been a great friend, a wonderful excuse to slip away from the constraints of the castle, a greeting from the wild in times she cannot disappear entirely into the Forest as she desperately wishes she could.

She knew it would storm, when she came out today. But she didn't think it would snow - didn't think it cold enough for snow, not yet. It's hard to judge these things when the cold is no longer something you can feel.

The first snowflakes drift to cover her arms, and she freezes.

In Narnia, she has faced thirteen winters since the bitter cold of the White Witch. But every time, Edmund is at her side, the two of them holding onto each other and their siblings as tightly as possible in order to ground themselves. Now, she is alone - entirely alone, not even her friends around to ground her.

Cassiopeia collapses more than crouches, a whine escaping her lips as she covers her head with her hands. Her breath appears before her in soft clouds, and snowflakes flurry down, covering her arms and hair. Her lips ache with remembered scars, and she has to claw at her arms to stop herself from clawing at lips no longer sewn shut.

And then, warmth, small arms wrapping around her and drawing her into an embrace as familiar as her own face. Cassiopeia falls forwards with a gasp, relaxing into the warmth, embracing the ghost of her little sister while she still can; too soon, Lucy is gone, and Cassiopeia is alone in the snow once more. But there is warmth lingering in her bones, and even though it is snowing, a small smile twitches at Cassiopeia's lips. At her side, Anwar nickers, presses their snout into her side, and she flings her arms around the horse-being in place of her sister, silently thanking the memory of Lucy for stopping her spiral.)

The Pevensie siblings see how Cass shuddered at the first snow of the season, and their hearts ache for their sister. They know why she reacts like that, they know what it looks like; Edmund was the same, in Narnia and after Narnia, his bones aching and the scar in his chest throbbing the moment the first snowflake drifted from the sky. In Narnia, it had been simple to bundle both Edmund and Cass up, to ply them with hot chocolate and throw blankets on top of them and distract them with stories. In England, it had been harder; without Cass at his side, Edmund was that much more catatonic at the sight of snow, that much less responsive to any of their attempts to distract him, that much harder to heat up.

Draco-Luna-Neville-Ginny know this scene well. This is something they repeat on the first day of winter every year, when Cass disappears into her own mind, and hardly anything can draw her back out. They are used to Cass' silence on the first day of snow, how her skin is always a little bit too cold, how her gaze is more haunted than it is any other day of the year. It is different, now, to see it happening and understand what caused it; they have never asked before about her aversion to the first day of snow, not willing to dredge up whatever memories that question may bring.

(Sometimes Cass and Edmund love the snow. Sometimes the twins hate the snow. But one thing that never changes is this: the first day it snows is the day the twins spend trapped inside their memories.) 

(Cassiopeia weeps quietly in the middle of the night, mourning a kingdom and a family and a life, and Lucy's hands brush away her tears. Cassiopeia freezes a little when she hears someone scream, but then Lucy's laughter is there, and the sound reveals itself to be something of joy rather than something of terror. Cassiopeia stands opposite her father, and her little sister's growl drifts through her ears, reminding her of her fury.)

Cassiopeia misses her siblings fiercely, but they haunt her, too. And she feels their absence more than ever, but clings to the memories with all her might, because what else does she have to cling to? 

The adults in the hall (the ones who have lived through a war already, the ones who have lost everything already) know this feeling just as intimately as the children do. 

Whenever Sirius passes a window seat, he sees Regulus leaning against the window with a book in his hand. Narcissa can't drink cocktails without seeing her mother choking on the poison that almost killed Narcissa too. Every time Amelia looks at Susan, she has to remind herself that her sister-in-law and brother are dead. Augusta Longbottom can't look at her grandson without seeing her own son. Laughter always has Remus looking for James and Lily, even though they're long gone. 

The adults know what it is to be haunted. So do the children. (This is a consequence of war.) 

The first time Cassiopeia has Defense in her third year, she enters the classroom and then walks straight back out after making eye contact with the teacher. She does not return, no matter how he yells after her, or how she is threatened with detention. 

In Narnia, Cassiopeia learned how to fight every battle she put her mind to, how to win every war she dared to take part in. But before she went to Narnia, Cassiopeia was a scared little girl who learned the art of deceit, who taught herself how to flee in order to survive another day. And when she walks into that classroom and sees the man who will be her teacher, Cassiopeia does what she did when she was just a scared little girl, and she runs. (Runs from the man who ran from her. Isn't that poetic?)

Her friends find her later that day, on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, her feet bare and a scowl on her face. They do not ask about the blood under her nails or the way her teeth seem to have sharpened slightly - Draco wraps a coat around her shoulders and Luna heals the cuts on her skin and Neville makes her laugh as he hands her a goldenrod flower with a flourish and Ginny teasingly asks Cassiopeia to take her with next time the star-girl feels like venturing into the Forbidden Forest. 

The more the Pevensie siblings see of Cass' friends, the more they find themselves liking these children who have taken care of their sister when the Pevensies could not. 

They see Draco's loyalty, Neville's adoration, Luna's playfulness, Ginny's mischievousness. They see how the friends take care of Cass when she is unable to take care of herself, how they are ready to defend her from anyone, how they are the first to stand at her side at the slightest hint of a fight. 

And the Pevensies are kings and queens and gods, they understand the value of this devotion. And so they find themselves adoring these friends of Cass, as they adore their Narnian subjects, as they adore any of their worshippers. And already, Ginny-Luna-Neville-Draco have begun to be accepted into the Pevensie inner court, the Pevensie family - how could they not become part of the family, after all that they have done for Cass? 

Sirius, too, sees the devotion that these children-warriors have towards his daughter, and the sight warms his heart. He looks at Remus, but the werewolf is not looking at the screen, ashamed to watch how he allowed his chance to make amends with his daughter slip from his fingers. (And yet, Remus is watching, too. He can hardly look away from the woman his daughter has become - he can hardly look at her, knowing how he has contributed to her pain.) (Both Remus and Sirius see Ginny-Draco-Luna-Neville's devotion to Cass, and they think of the friends they once had, and they are so proud of their daughter for finding people who love her so ardently.) 

Her friends do not ask, but they do not forget, either. 

Remus Lupin wakes up to toads hopping around his room, and whenever the creatures open their mouths, furious screams are all that can be heard. (This is the rage Neville and Luna hide.) Cassiopeia leaves the classroom, and when Remus Lupin tries to reach out to stop her Ginny grabs his wrist and prevents him from touching her. (Ginny burns with fury; she leaves shiny red burns curled around Remus Lupin's wrists.) Upon entering his room after a long day teaching, Remus finds everything perfectly in place, except for the message scrawled on the wall: Abandoner abandoner abandoner. (Courtesy of Draco, privy to some of the trauma of his cousin and determined to make Remus Lupin pay for his part in her pain.) 

Remus did not know who the perpetrators of these things were when he was teaching, but he had his suspicions, and as such he shows no reaction when he sees how his daughter's friends conspired to torment him for what he did. Truly, he does not blame them for their reaction; he did much the same, when learning of how several of his professors supported Voldemort, when he heard of how they'd discriminated against Lily just because of who her parents were. 

Remus may have no reaction to what was done, but he is the only one. The Pevensies smirk. Draco-Luna-Neville-Ginny laugh delightedly. The students of Hogwarts grin, murmur appreciatively, admire how Cass' friends defended her. The teachers of Hogwarts see how their students are grinning at the screen and feel the sudden need to move away from the children. Harry wants to defend Remus, but doesn't dare break the silence of the hall. Lucius Malfoy can't decide between laughing or scolding his son. 

Eventually, Remus gives up on speaking to Cassiopeia. (Gives up on her, as he always has, as he always will.) At least, he gives up until the last lesson he will ever have with her: the Boggart lesson. 

Here's the thing about Boggarts: they show you what you fear. Not necessarily what you fear most, simply a fear that you hold close to your heart, a fear that controls your actions. A Boggart can be a trauma, it can be a memory, it can be a fear you didn't realize you had. 

A Boggart does not restrict itself to what is possible or what happened in a separate world; a Boggart restricts itself to what is personal. And when Remus Lupin chose to have a lesson spent facing the Boggart, he forgot one important thing: these are the children of soldiers who grew up in a war. They are not harmless, and nor are their fears. 

The class is a mix of all houses, as the classes are small enough to allow the four houses to mix easily and Remus wants them all to have a turn facing the Boggart, not wanting to risk the creature escaping in between lessons. Neville and Draco and Cassiopeia stand to the side as the others face their fears, but eventually, the trio can no longer hide; they have to face the Boggart too. (They hope Ginny and Luna will not have to do this.) (They will ensure Luna and Ginny don't have to face this, even if the three of them have to tear this Boggart apart with their teeth.) 

And none of the younger years did have to face the Boggart. The promise of Draco-Neville-Cass was kept, although not in that lesson; it was kept when they crept back into the room that night, before the classes the next day. They stole into the room and opened the door of the wardrobe, and the three of them did exactly what they swore they would, and tore the Boggart apart until there was hardly even a memory of it left. 

Ginny does not want to think about what she would have seen, should she have had to face the Boggart. It could have formed a blank notebook, or a too-still too-pale Cass, or an emptiness where her friends once were - any of these things are terrible, and would have broken the redhead just that little bit more. (Ginny came face to face with a boggart, once. She did not get a chance to see what image it formed before Cass' magic tore it to shreds.) 

Luna is eternally grateful for Draco and Neville and Cass, because she has an idea of what the Boggart would have shown her, and it is not something she was willing to face at twelve years of age. (She remembers a mother who died in flames, and imagines being unable to help while her friends suffer the same fate.) (This is what Luna would have seen, had she faced the Boggart in her second year.) (Now, she would have a different Boggart, she knows this. She is not willing to face it. War is not kind to children, and this is something reflected in Boggarts.)  

(Harry sees his friends, telling him he will always be a freak. Hermione breaks down as McGonagall decides she is not good enough to be part of the Wixen world, condemning her to a life of loneliness and misunderstandings. Ronald scowls at the form of his mother, shrieking that he cannot be loved because there is nothing to love about him. Parvati and Padma sob at the prone forms of each other, too-still too-lifeless. Theo cowers away from the shouting form of his father. Lisa stares at the noose hanging from the ceiling.) (What, everyone wonders, when there is no one else left to go, will Cassiopeia and Neville and Draco face?) 

Neville goes first, Gryffindor bravery shining through as he steps in front of his friends and stares down the Boggart. He does not know what it will become; he suspects Snape, if only because the man represents everything wrong with adults, represents the bullies and those who abuse their authority and those who delight in making children suffer. (Snape, who represents everything Neville is terrified he could become.) 

It would have been better, if it had been Snape. 

Instead, it is Ginny who appears, ghostly and wan as she had been throughout the previous year, looking through Neville rather than at him. Cassiopeia is lying at the redhead's feet, lips blue and water filling her lungs, and Luna is atop Cassiopeia, slit wrists dripping blood onto the ground. Draco stumbles out of the wardrobe, bloodied and beaten, but a hand drags him back into the darkness. 

Neville waves his wand, gasps out the incantation through the tears streaming down his face, and the scene changes to Ginny and Luna laughing brightly at Draco as he trips over Cassiopeia's outstretched foot. Neville stumbles back, collapsing into Cassiopeia's arms as he takes shuddering breaths. 

(Here is what Neville fears: that his friends will be hurt, and he will be unable to help.) 

Augusta Longbottom sees how her grandson once fell into his friend's arms as he sobbed over his fear, and her heart breaks for the sweet child she failed to raise. She looks to him now, sees how he grimaces at the sight of the Boggart, how he reaches for Ginny and Luna and clings to them tightly to remind himself that they're okay; Augusta aches to go and hug her grandson tightly and promise him that he and his friends will be okay. She knows she cannot do this - she has burned that bridge, and there is no way to regain a relationship with her last family member. 

Draco steps forwards, and Luna-Neville-Ginny-Cassiopeia are all there still, but this time they are turning away from him, eyes sliding over his form as though he does not exist. He reaches out to them, calls them by name, asks his friends to acknowledge that he exists - they stay silent and faced away. He promises them that he will do anything, he will find the knowledge they need, he'll plan and plot and scheme until their dreams come true. Silence is all that greets him. 

It is, in the end, only when Neville reaches out to his blonde-haired friend, placing a hand upon Draco's shoulder, that the Slytherin youth remembers to breathe, remembers to stifle his panic, remembers to cast his spell. "Riddikulus," he whispers, and then Lucius Malfoy is in front of the classroom, dancing a jig while dressed in a tutu. The class laughs; Draco does not. He sinks back into Neville's grip, throwing his arms around his friend who hugs him back tightly, as Cassiopeia squeezes Draco's shoulder tightly before stepping in front of them both. 

(Here is what Draco fears: that he is not enough. That one day, his friends will leave and he will be unable to convince them to stay, because there is no longer any reason for them to want him around.) 

His friends curl around him, and Draco shudders out a shaky breath. He is okay, he reminds himself. They haven't left him - they won't leave him, because they are with him for who he is, not merely for the knowledge he can provide. He feels Luna grasp his hand tightly, and Neville wraps an arm around Draco's shoulders, and Ginny bullies her way into being tucked into the older boy's side. Even Cass detaches slightly from where she and Edmund are still wrapped around each other, looping her pinkie around Draco's, flashing him a reassuring smile. 

Narcissa sees what her son feared, at the tender age of thirteen, and a tear drips down her cheek. She looks down at her clasped hands, forces herself to take steadying breaths so that she does not lose composure. This is her fault, she knows. This is her fault, because she did not take Draco and leave when she saw how Lucius was treating her son. This is her fault, because she did not do enough to counteract the lessons her husband forced her son to learn. (Amelia sees the tear, and reaches out to place her hands on top of Narcissa's. She understands what the other woman is thinking, but does not know how to help, so she simply moves a little closer and offers what comfort she can.) 

And now, Cassiopeia steps forwards. The youngest of them all, and the oldest too, although none of them are aware of the last fact. The class watches with bated breath (as does Remus Lupin); what does Cassiopeia, who ran away from home and buried her father's name and rescued her friend from a place no one had dared enter, fear?

The Boggart is a little more uncertain, when it comes to Cassiopeia. It flicks through a few different shapes, almost too fast for anyone to see. (A girl burning, four figures disappearing into the darkness, an elderly woman screaming slurs.) When it does settle, the image is paints is one of warfare. Broken streets and broken buildings, screams coming from somewhere no one can see. Bodies lie in front of Cassiopeia: Luna and Ginny, hand in hand, looking like they could be sleeping. Neville, lying on top of them, slashed open from navel to throat in his last efforts to protect them. Draco, leaning against Cassiopeia's legs - or his torso, at least, for his lower half is nowhere to be seen. (Lucy lies on Ginny's other side, and Susan is next to her, and both of them have bled out from their missing limbs. Peter is on the ground a few steps away, his head separate from his body. Edmund is right next to Cassiopeia, a sword through his torso just as she'd once seen, and it is his body she cannot look away from.) 

"Did you really think you'd won?" The White Witch leans over Cassiopeia, the cold words sending frost crackling over her cheek, the hidden scars of stitched-shut lips burning at the sudden cold. The White Witch laughs, and it is high and cruel in a way that Cassiopeia has never forgotten. "Silly little girl, you've never been able to save your friends." 

"Riddikulus," Cassiopeia snarls, and her classmates blink at the flash of light which leaves them all grimacing and rubbing their eyes. The Boggart is forced to change - Sirius Black being dragged to prison, screaming and thrashing as the hands force him backwards. Cassiopeia laughs, and the sound is furious and burning, so entirely unlike the White Witch's that it gives all those in the room whiplash. 

Cassiopeia laughs, doubled over and cackling at the sight of her so-called father being dragged back to prison (just like he doomed her to grow up in a prison of a house), and Draco is laughing too, the sound a little cooler but just as angry as his cousin's. (The familial resemblance has never been clearer.) Neville is not laughing, but there is a smile on his face, as sharp as the thorns he grows and twice as dangerous. 

Does it hurt Sirius to see how his daughter laughs at the sight of him being dragged to Azkaban? Yes. No. Yes, it hurts to see how she would rejoice at his imprisonment, to see how she laughs at the sight of him being cast away for a crime he did not commit. And yet, at the same time, it does not hurt to see this, because he understands the hatred she feels for him, understands the pain he has caused her. 

Harry leaps to his feet, yelling at Cass, the words tripping to fall out of his mouth as the rest of the hall watches silently. He calls her a monster, calls her callous, calls her cruel. He tells her that she should not relish in another's misery, and then he tells her that it would have been better if she had just died as a child. 

"Remind me again, Harry Potter," Cass murmurs idly, predatory smile curling at her lips as she gazes at her once-friend. She leans forwards a little, feels Edmund tense behind her, knows that her twin is ready to attack at the slightest hint of provocation. But Cass signals for her other half and her siblings and her friends to stand down; there is nothing hurtful in Harry's words. His insults are more amusing than anything else, yapping from a dog with no teeth with which to bite. And so Cass grins, her teeth glinting as she looks at her once-friend. "Remind me again, Harry Potter, who it was who saved your precious godfather? Without me, he would not be alive. If that is the act of a monster, I can easily amend his state of being." 

Harry goes silent, and Sirius squints at his daughter. He can't remember her saving him - or rather, he remembers a hand grabbing him and pulling out of the path of a killing curse, but after that there is merely blankness until he woke up on the floor of the Department of Mysteries later that day. 

"Miss Black, that is enough!" Remus Lupin strides forwards, a rare moment of fury enveloping him as he attempts to place a hand upon the girl's shoulder. Cassiopeia whirls around before he can touch her, Neville stepping in front of her in a protective move, the trio turning almost identical accusatory gazes at the teacher; the laughter stops so suddenly the room rings with silence. "Miss Black," Remus Lupin begins again, although he does not try to touch Cassiopeia again, something in the burning of her eyes and the twist to her lips warning him from that course of action. "Miss Black," he repeats a third time, "this is unacceptable. You may wish someone into Azkaban all you want, but to show that to the rest of the class? Detention for-"

"No." Her voice is quiet, but that makes it all the more impressive when it echoes through the room. Cassiopeia steps forward, glaring at Remus Lupin with a fury so fierce it leaves burns on his skin. (They will, inevitably, add to his already large collection of scars. Marks of violence from a daughter beget by violence.) Her friends are at her sides, as they always have been, as they always will be. "This is where you draw the line? Truly? As though we are not all children of war-children, as though there is not at least one person each of us would drag to Azkaban with our own hands. Assign me detention for this, if you want, but know that there are much worse things I could show the class, and they would not flinch at seeing it." 

Cassiopeia walks out of the classroom without a backwards glance, for the last time. (Neville and Draco will return. She will not, despite attempts.) (Remus Lupin, this was your last chance to have a relationship with your daughter.) 

Here is how any chance of a relationship between Remus Lupin and Cassiopeia Adhara ends: with a lesson on fear, and a lecture on the consequences of war. 

Remus knows, now, that she was right. The students of Hogwarts know the perils of war, the pain that it leaves and the grief that it brings. They are more used to pain than his friends ever were at the same age - after all, did Lisa Turpin's boggart not become a noose? Did Theodore Nott not face his abusive father? Did Padma and Parvati not mourn at the sight of their other half, dead? 

The students of Hogwarts are a war-grown generation, and Remus Lupin has seen firsthand how they do not flinch at the sight of horrors that would have many an adult fleeing. They are a violent generation, a traumatized generation - he knows this now, in a way he did not know this, when his daughter was in her third year and the war was still thought to be over. 

(He regrets how he reacted three years ago, but what else could he do? How was he meant to react, when faced with the scene that still plays out in his nightmares, when forced to confront the experience that ruined his life?) 

Here is how Cassiopeia deals with the threat of Sirius Black: by protecting her friends. 

When Neville comes down to breakfast one morning with a pale face and shaking hands, telling a worried Draco-Cassiopeia-Luna about how he woke up in the middle of the night to see Sirius Black standing over him with a knife, Cassiopeia slams her cup of coffee down with a scowl. She grabs Neville's wrist and drags him outside before he has even eaten, their friends following closely. (This action feeds the rumours that Cassiopeia is working with Sirius Black, but she doesn't care.) 

"Make a fist," Cassiopeia demands when they are standing at the shores of the Black Lake. Anwar approaches them, nickering, but the horse-being does not interrupt, merely prancing over to stand by Luna and beginning to nibble on the fae-girl's hair. Answering his friend's demand, Neville forms a fist; Cassiopeia reaches out and adjusts his hand so that his thumb is outside his knuckles. "Try and punch me." 

He hesitates, of course. There is no world in which Neville wants to hurt his friends in any shape or form. But then Cassiopeia feints towards Draco, whose back is turned as he pets Anwar, and Neville (the protector) finds himself moving before he can even think about it. 

He ends up flat on his back in seconds, coughing as the air escapes from his lungs. Ginny extends a hand, hauls him to his feet, and he faces his friend again. Cassiopeia is watching this cooly, but he knows how to read her, can see the fear in her eyes, can see that she is desperate for him to know how to defend himself. "Again," Neville says. "Show me how you did that." 

Neville is best suited for defensive fighting, but so was Edmund, at least at the beginning of their reign. Cassiopeia knows how to teach him, knows how to taunt and tease and push just enough that he learns how to defend himself and his loved ones. And Neville, strong Neville, brave Neville, picks himself off the floor every time she gets him down and demands that she show him how to be better. 

Cassiopeia is happy to do so.

(Neville knows the value of protection, knows that there are battles in his future. And so he throws himself into training, because if he can buy his friends a few precious seconds to get away, that could change everything.) (He learns the ways of the earth, solid and immovable, protective and dependable and more powerful than anyone might think.) 

Neville's a lot better now. He knows how to fight, how to throw and punch and take a punch and use someone's momentum against them. He still does not particularly like fighting, does not have the innate bloodlust that Cass and Ginny share, but he can and will fight to protect his loved ones.

It is somewhat of an honour, to be able and trusted to have his friends' backs. He can keep Luna-Draco safe, can cover Ginny's blindspot, can put down anyone Cass might miss in her bloodlust. His friends know that he is always there to ensure that they are safe, and they can fight without needing to constantly watch over him, and that is enough to make him happy.

(Neville's boggart showed him that he feared being unable to help his friends, so he learned how to protect them.) 

Ginny and Draco come to Cassiopeia together, just a few weeks after she's begun to train Neville, a united front for all that their reasons for wishing to learn to fight differ. (Ginny wants to fight because she is angry. She is wildfire and flames, spitting with disdain at a world that calls her lesser because she is a woman, raging against a world that calls her "child" and means "helpless".) (Draco is scared, terrified with every breath that he draws into his lungs, and he wants to be better than that. He wants to fight, not so that he can protect or so that he can have vengeance upon a world that has spurned him; Draco wants to fight so that, when the time comes, he'll know that he won't turn tail and flee at the first taste of combat.) 

"Will you show us, too?" The two friends ask, and they do not ask where Cassiopeia has learned to fight like everything is a battle that there is no choice but to win, but instead look at her with soldiers' hearts but untrained hands. (Warriors waiting for their general to accept them.) Their cousin-friend bares her teeth in something that could be called a smile, if looked at from the side and far away, and dips her head in an approximation of a nod. 

Ginny is passion and wildfire, a burning inferno of indignation and scorn and love, and so Cassiopeia shows her the ways of fire, the fighting that Peter once excelled in. She hands Ginny a sword, and another, the two girls sparring every sunset until Ginny is no longer disarmed in minutes. Then Cassiopeia takes one of the swords away and places a wand in her friend's hand, and watches gleefully as Ginny learns how to mix fighting with cursing, blades and spells combining to create a tempest which Cassiopeia knows will one day be unstoppable. 

(Close to the end of Cassiopeia's third year, Cormac McClaggen makes the mistake of suggesting that Ginny should be sent to the kitchen, "because she is a girl and that is where girls belong." He is sent to the Hospital Wing with cuts on all of his limbs and a head devoid of hair, a curse even Madam Pomfrey cannot remove.) ("Don't anger Ginny Weasley," the students begin to whisper, "for she is like wildfire, and twice as deadly.") 

Ginny is not like Neville, fighting only to protect. Ginny is wildfire and fury and bloodlust, a tempest only barely contained in the body of a mortal. Her magic is flames and her temper is legendary. She hunts in the Unseelie Court for fun and enjoys the taste of blood. Ginny is a being made of fire - she fights for fun, and she fights for love. 

Where Neville is the earth, steady and dependable, Ginny takes pride in being the fire of their friend group, raging through battles and leaving a trail of destruction in her wake. She does not hide, nor does she evade - a trail of blood denotes Ginny's presence in any battle. 

(As much as Ginny resembles Lucy, her fighting is entirely Peter. He, too, has war in his blood and battle in his heart. He and Ginny are creatures that thrive in bloodshed, their hands steady only during a battle.) 

Draco could not be more different to Ginny Weasley if he tried. He is the ice to her fire, the calm to her rage, the logic to her passion. He is less sane than he should be but more sane than he could be. Sometimes, Cassiopeia looks at him and she sees her twin, before Edmund met her, before he grew into his own. Other times, she sees him and can think of no one but Susan. 

And so, in honour of her sister and twin, Cassiopeia presses a pair of daggers into Draco's hands, and she points him towards books on poisons. He devours the ancient tomes (as Susan once did) and although he struggles with the knives at first, it does not take him long to understand how to wield them (as Edmund did). He learns how to channel magic through them, too, and then he truly becomes Ginny's equal and opposite, a force of creeping frost and ice which goes unseen until it cracks under someone's feet. 

("Know when to bestow your mercy," Cassiopeia murmurs when she presses a vial into Draco's hands, the eve before Yule. She meets his eyes; in his hand, the vial glows a chilling silver that matches her eyes and magic. "But also know when to destroy your enemies at their root.) (Draco hangs the poison around his neck, and the next time he sees his father he does not flinch, for he knows that he has the means to end the man if he feels he must.) 

Draco grins when he sees the vial Cass gave him that Yule, and his hand goes up to fiddle with the vial hanging on the chain around his neck. (The vial glows silver; he has only ever used a few drops of the poison Cass once gave him.) He is more like Neville than Ginny, preferring to strategize rather than fight, but it is enough to know how to use his strengths to win whatever battle he may find himself in. 

Draco is the ice to Ginny's fire and Neville's earth. He is the glacier that cracks without anyone noticing, the frostbite that creeps across someone's skin so slowly they don't notice, the snow that is so beautiful it distracts people from noticing how it is killing them slowly. In battle, Draco lingers on the outskirts, catching anyone who might try and flee and ensuring that they do not manage to walk away from the battle. 

Lucius Malfoy is still in the hall, although he has been forgotten by many, and he shudders when he sees the cold glint in his son's eyes. He knows that vial, has seen it hanging from Draco's neck many times; he never knew what it contained, but every time he saw it made him shudder, and he knew to stay far away from whatever it was. To learn that it was Cass who gave that to his son is terrifying, for now that he has seen what she is capable of, he can understand what the effects of that potion may be. 

Luna, the last of Cassiopeia's friends, is approached by Cassiopeia in the Ravenclaw Common Room. The fae-girl smiles at her friend, and Cassiopeia smiles back, perching next to Luna on the windowsill and dangling her feet out of the window. (For a moment, Cassiopeia looks down, and she remembers how it felt to fall-burn-die.) (For a moment, Luna looks at her, and flames wreathe her friend. She blinks, and they are gone.) 

"Will you let me teach you, too?" Cassiopeia asks Luna, for she cannot bear to know that her friend cannot defend herself. There is a war coming, Cassiopeia and Luna both know this; they can sense the tension in the air, the gathering of a storm the likes the world has hardly seen before. Cassiopeia knows war, more intimately than she knows peace, and refuses to have Luna walk into that unprepared. 

Luna closes her book and looks at Cassiopeia for a long moment, with those eyes that see everything and nothing all at once. Then she smiles, and it is like the cold rush of air at the edge of a precipice, a heady thing that is just a little bit manic. 

Luna isn't fiery like Ginny, or protective like Neville, or cold like Draco. She is whimsy and imagination, a fae-girl made human by her love but Other by her Sight. And so Cassiopeia does not try to press her into a mold, does not try to confine Luna. (As so many other have, as so many others will never try to do again.) Cassiopeia teaches Luna how to use whimsy as a weapon, because if you can't use what you are to fight then you are going to fail. Luna dances through their spars, wielding fans and words like weapons, adapting spells to suit her purposes, augmenting reality around her until every battle with her is something out of a different world. 

(Luna learns how to fight, and it is like learning to breathe. She never knew that she'd enjoy it so much, but there is something thrilling about using her differences to bring others to their knees. She is grateful to Cassiopeia, for showing her how to fight without betraying herself.) (Luna laughs through every battle, and those who hear the sound shudder. There is something insane about Luna Lovegood.) (Of course there is an insanity within her; she is friends with Cassiopeia, and to love an insane person one must be a little manic themself.) 

Luna loves fighting, although she never thought she would. As a child, she never would have dreamed that she would enjoy spilling blood so much, and yet, is she not fae? (She is fae, in blood and being, and there is no kind of fae that does not adore the thrill of the hunt.) 

Luna is whimsy and imagination and air, and it shows in her fighting style. She fights with grace and precision, always difficult to spot and impossible to predict. She is not like Neville, who stays close to his friends. She is not like Draco, who lingers on the outskirts of battle, picking off targets with pinpoint precision. She is not like Ginny, a force of destruction who leaves a clear trail behind her. Luna is a breeze, leaping from one side of the battle to the other, twirling and ducking and dancing through her enemies. She leaves no trail, but every enemy she encounters falls at her feet. 

In the end, Sirius Black escapes capture, despite the Dementors, despite the fact that he is the target of a manhunt. 

He escapes on the back of a Hippogriff, or so the rumours say, blasting his way out of the stone cell they'd put him in after he was finally captured, leaping onto a stolen Hippogriff and then disappearing into the heart of a storm, never to be seen again. 

Draco has...several problems with this story. 

Firstly, it's impossible that Sirius Black got out without help; his wand was taken, and Draco has looked back at the records. Sirius Black has never shown a talent for wandless magic. (Some suspect Cassiopeia of aiding him, but most don't. Most have seen her hatred of the man, and known it to be a true emotion.) Secondly, the Hippogriff was just waiting there? Hovering outside of the man's makeshift cell on the off chance that the murderer would escape? It made more sense that he found it afterwards. And then, his last problem with the story...it was a clear night. There wasn't even a drizzle falling, let alone a storm. Come on, people, if you're going to tell a story make it realistic! 

"Leave it to you to be more concerned with the facts than the fact that a mass murderer escaped," Susan Bones teases Draco, grinning at the boy as he frowns at her. He sniffs, crosses his arms, tilts his nose to the sky; he pouts, though he would never admit it. 

"Of course I'm concerned with the facts!" Draco defends his past self, but there is a hint of amusement in his voice that lets Susan Bones know she has not accidentally caused offense. "The Hogwarts gossip mill is prolific, and typically a very good source of information - am I supposed to just let them poison their information with mistruths and exaggerations? Then where would I get my information from?" 

Susan Bones laughs, as do many other students; they laugh although they are all aware that it is not a joke, despite how Draco laughs as he says it. The Hogwarts gossip mill is indeed prolific, with mistruths discarded and lies promptly shut down. It is controlled with an iron fist by Draco-Daphne-Blaise, the trio of Slytherins who use it as a source of information and as such, the trio who refuse to tolerate exaggerations and falsities. 

"Relax, Dragon," Neville laughs as his friend rants about the idiocy of the rumour. "We all know a grand portion of the student body forgets to think sometimes. Let them have their fun with the story - it'll die down within a week, anyway. No one will remember it by next year." 

"I will," Draco responds mulishly, but obliges his friend and does his best to ignore the inane rumours. Ginny doesn't help him in his endeavour, purposely feeding him the latest gossip and stories about Sirius Black's disappearance, laughing as he fumes at the stupidity of his fellow students.

Here is another problem Draco has with the story, one that all of them know about despite him not voicing it aloud: that was not the last time someone saw Sirius Black. 

They saw Sirius Black, once, after that.

Cassiopeia had been showing them how to hunt, leading them into the Forbidden Forest with little regard for rules or curfews. By the time they'd finished, the sky had been dark, and they'd stumbled out of the trees under the cover of the shadows, the laughter of five friends colouring the night sky golden. There was blood on Ginny's hands and mania in Luna's smile. Neville was caressing the thorns that he'd grown, the thorns that wrapped around his wrists but never dared to draw blood from their creator, and Draco was studying the frost creeping along his skin with delight. And Cassiopeia, lovely, feral Cassiopeia, was laughing the hardest of them all, and for a moment she looked more whole than she had since the end of her second year. 

They crept out of the forest, and Sirius Black stood in front of them. 

Sirius remembers this. 

He remembers landing in front of the forest, moments before his daughter and her friends stumbled out of the trees, some unknown instinct telling him to wait for a moment before fleeing Hogwarts entirely. He remembers how his breath caught in his throat upon seeing Cass. He remembers how her laughter had died the moment she saw him. 

(That was the first time Sirius Black properly met his daughter. That was the first time he saw her since she was a few months old and their family was still whole.) (He remembers how he'd looked at her, at her riotous curls and glowing eyes and slightly-too-sharp-teeth, and how he'd seen a perfect mix of him and his husband.) (He remembers her fury, and how it reminded him all too much of himself.) 

Sirius looks at this scene now, taking in all the details he did not notice three years before, having been too focused on his daughter to notice anything else at the time. He sees how Luna's eyes glinted fiercely, how Ginny's fingers curled into claws, how Draco scowled darkly, how Neville stepped forwards as if to protect his friends. 

He sees how Cass looked at him, distant and fearsome and furious all at once, a grown-up woman in a little girl's body, a queen forced out of her kingdom. (In the hall, Sirius Black bows his head, and mourns for the child he never met and the queen he did not know about.) 

The first thing Draco thought, the first thing he will always think when looking at this person, is how little Sirius Black looks like Cassiopeia. True, they share the same ebony hair and silver eyes, and there is the same sharpness to their features that speaks of too little food and long years of suffering. 

But Cassiopeia has darker skin and a jagged smile, and there is a shine to her eyes that hints at the fury she greets the world with. She wears her hair in riotous curls that have feathers braided in, and a crown of thorns and flowers often graces her head. When she stands before the world, she stands broken but alive, grabbing power with both hands and daring anyone to try and stop her. 

Draco looked at Sirius Black, that day he met him outside the Forbidden Forest, and although their appearances were similar, the young boy had never seen anyone who looks less like his cousin. (Apart from, perhaps, Remus Lupin.) (Somehow, a coward and a traitor got together to create a daughter who grew up to be nothing like them.) 

It is startling, the differences between Cass and Sirius, even in the present day in the hall. The students notice it, now that Draco has pointed it out in the past, dozens of eyes flickering between Remus and Cass and Sirius, taking note of all the differences. (Of which there are many.) 

Much like in her third year, Cass wears feathers braided into her curls, and her smile cuts across her face jaggedly. Now that she has shed her glamour, her differences have become even more clear to see - her skin sparks with light, and silver flames burst from her eyes, and space vitiligo entrances all who look at her form long enough. She is still furious, still otherworldly, still broken but alive. 

Sirius is wan, pale and thin like the prisoner he once was. His hair is limp, and tangled, and there are dark circles under his eyes. He has none of the power that his daughter holds, none of the fury that runs through her veins; Sirius Black is tired and mourning and empty, and when compared to Cass, it is near impossible to tell that they could be related. 

Remus is healthier than Sirius, but no similar to his daughter. He is fidgety, always pulling at a seam on his clothing or fiddling with his husband's fingers, his eyes darting around the hall as though waiting for an attack; this could not be more different to Cass, who sits still and silent, a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. There are scars on his skin, and curls in his hair, and his skin is the colour of burnt caramel, and these three things are the only similarities he shares with his daughter. 

Sirius and Remus have a daughter, and that daughter looks nothing like them. Isn't that funny? 

"Cassie," Sirius Black had whispered, and the laughter from the group of friends cut off immediately. They regarded him warily; he ignored everyone except for the girl who once was his daughter. "Cassie, I'm so sorry." 

Cassiopeia stared at him, this man who was once her father, this man who chose another's couple's child over his own, this man who is one-of-two reasons for her being raised in Grimmauld Place, under the cruelty of her grandmother. She scoffed, bared her teeth in a snarl as her magic flared aggressively, silver sparking around her like flames. 

"You don't get to be sorry," she'd scowled, arms folded over her chest and eyes blazing with fury. "You left me. I was raised by the woman you ran away from, and the fault for that rests entirely upon you and your husband's shoulders. My name is Cassiopeia Adhara; you are not my father, and you do not get to apologise and think that'll make up for anything." She'd stepped closer, putting herself in between the man and her friends, and when Draco thinks back to the day he feels a rush of love for his cousin, for defending them no matter what. "The next time I see you, just remember that you are nothing to me. Not my father, not my enemy. You are, quite simply put, nothing." 

And then she'd stepped back. They'd all stepped back, retreated into the Forest from which they'd emerged just moments before, cloaking themselves in shadows. 

They hadn't stayed to watch the man break. 

Here is why Draco loathes the story that Hogwarts tells about Sirius Black: because it is wrong. Because it has people wondering whether Cassiopeia would help her father, when Draco knows the truth: that Cassiopeia would rather die than give Sirius Black the time of day. 

Harry scowls when he sees how Cass and her friends treated Sirius, upon their first meeting of him. Ronald rolls his eyes at the dramatics of the once-Black girl. Hermione is torn; she does not condone Cass' actions, but understands where the girl is coming from. Remus wants to cry, because he knows that his daughter would say much the same thing to him, given the chance. Sirius bows his head in sorrow - he knows that his daughter's words are not unfounded. 

Draco grins, relishing in the words of his cousin, dreaming of the day he can say something similar to his own father. Luna laughs lightly, delight dancing in the depths of her eyes at her friend-god's cruelty. Ginny smirks languidly at the words she will one day repeat to her own mother. Neville smiles and holds out a fist, his smile growing when Cass fist bumps him without hesitation. 

Susan-Peter-Lucy-Edmund delight in the actions and words of their sister. They see how she refuses to claim these men as her parents, and they delight in it. (Thirteen years spent in Narnia with a loving family were still not enough to erase the scars Cass carries from the abandonment and abuse of her birth-family. For this, the Pevensies have decided that there is no punishment too harsh for Remus and Sirius.)