DISCLAIMER: JKR owns anything recognizable, but I own everything else…which is Cass and the plot. If you ask me, it's totally better than the billions of dollars Rowling's made…yeah…uh-huh…

A/N: Hellooooo! Welcome back to my channel—oh, shoot, wrong intro. Haha, as if I had a YouTube channel. Anyhow, thanks to all who followed and added this story to their favorites. 'Preciate ya! Enjoy!

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As Cass, Sirius, and Harry trudged up the stairs and out of the basement kitchen, Cass compiled a list of things she would ask Sirius: What was James like? What are your hobbies? Do you have any family? What is your life like?

All those questions died on her tongue when they sat down, though. Sirius had led Cass and Harry to a small sitting room with green, paneled walls and three mismatched chairs that looked considerably newer than the rest of the run-down room—Cass assumed the chairs had recently been put there after the Order moved in. She took her seat in an upholstered chair and waited for Harry and Sirius to sit down.

An awkward silence descended upon the three. Cass frantically searched her mind for something to say, but all those questions had dissipated from her mind like snowflakes in an ocean—the ocean being her shock with seeing Sirius in this metaphor. There just wasn't a proper way to start conversation with your dead parents' best friend—who also happened to be the godfather of your twin brother—who you didn't know existed until a few days ago—who is, impossibly, four years older than you—who also has a nutter after his head. Dumbledore's a right foul git, Cass thought acidly.

Harry cleared his throat. "Hear, hear," he agreed bitterly, leading Cass to realize she had said that aloud. Oops, she thought, though she wasn't ashamed of her words in the least.

"If you had said that a few days ago, I would've gone off like a rocket, but now…now, I only have a stronger choice of words," said Sirius, scowling.

"Sometimes, I wonder why he did it—keep it from us," Harry said, looking down.

"I wish I could tell you," Sirius said. Something about his tone made Cass believe he had lost sleep over questioning Dumbledore's actions. At the very least, we have some common ground to bond on, Cass thought, immediately feeling depressed that they were only now getting to know each other. If there was any justice in the world, she would have known Sirius since the day she was born, grown up with his jokes, been assured by his advice, and unable to think of life without him. Well, fresh out of justice, and now I can't even think of a life with him. That thought sent spikes of sadness into Cass's heart.

"I think he was ashamed of himself," she murmured quietly, referring to Dumbledore.

"He should be," said Harry, a hard edge in his voice.

"That's no reason to keep something like—like this to himself," said Sirius, shifting in his dark red, padded couch. "What he did, it's…irreparable. Both of you, don't ever forgive him; he doesn't deserve your forgiveness," he added imploringly, looking them both in the eye. Cass noticed how haunted his eyes looked, the dark memories swimming behind them driven deep.

"Wasn't planning on it," Harry said, just as serious as Sirius.

"I won't. Not ever." Cass thought she caught a look of pride in Sirius's eyes.

"Sometimes I wonder what goes on behind those infuriating, twinkling eyes," Sirius mused sourly. Surprise flashed fleetingly in his dull eyes, apparently for his harsh words. A second later, Cass could see clear resolve in them. Sirius had meant what he had said, clearly.

"I dunno, but whatever goes on, it's fit for a mental institution," Cass muttered, her mouth twisting into a frown.

Sirius chuckled.

"You know, Lily said something like that to me once—that I belonged in a mental hospital," he said.

"What did you do to get her to say that?" Cass asked, curious. She tried to ignore the excited, squirming feeling that shot through her chest at the mention of her mother.

"Well, I was drinking with your dad back in our post-Hogwarts, pre-war days, and there was this old car filled with—er—this is not a story appropriate for young ears," Sirius finished awkwardly, flushing red.

Harry watched Cass's and Sirius's exchange with a look that suggested he was staring out into a twilight zone. Cass gave him a sympathetic look; talking to his godfather and long-lost twin sister must be…odd, only odd wasn't nearly a strong enough word. She wished things had turned out differently, if only so she didn't have to look at Harry's mingled expression of heartbreak and disbelief.

"After all I've been through, Sirius, I think it should be considered middle-aged," Harry said jokingly, seeming to snap out of his bewilderment.

Cass didn't know how to respond to that. Harry had been through far too much. And she hated everyone who put him through it. Even in the five days of knowing him—really knowing him, not just going to clandestine Defense meetings with him—Cass felt as though she'd known him for a while. Maybe not her whole life, but long enough to say with complete certainty that someone as good as Harry didn't deserve the cards he had been dealt.

Sirius's thoughts seemed to be going in the same way as Cass's. "I'm sorry you've gone through so much—I wish…God, I wish James and Lily were alive so they could look after you—I'm doing a rubbish job…"

"They are looking after us," Harry said with conviction. Sirius glanced at him, eyes shining, and seemed to take strength from Harry's words. Cass smiled softly at Harry, his statement warming her heart.

"Thanks for that, Harry," Sirius said in a near-whisper, a small smile tugging the corners of his lips.

Harry gave a small nod of his head.

"It's just…I wish I could have been there for both of you. I wish I had known about you, Cass, and I wish I could have saved you, Harry, from those bloody Dursleys. I wish…I wish you hadn't lost your parents—I miss them. Merlin, I miss them. And I'm afraid I can't do nearly as well as they could have done," Sirius finished sadly, glaring at the floor in a resentful kind of way, as though the dirty rug was responsible for all the misfortune that had befallen them.

Cass and Harry glanced at each other, then at Sirius. Something passed between them, and they both wordlessly got up and went over to sit on either side of him.

In the thick silence of the room, Cass heard Harry swallow loudly. "It's not right, what Dumbledore did, what Voldemort did…" At the mention of Voldemort, Sirius peeked at Cass, perhaps to see how she reacted to the Dark Lord's name. It had never phased her, though, so she kept listening to Harry.

"…or what Wormtail—" Harry spat the name out, "—did. I wish I could have known you and Cass my whole life, but…I haven't. And that—that is a bloody injustice," said Harry. Cass felt water pool in her eyes; Harry had just said he wished he had known her his whole life. It made her heart swell with something close to happiness, but it also made it heavy with regret for all the lost time.

"It wasn't just Dumbledore, or Voldemort, or Pettigrew," Cass whispered, her voice thick with tears. She sniffed and took in a shuddering breath, telling herself resolutely not to break down. "It seems like the whole world kept us apart. It wasn't enough for me to be sent forward, they had to die, too—they had to die in front of Harry. And it wasn't enough for Sirius to lose his best friends, he had to go to Azkaban—to that awful place—for twelve years. It's as though the whole universe stacked cards against all of us…but now I want to play an entirely different game of cards. I want to get to know you, both of you, and Remus too. I don't want to let the rubbish universe win," Cass finished, but despite her strong words, she felt as though a hole had been drilled through her heart. Saying it aloud…Cass hoped it would be therapeutic in the long run, but right now, she felt defeated. Dejected. But also incredibly determined to salvage the wreckage of what could have been if only…ah, but there were so many things that they all lost. It was with that thought of purpose that Cass suddenly hugged Sirius, surprising herself.

Initially, the embrace was very stiff and awkward. But then Sirius hesitantly wrapped his arms around her. He held her as though he couldn't believe she was real, tangible, alive, and in his arms. Cass just buried her face in Sirius's robes, into this small piece of comfort, and tried to come to terms that she was hugging one of her dad's best friends. He had grown up with James, laughed with him, cried with him, gone on adventures with him…it was surreal. And moreover, it felt nice.

For a moment, there was only the unsteady breathing of everyone that filled the room. Then, Sirius finally said, "That was very well said, Cass."

"I meant it," she replied, breaking off from the embrace.

"Rubbish universe—hex me if that isn't true," Harry said, looking at a section of the paneled wall.

"Don't ever say 'hex me,' Harry. With your luck, a hag will come out of the armoire and do just that," Sirius advised dryly.

Cass sniggered for a few seconds while Harry gave Sirius an annoyed look.

"So, Cass, tell me about yourself," Sirius demanded suddenly.

"Where do I start?"

"What do you like to do?"

"Drawing. I like to draw," Cass supplied.

"Are you any good?" Sirius asked.

"I'm fair, I guess—"

"More than fair. She's brilliant, Sirius. Drew me a picture of my—our—mum and dad. I wish I had it on me so I could show you," Harry interrupted, wincing slightly as he corrected himself.

"How do you know what they look like?" Sirius asked, head tilted slightly.

"I Saw them," Cass replied simply, the corners of her lips lifting slightly as she recalled the image of James and Lily.

"You can See the past…?"

"Yeah…didn't Dumbledore tell you? You didn't seem surprised when I told you about my vision earlier…"

"He didn't tell me you could See the bloody past!" Sirius exclaimed irritably, rubbing his right eye with the palm of his hand. He muttered obscenities under his breath.

"Seems like he has a habit of forgetting crucial details like that," Cass said sourly. Harry and Sirius looked down; she had to remind herself that they had known Dumbledore for much longer than her, had trusted him with their lives before Cass had even heard of magic. The reminder just made Cass that much madder at Dumbledore, for he had betrayed that trust, ripped it to shreds, and then hadn't even given a proper explanation. Only, "I did it for your protection." Cass scoffed inwardly; he should be worried about his protection, now.

"Well, that's pretty brilliant. Must come in handy, you know, reading people," Sirius remarked.

"Yeah, handy…" Cass said mildly, remembering how she had found out the truth in the first place.

"My turn. What do you want to know about me?" Sirius asked.

Harry looked Cass in the eyes and mouthed, "Hidden talents," without making a sound.

Taking Harry's suggestion, Cass said, "How about…hidden talents?"

Sirius grinned widely. Cass's eyes pricked, sending stars deep into her brain that carried her to…somewhere else. A place she was quite familiar with, by now.

A dark-haired man sitting on a couch morphed into a large, black dog with intelligent eyes and patchy fur.

Cass blinked away the vision, trying to hide her surprise. Sirius could change into a dog! How was that even possible…?

Sirius was still grinning. "Well, it isn't anything too secret, but—" and suddenly, it wasn't Sirius sitting on the couch, it was the black dog from Cass's vision.

Cass didn't even blink in surprise; of course, she had already known that was going to happen. She did smile brightly, though, and scratched the dog behind his ears. "Hey, Sirius," she said, suppressing a giggle when the dog's head cocked to one side.

"Sirius is an Animagus," Harry informed, smiling, "and his animal form is Padfoot, this little thing right here." Cass glanced at him with her eyebrows raised; this dog was far from little. Now that she thought about it, she was sure Harry had mentioned Sirius being an Animagus before. "But you don't seem very surprised," Harry remarked, eyes glinting mischievously.

"I'm not," Cass replied, smiling broadly. Padfoot gave a very human, very exasperated shake of his canine head. He then barked happily and laid down with his large head in Cass's lap. Cass laughed with joy, making the dog's tail wag merrily. Harry watched the scene with a disbelieving expression on his face and a small smile on his lips.

"This is wicked!" Cass told the dog earnestly. She shook her head; magic would never cease to amaze her. Not ever. It was incredible, wondrous, breathtaking, awe-inspiring, and it made impossible things possible. Like turning into a dog, for instance.

"This is just…just brilliant, Sirius!" Cass exclaimed, petting Padfoot tenderly on his shaggy head.

Padfoot lifted his head, tongue sticking out cheerily, and jumped to the ground. Midair, his limbs elongated, his snout shortened, his hair shrank, and there stood Sirius, a showman-esque look about him and a joyful glint in his eyes.

"Why, thank you," he said, bowing and flourishing his arms dramatically.

Harry grinned. "Showoff," he muttered cheekily, but he was still smiling.

"Sorry, Harry, didn't catch that?" Sirius said, eyebrows raised.

"I said, uh, Great Scot…er, that was amazing," Harry covered half-heartedly.

Cass snorted. "Brilliant save, Harry. Truly, I am awed," she said sarcastically.

"Shut it, you."

"Pretty generic retort."

"Generic, huh? No, I think a better word would be classic."

"Classic is the Beatles…not you and your poor choice of comebacks."

Sirius chuckled loudly. "Quit it, you'll give me a headache—or a worser one than I already have."

"Sorry, Sirius," Harry said, flashing a grin at Cass.

Cass smiled back, feeling an overwhelming sense of happiness. Their bickering had felt so natural just then. She hoped that, eventually, she and Harry could talk without any awkward tension. The notion pushed her lips into a wider smile.

"Your dad was an Animagus, too," Sirius told Cass once she returned her attention to him.

"What was his form?" Cass asked, longing for another piece of her father.

"Oh, Cass, he was magnificent. A powerful stag—we called him Prongs, you know, for his antlers," Sirius said, smiling wistfully—and a little sadly.

"My Patronus is a stag, like he was," Harry said, an extremely proud glint in his eyes. Cass understood it, surprisingly; she too would be proud if she had something of her father like Harry did. I have his hair, Cass thought, pulling up a mental image of James's hair color. I have Harry, she realized. The thought put a bittersweet smile on her lips. She had a living, breathing piece of her parents. Cass suddenly felt a huge weight lift off her chest, though what was weighing her down, she wasn't sure. Maybe it was not having anything of them, but now she realized she did have something of them: her brother.

"Could you show me, Harry? Your Patronus?" Cass asked hopefully, trying to hold on to that feeling of knowing her parents.

Harry halfway took his wand out before stopping himself. "No, I'm sorry. Underage magic," he offered as an explanation, giving Cass a unhappy look.

"Oh, right." Cass could have cursed herself out in words stronger than 'treacle tart' and 'macaroni.' Obviously he couldn't show you! she screamed at herself. She wasn't mad at her mistake, though. It was the fact that she couldn't see Prongs, and wasn't that sad? Getting upset over a little Patronus, honestly, Cass thought sourly, not understanding where this pain was coming from.

Something must have shown on her face, some hint of bitterness, or anger, or grief over people she had met, because Sirius said quietly, "Your mother and father were good, good people."

Cass waited for him to go on, seeking words of comfort. He didn't, though. The way he sighed helplessly at the ground indicated he wanted to, but he couldn't find the words. Cass hoped he didn't keep searching for them; she didn't think there were words for this situation.

"Here, come on. I want to show you guys something," Sirius said after a moment or two, walking over to the door.

Harry got up and went to the door after him, but Cass had to consciously tell her legs to stretch out and stand. Where was this coming from? She wondered if someone had cast a spell over her to make her feel depressed. No, it's because you can't ever, ever, ever, ever meet your parents. That sad truth hit her in the chest, but she ignored it and got up, cursing the stupid drops of water that filled her eyes.

"Cass?" Sirius asked, concern making his eyebrows knit together.

"I'm fine. I just wish I could've—I'm fine," she repeated, stopping herself from completely voicing her wish. Sirius awkwardly squeezed her shoulder, gave a hopeless—in any other situation, it might have even been comical—glance to Harry, and then gingerly pulled her into another hug.

Cass sighed; she really wasn't the type to get all emotional—well, unless it was righteous anger. But the hug felt quite nice, doubly so when Harry joined it, just as awkward and tense as her and Sirius. Bloody Dumbledore and his conniving, twinkling, ugly, blue eyes, Cass cursed in her head for what seemed like the millionth time. It very well might have been. But she admitted to herself that she couldn't keep blaming Dumbledore for everything (although, the entirety of the blame did fall on the crooked-nosed git) and she should instead get to know the people her parents had loved. And maybe…hopefully…eventually…she would love them, too.

"What did you want to show us, Sirius?" she asked, breaking the hug. She felt relieved it was over, then felt guilty for feeling that, then wished she were still hugging Harry and Sirius. Bloody emotions fancy themselves as roller coasters!

"Right, it's—er—upstairs…in my old bedroom," Sirius said, blinking.

"Wait, you lived here?" Cass asked.

"Yes, I'd forgotten you didn't know. This was my parents' old house—they were awful, by the way. Complete and utter purists with no respect for anything but noble blood," Sirius explained, a look of disgust twisting his lips.

"Bet they were real proud of you," Cass deadpanned, thinking of how good of a person Sirius seemed. She was sure the people he'd just described weren't the type to congratulate a benign consciousness.

Sirius chuckled darkly. "I was their golden child," he replied sarcastically.

"I'm sure," Harry said in the same sarcastic tone.

Cass shook her head, marveling at…well, at everything. She was talking—sarcastically and jokingly, she might add—to Sirius Black, a Ministry-proclaimed criminal, and Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. It was almost enough to push her to hysterics, but she refrained from succumbing to that urge. That would be undignified, and that certainly wasn't allowed.

Without another word, Sirius led Harry and Cass up two flights of stairs and down a poorly lit hallway. He turned left into a doorway, and they arrived in a bedroom.

A red-and-gold flag—Cass was certain it was to represent Gryffindor House—was hung on the right wall, there were two nightstands next the four-poster bed, and a window with faded curtains in the moderately large room.

"Here it is, room sweet room," Sirius said dryly, gesturing to the old room.

Cass thought it wasn't too bad, actually. From Sirius's description of his parents, she had expected bars on the window and blood stains on the walls. Okay, well, maybe her imagination had run a little wild there, but Sirius's room could have been worse.

"I found this while I was rummaging around in some old boxes. It's…well, here your go," Sirius said, handing Harry a photo.

Cass leaned over Harry's arm—he was a lot taller than her—to look at the photograph. It showed a group of school age kids under a large oak tree. They all wore Hogwarts robes, and although it was in black and white, Cass could see the lion embroidered on the front of all their robes, telling her everyone was in Gryffindor. The children in the photo all waved merrily, flashing smiles and rolling their eyes at their friends. Towards the right side of the picture were a young James and Sirius, along with two other people Cass had never seen before. She knew the taller, more tired-looking one to be Remus Lupin, which meant the other one had to be Wormtail. Cass shoved down feelings of fury at the traitor so she could focus on finding her mum.

Cass finally spotted her on the other side of the picture, red hair flowing gently down her shoulders and eyes that screamed intelligence, even in a photograph. Cass lightly brushed her fingers against her mother's face, her heart cracking, and smiled down at the young Lily.

"This was taken in our sixth year. That was the year Lily finally gave James the time of day—our last year was when they started dating," Sirius murmured.

Cass shot him a grateful look, but Harry seemed too engrossed in the picture to hear Sirius's words. He had a tiny smile on his face, his lips just lifting up, and his eyes shone.

"They were so…so…" Cass paused, searching for the right word. "Beautiful," she finished, knowing it didn't begin to cover the innocence and youth of her parents in that photograph. They had yet to witness the horrors of Voldemort, and Cass wished with all her heart they, miraculously, never had to.

"Yes, yes they are," Harry agreed, finally looking up from the small piece of paper. Cass didn't have the heart to correct him. It's 'were' Harry. Not 'are.' They're dead, her mind whispered to her, challenging her to deny it. Cass didn't, only letting herself acknowledge it and try to resist the useless tears.

"Sirius?" Harry said, his mood changing from wistful to worried so fast Cass raised her eyebrows.

"What is it?"

Harry gulped. "There's something…something isn't adding up. About my…nightmare, I mean. And there's something else."

A crease appeared between Sirius's eyebrows. "Harry, tell me what's bothering you."

"Back in Dumbledore's office, right as the Portkey activated, I felt—I felt hatred towards Dumbledore. I mean, way more than I have been feeling these last few days. I wanted to kill—I wanted to bite—it was so sudden, so intense…"

"It must have been the aftershock of your vision, that's all," Sirius said, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "It was still fresh in your mind, you're exhausted—"

"It wasn't that," Harry said in a tone that told them he believed his words. "It was like something came up inside me, like there was a monster inside me—" Harry took a trembling breath. Cass noticed his hand clench in an anxious way, so she gently pried the photograph from his fingers and set it on Sirius's dresser.

"You need to sleep, Harry," said Sirius firmly.

Harry shook his head, apparently giving up.

Cass took in the tortured expression Harry's face and decided to mention what she had felt from him in Dumbledore's office. "I felt your anger, Harry. That's never happened before—never. I get visions, but I don't feel the emotions of people around me."

Harry looked up, befuddlement etched into his wan face. "You could feel what I was feeling?"

"Only in that moment," Cass replied, pondering what it meant.

"That's common for Seers," Sirius said, nodding, "feeling other people's emotions, I mean."

"I've only ever felt Harry's, and that was one time," Cass said, frowning pensively at this new information.

"It's probably because you're young—your abilities haven't manifested completely yet," Sirius reasoned.

"Right," Cass agreed, nodding her head at the logic.

Harry still looked pale and worried; Cass glanced at him concernedly. Sirius must have noticed his godson's demeanor, too, for he said, "Reckon Molly's got breakfast ready by now. Let's go eat, and then both of you are going to bed."

Cass smiled to herself at his fussing, thinking it was a very natural thing to do. She followed him out of the room, nudging Harry with a light prod of her toe to his shin in order to snap him out of his apparent reverie.

An unbelievably delicious smell drifted up the stairs. Cass's stomach rumbled loudly, and her mouth watered. She had had a long night of unease and tension and disbelief, and it seemed those emotions, along with her intense vision, had sucked all the energy from her body.

"Harry, Cass dear, I have some eggs and bacon on the table—Ron, you'll choke if you continue eating like that!"

Cass and Harry exchanged amused glances as they walked into the kitchen. The breakfast was steamy and good, and was gone in about three minutes, tops.

As Cass put down her fork, Mrs. Weasley walked over to the table, looking at Harry and Cass.

"Thank you, thank you, Harry—and you too, Cass. If not for you two, Arthur wouldn't have been found and then—then it would have been too late…" Mrs. Weasley's face twisted into horrified sadness for a second before she shook her head and continued, "I am so grateful for you two."

Cass smiled as the matronly witch gave her and Harry a pat on the cheek. "I'm glad he's alright, and I can't wait to meet him," she replied, forcibly reminding everyone in the room how new she was to all of this—how new she was to the wizarding world. Only four months in and already I've found out I have a twin, my birth parents are dead, my twin brother—who, against all logic, is four years older than me—is the center of a prophecy, there's a Dark Lord yearning for his blood, and I've been a part of a secret, illegal club. Oh, and I almost forgot, I'm a powerful Seer. The fact that she had forgotten one of the jaw-dropping things that happened to her was almost frightening—and it definitely spoke volumes of her experience with the wizarding world. Her grandparents would likely call the nearest mental institution when she told them everything. Nevertheless, when she examined her feelings, she found she was happy with all the crazy twists—well, not the ones involving Voldemort.

"Everyone, Bill's just Floo called; Arthur is doing well, but the Healers say he'll be sleeping for a few more hours. Best you all get some sleep in the meantime, I expect your trunks will arrive later," Mrs. Weasley announced as the kids lined up to dunk their dirty plates in the soapy sink water.

"Thanks for the breakfast, Mrs. Weasley," Cass said to the older witch, who smiled at her as if to say, "It was nothing."

"Up, up! Merlin knows how tired you all must be…Ginny, if you could lead Cass up to yours and Hermione's room? She can sleep in Hermione's bed, I'm sure she won't mind…"

Ginny looked at Cass awkwardly, gave her mum a fleeting look—though fleeting as it was, Cass was still sure it had been annoyed—and led Cass up a flight of cracked stairs. One step was missing a big chunk, forcing Cass to step carefully over it—there were all types of creepy, crawly things in the hole, and she didn't fancy having her shoes swarmed by bugs. On the wall hung several plaques with house-elf heads on them, and simple letters underneath telling Cass their names.

"I would say you get used to them, but you really don't," said Ginny, shooting Cass a relatable look.

Cass gave the older girl a slightly disgusted look in return. She wrinkled her nose at the dank, putrid smell of abandonment that seemed to seep from the very walls of the house. All the way up the stairs, she couldn't shake the ridiculous notion that the elf heads were staring at her behind her back. Just listen to yourself, Cass. Honestly, you're being squeamish! Cass thought to herself. Keeping that thought in mind, she smoothed her face into indifference and drove away those ludicrous ideas.

They reached the first-floor landing and headed left down a dark hall. Ginny stopped in front of a worn-looking door with an old-fashioned, overly ornate gold handle.

"This is us," said Ginny, opening the door. It was dark in the room, but Ginny flicked the lights on, illuminating the space. There were two beds, each on opposing sides of the room, two nightstands with drawers, and one patchy, pale blue rug under the moth-eaten curtains.

"There's Hermione's bed," Ginny said, yawning widely and nodding her head to the bed on the right.

"Thanks."

Cass unlaced her tennis shoes and laid them at the foot of the bed. Before she could melt into the old comforter, though, Ginny said, "I can't believe Dumbledore hid that from you."

Cass looked at the red-haired girl wearily. "Yeah, well, the man's gone senile," she said with complete seriousness.

Ginny's eyes widened a fraction before she burst out laughing. Cass thought it was louder than her non-joke strictly required, but joined her, if only for something to laugh at.

"I'm sorry, it's just…mental all that's happened in the span of four hours or so," Ginny said, shaking her head, a dazed expression on her face. "I mean, you and Harry—? I can hardly process it—I can't even imagine what you must be feeling."

"Numb, mostly," Cass said honestly. "But Harry's great—we spent hours insulting a Dumbledore head I drew on a bit of parchment…"

"Really?" Ginny asked, grinning.

Cass scratched her head in a very intentionally suspicious way. "No, of course not," she said emphatically, to show that they had indeed done just that. It had been the Saturday night after they had found out, but it hadn't been for hours; Cass had embellished it a bit for comedy's sake—it looked like Ginny could use some laughter.

"What a mental image—you and Harry yelling at a piece of parchment with our headmaster's face on it…" Ginny said, sniggering.

"Yeah—" Cass suddenly yawned hugely, a reminder at how little sleep she had gotten.

"We should go to sleep," Ginny said, suppressing a yawn herself.

Cass only nodded her head in agreement, too tired to reply. She had only had enough time to put on her dressing gown at Hogwarts, so she just slipped that off and climbed into bed, already in her pajamas.

"'Night, Ginny," she said, flicking off her bedside lamp and setting her wand on the nightstand.

Ginny laughed softly. Cass understood why it would be funny; it was around five-thirty in the morning, not a suitable time to be wishing people goodnight. Cass's last coherent thought before entering the world of sleep was: Grandma Joyce would have a conniption fit if she knew how late I'd stayed up…

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