CMBlack: Tears of a Phoenix

by Vindicated Soldiers

Cassy Black's sixth year looked optimistic. The summer was good, Harry had finally begun preparing for his role in war, and her relationship was going strong. The only issues were her suspicious cousin, Draco, and her infuriating inner desire to do more for the war than anyone was willing to let her. Yet when she comes of age, no one will stop her doing what she wanted. CMB Series.

13. Lady Black

C. M. Black: Tears of a Phoenix

Chapter XIII: Lady Black

'Honestly, he is at liberty to kiss whomever he pleases.'

Despite Hermione's cordial words, her tone suggested she felt quite the opposite. With clipped words and a repeating mantra of how agreeable the entire situation was, she could scarcely make her true feelings on Ron and Lavender dating any more obvious. There was little anyone could think to say in response in the days that followed the match. Ron seemed to hold the same feelings for Hermione that she did for him and yet since kissing Lavender he did not look twice at her. Everything had changed when Ginny had told Ron that Hermione had kissed Viktor Krum; they all agreed that was the shift in the dynamic and Cassy had considered several reasons why.

The most obvious cause of bitterness was that Krum was one of Ron's idols. He had been ecstatic by her association with him at the time, but at his feelings developed, the idea that Hermione might have really meant something to a man Ron would normally be unable to compete with in nearly any fashion was something that must have eaten away at his mind. The other cause was really interlinked with the first: Ron was insecure and so had gone for the girl most willing to accept him, who just happened to be Lavender Brown. The pair had taken even Dean and Seamus by surprise – especially Seamus as he and Lavender had dated in their fourth year. However, it mostly appeared to be a physical attraction, for in the two weeks they had been together not a single conversation more than a few words long had been heard between the two.

Neither Hermione nor Ron had appeared for the last Dumbledore's Army meeting. Guiltily, Cassy, Harry, Neville, Ginny, and Luna all privately agreed it was probably for the best; whenever the pair were within eyesight of each other the atmosphere became heavy and unmanageable, though Ron had voiced once or twice that he had no idea why. Try as they may, Harry and Neville had been unable to bridge the gap between the two. Cassy, on the other hand, did not try to. She merely listened to Hermione's continuous monologue. If Ron was in a relationship with someone else, there was nothing to be done.

'As it is,' said Hermione as she stomped through the long grass on a sloping hill, 'I have had to make other arrangements for Slughorn's party.'

Cassy eyed the back of her head. 'This is not a revenge ploy, is it?'

'Of course not,' Hermione scoffed. 'There's nothing to get revenge on. Ron is completely within his rights.'

Cassy wondered if Hermione said that enough if she might actually begin to believe it. So far she had said it fifty-four times in various forms. Choosing wisely not to comment, she followed Hermione down the hill and towards Hagrid's home.

Thick grey clouds sat low in the autumn sky. Slithers of sunlight broke through, the crisp orange and yellow leaves were illuminated and the still waters of the Black Lake glistened between each departure of drifting clouds. Though the weather had brightened since the gloomy autumn day Katie Bell was injured, a dry, cold air had drifted in and there was no choice but to dress in thick layers of homemade scarves and woollen jumpers. Cassy's Grandfather had sent her a blue and red scarf, designed and knitted by his own two hands. Where he had learnt it, she had no idea.

Still, it was wrapped firmly around her neck and she tugged it up over her mouth as Hermione turned with a familiar look of scrutiny on her face.

'Where have you been disappearing to, anyway?' she asked. 'At first, I thought you and Harry had been spending time together – and if it is then I don't really want to know – '

Cassy made a small 'tch' noise from between her teeth. 'It has nothing to do with Harry.'

'That's what I thought, because I usually see him come back from practice without you,' continued Hermione.

In truth, Cassy had spent more time than she would have liked focused on Malfoy. Once a week for the last two and a bit months she had visited the Slytherin common room in what she told herself was to seek information on his plans. It was, of course, largely to do with that, but she had a smaller interest in his wellbeing. She did not flutter in worry or seek assurance he was healthy, but instead watched with curious eyes as his body became worn, critical of every aspect of his slower, sluggish movements and his hurried and darting eyes. His ears had become sharper, keen and listening, no longer consumed by the sound of his own voice. The transformation was interesting, if nothing else.

At first, she had only intended to go once. Her initial visit was supposed to be the last, but before his absence from the Quidditch game she had begun to notice other unusual activities. Class absences and frequent and mysterious illnesses plagued his usually healthy form. His absences from the classroom were matched by his frequent disappearances on the Marauder's Map. He became almost untraceable and Cassy had never been able to watch him vanish, he was always gone by the time either she or Harry had had a chance to check. So, instead of one visit to his common room for information, it had become many. She spread out her visits and if she could not make it then she did not fret, never keen to put her wayward cousin above her own happiness anymore. His business was his, try and she might to plot to persuade him he was wholly wrong in his beliefs.

'Is it something to do with Malfoy?' questioned Hermione perceptively.

Cassy cast her a long sideways look. 'It is nothing to worry about.'

She dearly wished to see his forearms and to settle everything. However, there was not a doubt in her mind that Malfoy was involved with Voldemort somehow, Death Eater or not, and that he was in some way responsible for his strange behaviour.

The conversation changed when heavy knocks pounded against Hagrid's door. Eager to lift his spirits and distract him from his woes, the two sought a more joyful topic. Hagrid had spent the last few meals almost in tears on the rare occasion he appeared. Several times in the last week he had missed meals altogether, and though Harry had visited during his free period the day before, it seemed to have done little good. That meant it was someone else's turn to check on him and Hermione often insisted Cassy accompanied her wherever she went now, however silently the plea was made.

He was happy to see them anyway, although it only took until the kettle had boiled for him to interrupt the conversation with a mournful declaration that Aragog was still very sick – apparently their story of the mess at the lesson changeover when Blood Pop sweets had been dissolved in a bucket and thrown over the railings onto a group of fourth years had reminded him of the giant spider. Neither asked about why. As the conversation dissolved into watery tones and shining eyes, Cassy thought carefully of an excuse to leave. It would have been bearable had Hermione's own sadness not found footing in Hagrid's plight and the pair soon found comfort in their unrelated miseries. Every time she tried, though, she was called back into the conversation and the hour wore onwards with increasing need to escape.

With nothing to say and her mug drained of tea, she slipped from the hut with only a glance at her watch and the excuse she had agreed to meet Harry after his training down at the Quidditch pitch. It was the only excuse Hagrid seemed to want to accept. She cut across through the dew splattered grass that had grown much too long and onto the crooked pavement that led away from the castle as far as one could get. As she did, she passed Ginny, who tried to hug her purely because she was covered in dirt, and she waved to Ron, who had Lavender attached to his arm. He smiled sheepishly at Cassy's raised eyebrow.

She did not knock on the changing room door, having counted the team members as she passed.

'Slow today, are you?' she said loudly, announcing her presence as she threw open the door. Her voice echoed and a small noise of joy sounded in response.

'Ah,' said Harry. He turned to grin as she rounded the corner. He was sat on one of the benches, still dressed in his winter Quidditch robes and his broom was propped up beside him. 'I was wondering when you'd get here.'

Cassy inspected him closely before her eyes drifted to his broom; beside it was another broom. He grinned even wider.

'I'm going to teach you how to fly,' he stated.

For a moment, she merely stared. 'Lovely sentiment, but no.'

'It wasn't an offer,' he said and stood.

As Cassy visibly recoiled, her face upturning in wariness, he dropped the broomstick back down and held out his hands appealingly.

'If you don't love it, I will never try and teach you again, okay?' he promised. 'You loved the motorbike and flying's a lot like that, trust me.'

Inwardly, Cassy sighed. It would have been easy to justify her refusal if he had not had just said that. Harry loved flying and he loved Quidditch, neither of which she had more than a remote interest in; in fact, she only even watched the games because her friends participated and she had an investment in her House winning the cup in the end. He adored it and had made several efforts to understand her traditional customs, so it seemed only fair that she tried to indulge him in his hobby, if just the once. With any luck, he would give up within half-an-hour after seeing how terrible she was.

Cassy did not partake in the practice of swearing. Good company did not swear and many of the words she had learnt mostly came from Ron and some interesting combinations spouted from Harry occasionally. Yet, as she sat on a broomstick twenty-feet from the ground a fair few words came to mind she dearly wanted to say. She also wanted to smack the stupidly amused expression off her boyfriend's face, but she dared not move.

'You jumped from the third floor onto a moving staircase the other day,' commented Harry, eyes bright with mirth. 'How can you not do this?'

Cassy glared. Jumping from atop a set of railings and onto a staircase did not give the horrible sensation of weightlessness that flying did. Falling was over within a second.

'The height,' she said indignantly, 'is not an issue. I just hate brooms.'

'Yet you flew fine of Thestrals and like motorbikes,' he said slowly, squinting with a ridiculous smile still on his face.

'All very different things,' she said and he hummed doubtfully.

'I'll tell you what. How about you fly with me for a bit until you're used to it and then we can try again on your own?'

That plan sounded even worse than the current one. On her own she could control the height and movement – or lack of movement – but the only power she had if she rode with him was the threat of bodily harm if he did not listen to her. Reluctantly, she still found herself perched behind him with her arms wrapped around his waist, pointedly not tight in an attempt to appear less cautious than she really was. One foot above ground, four foot higher, even fifteen foot was fine, until Harry grabbed her arm tightly and shot into the sky. She did not shriek, thankfully, but she did dig her nails harshly into his stomach though it was hardly felt through the woollen Quidditch jumper he wore.

He laughed as she uncurled her fingers.

'Sorry,' he said and she very much doubted he was. 'It's not so bad, though, is it? Being this high?'

'My problem is not with heights. I like heights,' she argued. 'I just hate broomsticks. That is literally the only problem.'

'Bit of a weird problem,' he muttered.

She squeezed his stomach tightly, making his grunt. 'If I die the day before my seventeenth birthday, I will haunt you.'

'Excellent,' he said.

'As a poltergeist,' she elaborated, grumbling.

'I'd work around it,' he said as he allowed the broom to slowly drift sideways.

By the time the sky was streaked with orange and the Sun hung low in the sky, peace had been made with the broomstick. It was not enjoyable, not entirely anyway and she was reluctant to say that weaving between the clouds and across the treetops as they veered from the pitch and over the forest was enjoyable at all, but there was an undeniable freedom in it. She still did not trust the stick, but with her head rested on Harry's shoulder, the smell of broomstick polish and autumn leaves filling her nose, and only the sound of the gentle breeze as it ran its ghostly fingers through her hair, it mattered very little.

Harry had wanted to teach her to fly tomorrow, he admitted, since it was her birthday, but she was out for much of the day with pre-approved plans by Professor Dumbledore. She had quipped she would be even less inclined to learn on her birthday, he would have had to drag her to the pitch and he had just laughed and continued to circle the stadium.

The pair swung close to the peaks of the trees, so low, in fact, that Cassy thought she could touch them, if she were to just lean down.

And fall to my death, her mind added cynically and the idea was pushed aside. Perhaps if she had her wand she could dangle seventy-foot in the air unconcerned. No, her brain reminded her firmly, with or without a wand, on anything but a thrice-damned broomstick.

'This is not so bad,' she muttered eventually, 'but I still am not a fan of flying.'

'Wait until I teach you Quidditch,' said Harry and chortled at the sharp, disgruntled noise that involuntarily left her throat.

---

Neville had once told her it was poor form to work on her birthday, but Cassy still did so for all the years he had known her. Even with surprise birthday parties and demands for fun, she would always find a way to use slow moments for extra homework or reading, lest she wasted her time entirely. However, with her birthday plans being as they were and wholly designed by herself this year, she could not afford to work. It would be rude and frowned upon in the company she designed for herself. So, she remained awake until the early hours of the morning carefully plotting a star chart for Alchemy, listing each lunar effect on various potions and ingredients. The three-week project was finally done when the lingering souls of the Gryffindor common room had retreated and the House-Elves were thoroughly underway with their nightly clean.

The moon was suspended high in the night sky, whole and bright. As Cassy wandered through the silent halls of the castle, only the sound of her own light footfalls against the soft snoring of the slumbering portraits to be heard, she spared a thought to Remus, who was most likely lumbering through a forest, joints stiff with pain and his mind half-gone from the transformation. If he was on a mission it would be with other werewolves, most likely unable then to consume the Wolfsbane potion to keep any of his sanity. Tonks would probably be staring out the window now as she was, wondering, worrying.

The white light soon vanished and her wand was drawn to illuminate the basement corridors. The portrait of the fruit bowl swung open and unlike before light flooded out of the kitchen and into the corridor. For a moment, Cassy paused. Her eyes immediately directed to the sound of running water and were met with wide, grey ones. They snapped into a glare and the trickling halted. Turning away, Malfoy tipped his head backwards and downed the goblet of water as though she was not even there.

Carefully, Cassy stepped in. The door closed quietly behind her and she strode to the cabinet on the other side of the room where the teachers' crockery was stored. Unlocking it, she said, 'You can talk to me, you know.' The words were calm and clear, yet they rang sharply in the heavy silence.

He did not reply.

'If something is wrong, no matter what it is about,' she continued calmly, not allowing any sort of imploring tone to creep into her voice. It was an offer and not a plea.

'What the hell are you talking about?' he asked gruffly.

Cassy pulled a mug from the cupboard and rolled it over in her hands, inspecting it carefully.

Malfoy let out a sharp puff of air from between his teeth. The goblet slammed against the counter and it was only then that she spoke.

'You look sickly. You do not attend class and when you do it is with minimal effort. Your homework is hardly ever turned in on time and your friends have grown frustrated with you. If something is wrong, then I will be there to listen,' she said finally.

'I don't need your help. I have grown up while you have grown down. I am not a child and I do not need your assistance of all people's,' he sneered. His knuckles paled against the strain of his deathly grip on the sideboard.

Cassy's eyes moved from his clenched fists to his face at last. The night was already not going to plan, so it hardly seemed an issue that she caused a little more trouble for herself than she was already in. She had just wanted to stretch her legs and get a drink before she went to bed, but such a rare opportunity to talk to her cousin could not be missed for the sake of avoiding a little argument afterwards. 'Whatever you are doing, please think about it rationally first. If it is what you truly want, then fine, but if not, by all means speak to me.'

Even though he words were as ambiguous as possible, they struck some sort of meaning with Malfoy. The goblet soared across the kitchen and collided with the tiles behind her head, clattering noisily as it bounced from the counter and to the floor.

'I don't need your help! I have never needed your help. When will you get that through that thick skull of yours? Everything that was between our families was done only because of my mother's respect for Alphard, if it had been anyone else cursed with you then she would have left you to rot and you would have, you know. Have you ever heard what everyone would say when you were away? Ever considered how people think of you? Narcissistic, arrogant, sly, spiteful, underhanded. Then, even after we defended you from all that you still turned your back on us. It's a good job Alphard is dead or he would be disgusted with what you have become.'

The words lingered in the air for a moment before Cassy stooped down to pick up the silver goblet. Gently, she placed it back on the side.

'You are wrong,' she said easily. 'He was very proud of who I was and for your peace of mind, I feel I should add that I am and will always be eternally grateful for what your family has done for me. I fear I would not be half the person I am if I did not have you there for me when I did. However, times have changed. I am seventeen. I cannot condone your family's plans, but if you should ever change your minds, I will always be willing to hear you out.'

If the air had felt heavy upon entering, it was suffocating now. Malfoy's grey eyes stared with an unknown intensity, something unlike any expression she had ever seen before. There was no movement and for a second, she was unsure he was even breathing. At the same time, a tremendous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She had been waiting over a year to tell him that, to find the words to say exactly what she meant without dallying through weaving undertones and over-complicated expressions. In the end, she had said it exactly how she had meant it and even better, he had not laughed or punched her as she had often envisioned his response.

Slowly, his lips drew back into a snarl. 'No one wants your sympathies, and no one wants your debt.'

With that, he swept from the kitchen and Cassy was left very much alone with her thoughts.

Although her mind had been close to shutting down for the night, ready to enter a blissful sleep to awake refreshed for her birthday later that day, the trip to the kitchens had very much awakened it. It was not guilt or sadness that kept her staring blankly at the red canopy above, but rather useless, nagging thoughts and ridiculous imaginary scenarios her brain conjured in an effort to stave off boredom and curiosity, two of her biggest downfalls and greatest motivators. It was not until past three o'clock that she finally drifted to sleep and it was regretfully early that she found herself being shaken awake.

'C'mon, Cassy,' sounded Hermione's very much unwanted voice in her ear. 'Get up.'

She pulled the covers over her head.

'It's almost eight o'clock.'

For a second, Cassy did not move and it was as though her lungs had forgotten how to inflate at all. She bolted upright. Her hair stuck up in a thick, tangled mess as it did most mornings, her eyes were unusually wide for the early hour and she rarely awoke with her heart racing, but that morning was a true exception. She was late.

'I need to get ready,' she said to herself as she clambered out from beneath the scarlet duvet. She had to be gone by nine o'clock.

Hermione sat back on her own bed. 'Do you want me to go and fetch you some toast or something?'

'Yes, please,' said Cassy hurriedly while she rummaged for her hairbrush beneath all the Alchemy notes she had lazily dumped in her trunk the night before.

She did not bother to look up to sneer at Hermione's amused expression when she left. All her efforts were concentrated on her hair and between untangling the black locks, she urgently double-checked all of her notes for her presentation were still in the bedside table where she had left them. The pile of gifts at the end of her bed lay forgotten and the dormitory room door shut forty-five minutes later without so much as a glance at them.

It seemed ridiculous to dress so well for what was going to be a twenty-minute radio interview and a reading of a short piece she had written, but it was less for the host and more for the people around him. It was professional to appear ready for company, whether the public would see her or not, so she dressed as she would had she been meeting a journalist, or even a perspective colleague. That, and she had a very important meeting to attend before she even arrived at the station and she would be damned if she did not look like she deserved to be there.

The dress ended at her knees; floor-length was too formal, it was not a dinner party she was attending and she was young, supposed to be full of innovative ideas and yet not childish, so black was the chosen colour. It had sleeves to her elbows, sheer and decorated with black embellishments. Her shoes were red, high enough to make her more imposing and yet low enough to comfortably walk in; it would not do to clumsily approach, let alone fall down.

It seemed as though her carefully planned attire looked the part, for as she reached the bottom step of the staircase Harry grinned madly. She quickly checked her neck for any loose strands from the French twist as he approached, smiling just slightly when he pulled her hand away and slipped his fingers between hers.

'Ready?' he asked.

'Ready,' she said, smirking.

'Good luck,' said Neville, 'not that you'll need it.'

'I'm sure it'll be great,' said Ginny.

'We'll all be listening, so just stick to your script at it will be excellent,' assured Hermione.

Cassy raised an eyebrow. 'You all make it sound like I'm nervous. You are the ones who are afraid!'

'Someone has to be,' joked Neville.

Hogwarts was not used to seeing someone dressed for any real occasion, or at least, one who did so in the morning with no occasion apparent to the rest of the student body. There were many stares and a few questions as Cassy and Harry walked down to the Entrance Hall. Midway down, it seemed Harry had had quite enough of the stares; his hand moved from hers to around her waist and if there were not so many curious looks, Cassy would have laughed.

'I'll be listening at one,' promised Harry and kissed her firmly. Several whistles echoed.

'I hope you will not be too bored,' she teased. 'I will see you later. Half-eight.'

In a matter of seconds, Cassy had vanished from Hogwarts through the same Floo connection she had used every other time she had needed to make a quick exit. The green flames licked her ankles, cold and bright, and the colours of each passing connection twirled and flurried before her eyes. Suddenly, the turning stopped and the world ground to a halt. The vast array of colours were replaced with darkness, shades of clean greys from the large floor tiles to the painted walls. Rows of seats faced away from the Floo, each one black or white, patterned in turn. The only dash of colour was from the few portraits on the wall, but even they were dark in shades; each face was stern, stiff, and official.

A bright flash of light erupted from her left, but Cassy did nothing more than cast the photographer a sparing glance. There were people behind him, men and women crouched and others tall as they levelled their cameras or scrambled for their quills. They seemed genuinely surprised to see her. She looked ahead and swiftly moved to the two people who had stood upon her arrival.

'Right on time,' said Sirius, not so much as blinking at the bright blasts of light.

'Wotcha,' said Tonks.

Cassy was disappointed to see her hair was still mousy brown. Both Sirius and Tonks had dressed for the occasion. It was the most formal Cassy had ever seen Tonks, with the exception of Alphard's funeral, she supposed, as she wore a mustard yellow dress and higher heels than someone with even Cassy's grace could reasonably manage. Her hair was longer from months of natural growth too, not spiked and yet somehow still slightly dishevelled. Her father, on the other hand, looked very much a Black and dressed in a manner only slightly more formal than usual. His blazer was a deep blue and off-set the steel grey of his eyes into a piercing stare that would have been intimidating if he had stopped smirking long enough.

It was only a few seconds later before the three were seated away from the growing interest of the press. They were tucked away in a little room at the far end of the upper corridor. Light bled in through the shutters of the large window and a desk was stationed in front, unusually long and meticulously neat. Behind it sat a dark-skinned man, tall and thin, who shook each of their hands as they sat. Cassy was in the centre, directly opposite.

The conversation that followed was lengthy. Had Cassy not been raised on lectures and possessed a mind fixated on analysing every detail of nearly everything she came into contact with, she would have struggled to pay attention, let alone follow what the man was saying. It was easy to see how people became tangled in legal discussions, but she was not fooled by his carefully chosen words and pre-practiced monologue. She knew it all already. She had not spent hours each morning analysing political occurrences and questioning every peculiar detail of an article to the point Alphard threatened to mute her and stick her in another room so he could be in peace – and had on one occasion – to be tripped up by her own inheritance agreement.

In the end, she would like to say the man was impressed, if somewhat bemused and irritated by her swift avoidance of anything she did not like. She did not want the Black Family home. The property was Sirius' to keep, though he grumbled at having to have any further association with it. Neither did she want any of the money.

'I have a large inheritance,' she said when Tonks' eyebrows nearly met her hairline.

'Take it,' insisted Sirius. 'I don't need it. I have more than enough already.'

Whether Sirius had enough money to spend the rest of his life unemployed and still comfortably better off than most was not the issue. Cassy saw it as his; he was already giving her his birthright by allowing her the title, she did not need his money too. Sirius, however, wanted his only child to have the best possible security and means to fund her ambitious future plans and would not accept the responsibility of it either. It was that which took the most negotiating and the lawyer sat with his head in his hands, possibly miserable or possibly amused.

'I usually have people arguing over why they should have more money, not trying to push millions of Galleons onto the other,' he commented to Tonks, who snorted.

At long last, and only because Tonks smacked them both, did they agree to have half of the family savings each.

At the end of the meeting, she was finally presented with the official family right. The black band slipped from her finger and was tucked away in a velvet case. Another box was pushed towards her and opened to reveal an unusually white band that curled to encase a single, angular black stone. It shrunk upon contact with her hand, snuggly circling her finger. The large rock glimmered against her pale skin, looking all the darker for it, formidable and intimidating, difficult to miss and strangely heavy. Each flex of her hand renewed the weight and reminded her of the responsibility she now bore, the one she had yearned to collect for months and the one had she been asked to hold at eleven, she would have refused.

It seemed strange, she contemplated as she memorised each ridge and every curve of the ring, that the position she found herself in at seventeen was so different from the one she had imagined even a year earlier. If one was to ask Cassy at eleven-years-old what she anticipated she would be it would have been a simple reply, top of her class with a job lined up in the Ministry through Lucius that she would work at for a few years upon graduation before moving on to more interesting things with sufficient connections of her own to call upon. At thirteen it would have been slightly more pessimistic, the threat of her wayward criminal father over her head would force her to work particularly hard to get where she thought she could be proud to be, perhaps even taking a few years longer to reach it, whatever it may have been. At fifteen, she was depressed, and at seventeen she sat with an unreasonable responsibility now entrusted to her; a self-made responsibility, not that of Wizengamot, but one to the public, to her friends and remaining family. She had plans she had to fulfil as a duty she assigned and designed for herself that she knew only she could do.

When Sirius had first met his daughter after his miraculous and desperate escape from Azkaban, he had not known what to make of her. The first point he had noticed was her undeniable resemblance to her mother, from Jane's large eyes to her lips, though in the early days he had not seen them smile much for Cassy seemed to exist in a state of forced indifference whenever he saw her. Her eyebrows were a bit thinner than her mother's, the colour was wrong too and when she scowled he did not see a woman who was ready to set fire to the earth for recompense, but instead he saw Regulus, he saw himself. It was the same when she smiled, Remus had told him when they had gone on the run some months later. When she truly smiled it was his smile, wide, toothy and wolfish, though she tried to hide it often and would duck her head instead. It had been a relief to know that after everything she had taken after her parents and was not a victim of her upbringing, even if he had to admit both he and Jane were somewhat self-destructive and arrogant and he was not wholly willing to say his daughter had not obtained those traits too.

It had been hard work to build a relationship between them. Neither had had the best family support growing up. They were pessimistic, jaded from expectation and loss, too uncertain to really dive into the long-lost, or perhaps never really established, father-daughter relationship. Hope had been alive in everything he had done, though, for it was only a few days into the summer before her fifth-year that Sirius had met Tonks, his dear cousin Andromeda's only child. Lively, clumsy, full of bad jokes and ever-changing appearance. She was fun. Cassy liked her, relied on her as family, and so Sirius had not given up hope that he could turn everything around. He was very glad they both persevered in their awkward, uncertain ways.

For Tonks, their friendship came easily. It might have helped that she had found Cassy at a difficult point in her life, but just at a time she would have shut everyone out she had effortlessly managed to work her way into her life, however reluctantly the younger girl accepted it. She knew from Alphard's tales that she was not as she presented herself: calm, calculating, and cold. She was all those things, but so much more and Tonks could not help but smile as she watched her young cousin sign the dotted line that officially held her as the Black Family Head. She was too much like family to be a friend in the end, too much like a sister to be a cousin.

Sirius was grinning too, an unusual shine in his eye.

When Cassy turned to him, the paperwork finally all finished, she held his stare for only a brief moment. The shine was not one she had seen in a while; it was pride.

Suitably embarrassed by that revelation, Lady Cassiopeia Black had them both thrown from the room. The next part of her induction was clarification of her expected duties, her votes and vetoes, the anticipated public image – an aspect she was anticipating was going to be viewed with much concern after that afternoon – and the general practises of the court. She knew them all, of course, and the woman who was introducing it glared at every pedantic correction and complex question of situations she asserted had never happened in the history of the courts – Cassy knew otherwise, she had read about it.

Lunch in Birmingham city centre was the next task of the day. They emerged from the Floo network and into a busy connection centre under the banner of 'London central' into a hectic series of fireplaces and cramped and turning lines of waiting travellers. Not a single one of them knew how to navigate the bustling city, but after following Tonks' badly written instructions, they emerged into the wizarding quarter only slightly harassed. Whilst they debated who was ruder, residents of Birmingham or of London, the three found a small restaurant tucked away in one of the back streets. The waitress almost tripped over herself at the sight of them, yet they were seated with little fuss and the few other occupants did not even seem to notice then.

'Have you sorted out things with Mundungus?' asked Tonks as the waitress handed them menus.

'Not yet. I have not had the opportunity to speak to him face to face and it is not the type of information I feel I should put in a letter in case it's intercepted,' said Cassy, slightly frowning.

'Mundungus?' queried Sirius and Cassy gave him an abridged version of events that omitted Harry partially strangling him. Sirius gave a small frown in return. 'I don't really care if he wants to loot rubbish, but I don't throw away the silverware, it's useful – if just for annoying Snivillus when he comes around. He disdains everything in that house, particularly if it has the family crest on it. Sometimes I put teaspoons in his pocket as a little reminder of me for later.'

Tonks snorted. She turned to Cassy, her menu folded on the table. 'Speaking of memories, what are you doing to commemorate turning the big one-seven, then?'

Cassy shook her head carelessly. 'I'm not. I have nothing planned. Hogsmeade visits are still banned from the incident.'

'Get a tattoo,' said Tonks. 'I got one for my birthday of a badger for Hufflepuff. My mum went mental, but seeing as Sirius has a ton of tattoos I don't think he'll care.'

'I got one when I was seventeen too,' said Sirius. He then grimaced. 'Not somewhere I recommend getting one, but when you are being cheered on and half-drunk then it seemed like a good idea.'

Tonks laughed and Cassy tried desperately to stop than thought going any further.

'These are both very valid reasons not to get one,' she said.

'What's wrong with a badger?' asked Tonks, affronted.

Cassy slid her eyes towards Sirius and he gave her the same dubious stare back. They burst into laughter as Tonks threw her hands across her chest and loudly proclaimed Hufflepuff was the best house. Not to be outdone, Sirius spoke over her, listing every reason she was wrong and why Gryffindor was, in reality, the greatest house of all. When the waitress came back with their drinks, the two quietened and missed the dubious stare of her brown eyes. Their outfits were hardly appropriate for the casual style of the restaurant and some of the other occupants had noticed them too now because of their noise. Cassy herself had received many intense and curious looks, each passed over with a cold, distance gaze that fluttered up the walls and lingered on each sign and poster with mild forced interest. Her disinterest only caused more open stares to those who recognised them. She should be in school, the expressions told her, the suspicion of the three of them only having risen from the nosy and intrusive ideas that she should not be anywhere else.

The meal was edible. It was not badly cooked, though the meat was overdone and too greasy for her tastes, but there had been better places to eat in the city, she was certain. Half-way through lunch, Sirius reached beneath the table and clicked open the case he had brought with him to house the transfer papers. Carefully, he peered around the room. Unnecessary, of course, Tonks had already silently cast a notice-me-not charm when the food had arrived.

A long, rectangular box was set in front of Cassy.

'Your birthday present,' said Sirius. 'I have some other bits for you, but this is the main one. The rest can wait.'

Taking that as an invitation to tear away the shining purple paper, Cassy took the present and did just that. A blue velvet box was reveled. The silver clasp was pulled open and within it were two knives of ten inches long. The handles were ornate with intricate carvings shaping them, expertly building a scene around embedded opals and milky-white moonstones. The handles were white, the blades were white, though they glimmered in the noon Sun like pure silver.

'I thought given your interest in werewolves and your other weird and dangerous hobbies, it would be useful,' said Sirius as she held a blade up to the light of the window. 'They can cut through almost anything, virtually indestructible.

'Goblin made?' she queried.

'Of course. The stones are for protection and clarity too. I had quite an issue getting it commissioned. The goblins are in two minds about wizards now with a war on,' he said.

'Brilliant.' Cassy waved the knife and cut straight through the glass in front.

---

A sedentary lifestyle had left Mr Alex Parker somewhat rounder than he really ought to have been, his broad shoulders suggested he was a man never destined to be thin like Harry or Ron, but he had clearly spent more time in his chair at his control panel than he perhaps should have. His dark hair was slightly receding despite being a little more than over thirty-years-old at most and in replacement of that he had spawned a long, ginger beard that almost entirely obscured his neck. Although he smiled and his cheerful tones were familiar from his popular radio hosting, it was the first time Cassy had ever actually had a face to put to the voice.

His face matched his voice well enough, when it was not locked in a half-disguised expression of wariness that occasionally renewed itself. His mood altered between genuinely interested in her and delight at how amenable she was to speak of herself, to nervous and sometimes irritated when she steered the conversation skilfully away from his initial question. Part way through his introductory talk, he seemed to finally decide to acknowledge that there were things she would not speak about; it only jolted him when she willingly brought forward Alphard's death into the conversation.

'As soon as he heard of the attacks, he came to find me. He fought against the Death Eaters who blindly launched their curses into the fleeing crowds, because he knew that despite my surname, the immunity that one would think it would bring, it would mean nothing to them. They would not pick and choose their victims in that battle, so he came for me. In the end, he died for me too, because had he not tried to ensure I was safe he would not have been injured and he would not have died,' she said calmly, collectedly. The brief pauses as she gathered her words for her next sentence only built the tension of the reveal. Each gap sounded like emotion, a pause of regret that in some ways it was, but she was far too hardened to the idea of his death to become tearful at the mention of it. No one else could see her though, save Mr Parker who watched her with open sympathy for the first time.

The strength of her conviction came across in her tone though. No small pauses could remove the calm and accepting quality of her voice. She was careful not to sound calculating, she needed to sound certain yet conversational, approachable and distant all at once. Above the people and still for the people. If was a difficult balance to manage and she could not be sure if she managed it until she could hear her interview back. She would be lying if she did not admit she had extensively researched the most successful speeches given, magical and muggle.

All Mr Parker had to do was to introduce the key sentence, a little line that allowed her speech to begin with no formal introduction. Momentarily, her eyes slipped shut before she opened them again and fixed them on a blank point on the wall in front as though addressing a crowd instead of one man. She began:

Fifteen-years ago, Britain faced a similar threat to the one which plagues its streets today. The same man is behind the disappearances, the terror in the streets, and the panic in the hearts of the Nation's citizens, but the threat is not the same.

It is merely similar because of the people behind it, the details are different. The threat many will remember facing has grown. Fifteen-years of waiting in the shadows has not weakened the plots and plans of these individuals, but strengthened them. The world has moved forward and people have made efforts to reclaim their lives from the tragedies that befell them in the last war. Those who clung to their Master's tailcoat and eagerly waited for the return of Lord Voldemort have not sat idly by, they rallied themselves and I have no doubt they have learnt from their past mistakes whilst in these shadows.

1970 began with disappearances. It began with denials. This war has begun the same way when the Ministry refused to acknowledge the sings so blatant, so obvious that it was as though the Dark Lord wished for them to be seen. The shadows grew with the failure to truly dismantle the Death Eater web. The Dark Mark does not make itself, but just as in 1970 it was ignored and brushed aside as a silly prank, a joke by an individual so cruel as to impale the Brooke family on the walls of the chapel as they celebrated their son's wedding to a Muggle. For years tragedies like that were brushed aside and it was only when people began to demand answers and security did anyone stand and acknowledge the unusual case. The Brooke family were the official beginning of the first war, a war than had been ongoing for decades.

This war will not progress slowly. It will not be allowed the same slow pace the last war had. Lord Voldemort does not have to tread carefully to hold his early position, to maintain allies and keep his position hidden any longer. His servants were dutifully waiting, they are at his side, ready to continue the terror that reigned in 1981 before his fall that fateful night. They were allowed to live freely in the shadows of society and are beginning to emerge, undeterred from unenforced punishments.

If oppression is to be fought then there must be a fight. If anyone wishes to maintain their liberties and lives then I urge them to do what they can now. Voldemort has no equals. He will not take mercy on anyone because they are a Pure-Blood, or because they serve him with all the fear in their heart. He will kill you when you become obsolete. When he has no need for you, you will die. If you speak out of turn within his totalitarian system, then you will be sure to be punished –imprisonment, torture, death. Your families will die at his hands too, perhaps for a mistake you made, or for one simple one of their own. His eyes and ears will be everywhere. Do not allow it to get that far. Prevent this. Stop the shadows growing and spreading their tainted hands on your rights.

There is no neutrality in this war. You are either with him, or against him and I urge you to stand tall and fight for your freedoms, the liberties you and your children have enjoyed these last fifteen-years, for Voldemort will not allow you to freely associate with whom you please. The Muggleborns many of you know and love will be purged, those with sympathies will be killed, half-bloods with Muggle family will have to watch as he destroys your lives as he rids the country of non-magical humans. Men, woman, and children. Look at your own child, your sibling, and friend. Look at them and think what it would mean if they were the ones being targeted for death. Would you not want someone to help you? Or would you be content that when a knock sounds and the Death Eaters come for them that your neighbours and friends sit quietly in their homes because they are afraid to act? Would you allow them to take away that person? To interrogate and kill them? Or would you fight?

If everyone chose to fight when and where they could, Lord Voldemort would not have a chance to reinstate his hold over society. If you fight now, you will not have to fight later because the war will be won by the efforts of the many and not the few. When I was sixteen-years-old, Lord Voldemort approached me and asked me to join him. I refused. I said I would rather die, because I cannot stand in front of my friends, in front of children, or neighbours, and kill them because of their blood. It took strength I did not know I had until that moment to do it, but I knew if I said anything less than I would be supporting his ideals. Even if I were to stand idly, I would be allowing others to die so needlessly, so unfairly, so cruelly, that I could not do it. It is frightening to think of what might happen to me now, but I am not truly afraid. To do nothing would be far worse. The fear you feel is real and so it that of everyone around you, which is why you must work together.

I am not asking you to fight in the streets. I am imploring you to cooperate with those seeking to keep this country, to keep you, safe and ensure your liberties. Do what you can when you can. Do not associate with those you think might be Death Eaters and report those who may be swiftly. We must assume the Ministry is going to take responsibility for the official investigations of such allegations. This is an institute we must assume has the best intentions at heart and because of that, I say this to the Minister of Magic: Do not think that pretending to act is the same as action. Do not think that saying what the people wish to hear is the same as listening. Do not make the mistakes you predecessors made. It is better to admit mistakes and amend them, than to allow them to fester like old wounds on the outskirts of society, in the shadows they so blindly ignored, for they shall never truly heal.

Mr Parker had been watching Cassy so intently during her speech, she was uncertain if he had heard her words at all. For a moment, he did not move. Her words resonated around them and it was only when he seemed to have finished processing it all that he shifted his weight from his elbows and sat back in his chair. She was supposed to say what she wished to and be wrapped up no more than five minutes later, but the time came and went and it was not until a further twenty-five minutes had gone that she was finally allowed from the room. Mr Parker shook her hand, though he said nothing. His grip was firm and his eyes remained fixed on her intensely as he finally said it was an honour to meet her.

Sirius and Tonks had moved from the waiting room downstairs and lingered midway up a turning staircase. The press had invaded the bottom floor. With a faint pop, the three vanished right then and there.

---

The gossip mill of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry never ceased to surprise and amuse Cassy. Not only had word spread of the radio broadcast, but it seemed half the school knew exactly where it was that she would be returning through. Dinner was several hours ago, there had been no reason for so many people to linger in the entrance hall and up the marble staircases and yet they were. The stone door shifted behind her and vanished indistinguishably against the wall, leaving her with the crowd and nowhere to go but up.

It was not silent. No one was waiting for a word from her, but despite the many quickly moving mouths of friends talking to friends, the expressions and tones rang louder than the words themselves. Many looked at her as though she was deranged, others as though simply meeting her eyes would make them a guilty party in her madness, and then there were those like Ernie Macmillian and Susan Bones, who were grinning so widely from the doorway to the basement that it looked as though their smiles might actually injure them.

It took a moment of stubbornly scanning the scattered students for the least invasive escape route for Cassy to spot Dean and Seamus leant over the railings above. They waved madly at her before they hurried through the crowd, parting it easily with their unexpected urgency. Cassy took a step to meet them.

'We heard the whole thing,' exclaimed Dean after he jumped the last step to the ground.

'Pretty ballsy, especially the end bit,' added Seamus. 'We were on our way back from the lake when we noticed the crowd, thought we'd stop and see what the commotion was about.'

'Apparently, someone broadcast the interview through the Great Hall. Loads of people turned up to listen, apart from the Slytherins,' explained Dean. They began to push their way up the staircases once more. 'It was on repeat not long ago, everyone here's talking about it.'

'Not that they'll tell you that. Some of them seem to think that if they speak to you You-Know-Who will appear and strike them down. Some of them are petrified, others want to fight you,' said Seamus, laughing with Dean when Cassy turned to give him a disdainful glare.

'How did word even get out about it?' asked Cassy. She had fully expected it to be a written transcription that the school obtained a few days after the interview when it was inevitably mentioned in tomorrow's Daily Prophet. By the sounds of it, most of the school had heard.

'Well,' said Dean slowly, 'Ginny told us this morning about it. Ron then told Lavender, she told Pavarti, who told her sister Padma, and just about everyone else in the school. You know what they're like.'

Cassy smiled politely at their enthusiasm. She did not really want to talk about the speech right then. It seemed counter-productive to speak and then ignore all of her efforts, but it was because it had been such an effort that she rather wanted to sit and enjoy the remainder of her birthday without being stared at and talked about. She steeled her features and fixed them into a look of mild amusement, a familiar smile and nothing more, everyone who looked upon her as they passed would see nothing more than her collected expression. It was easy to fake. It was so familiar she did not even have to think about whether it looked forced; it was now as natural as breathing, and it was fortunate too for not everyone seemed pleased with her. She would deal with that tomorrow, the day after and perhaps for every day of the war and beyond – assuming she lived that long – but right then she rather wanted to find her friends, unveil the bottle of Firewhisky Sirius had handed her before she left, and be told what a moron she was for calling the country to arms on her birthday while they grinned and mocked how old she had become all at the same time.

The long day sorting through legal documents and speaking of things she never would normally have approached had taken a slight toll on her, a gentle one, a faint push on her shoulders as though gravity had increased just a fraction, her eyes a slight bit heavier than usual, but nothing severe. Most of all, she had realised how tedious it was to speak of herself. She did not fathom how others did it so often. The endless useless facts and opinions that hardly related to the conversation were exhausting. Give her a challenge and she could speak for hours, it was not as though she was an interesting person to discuss, not in her own mind, at least.

Still, she found the energy to genuinely smile as Harry swooped down for a kiss when the portrait hole opened.

'Wonderful speech, Milady,' he said. 'You're back early.'

He seemed to sense her wariness as she muttered for him to ask the others to be prepared to leave to somewhere quieter, he did not ask any more about it. She slipped beyond the enquiring and boastful voices of her housemates. They were more eager to speak with her than those in the entrance hall, frustratingly so almost, as several refused to allow her to pass easily. It was not long after that that Hermione and Ginny arrived to collect her still unopened birthday gifts. If they were to leave, they demanded she, at least, bring them with her. When she returned to the common room, she did so in comfier clothing - blue skinny jeans and a long black and white striped shirt. A woollen jumper was draped over her arm, the alcohol hidden beneath it. Her friends were all huddled near the door and when they emerged into the refreshingly cool air of the corridor, Neville revealed that he had sent word to Luna through the DA coins to meet; it had become somewhat of a habit since they had been redesigned earlier that year to send her messages like that, it made everyone meeting much easier.

They met her on the seventh floor outside the Room of Requirement. The inside had shifted as it always did. A warm hearth, dim lighting and soft seats arranged so everyone could be seen. In the centre of the seats was a table that soon filled with cups and snacks that Plum and Kitsy brought them without so much as a request. A cake appeared too, one they had made themselves, as spectacular as always. Cassy threatened to hex them all if they tried to sing 'Happy Birthday' to her.

Even Hermione did not complain at the presence of alcohol. Ron cheered and the bottle was passed around, thankfully large as everyone helped themselves to more than a few glasses as the night wore on. Old stories cropped up, laughter filled the room at their childhood tales of early magic and their expectations of Hogwarts. Harry had flushed when he had admitted that when Professor McGonagall had gone to fetch Oliver Wood about him joining the team he had thought him to be a stick to beat him with as punishment. Everyone laughed, though Cassy's fingers tightened around her glass momentarily, her smile masking the dangerous flash in her eyes.

She turned teasingly to Hermione. 'You must be shocked with how your school life turned out. You hated me and yet just the other month you proclaimed me your best friend.'

'A terrible mistake,' said Hermione easily. 'Besides, I didn't hate you, I just…'

'Hated her,' finished Neville.

'Your rule-breaking annoyed me back then,' insisted Hermione, shrugging.

'You lectured me for half-an-hour on why I should follow the instructions on repotting a plant,' said Cassy, squinting.

Even Hermione had to laugh at her past self.

'You didn't help your own impression much, you know,' she said. 'You always looked so serious and never did what you were told. I didn't know what to think.'

'You were kind of scary,' agreed Neville, 'but I knew better than to trust your expressions when you brought my bag to me in the hospital wing after Potions that day. You didn't need to at all, so I knew you had to be kind, kinder than anyone else had been to me.' He spluttered at the sight of her dangerously narrowed eyes. 'You're still super scary, obviously!'

Everyone howled with laughter and Cassy's expression lightened as if appeased while she tried not to laugh herself.

Harry reclined into the sofa, shifting Cassy who was leaning heavily into his side. 'That all seems like to like ago.'

It did seem like an age ago. She was surrounded by people she had lived with for six years, mostly. People she saw almost every day of the year and had gone through more than anyone could ever have expected whilst with them. There was something in that, in the challenges they had faced and the adversity they had overcome that made Cassy confident they would endure. They would not fall apart after school, because the bonds built in difficulty were often the strongest of all, and they all knew they had plenty of that behind them and even more to come. She cringed inwardly at her own sentiment and wondered if two glasses of Firewhisky was quite enough. It did not take much longer to realise that Neville was hopeless at holding his alcohol and Hermione and Ron's tongues loosened under the influence. Neither said anything disastrous, but amidst the jokes and drinks, they had begun to speak to one another normally again. Any tension they had forced aside for the sake of Cassy's birthday had dissolved in the spirit of the occasion; had Cassy known that would have happened, she would have smuggled a bottle in two weeks ago.

She caught Ginny's eye and the two burst into giggles. Their eyes had met with mirroring looks of disgusted disbelief at the sight of Neville's incoherent ramblings and Luna's unbelievably coherent chatter, and of Ron and Hermione's easy exchanges.

'They all need to get a grip,' said Ginny flatly, downing the rest of her glass.

'I think it's funny,' commented Harry, grinning.

'One bottle between seven people shouldn't have that effect on anyone,' protested Ginny, but Cassy and Harry merely laughed.

---

I would like to say a massive thank-you to Love Remedy, Izaranna, missfites, and Xenocanaan for your reviews. They certainly brightened up my days.

So, this is Cassy's birthday. It ended up being the longest chapter of the year so far. A lot happened to be fair, we had crying Hermione, crying Hagrid, Cassy and Harry flying, Cassy and Draco's conversation, Cassy's inheritance, the speech, their little party at the end; it was in danger of being much, much longer, so it was cut down as not to drag.

The next chapter will probably be out in a similar amount of time, though certainly no longer than a month. I am terribly busy and stressed trying to sort my life out, so I'll update as soon as I can.

Please review as always.

Thanks!