Cassandra and Cedric returned to Hogwarts the following day, escorted by Mr. and Mrs. Diggory. Mr Diggory behaved uncharacteristically unobtrusively, something Cassandra attributed to the whispered conversation between him and his wife she'd interrupted upon her arrival to their home that morning. Her appreciation for the older witch was ever-increasing.

The adults said their goodbyes at the school gates, sending the two teenagers off with well-wishes and words of caution — the matter of discovering and punishing the culprit behind the petrifications going on at Hogwarts hadn't yet been taken care of. The whole Chamber of Secrets business had been so far away from Cassandra's mind lately, she could hardly recall why it had preoccupied her so before winter break. Neither she nor Cedric or Adrian were muggleborns. Whatever happened wouldn't happen to anyone she cared about.

Her raven, Klaus, was quick to greet her as she and Cedric walked up the snow-covered drive towards the castle, their trunks floating behind them. The bird swooped down from the sky straight onto the witch's shoulder, pecking furiously at her hair.

"I know, I know," she murmured, fussing with the raven's pitch-dark feathers. "I shouldn't have left you behind."

Klaus cawed loudly, pecking her ear strongly enough to draw blood.

"I'm well aware. I won't do it again," she said soothingly, meaning it. It had been foolish to be separated from her familiar for an extended period of time. She'd believed she would be safe at home during the holidays, and that Klaus would be more useful at Hogwarts monitoring any activity by the so-called Heir of Slytherin. Klaus had obeyed because obedience was second nature to familiars, but he had felt his witch getting hurt — nearly dying — far away from him, and hadn't been able to do anything to help her. There was nothing worse for a creature of his kind.

Although all students were permitted to bring an animal to Hogwarts and many adult wizards and witches kept owls, cats and other such pets, true familiars were rare. Familiars were unwaveringly loyal and devoted companions. They were attuned to their wizard's magic and will, and their natural lifespan extended to match that of their human counterpart. The formation of a familiar bond required a ritual exchange of blood willingly given by both human and animal, and could only be achieved with certain species. The results of forcing a bond with an unwilling animal or bonding with one devoid of magical properties were disastrous, and botched attempts at familiar bonds had driven many wizards to madness. Because of the risks, the practice had been largely abandoned by wizardkind in favor of the simpler and less costly company of pets. That had only made it more enticing for Cassandra, who'd bonded with Klaus as soon as she'd been allowed to by her grandfather.

She couldn't help but wonder if anything would've been different had she had her familiar with her during the attack. Could Klaus' presence have changed anything? She nipped that thought before it could bloom. The past could not be changed. Recreating it with the advantage of hindsight would bring her nothing but bitterness. The only path was forward.

"You're brooding again," said Cedric, tenderly smoothing out the frown that had formed between her eyebrows.

"Sorry. Thank you."

Cedric sighed softly, his voice travelling quietly under the exhalation. "Don't be sorry. I just want you to feel better."

"Yes, sorry," she said again without thinking. She pressed her hand over her chest, mindlessly touching the outline of her new scars — a remembrance of her grandfather and her grief, hidden beneath her robes. She noticed Cedric's worried look and, before he could say anything, captured his hand in hers, kissing the middle of his palm. "I will. I'm trying."

Cassandra spent the rest of the day in her dormitory, ignoring the world outside the closed canopy surrounding her four-poster bed. She played with Klaus and caught up on the homework she had neglected during the holidays. 'I was busy recuperating from a life-and-death struggle' was as good a reason as any for turning in a late assignment, but the thought of talking about what had happened with Minerva McGonagall or any other one of her professors made her nauseous. It was not as if she had anything better to do, anyways. Skipping dinner in favor of a sleep potion was an easy choice, and she managed to go her entire first day back at Hogwarts without interacting with any other person at all.

Her respite didn't last long. As soon as she left her dorm room the next morning, she was approached by a prefect and hastily informed that Professor Snape wished to see her at once. She let herself be guided by the prefect down the dungeon corridors, trying to dampen down the agitation that intensified with every step she took toward Severus Snape's office.

They paused outside the door when they reached it. The prefect knocked with his meaty fist, waited. Snape's cold voice answered from the other side of the door, "Come in." Cassandra focused on Klaus' steady weight on her shoulder, took a deep breath, and entered.

It was a shadowy room lined with shelves bearing hundreds of glass jars in which floated wet potion ingredients, suspended in variously colored potions. In a corner stood the cupboard for dry ingredients. Her attention was drawn to the desk, however, where Snape sat with a quill in hand, scratching away at a roll of parchment.

"That will be all," said Snape, dismissing the prefect who'd started to fidget behind Cassandra. The teacher went back to finishing his correspondence while Cassandra stood there, making a mental exercise out of naming the bits of animals and plants she could identify floating in the glass vials behind him. She wasn't unused to being ignored by adults, and wouldn't be the one to speak first.

Finally, Snape put down his quill. He pointed at the chair opposite his desk. "Sit."

No 'please'. No 'would you be so kind'. The glum man was entirely bereft of charm.

"Well, Miss Lestrange, I trust you know why you are here," he said. "The staff is very concerned about your well-being, after what reportedly transpired over break. As your Head of House, it falls to me to ensure we do everything we can to provide any… accomodations you might need."

"I understand, sir," said Cassandra tersely.

Snape narrowed his eyes, "And will you be needing any accommodations?"

"No, sir," said Cassandra.

"Are you sleeping well?"

She blinked once, and then again. "I've been taking potions. You don't need to concern yourself, sir, I have enough stock to last me until the end of term."

Snape looked directly into her eyes. "I am not unsympathetic to what you are going through, Miss Lestrange. I had my own close encounter with a werewolf at around your age, and although my experience was quite a bit less violent than yours, it still traumatized me."

"Did you kill it?"

"No. I did not get the chance to. Someone else–" Snape's expression soured impossibly as he spoke, "saved me. I owe a life debt because of it."

"You were lucky," she said.

"I would not call it that."

"I would," Cassandra said resolutely. "Sometimes…"

"What?"

Cassandra turned her head away from him, fixing her gaze on a corner of the room. "Sometimes I wish they were still alive. The werewolves that did it."

"Surely you do not mean that," Snape said. "Why would you wish for such a thing?"

"Because there's nothing else I can do. I've already killed them, and now I don't know what to do with it."

"With what?"

"With all the hatred I have for them. I don't know where to put it now."

Snape eyed Cassandra, tracing his mouth with one long, thin finger as he did so.

"Have you spoken of this with anyone else?" he inquired.

"No, sir. Frankly, I have no idea why I'm speaking of it with you."

The corners of his mouth curled upwards in amusement, almost imperceptibly. "As I said, Miss Lestrange, I am not unsympathetic, and I do believe myself to be a fair listener when I care to be."

"But why do you care?" she asked abruptly. "With all due respect, professor, we've never been close, and I fail to see why a werewolf attack should change that."

He stared at her for a few moments, still tracing his mouth with his finger. When he spoke again, it was slowly and deliberately, as though he weighed every word.

"Narcissa Malfoy flooed me. She asked me to speak with you... I am sure you are well-aware of my acquaintance with your family during the war. The role I played… I would sooner be entirely divorced from it. But I do not have the privilege of choice on this matter. I must walk into my classroom every day and teach the children of the people who plotted to harm me. The people I plotted to harm."

"To kill," Cassandra corrected. For all that he had escaped Azkaban, Snape had killed, as had every other Death Eater.

"Do not interrupt me, Miss Lestrange," said Snape in a curt tone. "As I was saying, this school makes it so I cannot escape my past. Every single snot-nosed war orphan that stumbles into my classroom is a reminder of a time I would rather forget. You happen to be a particularly strong one."

"Because I look like my mother?"

"Because you are so much like your mother. The good and the bad parts of her."

"You have no idea what you're talking about." said Cassandra quickly, her worst fears confirmed.

Snape paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow at her outburst. "Do not take my words for an insult, because they are not meant as one. The guile, intelligence, loyalty, resourcefulness you pride yourself on? That is what everyone admired about Bellatrix. She was a natural leader, decisive and highly magically skilled. Just as you are. She was also reckless, arrogant and capable of calamitous violence. Just as you have shown yourself to be."

Cassandra could feel her blood quickening, thumping hard against her veins. She remembered being a little girl and sneaking into her parents' room so she could rummage through her mother's things. Finding the charmed rouge compact inside her beauty case. She'd gone to the lavatory to apply it, somewhere no one could find her. She'd desperately wanted to look like her. Beautiful. Uncontainable.

She thought about Cedric sprawled out on her bed, mussed hair and smiling lovingly at her. She thought about Adrian's friendship, her easy camaraderie with the Weasley twins and Neville Longbottom's quiet forgiveness.

I am nothing like my mother.

Trelawney's prophecy. Leaving her grandfather behind to die. Mimi's mangled body. Looking the werewolf in the eyes after she'd transformed it back and choosing to kill the man, even as she knew she could incapacitate him. Her dark desire to recreate the moment again and again and again, until there wasn't a single werewolf left in Britain.

I am everything like my mother.

"Miss Lestrange." Snape called out in a firm voice.

She looked up at him. Without realizing, Cassandra had moved forward in her chair so that she was perched on the very edge, tense as though poised for flight. Klaus had burrowed into her hair and was rubbing his head comfortingly against her skull.

"I should go," she said woodenly, moving to get up from her seat.

"Will you finish listening to what I have to say first?"

There was a heavy silence. They stared at each other across the table. Cassandra nodded.

"You are similar to your mother in many ways," said Snape quietly. "And if in order to move forward after what happened, you choose to pull from the bottomless pit of rage you Blacks seem to have inside of you, which she did, often and enthusiastically, you could end up meeting a fate not unlike hers."

"But things do not have to turn out that way. You have freedoms she never did, and you have taken advantage of them to make choices she would never have. Continue to do so. Refuse to indulge your baser instincts."

"Like you have?"

Snape eyed her as if she was a particularly hard potion he was helpless to brew.

"Be as mullish as you want to be, girl, as long as you think about what I have said. I care naught what you think of me. What I, your aunt, and every adult around you, care about is that you are not consumed by what you had to do to survive."

"Fine, professor. Am I dismissed?"

"Yes."

Cassandra left without another word, closing the door carefully around her, blood dripping from small moon-shaped wounds on her palms where her nails had broken the skin.

For a moment she stood paralyzed. She should go to the Great Hall and have breakfast before heading to class, but what she really wanted was to take a potion, flop down on her bed and sleep for as long as she could. At this hour, she wouldn't have to bump shoulders with curious dormmates. But if she slept through the first day of term Cedric and Adrian would be clamoring to know why she'd been a no-show, and she was sick of talking about her feelings.

If tomorrow she also skipped breakfast and Ancient Runes, which all four Houses attended together, she could slip straight into Care of Magical Creatures, which neither Cedric nor Adrian took, and wouldn't have to deal with their clenched-jaw worry. Yeah, that's what she would do.

Several weeks went by like that, with Cassandra drinking too much Sleeping Draught and practicing the arithmetics of avoidance. Which classes to skip to evade her well-meaning best friend and boyfriend? Which corridors should she take that day, so they couldn't intercept her? How many hours of the day could she spend unconscious? She could never quite get the answers right. She was just scraping by, abusing everyone's good-will, always giving empty excuses, and the grief clung to her, dogging her steps.

Unexpectedly, Fred and George were the ones who finally managed to get to her. They ambushed her on a Thursday afternoon after History of Magic, when she'd been too distracted trying to give Adrian the slip. They had her crammed in an alcove out of everyone's sight before she could summon her wand out of her pocket.

"What in the bloody–"

"You look like rubbish," said Fred brightly, holding her by the shoulders. He seemed to have grown taller while she wasn't paying attention, surpassing her by a few inches. George looked the same as his twin, down to the last freckle.

She shook the boy's hands off her body.

"Thank you. You do know how to charm a girl, Weasley."

His smile widened. "If I thought I had any hope of luring you away from Diggory, trust me, I'd try a lot harder."

She glanced away from him. Her relationship wasn't on its most stable legs these days, thanks entirely to her.

"How're you doing, Cass?" said George.

"Just peachy, Georgie. You?"

"Well, Fred and I are in a bit of a pickle. Tell her, Fred."

"You see, the problem is not really with us. It's with our little sister, Ginny."

"Might be with our little sister. We're not sure yet."

"And what do I have to do wi–"

"Oi woman! Will you let us finish?" said Fred indignantly.

She rolled her eyes, which Fred naturally took as a yes.

"Ginny's been upset all year. She's usually a very happy girl, mind you. We thought she might be homesick, this being her first year and all."

"Or that maybe it was the petrifications happening left and right," offered George. "So we've been trying our best to cheer her up."

"Covering ourselves with fur and boils, jumping out at her from behind statues, all our best stuff. Nothing's worked. If anything, we've only made her more upset."

"Imagine that," Cassandra said. But she couldn't help but be charmed by the whole thing. It must be nice to have brothers who'd readily make fools of themselves to try to make her happy. It might get better results than Cedric and Adrian's tactful, reticent approach.

"So what do you want me to do?" she asked.

"We'd like you to follow Ginny," said Fred.

"What?"

He shrugged. "Just to make sure some prat isn't secretly bullying her, or something of the sort."

"We're out of ideas at this point. Please?" said George.

"Pretty please?" echoed Fred. "With chocolate fudge on top?"

Cassandra laughed despite herself. She looked at the twins for a moment, realizing this had been the first time she'd done that in a long time. "Yes."

"Really?" they asked in unison.

"Whatever. It's not that big of a deal. Following a first-year, how hard can that be."

"Super–"

"–duper easy."

"I want a favour in return, though."

"Name it and it's yours," said Fred.

"McGonagall has been on my ass about missed assignments. Tell her we talked and I had a big emotional breakdown. I'm feeling overwhelmed and you really think I need to be cut some slack."

"You could talk to her, you know. She's understanding about that kind of stuff," said George, always the more mindful of the two.

Cassandra scoffed. She'd rather Diffindo her own tongue off. "Will you do it or not?"

"We will."

"Good. And if I find out this is some scheme the two of you cooked up to get me to open up about what happened, know that I will make you regret it."

They looked at each other quickly before nodding.

"Always a pleasure, Cassandra."

"Shove off, Fred."

She started on her new project that same afternoon. She truly did not have anything better to do, and it was nice not being the one whose abnormal behavior was being scrutinized, for a change. Cassandra disillusioned herself and lurked in the deserted entrance hall after tea, waiting for Ginny Weasley who had remained with a mousy-haired boy at the Gryffindor table, looking distracted and aimlessly moving her food around her plate. When she caught sight of the smallest Weasley coming out of the Great Hall, she muffled the sound of her footsteps with a spell and followed her from a distance.

To her surprise, she surmised something was indeed going on with Ginny. Once they made it to the second floor, the girl had started walking fast and darting worried glances over her shoulders at every turn. If she'd been trained any less thoroughly, Cassandra might've worried she'd been spotted. But she wasn't what Ginny Weasley was scared of.

She followed Ginny all the way to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Knowing ghosts could see through disillusionment charms and not wanting to risk being given away, she stood just outside the door bearing its usual OUT OF ORDER sign in order to listen in. Before long, she heard a discernible thump, followed by Myrtle's loud wailing. She barely had time to step out of the way to avoid colliding with Ginny, who took off running from the lavatory as soon as the ghost started sobbing.

What are you up to, little Weasley?

When she entered the dingy bathroom, Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder than ever before. She seemed to be hiding down her usual toilet.

"Who's that?" glugged Myrtle miserably. "Come back to throw something else at me?"

Cassandra used a general counter-spell to remove the disillusionment charm from herself and walked across to the ghost's stall. "She threw something at you?"

"I just said they did, didn't I?" Myrtle shouted, emerging form the toilet with a wave of water that splashed onto the already wet floor. ""Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me. . . ."

"Oh, stop whining. It's not as if you could feel it."

It had been the wrong thing to say. Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, "Let's all throw books at Myrtle, because she can't feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don't think!"

"Myrtle, I swear to Circe, if you don't stop howling I'll give you something real to howl about. Just ask the Bloody Baron if you think I can't do it," said Cassandra impatiently. The Baron had witnessed her perform a Crossing Ritual during Samhain, which had garnered her quite the reputation with the castle's undead population.

Myrtle glared at her resentfully, but did scale down her wailing to a quieter, more tolerable sniffle.

"Where is it, anyway? The book?"

"It's right over there, it got washed out…"

Cassandra looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and it was as wet as the bathroom floor. Cassandra stepped forward, floating her hand above it.

An icy shiver went down her spine. She wanted to pick it up, a fact which by itself alarmed her, since she could feel the disconnect between that desire and her own emotions. The impulse laid there on top of her authentic feelings, but not quite belonging.

"Seriously, Ginny Weasley, what the fuck," she muttered.

"What is it?" Myrtle asked, curious, floating behind her.

"I don't know yet. Something dangerous."

"Ooh… it could be a cursed book," said Myrtle excitedly, doing loops above her head. "Maybe it'll burn your eyes out… Maybe it'll enslave your soul if you read it — I read once there's a book locked in the vaults of the Vatican that can do that."

"Maybe."

But Cassandra wasn't paying attention to Moaning Myrtle anymore. She had taken off one of her socks and transfigured it into a pouch. A Mokeskin one would be better, since the magical properties of the material would ensure no one but her could remove the book from it, but she'd have to wait until she got to her dorm room to dig around her trunk for one.

Of course, my trunk.

She closed her eyes and focused on her connection with her familiar. She sent to Klaus the mental image of her dragonhide gloves, honing in on her desire to have them. The skin of dragons was not only very tough, but impervious to a multitude of spells, and provided immense protection. She'd bought herself a pair to use when handling corrosive or poisonous potion ingredients that damaged the skin, years ago.

A few minutes later, Klaus flew in from a broken window and dropped the gloves on her lap, cowing proudly.

"Smart boy," she smiled. "Thank you."

The raven cowed again, taking perch on a sink.

"All right. I won't find out unless I look at it," she said, put the dragonhide gloves on, and picked up the little book off the floor.

Cassandra saw at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on the cover told her it was fifty years old. She opened it carefully. On the first page she could just make out the name "T. M. Riddle" in smudged ink.