DISCLAIMER: Surprise! I don't own Harry Potter. The real plot twist is that I don't have a gazillion dollars, either.
A/N: Hellooooo! This chapter is a "Part Two" of the previous chapter. I had tremendous fun writing this chapter. I really got to explore a new avenue of Cass's gift and our two favorite twins discovered some crucial knowledge. I think this is one of my favorite chapters yet!
Please enjoy!
OoOoO
"Harry", she said slowly, making sure he knew it was serious. "It's bad."
Cass closed her eyes, head jammed full with what she had Seen. Horcrux. Escape death. Avada Kedravra.
"Riddle asked Slughorn about something called a Horcrux. That's what the true memory is-the one we were in was . . . changed or something, I dunno," she explained to Harry, the words falling out of her mouth rapidly. She couldn't think. "Horcruxes . . . according to that Slughorn fellow, they're . . . Oh, God . . ." She squeezed her eyes shut. "They're a way to cheat death."
Harry followed her words, staring at her with wide eyes.
"He asked how to make them . . ." Cass swallowed, remembering the oily, rotten feeling of murder. She couldn't continue.
"Cass?" Harry prodded after a moment.
"It's bad," she repeated, shaking her head.
Cass had Seen a lot. Probably too much, for the relatively short time she'd even had this (so-called) gift. She could vividly recall the grotesque, pale body of Voldemort emerging from a black cauldron. The image of Harry Potter chained to a cracking, ancient headstone, bleeding from the crook of his elbow to right above his wrist. The groundbreaking, mind-shattering, skull-shaking revelation that Potter was her twin brother, and now he exists to her not as Potter, the Boy Who Lived, but Harry, her bloody twin. She had witnessed in excruciating vividness the Dark Lord plunder Severus Snape's mind, she had seen the rage and hunger glint in scarlet irises, and she had known just how savage the monster truly was.
But understanding-comprehending in its full truth-that the Dark Lord had managed to trick Death, to manipulate even it. . . . she could not put into words how panicked it made her. Heartbeats thudded quickly in her chest. She could not get enough air. She could not think. She could only hear Riddle's polite little question, and then the murder, and then the unnaturalness.
The unnaturalness . . . why did it feel so familiar to her? So damningly familiar. She ran her mind through the vision, thinking long and thinking hard, and just arrived to the same conclusion: it was wrong and it was filthy . . . but she had felt it before.
Where?
Wherewherewhere?
It clicked.
Just before Winter Break, after the attack on Mr. Weasley, standing in this very office, waiting for Dumbledore to send her, Harry, and the Weasleys over to Grimmauld Place. It had been dark-midnight, maybe-the nighttime creepiness had seeped into her bones-and she had met her brother's eyes.
"One," Dumbledore started counting down the Portkey, which was beginning to glow blue. Cass felt anxiety rip through her stomach to shreds; she had never traveled this way before, she was nervous, it was frightening- "Two . . ." Harry suddenly seized up beside her and Cass felt a strong sense of hatred wash through her-unnatural hatred, unholy abhorrence, something evil, something wrong, something . . .something . . .
Cass felt sick.
She had felt it before.
She had felt it from Harry.
Was Harry a Horcrux?
"Cass?"
Her throat clogged up.
She was utterly unable to explain.
"How do you take a memory out of your head?" she said suddenly, hands shaking. She fisted them.
"Why?" said Harry.
"I need to show you something," Cass said, mind whirring. This might work. "My vision. I think it's important you see it. It's . . ." She took a moment to collect herself. "It's about the Horcruxes."
"I don't know . . . Can you even take a memory of a vision out of your head?" asked Harry, caution and uncertainty clear in his voice.
Cass shrugged hopelessly. Harry is a . . . is he? It feels so familiar, so wrong, so vile . . . he needs to know . . . Oh, God.
From its place atop an old wooden cabinet, the Sorting Hat chuckled and said, "That is certainly a thought, isn't it?"
Cass ignored it, her head screaming at her.
"No, this . . . I think it's a good idea. This is a way to share my visions," said Cass, nodding to herself to cover the trembling of her chin. "You can recognize people I don't know, because you have more experience . . . you can recognize spells I don't know . . . places I don't know . . . Harry, you have all the experience. I'm just the eleven-year-old who happens to be a Seer."
You're braver than I am. You've faced him before. You have tounderstand. It's you. It has something to do with you.
And it was all true. Harry was Prophecy Boy Wonder. She had a basic, elementary grasp of Fate, but her brother . . . he was Fate (not to downplay herself at all, because Cass was still very impressive in her own right, thank you very much). Harry needed to know about Voldemort . . . he needed to understand what the monster had done. He needed to know what she knew, and hopefully come to an entirely different conclusion than she had. And he needed Cass's Sight for that.
Harry chewed on his lip.
"Alright, it's not a horrible idea," he admitted. "It's actually pretty clever."
Cass grinned, the earlier terror receding slightly.
Harry glanced at the Pensieve. "Right, so I've seen Dumbledore put the tip of his wand to his head and just . . . sorta . . . pull the memory out."
"Okay . . ." said Cass, licking her lips. "That clears everything up nicely. Just . . . pull the memory out."
"Yup."
"Harry, that told me nothing."
He blew out his cheeks and shrugged. "That's all I've seen."
Looking at him from the corner of her eye, she skeptically brought her wand to her head. She closed her eyes, thinking about the vision. Slughorn's chambers, the six boys, the child who would grow to be the Dark Lord, the abrupt shift to another scene, the child who was a murderer, the body of his-
Something in her skull tugged. It felt real-not something in her thoughts, but something in her flesh. Something tangible. She winced, squeezing her eyes tighter, and pulled.
"Er," said Harry, and she opened her eyes.
Dangling from her silver wand was a black strand, thicker than the ones swirling in the Pensieve, and much more menacing.
"That's mildly concerning," she said, pulling a face.
"Concerning?" exclaimed Harry. "It's black! Memories aren't black, Cass! They're silver!"
"I know!" said Cass defensively. "This one's just a bit different. It's got, er, character."
Harry gave her a look that said 'Seriously?'
Determined this was a good idea-judging mostly from the fact her Sight hadn't deemed to show her otherwise-Cass marched over to the Pensieve and flicked the strand right in.
It was there, standing over the misty liquid, that she realized one single fundamental thing.
She did not remember anything about the vision.
She froze.
She swallowed.
She breathed in, intentionally forcing herself to stay calm.
She remembered the vision was important. She remembered the need to show Harry. She remembered thinking about the vision, and she could not shake the feeling of dread that had come with it. Chillingly, she remembered realizing something about the vision. But she could not for the life of her remember what the vision was. How was it possible? She had just known it. And now . . . now everything was blank. Whatever realization she had was scrubbed from her mind. She felt a cold sense of absolute dread.
Harry noticed something was wrong immediately.
"What's the matter?" he asked worriedly.
"Er . . . um . . . slight problem. I can't, uh, remember the vision."
"Sorry?"
"What did I say the vision was about?!" she demanded, her forced calm cracking.
"You . . . you said Vol-"Her brother's words cut out as his voice became unbearably warbled. It was almost as though he were talking to her underwater, but even that didn't do the awful sounds justice. And her sight. Everything tilted and went blurry, blocking her from even reading Harry's lips. It was a blurriness that nauseated her. Cass's hands flew up to hover over her ears, fingers curled into claws and eyes pressed shut.
After a second, the sounds and the bleeding colors stopped and she dared a look up.
"Are you okay?" asked Harry, shocked.
"You didn't hear that?"
". . . No?"
"Tarts."
The Sorting Hat laughed and Cass wanted to throttle it.
Rubbing her forehead (because she sensed the very real possibility of a headache in her future), Cass explained to her brother what had happened.
"You pulled the memory of the vision out of your head . . . and now you can't remember anything about it?" confirmed Harry, brows pinched.
"Right, but . . . you sounded wrong. You looked wrong."
"I started talking about the vision . . . you asked me, 'What did I say the vision was about?!' and I responded," said Harry slowly, puzzling it out.
"I can't learn anything about the vision," Cass concluded with a frustrated nod. Harry's words made sense. The conclusion she got from them, however, did not. "Something is blocking me from understanding any explanation from someone else."
"Everytime I think I understand magic," said Harry with a shake of his head. He stewed for a second, growing and rubbing his temple with his right pointer finger. "Well . . . we can just go into the memory. You can see everything again-I mean, that was the plan in the beginning. No reason it shouldn't work."
Cass nodded. "Right."
"Be careful, Potters," warned the Sorting Hat.
"You too," said Cass, just to play with its mind. That's what he got for laughing at them.
Harry pressed his lips together, the corners of his mouth kicking up.
Before they could lose their nerve, the two of them dunked their heads into the basin and tumbled into the memory.
Cass stifled a scream this time around, anticipating the fall and simply squeezing her eyes shut. Wind rustled her hair and clothes, and her body curled on instinct.
She impacted the ground with a huff. It wasn't painful, but it was startling. She cracked open her eyes.
Her heart screeched to a stuttering halt at the all-consuming blackness looming in front of her eyes.
Cass had landed in pitch blackness, with only Harry right beside her. It was darkness upon darkness upon darkness . . . upon darkness. Her brother looked around in wonder, turning his body to take in the completely black space.
"Where-where are we?" she whispered, terrified.
Harry stopped looking into the darkness, moving his head to look at Cass confusedly. "We're in-" His voice warped all of a sudden, morphing into strange sounds that made Cass cringe.
"Stop talking," she said, wincing and hugging herself. "You sound warped again."
Harry stared at her, eyes wide, and went silent.
After a few seconds, Cass realized he must have thought every word that came out of his mouth got twisted. She quickly shook her head.
"I heard you clearly for a little bit. The last clear thing you said was 'We're in'," she elaborated, heart thudding. What was going on? Everything about this seemed threatening-what kind of magic could manipulate her brother's words even inside a Pensieve?
How can the memory of her vision be lost even as she's existing inside it?
"After that, I started talking about the vision," said Harry slowly, as though making sure his words came out right.
Cass breathed out shakily. "I can't hear you when you try to explain the vision?"
"I suppose so."
So it was the same as before.
"The same vision I can't even remember now?"
Harry frowned. "What do you mean? We're in it right now?"
Cass's blood ran cold.
"Harry, all I can see surrounding us is pitch blackness."
Harry's face turned horrified and he looked around, seeing things that weren't there. "We're not in pitch blackness, though."
"You're not in pitch blackness."
"Merlin," Harry breathed. "Do you want to leave?" he asked concernedly.
Cass did want to leave. This void pushed down on her and Harry, so terrifying in its utter emptiness. Voldemort-or something worse-could be meters from where they were standing, observing them coldly, and she would be none the wiser. She swallowed.
But, despite her own deep, deep terror at their surroundings, she knew Harry must be somewhere else. Maybe wherever her lost vision took place, seeing for once what she could not.
"No," she said bravely, even though she felt nothing but fear. "I can't remember the vision now-or anything about it-but it's best that one of us does. I can always pull the strand of memory out again and stick it back in my head, right?"
"Yeah, that should work. But, Cass, are you sure?"
She smiled softly at him, touched by his concern. "Yes, I'm sure." Even so, she pushed herself closer to him, as though he could protect her from the darkness.
Harry looked at her a while longer, brotherly worry on his face, before nodding and turning his attention to the void of blackness stretching before them.
OoOoO
Harry tore his eyes away from Cass, whose eyes were unfocused on their surroundings, and shifted his gaze to the scene before him.
It was in breathtaking detail. The colors themselves seemed heightened, brighter than anything in the secular world. Cass truly had a gift, if she could See so much in her visions. Harry was left in awe for a moment.
It was the same room as before, in Dumbledore's memory. The two large, expensive sofas decorated the room, with the long table situated towards the center. The table, made from the same glossy dark wood, held ten chairs with room for more. The stunning green hourglass rested on the coffee table, the sands within shifting slowly to the bottom.
Everything was just as it was in the fake memory, only brighter.
An identical group of people lounged about before Harry. The same man-Professor Slughorn, if he remembered correctly-still relaxed on his comfy-looking armchair, his feet propped up on a velvet pillow. The group of boys from Dumbledore's memory rested at identical places from before, all below Slughorn.
Harry instantly focused on Voldemort, or rather, Tom Riddle. Young, handsome, and nonchalant, he sat coolly in his chair, right hand resting casually on the arms of the chair. Harry's face darkened.
"What's wrong?" Cass asked next to him, her voice small. Her gaze tried to follow his own, but it fell somewhere to Voldemort's left, and that unfocused glaze still covered her eyes.
"It's Voldemort," explained Harry. He observed worriedly as Cass cringed at the sound of his voice. It must have warped when he described the scene. Maybe they should head out of here-nothing was worth the fear on her face.
Cass must have picked his thoughts out of his face. "I'm alright," she promised him with a strong nod. "Keep watching. Just don't narrate it."
"Don't ask what's going on, then," joked Harry, trying to cheer her up.
She conceded his point with a small smile and another nod.
Harry watched the boys and the professor interact for a few minutes, the conversation so far useless. Finally, Slughorn dismissed the group, and Harry watched avidly as Riddle hung back. Almost unconsciously, he moved to stand next to the professor and student. Cass quickly followed him, holding on to the hem of his shirt.
"Sorry," said Harry guiltily. "Something's about to happen."
"I just didn't want to get lost in the void," said his sister with a tremble in her voice.
Harry's gut churned in horror-what would happen if . . .?
"I'm so sorry," he said again, his own voice shaking.
"Shh, listen to what's happening. It's alright."
Heeding her advice, he turned his attention once more to the conversation.
". . . ask you something," Riddle finished saying.
"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away . . ." replied Slughorn jovially, as though proud someone had come to him with a question.
"Sir, I wondered what you know about . . . about Horcruxes?"
Cass pressed herself closer to Harry, as though she, too, could feel the unnaturalness of the word. Had the darkness gotten colder for her?
"Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?" Slughorn asked Riddle nervously, even though it was obvious the professor knew perfectly well Riddle's question was not for schoolwork.
"Not exactly, sir," said Riddle politely. "I came across the term while reading and I didn't fully comprehend it. Could you explain it to me?"
Slughorn hesitated, a slight shaking of his head his only movement.
"I could only think of you to come to, sir. I mean, a wizard like you would know-sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously-I just thought if anyone would help me understand, you would-so I just thought I'd ask . . ." Riddle trailed off awkwardly, and Harry was struck by how convincing he sounded. So seemingly hesitant, so carefully flattering, so kindly polite-Riddle was a master manipulator.
And Harry would know; he had wheedled information out of more wizards and witches than he'd like to count. The similarity left a wrong taste in his mouth. He suddenly couldn't stop thinking about the time he had fished out knowledge from Hagrid in his very first year at Hogwarts.
"Well . . . I certainly couldn't deny such an academic mind. It can't hurt to give you an overview, of course. Nothing too detailed-you only need to understand the term," said Slughorn with a self-assuring nod. He hesitated slightly, decisions warring on his face. Without another thought, he plowed right on ahead in informing the one of the world's Darkest wizards on one of the world's Darkest magics.
"Horcruxes are objects in which a person has concealed part of their soul."
The room, even in the memory of a vision, became noticeably chillier.
"I don't understand how that works, though?" pressed Riddle, his voice mild, his eyes wild.
That professor, Slughorn, continued, oblivious to the glint in his student's eye.
"Well, you split your soul, you see. Then hide part of it in an object outside the body. Even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, because part of the soul remains on this earth, undamaged by the attack. But . . . existing in such a way . . ."
Voldemort's words from two years before, echoing in the twilit graveyard, resounded in Harry's mind. "I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost . . . but still, I was alive."
". . . only the insane would want it, Tom. Death would be preferable."
Riddle's eyes were starving, greedy, evil.
"How do you split your soul?"
"Well," began the professor, "you need to understand that the soul is meant to remain whole. Splitting it . . . it is an act of violation, it is wrong. Completely against nature, even for those who break the laws of nature regularly."
"But how do you do it?"
"With an act of evil-the greatest, foulest act of evil. Committing murder. Killing shreds the soul to pieces . . ."
All at once, Harry's surroundings screeched, the colors dialing up to a hundred before exploding in front of his eyes. He yelled out and clutched his eyes-fell through the floor-a hand clutched desperately to his own fell with him, before disconnecting-colors blinded him-
Harry landed with a searing jolt atop a dinner table, falling through the memory of wood and landing underneath it. Coughing and panting, he rolled his body away, going through somebody's legs in the process. He left behind inky smears that gradually reformed into an old man sitting at the table.
Eyes darting, he realized he was still in the Pensieve, just at a different location. A different memory. He frowned. No, that wasn't quite it. He was still in Cass's memory . . . wasn't he? This was still a vision-the vividness of the colors said as much-but set in a new room. Her vision had shifted to a new scene.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Harry jumped up, scanning for the source of the sound. Before him, the elderly man slumped in his chair, cold and stiff and dead. He stared in horror.
The greatest, foulest act of evil . . . killing shreds the soul . . .
Beside the body, an older woman let out a gut-wrenching scream. "NO! What did you do to him? What did you do, demon?!" she sobbed, pressing herself to the old man's body. Her husband, Harry concluded vaguely.
"HARRY! HARRY! HARRY! HELP ME!"
That was Cass's voice.
"CASS!" he screamed back, head swivelling as he tried to find her. Where was she? Where was she? Harry's mind flooded with horrible, heart-stopping images of his sister swallowed by darkness, cursed to roam the void of black forever-
"HARRY!" she screamed again, voice cracking with terror. "I CAN'T SEE YOU!"
"I'M COMING! HOLD ON!"
Harry darted his eyes about, looking for his sister. He began running around the room, checking in cabinets, underneath chairs, behind the curtains. Cass couldn't see him, but that didn't mean he wouldn't see her . . . right?
"Father, you should have never abandoned my mother and myself," came a cold voice from Harry's left. With deep chills, Harry recognized Voldemort's velvety voice. He ignored the scene completely, continuing his rapid circulation of the dining room. Where was she?
"Cass, move around!" Harry called out, hoping that his eyes would catch the movement.
"I can't! It's too dark!"
"I'll be able to see you better! I promise, you can't run into anything solid other than me. You're only in a memory. Nothing can hurt you. Please, Cass. I can't find you if you don't move."
Harry was met with a heavy silence. Heart pounding in his ears, he paused where he was at the middle of the table, breath hitching as he willed his sister to move.
The sound of sobbing reached his ears, and it wasn't from the nightmare scene before him. His head flashed towards the sound.
Face blotchy and red, with bloodshot green eyes that stared unseeingly ahead, his sister emerged from the wall, walking slowly behind a seated man that looked eerily similar to Tom Riddle. Voldemort's father, Harry realized in the back of his mind. Her feet hesitant-so contrasting to her usual grace-she kept pushing forward through apparent sheer will, coming to a stop right in the memory of Voldemort's father.
"Harry?" she whispered softly, looking directly ahead to where memory-Voldemort stood. .
Harry opened his mouth to answer, but someone beat him to it.
"Crucio!" shouted Voldemort with a cruel smirk.
The harsh red spell, crackling with energy, shot straight towards Cass. She faced it, completely blind, and stood stiff as the torturous magic pummeled through her body. Ruby light bloomed before her oblivious green eyes.
The curse impacted the man behind her.
Tom Riddle Senior began screaming in a way that made Harry's blood curdle.
Cass, eyes still teary, stood utterly deaf and blind to all of it.
Harry let out a trembling, strangled noise.
Shaken by the scene, he managed to break out of his trance and rush to his sister's side, the sounds of Riddle Sr.'s screams echoing in his cranium. "Cass, I'm here," he said once he reached her side. She blinked at him, green eyes sharpening. He could immediately tell she could see him; her face flooded with relief and she threw her arms around him.
Harry didn't know what to do. What would Sirius do?
"Er, there, there," he said awkwardly.
Cass snorted and dropped her arms. "Brilliant, Harry. You should become a counselor."
Tom Riddle Senior let out another excruciating scream; the sound grinded on Harry's ears. Repeatedly, Voldemort slammed the Cruciatus Curse into his father, laughing cruelly, and each time it went directly through Cass's body. Harry couldn't stop himself from wincing.
"What's wrong?" Cass asked worriedly, concern painting her red-lit features.
"N-nothing," said Harry, knowing he could never describe the rotten feeling inside him as he watched the Dark Lord point his wand at Cass. "I think we should go."
Cass peered at him a while longer, as though trying to pick up the scene around them from his face alone, before nodding her head in avid agreement. "Me too," she said quietly.
At once, the two of them rose, the scene of torture disappearing beneath Harry's feet. Cass squeezed her eyes shut. Harry felt a deep pang of sympathy for her, unable to imagine how terrifying it must be to fly through blackness.
In a sudden burst of reality, Harry and Cass exploded from the Pensieve, both of them sputtering and coughing. Cass stumbled forward several paces, obviously trying to get as far from the Pensieve as possible. Her foot swung into her bag, spilling papers across the wood floor. She wobbled and tripped, catching herself just barely on Dumbledore's desk. Her dark hair spilled over her trembling arms as her chest heaved.
Harry began to move towards her, but something caught his eye-he froze in his tracks. Face lit with silvery-blue light, he gazed into the Pensieve, entranced.
"Cass," he said, not taking his eyes off the Pensieve.
A few seconds later, his sister stared into the silver depths beside him. Her breathing was uneven and she didn't allow any part of her body contact with the stone basin.
The Potter twins watched, dumbstruck, as the thick black thread of Cass's vision-memory steadily turned a lifeless grey. The bland color rose up the thread, completely consuming it. Then, with a very audible squelch!, the thread of memory fizzled into nothingness inside the silver-and-blue liquid.
Both of their eyes reflecting the light, Harry and Cass met each other's confused stare simultaneously. He cursed in his head; any opportunity for Cass sticking the memory back in her head just went out the window.
"HA!"
Harry and Cass jumped with startlement.
"I was certainly correct in my placement of you both," said the Sorting Hat with a chuckle. "Submerging yourself in that memory without a second thought . . . It's certainly one of the most interesting occurrences I have witnessed. That's no small statement, either."
Harry got the feeling the Hat was insulting them, calling them more stupid than brave. Next to him, Cass seemed to feel the same, for she twitched her nose irritably.
"What did you two see?" queried the Hat curiously.
"I was only in pure darkness-like a sort of void," said Cass, her voice only half-hiding her fear.
"I saw Cass's vision," answered Harry, his mind flashing him the image of young Voldemort.
"And now, Cassandra? Do you remember your vision?"
Cass opened her mouth, snapped it shut, and closed then closed her eyes.
"No," she grit out.
The Sorting Hat hummed thoughtfully.
"I wonder, can I talk about it now?" said Harry.
"Try it."
"It was about Horcruxes, vessels that hold someone's soul pieces. I think . . . I think Voldemort made one . . ." Harry almost continued, but Cass's wince made him stop.
Had Voldemort done it? Had he made Horcruxes? How many of them? How do you destroy a piece of the soul?
"It didn't work," said Cass, her face softening from its flinch.
"Curious," commented the Sorting Hat unhelpfully.
Quite ignoring the Hat's commentary, Cass asked, "Harry, was it important? Was the vision important?"
It took Harry a couple seconds to pull himself out of his thoughts.
"Yes," he said with a deliberate nod. "Yes, I think it was."
OoOoO
Cass felt dread curl in her stomach.
"Brilliant," she said dryly, hating herself for doing something so stupid. Who was she, an 11-year-old Seer with barely any knowledge of the wizarding world, to go around experimenting with things? Now, thanks to her recklessness, she could not remember what was likely vital information.
She had left Harry on his own.
(again)
She took a deep, calming breath.
"Okay, er . . . this can work. At least we can leave the office with some answers. We have that memory of Dumbledore's-the one with young Tom Riddle and that Slughorn person-and you have whatever . . . whatever the other thing is," she said, trying to muster up some confidence with her words.
Harry opened his mouth, seemed to struggle for a while, then shook his head and closed it, apparently deciding not to say whatever it was he was going to say.
Confused, Cass glanced over to the Sorting Hat and saw it was chuckling slightly.
"What?" she asked, deploring the feeling of being kept out of the loop. She knew it wasn't Harry's fault, but that didn't mean it wasn't frustrating.
Her brother opened his mouth but all that came out was nauseating warbles.
Unable to stand the twisted sounds, Cass flinched and pressed her hand to Harry's mouth.
"Don't talk about it, please," she said, attempting to shake the sounds out of her head. After the warped sounds went silent, she removed her hand.
"I'm sorry," said Harry. He looked like he wanted to say more, but apparently forced himself silent; his face turned frustrated.
"It's okay," said Cass, and she meant it. She didn't want Harry to feel guilty. "If only one of us is going to know something, it's probably best it's you, anyway. You kind of have more experience."
"That's an understatement," said Harry with a smile.
"Just a tiny one."
The conversation faded into a thick silence. Cass turned her head to look down at the Pensieve again, failing to pick up any trace of her vision-memory.
A couple more moments of silence, and then the Sorting Hat said, "It might be helpful to inform you that Dinner just ended. It is perhaps for the best that you both leave, though I must say . . . you two have really given me a lot to think about."
Cass blinked and said, "Er, right. Thanks."
"Maybe you could include us in your song next year?" suggested Harry cheekily. "As a show of gratitude for entertaining you?"
"No."
"Fair enough."
Cass laughed at her brother and the Hat.
As if that had been his goal, Harry smiled at her.
Cass swallowed and looked away, trying to ignore the regret boiling inside her. She told herself, firmly and angrily, that whatever her vision had been, it was better for Harry to know than her.
She just couldn't shake the feeling that in forgetting her vision, she had forgotten something else. Something involving Harry.
Something fundamental.
The dread that had been with her all month doubled, tripled, quadrupled in intensity.
What had she done?
OoOoO
A/N (part two): Ooh, some dramatic irony. Poor Cass. Sometimes she's too clever for her own good.
