DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to JKR . . . though the fandom sure seems to be taking the wheel . . . but legally it's JKR's . . . though enough time on Twitter might revoke that (just kidding, don't come at me).
A/N: Helloooooo! I feel bad about the sporadic updates, so here's another chapter. And WOW! The story grew so much with just one update, so thanks for that :)
Without further ado, please enjoy! This chapter will clear a bit up on the whole Snape situation . . . let's just say you're in for some surprises!
OoOoO
As far as Death went, Severus Snape was overall disappointed. Like in life, he was irritated, uncomfortable, and quite bitter—not exactly what he had expected. It was warm, which was a slight consolation, but his mouth filled with the sour taste of potions and his head throbbed with unfathomable pain.
But the worst part? He couldn't remember a damned thing about his life. He understood it had been harsh—horridly so—and he understood he had done terrible, evil things. However, he had done some good, right? Helped out the right kids, done the correct thing, even just a little? So why, Snape demanded silently, his lips curling, was he in Hell?
At least, it sure felt like Hell.
He felt an overwhelming sadness at that thought. He wasn't supposed to be here. She certainly wasn't here. She would be in heaven, surely—there was no way a soul as beautiful as hers would end up down here.
Snape growled, his memory failing him as he realized he didn't know who she was. He didn't even know himself beyond his name and the certainty of his terrible deeds. Beyond a sickly green light and cruel red eyes. He hated this unknowing, felt himself scraped raw, his mind cleaved from its memories. He loathed this blindness, perhaps even more than he loathed himself. That was the only other thing remembered: Severus Snape absolutely and utterly hated himself with such a vigor it was no wonder he was in Hell. A soul like his, so filled with bitterness and sorrow and abhorrence, belonged nowhere else but these fiery pits.
Only, the pits weren't fiery. Snape did not think they were pits at all, in fact. He heard no tormented screams of the sinful, he felt no tortures upon his skin, he smelled no burnt flesh. And he knew distinctly the sensations of those things. His unrecalled life had not been pleasant, Snape understood that much.
Suddenly, a voice broke through to his mind.
"Severus," said the voice. "Swallow the potion, you'll need the strength it provides to your frayed nerves." It sounded kind, feminine . . . familiar. Snape knew this voice.
Snape realized there was liquid in his mouth. The unpleasant taste had been there all along, waiting to be consumed. He swallowed, recognizing the burning sensation faintly. He knew potions. But surely there weren't liquids in Hell?
There was a sigh around him—multiple sighs. They conveyed relief. They potion, too, promised relief. Relief from the torturous feeling of Snape's body.
Growing tired of being blind to the world around him, Snape attempted to peel open his eyelids, intent on discovering who these people were. He found them glued shut, as though heavy weights were holding them down.
"Is he alright?" asked a new voice, an older one. Snape knew this voice as well—but how?
"That is yet to be determined," replied the first voice.
Yet to be determined? Snape was slowly realizing that perhaps he wasn't in Hell. He dared hope that, maybe, he hadn't even died. But something told him he deserved death, he deserved Hell. Because he had let something be taken from him, something vital, something that could not reach the wrong ears. But what? Snape could not tell you. He could not even tell himself. Anger boiled in him at the thought.
"I have done all I can, Albus," announced the first voice. "I fear it is up to Severus now."
Snape felt his lids grow heavier. The voices around him dimmed. The female voice had said it was up to him. He did not know what exactly that was, but determined he would do better this time. Be better. He would make her proud, the woman he knew to be in heaven.
But first—what dunderhead decided to give him a Sleeping Draught?
OoOoO
Harry's mind reeled from the night's events. He felt small, an insurmountable mountain of action crammed into one night making him a little bit more than confused. Sitting in Dumbledore's office, Cass's sleeping form curled up next to him, he decided to take things one mind-shattering event at a time.
Starting with the pumpkin pie exploding in his sister's face. It had shocked him that the Weasley twins had managed to get past her Sight, and it had made him sort of proud to see her dump soup on their sorry heads afterwards. Cass had even made him chuckle when she smart-mouthed Professor McGonagall. It must have taken some guts staring those strict eyes in the face and talking back.
That was where the fun had stopped, replaced frighteningly by nothing but overwhelming stress.
According to McGonagall, Cass had been in the loo washing off her face when the professor found her and demanded she come to her office. According to the twins, McGonagall had laid into all three of the Gryffindors for some time before Cass was struck with a vision. A vision that made Harry feel empty inside. According to Cass herself, the vision had been the stuff of nightmares. Sometimes, especially during times like these, Harry wished his sister didn't have Sight. He wished he could somehow shield her from the horrors of being a Seer. He wished her innocent eyes never had to See the evil in the world.
Harry wished a lot of things, though, and never had one of them come true.
After being fetched from the Gryffindor common room by Fred, Harry rushed to Dumbledore's office to see a flurry of preparation. Order members were there, though Sirius was absent, and every single one of them were clearly prepping for something. His sister sat silently in the corner, her eyes blurry and her face pale. Harry went straight to her, embracing her without a word. For once in the short time of them knowing each other, things didn't feel awkward.
Instead it felt ten times worse: terrifying.
Dumbledore explained to everyone what had happened: Voldemort's summons for Snape, Cass's vision, and the plan of action. Everyone, Harry and Cass included, listened carefully, grim expressions on their faces.
"How did you not prepare for this?" demanded Harry. "I mean, Snape's known about—"
"Shut your mouth, boy," growled Moody, his magical eye zoning in on Harry. "Albus Dumbledore is always prepared."
"Clearly not," muttered Cass, though it was obviously only meant for Harry.
Dumbledore pinched his nose, glanced one of his hundreds of silver devices, and said very quickly, "Of course I had contingencies in place. Charms to alter Professor Snape's memory in case of a Legilimency attack, potions the professor himself brewed to keep the secret . . . this should not have happened."
"If I can ask," said Cass without waiting to see if she could indeed ask, "Why did you let Snape go, Professor?"
McGonagall opened her mouth briskly to say something, but Dumbledore held up his hands and she settled for giving Cass a cross stare (which his sister pointedly ignored).
"I don't have time to explain right this moment," he said. "Professor Snape's spying has been a very delicate matter," explained the old man, calm as ever despite the oppressing atmosphere of tension. "The Order—and myself—have certain contingencies in place to provide all possible aid to Severus. And we must get to them quickly."
The elderly headmaster gestured to a spinning silver device on his mahogany desk. "As long as this device spins, Severus lives. This tells us Cassandra's vision was that of the future, not the present. Professor Snape left hardly fifteen minutes ago, meaning we must be swift if we are to save his life. Hopefully, we can also keep Lord Voldemort from obtaining the information Snape guards."
Harry's ears had nearly gone numb by this point, but he understood the gist of the Order's plan: Two teams go into retrieve Snape while Dumbledore faces Voldemort. It wasn't enough to take down Voldemort-the Dark Lord's defenses were too strong for that, and Voldemort would surely have plans in place in case of attack-but it was enough to get Snape out.
It was their one and only chance inside Voldemort's Headquarters. The Order's would have to get in and get out or . . .
Dumbledore, it turns out, also placed a Tracking Charm on Snape without the Potion Master's knowledge. Since Snape himself was unaware of this spell, Voldemort, too, would be in the dark. Moreover, Snape had been deliberately kept out of any meetings involving plans to rescue him should he be compromised.
But Harry only actually focused on all this after the Order members had returned from rescuing Snape. After Dumbledore had returned from battling Voldemort. For the most part, as he sat in the headmaster's office waiting for everyone to come back, Harry's mind revolved around one thing: what would he do if Voldemort found out about Cass? If he knew about her being his sister? About the second prophecy that spoke of those "born to save"? His mind, despite the bustling of the Order members around him and then later the silence of Dumbledore's office, refused to stop giving him the worst possible outcomes of that night.
Harry couldn't banish the image of Cass's dead face staring up at him. And after overhearing the adults at St. Mungo's, after learning that Voldemort was tied in some way to his mind, Harry couldn't stop the fear that, somehow, he would be responsible. He reckoned this new nightmare would take the dementor's place; if Harry were to find a boggart, it would surely show his sister's lifeless body.
Dread was deafening.
Cass shifted beside him, bringing Harry out of his reverie. Her eyes flashed open and she jumped slightly, clearly confused as to why she was sitting on an armchair in Dumbledore's office. Then, her eyes cleared, and Harry watched silently as memories flooded into her face.
"What time is it?" she asked. "And where is Dumbledore?"
Harry shifted, letting her sit up in a more comfortable position. They were both squished on the armchair meant for one, but wordlessly they had agreed to sit by each other.
"He's down in the Hospital Wing with Snape," answered Harry. "Also, it's half past midnight."
Cass frowned. "Why aren't we in Gryffindor Tower?"
"Dumbledore said he wanted to talk with us."
Cass scowled. "Because it went so well last time?"
Harry grunted in agreement.
A few moments later, Dumbledore and McGonagall walked in, both looking extremely worn out from the day's events.
"Oh, you're both awake," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "Good, I didn't want to have to wake you up."
Cass crossed her arms, but Harry was desperate (and mature, though he wouldn't dare say this to Cass) enough to put aside his feelings for the headmaster and jump straight to the point. "Did Voldemort find out, or did you all arrive on time to stop that?"
The look on Dumbledore's face was answer enough. Lined and grim, his face held no trace of relief. It wasn't the face of someone who had just avoided a catastrophe. It was the face of someone looking catastrophe dead in the eye.
Cass sucked in a shaky breath, looking like she was going to cry. She kept herself together with, it seemed, sheer will. Harry felt dread settle in his stomach. He wanted to punch a wall. He wanted to scream at Dumbledore for being stupid enough to let Snape go Voldemort's headquarters. But, deep down, he knew it wasn't Dumbledore's fault. It wasn't even Snape's fault, though Harry would have liked to blame it on the git.
So, instead of going off like a rocket, he said, "What do we do?" He was surprised to hear how calm his voice sounded.
"After I'm finished talking with you both, I will go to your grandparents' house, Cassandra, and set up wards. Without them being blood relatives of you both, I'm afraid they will not be as strong as they could be."
"What about a Fidelius Charm?" interrupted Harry.
Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Voldemort already knows the location from Professor Snape's mind. The charm blocks anyone from discovering the location after it's been cast, it cannot remove this information from the mind of someone who knows it before it's been cast."
Cass placed a hand over her mouth, terror in her eyes. Now, tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks. Harry was reminded that she was only eleven—all this must be terrifying for her. He felt like hugging her but didn't know if she needed sympathy right now. Even only meeting her a few months ago, Harry understood she wasn't a person that wanted pity, or needed it.
"I will also assign Order members to watch over the house," continued Dumbledore, his voice gentle and calm. "Please, don't worry, Cassandra. Your grandparents will be protected."
"But, if Voldemort was determined . . . ?" Cass trailed off, unable to finish. "Could he . . . ? Would he?"
"I cannot say," said Dumbledore, his expression troubled. "However, I promise I will provide the best possible protection—"
"So, you're telling me he might get through—" she cut off, her expression blanking. Harry watched her intently, recognizing the signs of her having a vision. He noticed Dumbledore and McGonagall watching Cass, too.
A few seconds passed, and she blinked, coming out of it. She leapt to her feet with a strangled, "No!" She seemed to realize she where she was and looked around wildly. Her dreadful expression turned towards Dumbledore, instantly being replaced with anger.
"They. Will. Die." Her words were accusatory. "I Saw Voldemort kill them. I Saw . . ." She choked up before drawing her chin up and fixing an angry expression on her face. "You would have let them die."
Harry winced at the venom in her voice, feeling horrible she had to See that.
"I assure you, I would not," stressed Dumbledore. "Voldemort is a Dark wizard, Cassandra. I had to use the most powerful blood wards to keep Harry safe from him, but your grandparents don't have that same protection. However, there is another option to keep them safe. One that won't end in tragedy, though I was nearly certain my first proposal would have worked."
Harry squirmed slightly; since when is Dumbledore "nearly sure" of anything?
Cass fixed her gaze on the headmaster, hope in her eyes. "What is it?"
"I could move them someplace else. The Continent, maybe, or perhaps America. I could place a Fidelius charm on their new house. But I very much doubt they would go without you."
Harry sensed her knew where this was going, but he held his tongue for reasons he didn't know. Maybe he just didn't want to be the one to tell his sister what would have to happen. Maybe that made him a coward.
"Many people did this in the First Wizarding War," said Dumbledore. "In fact, I believe your mother Lily did this to ensure her Muggle parents' safety. It's a clever tactic, and it provides impenetrable protection. But it's very emotionally painful to do, and I had hoped we would be able to avoid it."
Cass waited, obviously wanting the headmaster to go on. Harry could practically hear her impatience.
"To ensure no one goes after your grandparents to get to you, I could, well, remove you."
Cass narrowed her eyebrows, puzzled. "Remove me?"
"From their minds," said Dumbledore solemnly. "I could wipe their minds of any memory of you, place them in a nice home on the Continent under the Fidelius Charm, and Voldemort would never get to them." His voice was soft, spoken with a heavy sadness that Dumbledore seemed burdened with often lately.
"But I would never get to them, either," whispered Cass, moving her hands to cover her face.
Harry looked from Dumbledore to Cass, his heart breaking for his sister and the impossible choice she had just been given.
"I can give you some time to think it over," said Dumbledore. "I—"
"No," said Cass firmly, removing her hands from her face. "No. I . . . I want them to be safe. I couldn't bear it if—if—" She didn't finish her sentence, leaving the words hanging in the air depressingly.
"Then it will be done by the end of tomorrow," said Dumbledore.
"Can I say goodbye to them?" Cass asked hesitantly, as if she were afraid of Dumbledore saying no. Then, her features resolving, she said, "I'm going to say goodbye to them."
Dumbledore chuckled. "You're very much like your mother, Cassandra. So . . . I suppose the word is assertive. She was the same."
Harry felt the familiar anger curl in his gut—who did Dumbledore think he was to go compare Cass to their mother? He was the git that kept the truth hidden from them! But he kept his tongue, thinking it best to leave the matter alone now.
"Can I?" insisted Cass, her eyes optimistic.
Dumbledore drummed his long fingers against his desk, his eyes silently consulting with a stony McGonagall. After a long minute, he said slowly, "Meet me in my office tomorrow at 5 A.M. Take your brother's Invisibility Cloak, and maybe a small bag to pack anything from your house you wouldn't want to go without. We'll have to be quick—I suspect Umbridge keeps a close eye on you, especially after the—er—scene on the Quidditch pitch last month."
"I was trying to help out Harry," Cass muttered in defense. "Thank you . . . sir. Thank you very much," she added. Dumbledore inclined his head just a little bit in acknowledgement.
Seconds passed in tense, exhausted silence. Then, "Sir, what happened tonight? How did Voldemort get pass your memory charms?" Harry voiced what had plagued him through the night, the thought that lurked in his head.
"Why did you let Snape meet with Voldemort?" asked Cass, and for once she didn't sound angry with Dumbledore. Just confused. Scared. "After the vision I had last night . . ."
Dumbledore gave a long sigh that he seemed to have been holding awhile. "It was imperative Professor Snape reassert his position as trusted advisor. The charms I put in his head—months of Arithmancy to calculate them, my most advanced spellcasting—it should have convinced Voldemort he was still loyal. Tom Riddle has always been a powerful wizard, there is no doubt of that, but I have far more experience than he." His eyebrows wrinkled together while his mouth twisted into as much a semblance of a frown Harry had ever seen on the man; Albus Dumbledore was troubled.
"Then how—" began Harry, but Dumbledore turned his twinkling eyes on him—though still not looking him in the eye, Harry noticed in the back of his mind—and he didn't finish his sentence.
"I'm not quite certain how it happened," said Dumbledore. McGonagall huffed behind him. "But you two of course remember Angenuit? The French Dark Lady?"
"Well . . . sort of . . . Last time I Saw her, she was with Voldemort. I think. I'm not entirely sure . . ." said Cass, frowning.
Dumbledore nodded his head gravely. "Exactly so, Miss McGarther. You're not entirely sure because a certain object of this Angenuit's. Lord Voldemort"—McGonagall seemed to become paler every time his name was mentioned—"could not have broken my spells on his own. Him and this new lady . . . Well, it still should not have been possible. That kind of magic is nigh impossible to break, even done by wizards less experienced than myself . . . Arithmantic calculations of that degree, with that amount of magical power . . . well, perhaps I think to highly of myself. Forgive an old man's rambles, Harry and Cassandra, I'm simply theorizing that perhaps that necklace is what broke through Professor Snape's defenses."
Cass scowled and muttered under her breath. Sparing her a quick glance, Harry said, "This necklace—it can block Seers and vanish mind spells?" And apparently hide itself from Cass's Sight even when she's Seeing the events surrounding it?
"It appears so," said Dumbledore. "It's name translates to 'Bane of Readers'. I assume this magical property applies to Legilimens, Seers, Occulumens—any wizards who act on the mind or with it."
It was like Harry had swallowed a stone of dread.
"And now Voldemort has it," said Cass. "It, and a Dark Lady for an ally."
"I'm afraid so," said Dumbledore, though he did not look very afraid. The expression on his face was more worried than fearful. But it was the most-worried Harry had ever seen him, and that was saying something.
In this moment, when no one had anything else to say, Harry learned that silence was indeed deafening.
Then, the silence abruptly ended, pressed back by Dumbledore's words. "Please know that you both are perfectly safe inside Hogwarts. Its defenses have nothing to do with the mind, so it is protected from that cursed necklace, and I very much doubt Lord Voldemort would dare come here so long as I live."
"Thanks for that . . . sir," said Harry, even though it hardly eased his fear. What if Voldemort is already here, in my mind, and he's just waiting to strike?
Dumbledore smiled, and for a second it was nearly the same as old times, and Harry almost found himself smiling back.
Luckily, he quickly turned his quirked lips into a frown.
"If that's all, you two are free to go to bed. Please try to get some rest, you both need it. Professor McGonagall, if you could please take care of the woman standing outside my office before the Potters leave? I'm afraid Dolores isn't too happy with being kept in the dark regarding tonight's events."
Softly, Cass said beside Harry, "McGarther. I'm still a McGarther, too." Neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall seemed to hear her, but Harry gave her a small smile to show that he understood.
"What should I tell her?" asked McGonagall irritably, which Harry could empathize with because Umbridge a right pain in the bum.
"Anything, just get her to leave, please. Then, goodnight to you, too. You deserve some sleep, as well."
"Goodnight, Albus. Potter, McGarther, sleep well."
McGonagall swiftly left, tartan robes swishing behind her. Her eyes lingered on Cass for the barest moment, an unidentifiable emotion resting wearily in them, before the door to the office shut quietly. Harry stood up, stretching his stiff limbs.
"Goodnight," dismissed Dumbledore after a few moments. "Professor Umbridge is gone, so that's your cue to leave."
"Right," said Harry.
"Well, then," said Cass.
Neither of them wished the headmaster goodnight.
"One last thing," said Dumbledore. "Know that you both are very brave—and you both are far too young to be a part of this struggle. I'm sorry for that; truly, I am."
Why did this apology sound more genuine than the one he had given them a couple months ago?
Cass shrugged, but Harry felt the need to say, "Trust me, Professor, we are too."
The sound of the door closing sounded extremely loud after that.
Back in the common room, Ron, Hermione, and Brooke waited by the fireplace, talking in low tones. Over by the worktables, a couple seventh-years labored under their studies.
Brooke noticed Harry and Cass enter first, nudging the others with an obnoxious elbow. Loudly, she yelled, "Cass! What happened?"
Harry grimaced as the seventh-years looked over.
Cass, her expression hollow, silently shook her head at her friend and walked upstairs to her dormitory, Brooke hot on her heels and asking what was wrong with wild gestures of her hands.
"What happened, Harry?" asked Hermione concernedly, her eyes pinched with worry and her frizzy hair wild, as though she had been running her hands through it.
"Bloody firsties always yelling," grumbled Ron, glancing fleetingly at the retreating first-years before rounding on Harry. He had a large red mark on his cheek from where his hand had been pressed against his face. "What happened?"
"Are you alright?" whispered Hermione, making a subtle "quiet down" gesture to Ron, who didn't seem to notice.
"I'm fine, I'm fine, but something horrible has happened." Then it slammed into Harry again, that dread he had felt knowing Voldemort was aware of Cass. His arm convulsed slightly, twitched with worry. "I'll tell you both tomorrow"—the seventh-years were conspicuously watching the three of them from behind their quills—"when I've gotten some sleep."
Hermione glanced over at the other Gryffindors, nodding with understanding. "Right, then, goodnight, Harry. Goodnight, Ron."
"'Night," replied Ron reluctantly, obviously not satisfied with Harry's response.
"Sleep well," Harry told her, but his mind was on other things.
Hermione cast one more fleeting glance at Harry and gave him a tight-lipped smile before heading upstairs to her dormitory.
Giving Harry a brief look, Ron shrugged his shoulders and followed Harry upstairs to their dormitory.
That night, long after Ron's snores had leveled out, Harry stared up at the canopy, his thoughts keeping him awake. His heart wouldn't calm down, his dread wouldn't go away, and his eyes refused to close, as if he could find the answers to his problems in the darkness of his dormitory.
OoOoO
Cass didn't even bother sleeping. Her head pounded, her eyes throbbed with exhaustion, and her heart slowly shattered as she realized today would be the last day—maybe ever—she saw her grandparents. After about two hours, at around three in the morning, she threw her blankets off and stormed downstairs, barely pausing to grab her brother's Invisibility Cloak, her sweatshirt, and her shoes on the way. Harry had given her the cloak right before she had gone to bed—or rather, he had given it to Hermione to give to her, since Gryffindor Tower wouldn't let boys in the girls' dormitories. She bundled it around her as she sprinted down the stairs, wrapping herself in its silvery silkiness. Her father's silvery silkiness. She imagined all the times he had wrapped himself in this cloak and bundled it tighter around her. It was almost as if he were there, comforting her.
But it wasn't. And he was dead.
She reached the common room silently, trying her best not to disturb the seventh-years still working, even this late in the night. On a normal day, she might have felt sympathy for them, or dread of the eventual time when she herself would be working that hard. But now, in the wake of the disastrous night, she couldn't scrounge up enough feelings for the seventh-years. The only emotion inside her now was this dreadful sadness that wouldn't go away; it wiggled in her gut and crawled at her heart, and for the life of her Cass couldn't think of a worse feeling.
Except maybe finding out you had a twin brother who had a murderous psychopath after his head.
Picking an armchair far in the corner, Cass sank into it, keeping the cloak around her like a blanket. It was surprisingly warm. Cass tried to focus on that warmth, and the crackling of the fire, and the scratching of quills, so that she didn't have to focus on her grandparents, or Voldemort, or Snape, or what it all meant for her and Harry. Cass was terrified that if she did focus on all those petrifying things, she might not be able to get up from this comfortable, safe armchair.
That if she focused on those things, she might succumb to the dreadful numbness.
OoOoO
Cass stumbled haphazardly against Dumbledore as she escaped the squeezing feeling that came with Apparation. Shoving herself away, she clutched her sides and tried desperately not to vomit. Vision swimming, she pushed her hands on her thighs and brought herself into an erect position, shaking off the nauseous feelings. Apparation was ten times worse than a Portkey.
Dumbledore, unfazed by her rough shove, smiled sympathetically. "Apparation is not the best mode of transportation. Most empty their stomach the first time—do not be ashamed."
"I'm not," replied Cass firmly, a scowl twisting her mouth. She would almost have liked it better if the old cot had insulted her rather than say those kind words (even if they did make her a bit proud to have not thrown up).
Around the Headmaster and student was a street Cass knew very well: Seere Lane. Even in the gray, pre-dawn light, it was very obviously low-income; the grass on each of the lawns was stringy and on the verge of being brown, the houses were all one-story (and most had chipped paint), and the road was the sort of cracked, light gray asphalt that said it had not been maintained very well for decades.
But to her, it was perfect, and Cass drank it all in with a frantic desperation. This could be the last time she ever saw her home. Dumbledore said nothing as she stared around, but Cass knew she couldn't put off the inevitable. Even if she had never wanted to do anything more.
Swallowing, she turned her head to look at the quaint house. Her hands were shaking, and she swallowed a brick. She would have to look her grandparents—the only family she'd had for nearly her entire life—and tell them . . . tell them . . . Cass found herself trying extremely hard not to sob.
Saying goodbye, leaving her two most favorite people, had always been difficult for Cass. But now it was tremendously more painful not knowing whether she would say hello again.
Cass swallowed again, gave Dumbledore a look, challenging him to say something cheeky, and stomped up the driveway without a second's more hesitation. She would curse Voldemort when she got the chance, for causing all this. There weren't enough Dark curses in the world for that monster.
That is, if she were brave enough to even lift her wand.
Reaching the door, she knocked, ignoring how her hand shook as she raised it. Dumbledore waited quietly beside her, hands folded in front of him and an emotion Cass thought was regret in twinkling blue eyes. She kept her eyes firmly on the door and stubbornly ignored the nervous flipping of her stomach.
The door opened to show Grandma Joyce, clad in her house robe, with her gray hair pulled back into a bun.
"Yes, what do you—Cass?!" Grandma started with shock at seeing Cass, who was trying her darndest not to cry. "What on Earth—And who is this?! Oh, get inside, get inside . . . Why are you crying, dear? What's wrong? Cass, please speak to me, dear. JIMMY!"
Cass was ushered inside, her grandmother pulling her gently by the shoulders. Then Grandma Joyce turned to Dumbledore, blocking his entrance with one arm.
"And just who are you?" she asked with a commanding tone; Grandma Joyce liked to be answered swiftly and truthfully, and she allowed no room for nonsense whatsoever.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, looking more uncomfortable than Cass had ever seen him (which was to say, his eyes were slightly more pinched than usual), and opened his mouth to answer her before being preempted by Grandma Joyce.
"You're that Dumbledore fellow, I'll bet my knitting needles," she said disapprovingly, scowling strongly at him.
"Yes, Mrs. McGarther," said Dumbledore pleasantly, seemingly unfazed by Cass's grandmother's rough tone. "We're here—"
"I'll hear from my granddaughter what you're doing here, thank you very much," interrupted Grandma Joyce sharply. "And you, Mr. Dumbledore, can wait right outside. Don't catch a cold."
And with that, she slammed the door in Dumbledore's surprised face. Despite what she was about to do, Cass had to resist snickering. Her grandmother was absolutely fantastic.
"That man has no right, showing up here, bringing you out of school . . . doing what he did . . . then expecting to be welcome!" muttered Grandma Joyce. She then turned to Cass, concern replacing irritation in her features. "What's happened, Cass? Not that I don't love your company, but why are you here?"
"I—" Cass began, but she choked on the words. Just then, Grandpa Jimmy walked into the room, in a dark green robe of his own, wearing his yellow duckie slippers.
"Cass?" he spluttered. "Kiddo, maybe you don't know, but school doesn't end for another two and a half months."
Grinning at his joke, Cass left her grandma to give him a hug. His returning one was warm, though not as frantic as her own.
"Now, Cass, you're starting to worry me," said Grandma Joyce after a minute of silence. "Tell us what's going on, or I might just have to let that man inside and wring the truth out of him."
"Who?" said Grandpa Jimmy.
Grandma frowned. "Dumbledore," she replied distastefully.
"Oh, him," said Grandpa Jimmy, just as sourly. "I'd like to share a word or two with him . . ." he muttered under his breath.
"I . . ." Cass began again, but the words clung to her tongue, refusing to let go. "You have to . . . We have to . . ." Bunching her fists in frustration, angry at the tears fighting to fall, and hating herself, she stomped over to the door and let Dumbledore in. "I can't explain," she said bitterly. How could she tell her grandparents they had to leave? How could she explain what Dumbledore would do to them, to their minds? She was about to make the decision to tear their little family apart, maybe forever, and she didn't think she would be strong enough to say it.
"It's . . . it's quite alright, Miss McGarther," said Dumbledore nicely. "I understand."
Somehow, Cass got the impression that he really did, and so she just nodded her thanks and stared down at her feet.
"Someone please tell us what's going on," demanded Grandma Joyce, giving Dumbledore a new look of appraising. Worry was evident on her face, and on Grandpa Jimmy's.
"Do you have somewhere we can sit? I promise to tell you both what is happening, but I think maybe sitting is the best way to hear it," suggested Dumbledore.
Cass's grandparents shared a look before nodding and gesturing towards the living room.
"Cass, since you obviously know what's going on here, you can go to your room," said Grandma Joyce as they walked over to the living room. "Your grandfather and I are going to talk to Mr. Dumbledore for a bit." She smiled at Cass to show her the annoyance in her tone and nothing to do with Cass. Despite that, Cass felt the urge to wince; no matter how she felt personally about Dumbledore, she would not want to be in his position currently.
Cass opened her mouth to protest before nodding glumly. If she was being honest, she didn't much want to be in the room when Dumbledore told them what had to be done. She knew almost certainly that she wouldn't be able to stand their reactions. She was ashamed of how quickly she nodded in acceptance and started walking to her room.
I'll be back after he tells you our lives are about to change forever, she thought with a familiar ache in her heart. She tried not to let it show, though she was never good at hiding things from her grandparents.
Grandpa Jimmy gave her a loving smile as she passed him, which Cass shakily returned, and then she was in her room, the door shut firmly behind her.
Her back to the door, Cass covered her mouth with her hand and sobbed silently. She sunk to the ground, tears now falling freely down her cheeks, and the realization of what would happen hit her harder than ever before. She buried her face in her hands, trying her best to exhale quietly when all she wanted was to scream. Her ancient cat, Libby, perched on her dresser and watched her with what felt like silent judgement.
"Don't look at me like that," she told it snappishly, swiping her eyes aggressively. "Your life is a piece of tart—you've no right to judge me."
Libby blinked, and Cass realized she was talking to her cat. At least her grandparents would still have the cat. That thought did nothing to help her self-hatred whatsoever. Muttering, she lifted her bag with trembling hands and began to walk around the room, collecting her things. The time for tears was, well, Cass typically believed it was never, but in any case, it certainly wasn't now.
Even if she did want to go right back to her spot on the floor and cry there indefinitely (what was wrong with her?).
The bag was the same one she had bought in Diagon Alley all those months ago; galaxy patterns—starts and nebulas and purples galore—swirled around it. Dumbledore had magically expanded it for her, so she was able to fit most of her book collection (which was measly anyway), the clothes she hadn't packed for Hogwarts, her plastic box of spare art supplies, some photographs, and her baby blanket—the very same one she had arrived here with. Cass held this in her hands for several seconds, marveling at it, before carefully wrapping an old T-shirt around it and placing it in her bag. She resolved to show Harry it as soon as she got back from Hogwarts.
Cass found herself lingering on different items in her room more and more often. Her old school journals, her raggedy stuffed animals, her wrinkly blankets—they all held memories of her childhood. And quite a bit of sadness. Cass couldn't decide what was worse: saying good-bye to these things or having to relive the memories that went with them.
Firmly, she shook herself from her thoughts. Not the time, not the time. When would there be time? Cass wanted to go around the rest of the house and collect some of her grandparents' things. Well, just one thing in particular: her Grandma's long silver locket. Of course, most of their things would go with her grandparents to the Continent. But the locket . . . that meant something to Grandma Joyce. So it meant something to Cass as well. She was determined to take it with her.
But that meant crossing the hall in full view of her grandparents.
Had Dumbledore told them yet? Would she have to look at their faces, her own heartbreak reflected back at her a hundred times over? Her own hatred mirrored? Would they hate her just as she hated herself?
"Cass!"
She jumped at her grandmother's voice, then immediately gulped heavily. Her hands were sweating. Her heart pounded. What if they did hate her . . . ?
"Cass, please come here, dear," came her grandmother's voice again. There was no imagining the sorrow in it.
Not trusting herself to speak without making a stumbling fool out of herself, Cass silently gathered her things and her beautiful bag and walked to the living room.
Her grandparents had red-brimmed eyes, and they both sat next to each other gripping hands.
"Cass, we're not going to do this," said Grandpa Jimmy firmly. "We can't."
Cass pressed tears back. "I Saw . . . I-I S-Saw"
"Dumbledore told us what you saw," said Grandma Joyce in a quiet murmur. "But you heard your grandfather. We're not going to do it."
Dumbledore was silent, clearly giving Cass a chance to speak. With a strength she didn't know she had, she took it.
Sometimes, you had to do tough things to give the people you love their very best shot.
"You have to," she told them. "Every other way ends in . . . ends in . . . I can't lose you two." Her voice nearly cracked. It seemed to be balancing on a precipice—neither steady nor trembling, it just barely conveyed conviction. But Cass meant what she said.
"Really?" demanded Grandma Joyce, angry tears forming in her eyes. "Because it seems like you're doing just that."
Cass took her words like a blow. Grandpa Jimmy started speaking the moment her grandmother had stopped, but Cass almost didn't hear him. For a few seconds, all she could hear were Grandma Joyce's words echoed back at her.
"Joyce, that's too far," said Grandpa Jimmy, and Cas might have ogled; her grandparents never disagreed. Ever.
"No, it's not," snapped Grandma Joyce. "Cass will not just force us into another country because she thinks we can't handle—"
"You can't handle it!" Cass interrupted, surprising herself. She realized in that moment she would have to find the strength to say it. To say the words. To put them out there. She couldn't be a baby about it, her grandparents' lives were on the line. "You'll die!" And now that she finally said the words, she couldn't stop repeating, even if each time it hurt. "You'll die, you'll die, you'll die!"
She didn't realize she had been screaming until she stopped and everyone was staring at her.
"You'll die," she repeated as a hoarse whisper—and then she couldn't hold back the tears anymore—and she didn't want to—and her grandparents had somehow appeared around her—and all three of them were arguing—and everyone was speaking over everyone else—and all three of them were hugging—and Cass had never felt more loved nor more heartbroken in her life.
After a few minutes, time seemed to start ticking again, and the embrace ended abruptly, with Cass going to sit down next to Dumbledore across from her grandparents. If she was going to have any chance arguing with them, it certainly wasn't going to work with her sandwiched between them like a little baby. Grandpa Jimmy would say something funny, Grandma Joyce would tuck her hair behind her ear, and before Cass could think she would be agreeing to their every word.
And so it began.
"Please, you have to listen—"
"Absolutely not!"
"You're being—"
"I'm being what? You better think long and hard about what you're about to say—"
"I've been thinking about what to say for four hours! And I still can't find the words—you're not making it any easier, you know—"
"I'm done hearing it! We're not leaving you to fend for yourself—"
"I'm perfectly capable—"
"You're eleven years old—"
"—I know tons of defense spells—"
"—you're just a child—"
"—I'm a bloody Seer—"
"—you barely pause long enough to think things through—and watch your language young—"
"—I'm not helpless!"
"You're completely unprepared—"
"You're going to die—"
"You won't survive a moment without us—"
Grandpa Jimmy and Dumbledore watched Cass and her grandmother argue with overwhelmed expressions, their eyes darting back and forth. Both Cass and Grandma Joyce ignored their gaping mouths.
"Cassandra, you can't honestly believe—"
"Grandmother, you can't actually think—"
"I'm not going to repeat myself—"
"Do I have to say it again—"
"—I'm not doing it!"
"—you're going to be murdered—"
"—end of discussion—"
"—and that's that!"
Cass and her grandmother cut themselves off angrily, both with indignant expressions on their faces. Grandpa Jimmy opened his mouth, but it snapped shut at the barest twitch of Grandma Joyce's head.
"We're not going," said Grandma Joyce with a note of finality.
"You have to," said Cass with the identical note.
"Then you're coming with us," implored Grandma Joyce.
"I won't leave Harry," stressed Cass, her expression pained.
"You choose him over us?" asked Grandma Joyce, as if she knew how much those words would hurt Cass and was willing to say them anyway if it meant they stayed together.
"I choose life over death!" exclaimed Cass sorrowfully, waving her arms with expression.
"I choose you over life!" exclaimed Grandma Joyce with her arms crossed and her face resolved. She said it with such absolute certainty that Cass found herself at a loss for a response for a few seconds.
"I choose you, too," said Cass finally, trying not to get choked up. "I love you so much and I wouldn't bear it if you got hurt—or worse—because of me."
Grandma paused for a second, just a slight hesitation, but Cass pressed this small advantage.
"This is your best chance," she continued, and she was surprised at how calm she sounded in comparison to the shouting match she had been in just seconds before. "This is . . . this is our best chance. Voldemort won't be able to find you—no matter his extremely powerful Legilimency—if you don't remember me. And he'll never find your location if it's put under a new Fidelius Charm. Right, erm, Professor?"
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Yes. I guarantee this will be sufficient protection—better than the Order headquarters, even. Neither Voldemort nor Angenuit—nor that cursed necklace—can get through these protections. I promise you."
"And he'll lift the memory charms as soon as Voldemort is handled. That's only . . . two years at most." Cass tried not to feel guilty at that; she had no way of knowing how long it would be, but she would put her estimation at higher than two years. The lie hurt, but their death would hurt more.
Who had she become, lying to the people she loved most?
She had to continue speaking. She had to keep pushing through.
"Please, do this for me. You've done everything for me, you both are my entire life . . . I can help my brother knowing you're safe."
How had she been burdened with so many responsibilities?
"And I'm not ever going to abandon my brother," she finished strongly, the tremor no longer present in her voice.
Why was she forced to choose?
"But you'll abandon us," said Grandma Joyce defeatedly. Cass flinched and looked down, blinking rapidly.
"Joyce, maybe we should . . ."
"Finish that sentence, Jimmy. I dare you."
"Maybe we should do it."
Grandma Joyce spluttered, as though she hadn't thought he had it in him.
"I love Cass," said Grandpa Jimmy, and though he was speaking to Grandma he looked straight at Cass. "I love her spirit, and her kindness. I love that she's like you." Grandma Joyce brought a hand to her mouth. "And I know what you would want us to do. What you would need us to do."
Somehow, though he had spoken the least, Grandpa Jimmy's words seemed to have the most impact on the family.
"Well, I can see I'm outvoted," said Grandma Joyce sourly. "You lot are nasty traitors."
"I love you, too, dear," said Grandpa Jimmy with a chuckle.
"I love you both so much," said Cass.
This time, when the three of them embraced, there was no arguing.
Only the heavy sorrow that came with farewells.
OoOoO
Cass thought of herself as strong. She could look an intimidating professor in the eye and talk back unabashedly. She could work through the emotional baggage of finding a long-lost (twin) brother. She believed tears to be stupid. She was fiercely proud—all this a product of being left to her own devices during childhood. She was a person who rubbed salt in her wounds. She was no pansy, no baby, no weakling.
Of course, all this was a nice thought. But sometimes, it was just that—a thought. An illusion. Cass didn't feel very strong right now, after saying goodbye to her grandparents for perhaps the last time. She felt tired and small, like the eleven-year-old kid she sometimes forgot she was. She felt like crying, something she had done far too many times this school year. She wanted to hug her grandparents, to hold them close to her. She didn't want them going away.
The truth is, she hated herself for her decision. Her grandparents were all she had that was stable. They were her rocks to lean on. Despite everything, all the secrets unveiled, all the terrors unleashed, Grandma Joyce would always be there to give Cass a warm hug. Despite all the bad in the world, Grandpa Jimmy would always be there to make jokes.
Not always, Cass corrected herself. Not anymore.
Fiddling with her grandma's silver locket around her neck, Cass tried consoling herself with the fact that her grandparents were safe from Voldemort. But the truth remained that she herself was barely safe from Voldemort. Every time she thought of it, the cold, hard truth slammed into her, just as shocking as when she first found out: Voldemort knew she was Harry's sister. He knew she was a Seer. He knew about the Prophecies. Over and over again, these truths spun around Cass's mind. It didn't help that her dormitory was pitch black. She felt anything could be waiting in the blackness. Was that the faint outline of a man?
Dread was deafening.
A few moments passed before Cass realized she was being ridiculous. Maybe she wouldn't see her grandparents for a little while, but that was to ensure their protection. How much had they sacrificed for her? She could do the same for them. Additionally, Voldemort couldn't possibly get into the school. There were wards, and moreover there was Dumbledore. The old codger might have lied to her and Harry, but at least he was good for keeping Voldemort at bay.
Maybe Cass wasn't always strong, but at the very least she could pretend to be. Bottling up emotions like fear and sadness was her thing. It was how she handled stress—it was how she would handle this new weight on her shoulders. It probably wasn't healthy, and Cass acknowledged faintly she should work on that, but it was how she coped. Grandma and Grandpa would be happiest—but most importantly, safest—on the Continent. Voldemort couldn't get them there, Cass told herself.
But why did it have to hurt so much?
OoOoO
A/N (part two): Surprise! Snape survived! I'm not so much an amateur that I would kill off a major character just for shock value. Much better to give him a grueling redemption ark *evil laughter*
You don't really need to read this, but I'm just kind of explaining my thought process on the enormous revelation Voldemort had of Cass.
I don't usually explain my creative choices, but I guess people weren't too pleased with how easily Voldemort found out about Cass's secret in the last chapter (check the reviews section if you're curious). Hopefully, this chapter has cleared that bit up, because I assure you it was very intentional to have Voldemort access those memories so easily. In fact, the plot of the rest of the series kind of depends on it . . . the Fléau de Lecteurs necklace has MAJOR impact on the plot later on, so I had to set up Voldemort's access to Snape's memories using it. But thanks so much for your criticism, every review teaches me a new lesson! :)
Have a wonderful day/afternoon/evening!
Inis'sPromise