Betrayal
James was pacing the Gryffindor Common Room, frowning, his hands wringing agitatedly in front of him. Fred and Roxanne were opposite him, George having run off somewhere with Albus half an hour before. Roxanne was reclined by the fire, one of her hands over her eyes, the other resting comfortably in her lap. Fred, on the other hand, was watching his best friend with apparent interest, a smirk lighting up his face.
"Oh sit down," Roxanne finally muttered, pulling herself up, "You're making me dizzy just looking at you."
"But what if she's not okay?"
The other two exchanged amused and confused glances, having never seen this side of James before. The eldest Potter child hadn't even noticed the look, having continued his pacing in earnest.
"What if she dies? Oh, God, what if she dies?" His voice had become a mere whimper as he collapsed opposite the twins, almost sobbing in his grief.
"She'll be fine, Jamie," Lily Luna murmured, coming over to him with Rose and sitting beside her clearly distraught brother. "This is Cassiopeia Malfoy we're talking about. She's going to be fine."
James could only nod, hoping beyond hope that she was right and not merely saying that to make him feel better.
XxX
Bellatrix smirked cruelly as she face her Lord. This plan had been in motion for years, long before Cassiopeia had even been born, but, after the successful kidnapping, this had seemed like the perfect opportunity to attempt it. And if she died, well, it was one less Blood Traitor in the world.
The Dark Lord stood fluidly before them, one hand resting on a still Malfoy's cheek. She had been knocked into a state near unconsciousness a few minutes earlier, and now, finally, their plan was to be put into effect.
First, the powdered moonstone was added to the bubbling cauldron in the centre of the darkened clearing, and then a bit of each of the four elements (earth, air, water and fire) were also placed delicately in. As the vaguely shimmering purple solid was sprinkled in, Dethre Parkinson rose and made his way towards it, gripping a large stick with both hands and stirring roughly. The boiling water and moonstone frothed ferociously as it was poured out and towards the unconscious Malfoy. Nothing had prepared the former Death Eaters for what would happen next.
A agony-filled scream rent the formerly silent air and Cassiopeia began to shimmer, mouth open in a now-silent howl, head swiveling from side-to-side as she seemed to attempt to dislodge the pain now filled her chest. A bright purple light, like that of the moonstone, tore from her chest, hitting the surrounding air with a blaze that nearly blinded her companions. And then she began to rise.
Still twisting and swirling in the air, her body contorting with the shapes surrounding her, a bright of burnt light flew from her palm to flicker at the air, a body of water from the distorted mass doused the flames with a deep 'hiss', the air around her became shimmery and almost opaque and, finally, the ground beneath her began to bubble, distorting much like the figure above was. A deep green section rose up, connected to the rest of the ground by a thread, to form a crib hanging almost in mid air, a crib that the now silent girl was gently lowered onto.
She seemed the same, normal but stunningly beautiful girl that she had been before, except now she had a set of brilliantly white wings attached to her back. As the enraptured crowd watched, they slowly disappeared, vanishing into her smooth back. And then her eyes opened.
Instead of the innocent, forget-me-not blue they had been before, they now held pupils of a stunning violet, the exact same colour as the fiercely powdered moonstone. They were stunningly beautiful and yet scary at the same time.
"Cassiopeia," Bellatrix had moved to her side, one of her hands reaching out to the dazed youth, but she yelped and jumped back, one of her hands reaching up to protect her face.
"Where am I?"
Bella frowned, her unusually beautiful face scrunching up, one hand reaching up to tangle in her wild curls. She didn't look confused. No, far from it. Instead, she merely looked annoyed, like it was Malfoy's fault she didn't know where she was. Although, of course, in Bellatrix Lestrange's mind, it was her fault, despite the fact that she couldn't have done anything to change it.
Cassi glowered, a tiny whimper falling from her tightly clamped lips as she took in the slight smirk curling the Dark Lord's shadowy face, nose-less face gleeful, one hand twirling a wand around his fingers.
"Bella," his voice was cold and high, something the like of which the young Malfoy had never heard before. Her eyebrows scrunched up, her face puffing out like a chipmunk's, but nobody laughed. Nobody even noticed. Instead, all attention was fixed on their Lord, who was instructing Bellatrix in her duties with a superior air about him.
"What's wrong with me?" Cassiopeia's voice was quiet, an unnoticeably tremble to it, eyes glassy but no tears shed. One of her hands had been pressed to her mouth as a sob tried to force its way out, and the other rested comfortably in her lap, clenched tightly as a jolt of fear shot through her. "What did you do to me?"
"Did it work?" Bellatrix had begun to move, one of her hands gliding over the young Malfoy's back, where the slight impression of the gloriously white wings laid. At her feather-light touch, a deep tremble shot through the younger girls body, and the wings materialized roughly, shying away from the definition of evil that was staring at them with an expression of undeniable greed on her deranged face.
Apparently, her question had been answered as Bella moved away from her prey, dancing around The Dark Lord with a bright, merry cackle, unidentifiable words spilling from her lips. Her hands rose above her head, swishing as though she was dispelling Nargles (Cassi had heard Lorcan and Lysander conversing with their Mother about them one day during the summer) while her feet tapped a rhythm that only she knew.
Ignoring his most devoted follower, Voldemort turned to Cassi, reaching out to stroke her cheek almost caringly, fingernails lightly scratching at the pale flesh. "So beautiful." His voice was a mere sigh on the wind, a soft hush falling over the clearing.
Cassi cleared her throat, drawing on some of her non-existent Gryffindor courage as she yanked her head back, away from Voldemort. "You're not even here." He jerked back in surprise, but she hadn't finished. "You're a mere scepter of what you once were. I've heard the stories of Harry Potter using the Stone on what he deemed to be his last night on Earth. It brought his parents back, didn't it? But they weren't really back, were they? They couldn't do anything much, except offer support." She drew breath, eyes fixed unwavering on her companion. When he didn't speak, she continued. "Bellatrix Lestrange was your biggest follower, wasn't she?" A derisive snort fell from her clamped lips. "The Stone would bring you back just as it did Lily and James Potter, but you're not really here, and nothing will ever bring you back."
"Take her away," he snarled, teeth pulled over thin, blood-less lips, crimson eyes wide and angry, fists clenched. "Do what you must with her."
And with one last cry of pain, Cassiopeia Malfoy was dragged back to Parkinson Manor, Dethre entering the cell after her, to do with her as he wished.
XxX
"What do you mean 'he's back'?" Ron snapped furiously, beginning to pace the room as Harry wished he could also do. However, with his legs feeling like jelly, he wasn't much able to move; Ginny made sure of that. Hermione was frowning slightly, the gears in her genius mind clearly at work, but so far, to the people who knew her best, she was coming up with nothing. Harry was only glad that James had not heard his pronouncement, as that would surely mean a reckless saving attempt on his sons part, which would probably end up with not only James, but also Cassi, dead.
Harry recounted the vision, eyes squeezed tight as he recalled the feeling of depression, loneliness and fear that had pervaded his senses when he had entered Voldemort's mind.
At the culmination of his words, silence greeted him, and, upon opening his eyes with some degree of trepidation, he noticed Ron was sitting once more, hand clasped around his wife's, who had gone stark white, worry for Cassiopeia showing clearly in the cinnamon gaze. Ginny's hand had clamped around his, sapphire eyes boring into his own. Pansy had her knees drawn up to her chest, her chin resting comfortably on top, her eyes closed. The Malfoy's were quiet, both looking to be on the verge of tears, an expression that Harry had never seen, nor ever wanted to see, on Draco Malfoy's face.
"He'll kill her," Astoria Malfoy murmured, one of her hands clutching at her husband's for support, "He'll kill my baby. And we've just got her back." Draco rested his hand over hers but said nothing, face grave and cold, eyes peering pleadingly back at Harry. But it was Pansy who spoke.
"I'll do it. They won't move Headquarters and I'm sure she'll still be kept in the dungeons; they won't want to risk escape." She was sitting now, feet planted firmly on the ground, elbows resting on top, hands clasped in front of her mouth. Her words were muffled as she spoke. "If we leave soon, we'll be in and out before they even realise we're there."
Harry nodded.
"Tonight."
XxX
He was back, one of his hands on top of hers, a knife to her throat, digging into the soft flesh. He was whispering in her ear soft words of warning, holding her trembling body tightly, metal digging in further.
It took all of her efforts to push him away, but that only incensed the older, stronger man, who was back upon her in a second, the knife making impact with some part of the left side of her body.
Unimaginable agony! White, hot needles, digging pins and iron-hot coals, darkness threatening to take over, panic, one hand reaching down but coming away drenched in lukewarm crimson, morbid fascination, tongue reaching out to taste the liquid.
Pain!
XxX
They were ready.
Many would assume this meant 'having assembled all their troops, they were ready to march', but that was far from the case. Instead, many Witches and Wizards from surrounding areas had been Flooing into the Headmistresses Office all day, clogging up the Network. Many had taken refuge in The Hogs Head, which was currently under the command of Ariana Dumbledore, the daughter of the late Aberforth Dumbledore and named in tribute of his dead sister.
A drum beat had started up somewhere, the heavy pounding permeating the thick, uneasy air, the darkened thump balancing on the thick fog that had descended from the Highlands. The only sound bar the beating drums was the quick murmur of worry; a low, whimpering sound that broke through the barriers surrounding the ancient school.
Harry Potter stood on top of the Astronomy Tower, his ears echoing with the screams of all those that had died on this very spot during the Second Wizarding War. Albus Dumbledore's still, lifeless face floated in front of his consciousness, arms flailing in an effort to right himself from the tumbling pit that had befallen him.
But he had been too late.
Harry heard his eldest son before he saw him; the slightly shuffling gate signified his worry and the depression that threatened his welfare every day. And Harry turned; taking in the black shadows under his dazzling, emerald eyes, the hair that seemed even more rumpled than was significant for a member of the Potter family, the anxiety that crumpled the lively forehead.
"Will it ever end?"
James joined him, hands clasping at the rails in front of him, rails that had been put into effect after the dreadful night on this tower in Harry's sixth year. James sighed, not expecting an answer to the fated question, but he still hoped for one. Harry, along with his two best friends, had spent a year fighting evil, only to have the same burden lurk above them once more. And James wasn't sure he could handle the pressure.
"Will it ever truly be over?"
Harry turned his head to one side, eyes of the exact same shade clashing under the waning sun, identical expressions in both faces. James was scared, something Harry had only seen on his son's face once before, when he'd been forced to stay behind as Voldemort made his Last Stand. Then, James had been forced to take care of those too young to fight. Now, he was determined to help the girl had knew needed his dedication, someone he'd wronged in the past, someone he was now able to admit he was in love with.
"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself," Harry quoted the famous Muggle saying, a look of profound sadness bleeding into his ageing features. "It can't be over until every last man, woman or child who stands in our way is destroyed. And we cannot do that. There will always be men waiting to fill the boots of the fallen, women ready to take in homeless strangers no matter the pain they have caused to others, and children who follow those in front of them, all working to bring down the society we have tried so hard to build." Harry sighed, unsure of exactly how to convince his son. "But no matter what happens next, remember that we have faith and love on our side, things that they can never take from us." James nodded as a shout sounded from below. "It is starting."
James paused as his Father left; taking in the beautiful scenery surrounding the place he called his home away from home. The all-consuming terror that had engulfed him in the wake of Cassiopeia's kidnapping had increased within him, to the point where he even kept his notebook with him at all times, hoping beyond hope for some sort of sign from his missing love. The only word he had received so far had been 'HELP', written in her familiar, cursive language and in a deep, crimson red that look suspiciously like blood. At his first glimpse of the words, he had rushed immediately to Harry, pleading for some sort of assistance for the missing girl. However, Harry had only shaken his head indulgently and murmured that she could look after herself. James still wasn't sure.
"James?" Fred was standing in the doorway, staring at him. "Uncle Harry said that if you're not down within the next five minutes, they're leaving without you." He laughed softly. "Aunt Ginny seemed extremely happy with that suggestion."
James nodded, staring at his cousin in silence for a moment, words on the tip of his tongue, but they failed him. Instead, he merely moved past him, heart pounding in his chest, fingers gripping his wand at the ready.
They were ready.
XxX
Cassiopeia gasped as she awoke, a fierce pain filling her side. She attempted to stir, feeling the harsh stone of the floor grating against the new addition to her back. She could feel something sticky falling freely down her side despite the wad of torn t-shirt that she had used to attempt to stop the flow. One of her hands moved up to her face, attempting to rub away the headache that was brewing below the surface, and even in her half-unconscious state she could see the paleness of her flesh. A flash of crimson caught her eye and a slight whimper jolted her as she shifted uncomfortably on the unforgiving ground.
"Ah, Cassiopeia," Dethre – she had figured out his name after weeks of imprisonment – was once again at the door. He came back every Friday, of that she was sure, but, as she was unsure of when exactly Friday was, she was uncertain of whether he came between that time as well. "Unfortunately, I am sure you will not survive the night. It is such a shame that someone as beautiful and delicate as yourself be reduced to such a death." He crept forward, thick boots colliding roughly with the unsympathetic stone floor. His eyes caught hers, trapping her in the fierce gaze. "And, of course, since you won't survive the night, I'm sure you would just love to know who betrayed you? Come in, my dear, don't be shy."
A timid figure stepped in, straightening as she faced Dethre, one of her hands entwined with his. Cassiopeia could only gape.
