I don't own this, obviously. Also, it's a sequel to Cassius Warrington and the Triwizard Tournament, which was a "what if Cassius Warrington had been chosen instead of Cedric Digory" story. This story picks up with overviews of the summers of some of the key characters directly following that story.


For Andrew Fawley, the last day of summer holidays was exceptional only for the fact that it meant that the next day he would be leaving his home, quite probably for the last time. He wasn't sad about it at the moment; but he had been throughout the past few weeks, and was sure that he would be once more when the time actually came to leave, and again each time he made the choice not to return. He loved his home and his parents, loved jumping from gala to party to season ball and seeing friends and meeting new people, loved the fields outside the house, far enough away from society for playing a pick up game of quidditch, or for just flying solo. But those things had been clouded this summer. Often, he'd encountered his parents in whispered discussion, sometimes alone, sometimes with others; more often they were gone—"on business", his father said. He'd begun to decline invitations to parties to avoid seeing the faces of his friends' parents, because each time he saw them, he couldn't help but wonder if they, too, had robes and masks hidden away in back closets. He still trained for quidditch and practiced spells, and even ventured to read a few of the more interesting books in his family's library, but it wasn't quite enough.

Really, he'd known it wouldn't be from the moment he'd seen his parents upon returning home. They'd hugged him and asked if he was okay and he'd stumbled through answers to their questions but he couldn't stop his mind from producing an image of them in death eater hoods, standing over the body of one of his best friends. He hadn't really admitted it to himself, however, until his father began to speak with him about his NEWTs.

"Ministry work would be good to pursue, we always need more people there. But whatever you have in mind will have to do, I suppose. People in all areas can work toward the cause. They'll let you join straight out, of course." Andrew had bitten down numerous sarcastic retorts, knowing that they wouldn't help. That, at least, was one thing he'd learned from being a Slytherin: there were many ways to use words as tools outside of them being weapons.

"I've been looking into being a hit-wizard," he replied instead. The conversation ended there, because of course his father hadn't been interested in what he wanted to pursue, so long as it didn't shame the family. His message had been clear: Andrew would become a death eater as soon as he graduated from Hogwarts. After the initial shock of it—which he began to wonder why he felt at all, Andrew had begun to plan.

Many, many times, he'd been plagued with doubt. Until the end of June, he'd've never even considered turning his back on his parents—on his whole world really. It wasn't something to take lightly. Other times, he asked himself why he was doing it at all. To become best friends with a bunch of people who hated that world, that lifestyle; people he'd been raised to hate in return? People who perhaps would never truly accept him? Sometimes, even the picture of Cassius dead wasn't enough to assuage his doubts. Somehow, though, he was here, a day before term began, scanning his room one last time to see if there was anything more to pack.

He'd had to charm his trunk with an undetectable extension charm; and had filled it with everything he thought he might want or need. Some things, he'd gathered throughout the summer in frequent trips to Diagon Alley: buying a few new sets of robes, many options ingredients, basic spellbooks that Adrian insisted he own, new quills and ink and parchment (far more than he'd need for the school year), and much more, withdrawing money in small portions at the same time, to set aside for the future. He'd even convinced his mother that, as an adult, he should have his own owl rather than using the family's—a tawny he'd named Diomedes.

Seeing the spaces where his things had sat—where, in his head, they belonged—a bit of sadness began to twitch its way back to the surface, but he shoved it down. There would be time for that tomorrow. For now, he had to last one more day telling his parents the biggest lie he ever had, and avoiding any conversations that may give him away.

/

Adrian Pucey hadn't lasted a full day at his house. Cassius' death seemed to have snapped something in both himself and Andrew. Warrington had always been the equalizer, the person who pushed Adrian out of his comfort zone and knocked Andrew back down to earth when he'd needed it. Now it was like they'd been thrown into reverse, Andrew staying at home and making plans for the future and Adrian bursting out of his house with his still-packed trunk, not even knowing where he was headed.

In the end, he'd been fine, staying at the Leaky Cauldron for a few days and helping out to earn his stay—he swore that he wouldn't take any of his parents' money—before ending up in contact with Lucina Gamp, Cassius' aunt who lived in Wales. At first, she'd written to thank him for ensuring that she was contacted and brought in to manage everything after her nephews death (his parents being notably absent); but upon learning of his situation, she'd invited him to stay with her. Not one to pass up an opportunity, he'd accepted, and found himself living in a Welsh townhouse two days later.

He spent much of his summer exploring the townhouse, which was littered with spellbooks and artifacts, doing research on what he saw and read and practicing some of the more advanced or obscure spells. He even learned to cook (decently) and bake (edibly), skills that Lucina insisted he would need at some point. He didn't mind, and enjoyed the chance to get to know some of the house elves, who were always willing to answer his questions about the histories of different artifacts or tell stories of different members of the Gamp family which had been passed down through the generations. Always, however, he was on alert for hints to what was going on in the world. Each day, he read the Daily Prophet along with The Wizarding World News, and, on occasion, The Guardian or Le Cri de la Gargouille, when he felt the need for Muggle or international perspectives. Often, he and Lucina would spend the evenings discussing the events—the occasional disappearances, the muggle baiting, the quips in the paper about Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore—events painfully obvious to those looking for the patterns and, according to Lucina, painfully similar to those preceding Voldemort's initial rise to power.

In principle, he supposed that he hadn't changed much. All of this—excepting his careful attention to the news—was how he might've spent any summer holiday. Weariness, however, proved a constant companion. Sometimes, he would feel that he was past his grief—not over it, but able to make it through—yet at other times he felt he could bear to do nothing but lay down somewhere, alone. These were the moments that he saw his friend's face in his mind, dead—he couldn't see him living—or was pulled back to his argument with his parents: yelling at them for supporting a cause that had gotten his best friend killed, merely laughing when they'd tried to deny it (they'd never been vocal supporters, but Adrian was smart enough to be able to follow financial trails, no matter how hard they'd tried to cover them up), storming out of the house with a few well-placed hexes, determined that he didn't need them or their backing or their screwed up ideals.

He'd been back to London only occasionally, meeting with Andrew in Diagon Alley and picking up his supplies. Lucina had offered him money, which he had accepted only after promising himself that he'd use as little of it as possible. She'd also told him that he could come stay after graduating if needed; but much as he'd enjoyed the house with all it had to discover and their evening discussions, he was itching to return to Hogwarts, where he would be living without need of charity, immersed in what was currently the heart of British wizarding politics, with the whole community focused on Harry Potter's growth—and, now, his apparent insanity. It was less than a day away now. Restlessly, Adrian stood up to walk through the house, visiting his favorite spots, stopping by the kitchen, and popping into the library, waiting for tomorrow to come.

/

Tension hung thickly in the air of the Edgecombe house, as it had for nearly half of the summer, ever since Marietta had addressed her mother about the continuous lies pouring out of the ministry.

"If you're the 'good guys', why are you spewing propaganda?"

"Marietta, we don't control the prophet—"

"Mom, everyone knows the Ministry controls the prophet. Even if they didn't you clearly agree with them. My friend died, and you're not doing anything. Harry Potter didn't kill him, and he isn't crazy, which means that He-who-must-not-be-named is back—"

"Marietta! He-who-must-not-be-named is dead. The Triwizard tournament is dangerous. Your friend wasn't the first to die, and we should have worked harder on safety, but it was something in the maze, not a dark wizard who died a long time ago." Fantine's voice was sharp, and Marietta drew back, looking at her mother in disgust, then turned sharply, grabbing her coat and going for a walk.

Walks had become common. They were her escape. She only talked to her mother when she was spoken to, going to her father for things she needed. She had taken to walking to the nearby town (which was quite a trip, but worth it to escape the tension and the loneliness), visiting the library so often that the librarian had begun to ask her to stand in to read for the children's Thursday story hour so she could work on other projects.

In spite of having lived within walking distance of the town her whole life, Marietta had rarely been there. She'd grown up in the country around her house and in Diagon Alley, roaming around the piles of books in Flourish and Blotts, making friends with the animals in Eeylops, and (her favorite) sitting in the midst of the chaos of Wizeacre's Wizarding Equipment, her father's store. Now, she was glad to have no memories attached to the town. It left it as a sanctuary, a place to step away not only from her home, but from the whole Wizarding world.

Unfortunately, her growing attachment to the small town only heightened the tension in the moments she returned home. She wasn't deaf to the troubles facing the Muggle world, and while she knew some were of their own making, it wasn't too hard to connect others to the rising darkness in the Wizarding world, connections the ministry refused to make because it wasn't their world that was affected. Every time she returned home to parents who acted like it wasn't a big deal—or, more accurately, that there wasn't a big deal—she wanted to scream.

It was the day before term started, and Marietta was eating as quickly as she could, as had become her practice at dinner, the only meal the family ate together.

"Marietta." She didn't look up at her mother; only continued to eat her mashed potatoes. "Marietta. This is important." She set her spoon down and looked up at her mother, who was sitting across the table. "You're going to have a new teacher for defense against the dark arts this year, and it's very important that you treat her with respect." Marietta raised her eyebrows and nearly laughed.

"We have a new teacher for defense against the dark arts every year. That's not exactly groundbreaking news." Her mother shook her head slightly, eyes closing.

"This one is different. She's from the ministry, and she'll be acting as a liaison—"

"Why do they need a liaison? They've done just fine without one."

"A student died last year, Marietta—" Marietta stood up, pushing her chair back as she did.

"Don't try to use Cassius as an excuse. The ministry doesn't like that someone's telling the truth because it makes it harder for them, so they're interfering as much as they can. Don't act like it's a natural thing." She grabbed her unfinished plate off the table and looked back at her mother, feeling the anger that had been building up all summer boil over. "Don't worry about dropping me off tomorrow, I'm sure the Changs can take me to the station. I hope everything's happy at the ministry still. Dad, I hope sales stay up, because Merlin knows that's what we should be worrying about when one of the most evil wizards in all of history is raising followers again to take over the world." She grabbed her silverware and her glass in her free hand and walked into the kitchen. Term couldn't start soon enough.

/

Cedric Digory held his head boy badge in one hand, absently running a finger over it as he once more read through the letter Professor Dumbledore had sent with it.

Mr Digory,

I am most pleased to offer my congratulations to you for receiving the post of head boy. Your head duties will be shared with Miss Cordelia Gifford. Over the course of the year, you will represent the students in many ways— [listed here were a number of detailed descriptions of what duties the heads would have, none of which had been particularly surprising to Cedric]

None of your duties, however, are of more importance that your duty to create a spirit of unity within the school. There is no mistaking that we experienced terrible tragedy last year; tragedy that is liable to push already fractured relationships to the breaking point. I believe you know of the evils we stand in the face of. But there is no evil that cannot be pierced by unexpected good.

This is what we must strive to create within Hogwarts: an unexpected good. I'm saddened to put this pressure on you, but I must. Ever the young are forced to carry the burdens created by the weakness of their elders.

I suggest you begin contact with Miss Gifford soon, to discuss what you will face. Thank you, in advance, for your service to our school.

Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Headmaster)

Nearby sat his most recent letter from the Cordelia Gifford in question—

Cedric—

You're right, though I reckon the Gryffs would freak more than the Slytherins. Maybe we can get some of the less inflammatory prefects from both houses together after the meeting on the train and brainstorm—maybe Ogbourne and Granger for Gryffindor and Bagley and Lympsham for Slytherin?

Anyhow, have you heard about the ministry woman coming in as Defense teacher? Mum says she's horrid, any word from your dad? I doubt she'll make the whole unity mission Dumbledore's assigned easy (like it ever was going to be), so we've got to make sure to be watching out for what she does. Don't want any nasty surprises. But the ministry is determined that we believe everything they've been filling the prophet with all summer, the peace and the messages about Dumbledore and Potter going barmy.

As for internal problems with the prefects, I agree that the fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins are an unfortunate combination—maybe part of what they're saying about Dumbledore being barmy has something behind it. Parkinson's just annoying, but even Not would've been easier to work with than Malfoy. And Weasley's the classic touchy Gryff, so anything's liable to set him off.

I've got to finish packing still, so we'll have to talk more on the train—don't worry, I'll leave you plenty of time to talk to Cho and check in with your team (you'll need to if you want a chance at beating us).

Cheers,

Corrie

Cedric wasn't sure how he felt about the year to come. He didn't think there was any one description—he was excited, nervous, concerned…basically everywhere on the scale of emotions. One thing was certain: true to Hogwarts fashion, it was likely to be an interesting year.

/

King's cross didn't look any different than other years. There were first years turning this way and that as their parents went through a checklist of supplies one last time and older students greeting their friends and catching up from the summer as they loaded their trunks. There were families huddled in groups saying goodbye and some students arriving alone. Everyone was looking everyone else over for things to talk about—Eldon Pembroke and Selina Moore weren't talking at the moment; Michael Karume had grown suddenly taller and more in shape over the summer; Kim Sheringham looked to have an entirely different nose—whether magical or muggle was debated.

No, it didn't look any different. But it was. Loyalties were soon to be tested. The shadow was falling, and Hogwarts was at risk. Anything could happen.


Yeah, I thought I wasn't going to do this. I caved. I want to keep writing these characters. I'm super excited for where this story could go! If you have any ideas about characters you'd like to see, there's a poll in my profile you can hit up. I'd love to hear your input on it :)

As always, let me know your thoughts, and thank you for taking the time to read.