Months later, Brutus will remember their conversation with cold fear in his stomach.
He returns home tired, his mind swimming in legal scrolls and court dates. He changes into pajamas and digs out leftovers for dinner, still attached to his parents' way of cooking. Reads the Prophet and puts it aside, typically disappointed.
Then a resounding crack, just outside. He jumps, reaches for his wand. He creeps into the hall with it at the ready, eyeing the shadow through the opaque glass of the front door.
The shadow raises a hand and knocks. "Brutus?"
Brutus freezes. "Cassius?"
"It's the fault in our stars that's led us to this." Cassius was the one to suggest they start using a password. Brutus found it silly and vaguely embarrassing at first, but he went along with it, more and more convinced of its necessity as the months drew on. Especially once Cassius started getting death threats. They used it when they saw each other on short notice, when they were "in the neighborhood" or "just stopping by." On those occasions, it always seemed to Brutus to carry a hint of irony, then later a routine sort of comfort. This is the first time he's heard Cassius recite it with a hint of fear in his voice. He opens the door.
Cassius has always looked good in muggle clothing. He blends in. In jeans and a down jacket, no one would suspect he has no clue how to boil an egg, buy a Tube ticket or drive a car. Wearing a backpack, no one on the street would look at him and think twice. Just another Londoner on his way home from work. Brutus meets his eyes and a chill runs down his spine.
"Come in," he hears himself say. He locks the door behind him, and Cassius follows him into the kitchen. "Can I make you some tea?" He doesn't wait for an answer as he places the kettle and turns on the stove.
"No, thank you," Cassius murmurs, putting his backpack down on the tile. "…You know why I'm here."
Brutus nods. "Yes." Brutus knows, he supposes, though he doesn't want to believe it. He turns and gestures for Cassius to sit. They face each other across the kitchen table.
"I can't ignore the howlers anymore. They're at work, at home…I got one on the bloody street this morning. They're not coming from one person anymore."
"Where will you go?"
"I don't know yet." Cassius pauses. "I was hoping you could tell me."
Brutus looks up from the crack in the table he doesn't realize he's fixated on, and finds it difficult to meet his friend's eyes.
Cassius leans forward. "Come with me."
"Cassius…"
"Don't pretend you can't see what's going on. It's no different from before. Actually, it's worse. It's only a matter of time before it happens again. You've seen the Prophet, Brutus. You're inside the bloody ministry. Don't tell me you can't see it."
"There are still good people there. I can't just up and leave—I'm needed."
"Good people like Arthur Weasley? How much longer do you think they'll tolerate him? Or you, for that matter?"
"Cassius—"
"You're nothing but a mudblood to them. And your friends will do you no credit. Not to them. Not to the likes of—" Cassius pauses, grasps for a name, then spits one out: "—Dolores Umbridge. You're not safe—"
"No." Brutus does not need to look at Cassius' face to know it falls. Cassius' chair creaks as he sits back in his chair. "…I'm sorry." Cassius is silent. The tea kettle starts to whistle, and Brutus gets up to take it off the stove.
"I still have to go," Cassius murmurs.
"I know."
Cassius' chair scrapes on the floor, and Brutus turns. "This may be the last time we see each other," Cassius says, quietly. "I know you don't believe that."
Brutus can feel himself hollowing out. "You'll laugh about this when we see each other again."
Cassius smiles sadly. "Maybe. …But in case we don't…" he trails off and extends his hand. Brutus takes it, and Cassius pulls him into a hug. "Stay safe," he whispers.
"You're one to talk," Brutus manages. He feels Cassius' laugh in his own chest. Then they've separated, and Cassius is shouldering his backpack, and Brutus is watching him leave.
"Goodbye, Marcus," Cassius says at the door.
Brutus raises a hand in farewell. "Goodbye, Caius."
Then he's staring at the opaque glass in the empty hall.