November 2, 1975 - Hogwarts
The entire school was on-edge.
The first spark of it had occurred after Wilkes' death, but it continued with weekly reports of suspicious murders, vandalisms, and general incidents involving Dark Magic.
The oppressive atmosphere was not helped in the slightest by the arrival of the morning's news - news which had caused her throat to tighten, and render her almost mute.
"Are you alright?" Severus asked, his voice barely audible over the speculative, worried discussion of their classmates.
She nodded tightly in response, cutting off his further enquiries with a look. No-one else seemed to have noticed her distress, but they soon would if he continued to seem so disturbed.
The meal ended several minutes later, and most of the school dispersed to discuss the latest news. Splitting-off from the rest of their House, she checked to see if she was alone, before slipping out through the school's front doors.
The autumn wind whipped around her, almost drowning out her thoughts. The warm-toned leaves scattered on the ground around her seemed to almost dance in the air, carried through the air for long moments before they fell back to the ground.
She felt lost.
Wrapping her robe further around her body, she made her way to the edge of the Black Lake. The murky water swirled and frothed, and she settled down on a large rock at its shore.
Her home was gone; destroyed with Fiendyfyre. Razed to the ground as if it had never existed. Her family's possessions, all the memories that it had contained, ash.
She'd never seen the curse in action, but she imagined it like a great wildfire - vicious, burning, choking the air out of the earth. She felt it in her body, like a phantom sensation - permeating her lungs with smoke; singing her skin, filling the air with the stench of burning flesh.
She took a calming breath, allowing the clear air to cleanse her. Looking to the darkened sky, she felt the first drops of rain make contact with her skin.
Had Henry died in the fire? It seemed unlikely, given the gift that she had received.
Had he been tortured? The blood suggested it, and the two parts of her mind were deeply conflicted over what she should feel.
Her hair was damp now, water weighing down the curls, and straightening them out. She could cast an Impervius, stop the rain from soaking through her body, but something prevented her.
She heard the footsteps before she saw him; walking towards her like a deathly spectre, robes and hair billowing in the wind.
He sat next to her, but stayed quiet - seeming to recognise her need for silence.
"What are you thinking?" he asked finally, his gaze turned resolutely towards the waters of the lake.
Cassiopeia paused; hesitant now to reveal her thoughts to him. Severus seemed to take her silence as condemnation, and turned his head from her, seeming shamed. "Sorry - I won't ask."
"... I - I thought I'd at least have a home, you know?"
She'd shared the letter with him; in the silence of her dorm. Neither of them had known what to think.
Severus made a quiet noise of agreement. "Do you think –– ?"
"Who else would it be?"
They lapsed into silence. The rainstorm had quieted, for now, and only occasionally did raindrops fall on their water-soaked bodies.
"You do know - ," Severus finally spoke up, " - that you can always stay with me; with us?"
"I'd have appreciated such an offer last year," she said bitingly, though her heart wasn't truly in it. Still, her words caused Severus to flinch, and he bowed his head in remorse.
The ire drained from her - she knew Severus should not be the target of her helpless anger. "I'm sorry; it's in the past. I'm not angry."
He stared at the ground, refusing to meet her eyes. "I… do realise, now, how much I broke your trust… Nevertheless - the offer is there."
"Thank you."
That evening, Severus had shut himself in the potions lab, and she in her dorm. Aurora had gone off somewhere - after berating her for going out in the rain - and now their room was silent and abandoned, just as she'd wanted.
She settled onto her bed; placing a roll of parchment over the book in her lap. Her ink and quill were carefully balanced on the covers beside her, and the oil lamp above her head provided just enough light so that she could see.
Anonymous -
She bit her lip, staring out across the room, guilt and fear fighting for dominance inside her mind. How to start?
It is my hope that you do not hold me in contempt for the decisions of my ancestors, be they good or evil. Certainly, had I been responsible, my family's name would be as pure as it was centuries ago.
The insinuation was misleading. As far as she knew, she held no contempt for Muggles and muggleborns alike, not even held-over resentment from Henry's… mistreatment. However -
My father has no place in my family; people like him never have. If you have removed him from it permanently - as you have implied - then I must say my thanks to you.
And yet this gratitude does not grant the destruction of my home.
She gripped her quill harshly, the headline from the morning's news flashing in her mind: Manchester Home Demolished by Fiendyfyre; Aurors Investigating Circumstances.
Forgive me for my attachment to such things, yet my home is my own. It was once my mother's - it was one of the few things that I still had from her. While it was not her family home, it was destroyed in the same way that hers was. The reminder is unwelcome to me.
She took a steadying breath.
It follows, then, that my hand in marriage is just as much my own. The men you have put forth are unknown to me, and I hope you understand that I would rather not take such risks. I have spurned all your previous efforts, that is true, and it would be unwise for me not to do so again, should they appear.
As of late, even more eyes are upon me than before, and they know of my unwillingness to bind myself. I'd ask that those who do still seek a union with me be made aware of the assured outcome.
Finally, I hope you are aware that I have no love for my Headmaster and those like him, but I'm not yet convinced that your own efforts are not futile. I'm unsure if it is non-magicals you fight against, or muggleborns, or both, but I have doubts that our society can ever be truly cleansed of them, and their influence.
Nevertheless, I think I will enjoy observing your further actions.
- Cassiopeia Nazyalensky
She let out the breath she had been holding, suddenly completely exhausted. It was a web of lies; spun as carefully as she could, and still she was certain that her skills stood no chance against a man of such aptitude as the letter's intended recipient.
She knew Severus was right, in advising her not to respond, and yet she knew, in her heart, that she could not do so.
Her memory of meeting him, so many years ago, still hung heavily in her mind - a warning not to cross him; to do nothing to incite his ire.
Knocking sounded on the door, and she startled, her heart constricting with fear. Quickly, she hid her things from sight, before standing up to open the door.
"Severus?"
He came inside, presenting her with what was clearly a freshly-brewed batch of pepper-up, and meaningful look. She downed it.
"Why?" she asked, surprised at its pleasant taste..
He shot her an irritated look. "I didn't want us to get sick."
Unsure how to respond, she stayed quiet. Severus' eyes scanned the room behind her instead, and his expression turned to curiosity as he spotted the badly-concealed stationary behind her bed curtain. "You're writing someone?"
"Just Narcissa - she's been complaining to me about Lucius."
Severus laughed slightly, and her heart twisted with guilt. He had just apologised for his deception, and here she was doing the same to him. She couldn't bear to meet his eyes.
Long after he left, she glanced speculatively at the vial that had been left behind on her nightstand, an idea slowly beginning to form in her mind.
She knew the spell - had researched it for Defence class just weeks prior - and she was reasonably confident that she would be able to perform it.
Slowly, feeling with each passing moment that this was a horrible idea, she lifted her wand to her temple. "Carpe Memoriae."
A thin, silvery strand began to emanate from her mind, coalescing around her wand as she slowly drew it away from her head. Carefully, she transferred the memory into the vial, exhaling in relief when it simply settled across the bottom.
The memory of Wilkes' attack, now able to be seen by someone other than herself. She glanced towards the drafted letter, and made her decision.
If it was the wrong one, she'd deal with the consequences.
•••
Thank you for reading, and especially to SilentMayhem, and Stephanie MRV, both of whom have been exceedingly helpful in the crafting this chapter. I hope you all have a lovely week.