August 10, 1975 - Nazyalensky Home

Finally, Cassiopeia sighed, dropping the grey washcloth into the sink, and rising off her aching fingers. Her hands felt raw; the cleaning chemicals she'd found were irritating on her skin, and had caused her hand to take on a mottled red appearance, but she found herself uncaring. At least Henry wouldn't be able to take issue with her work.

As she dried her hands, Cassiopeia couldn't resist looking into the small, cracked mirror above the sink. It was almost too high for her, but when she raised her feet she could just make out –

Merlin. She looked a fright.

Her hand rose unconsciously to her eye, which was still bruised around the edges, and looked unhealthily yellow. She hadn't realized she'd been hit hard enough to form an injury, yet it confirmed the tenderness that she'd felt around it for so long. She noticed also some droplets of dried blood around her mouth; from two days ago, when he had split her lip, she presumed.

Disgusted, she rinsed her face, watching the barely-pink water swirl down the drain before she tore her eyes away.

Walking down the corridor, she steeled herself at the door to the office. She remembered it from her younger years; her mother sitting in the armchair, smiling radiantly as she lifted her daughter onto her lap, showing her the entry she had just made into her journal. Cassiopeia had found the first of these, long before she'd even gone to Hogwarts, but the rest had been much better hidden. Now, they were probably lost forever.

Swallowing down the memories, she knocked, her voice wavering slightly as she made her demand. "Father – I've finished – "

She heard a muffled curse from inside, and seconds later the door swung open, revealing her father with an angry snarl on his face. "What do you want now?" he growled.

"I've finished my work. I – I'd like to eat."

He ignored her words, grazing her shoulder with the door as he slammed it closed behind him, and walked out into the living room, ostensibly to inspect her work. It was clear he was in an ill mood, and Cassiopeia's heart sank as she waited for his judgement.

"Did you even bother with any of this?" he sneered. He placed his hand on the back of her neck, and without any warning pushed her onto her knees.

She cried out slightly at the impact, and he snatched his hand away from her as if repulsed. "What are you waiting for, girl? Look at it - is that clean?"

She shuffled forward slightly to look underneath the sofa, and at that moment there was a large crash from just behind her. Terrified, she jumped to her feet, crying out in pain as a large piece of glass embedded itself in her bare skin.

Henry, standing at the shattered remains of his late wife's favorite vase, smiled maliciously. "It seems you missed something."

Anger well within her, overtaking the stabbing pain in her leg, and she scowled. "I'm not cleaning that up – "

The amusement was gone from his face in a second, as if a mask had come up over it, and her voice died in her throat. Henry walked forward until he was crowding her against the sofa, and raised one hand to her face in a clear threat.

She nodded her assent, flinching as she prepared for the blow. It never came, however, and he walked away uncaringly, only turning back to make one last statement. "And when you're done, go wash yourself; you look like a fucking whore."

Cassiopeia curled on her blankets, exhausted. It was just early evening, now, and she'd just finished scrubbing both herself and the floors into exhaustion. Her whole body ached.

Fleetingly, she regretted striking up an arrangement of work for food with a drunk Henry, but the spasming of her stomach quickly reminded her of the alternative. A sandwich and some juice wasn't much, but she could live on it. She'd just have to keep remembering that.

August 15, 1975 - Snape House, Spinner's End

Severus lay sprawled in bed, staring at the dusty wooden ceiling of his bedroom as he listened to the sounds of his parents arguing in the other room.

It happened so often that he should've been able to ignore it, Severus thought, yet always in the back of his head there was a fear that it would be him next. That when Tobias tired of his wife, or had beaten her unconscious, he would seek out his son in his bedroom, and make him bear the rest of his anger. It didn't happen too often, as Da was usually too drunk to do much more than rant, but his mind refused to ease.

Exhaling, he wondered if tonight he'd have to intervene. He shouldn't, he knew he shouldn't, but there were times where he couldn't bear not stepping in - even against his mother's pleas.

The sounds in the living room faded, and he breathed a sigh of relief. It was not long-lived, however, as his mind turned to Cassiopeia, and his stomach flipped with guilt.

At the time - just a few weeks ago, though it seemed so much longer now - the words had seemed like nothing more than the transgression of a lie. Unfortunate, but he had misled his mother before. No, the sickly feeling welling up within him was so much more than that. It was the inescapability of the whispering of his mind, it was the knowledge of his own role in whatever was happening. It was the uncertainty that threatened to overwhelm him.

He knew he had to see her; to see her safe. It was selfish, yes, but he thought it to be the only thing that could ease his conscience. Tobias would be going out in a couple of days; he would go then.

August 17, 1975 - Nazyalensky Home

"You mother… she was a right bitch I tell ya."

Henry's whiskey breath was warm against her ear as he spoke to her, leaning over his daughter's body as he pressed her further into the wall. Cassiopeia's heart pounded against her chest, and she felt like a bird, trapped between his arms.

"After she had you, it was like she'd been replaced by a vulture. All nagging; kept telling me how to act. Became a right prude, too," he laughed scornfully, his voice lowering. "You look like her, you know. She was horrid, but a fit bird if I've ever seen one – "

There was a loud scratching sound against the window, and Henry pulled away with a snarl, his eyes blazing with fury. He stumbled over to the window before tearing it open, his voice shaking with fury as he snatched at the animal outside.

"You've been writing to your little friends?"

His voice was cold now, and he held the small owl in a vice-like grip, seeming uncaring of its protest. In its talons was a letter, damaged from the bird's struggle, but a letter nonetheless.

The blood drained from her face. "No! I haven't – I promise – "

His rage was not to be calmed, and he squeezed the animal tighter, his knuckles almost white. "You bitch. What did I say about magic?"

"N–No magic in front of you," she answered, her voice shaking. She wanted to tell him to let the owl go, that none of this was its fault, that he was hurting it, but her voice stuck in her throat in fear.

"No magic," he repeated furiously, before his eyes turned resolute. "I'm gonna teach you a lesson in not listening. And your friend's owl better hope it can fly without wings."

"No." The sound tore from her throat involuntarily, but she stood behind it.

"What did you just say to me, girl?" He turned around, his voice deadly.

She should have recognized that as a warning sign, but she couldn't stop herself. "No – no, you can't hurt it. You can't hurt it."

"Oh, but I think you'll find that I can," he answered uncaringly, and as he brought his hand down upon the bird's wing, her magic exploded out of her, golden light throwing him across the room; tendrils wrapping around his throat and choking him like he had choked the poor animal now lying on the floor.

"Let me go," he gasped, struggling against the light as the color slowly drained from his face, and Cassiopeia watched in slight fascination.

This – This was what it felt like to have another utterly at your mercy.

She could see the fear in his eyes; fear that he would die, fear that she hated enough to kill him. Did she?

Henry's blue lips and pleading eyes called out to her, begging for mercy even as he could no longer speak. His head slumped slowly, and at that moment she let him go, the spell broken.

He fell onto the floor, nothing to soften his descent. His nose made an awful noise as it slammed against the wood, and blood slowly started to pool around him, all while she watched.

Merlin, what had she done?

He was alive; she could see his chest rising, but he'd been so close to not being. She'd almost killed him.

Worse, she'd wanted to, Cassiopeia thought with horror, pressing her hand against her mouth to quell her nausea. She should step forward, she thought, check if he was otherwise fine, but something prevented her. Instead she kneeled besides the still-unconscious owl, delicately untying the parchment from its talons with shaking hands.

She slid it open, and laughed hollowly. A letter from McGonagall, informing her of her Animagus registration, had almost been somebody's death.

Disgusted with herself, she pushed the letter away, standing from the floor with trembling legs. She thought she might be in shock.

Wavering for a second, and with one last glance back, she made her way upstairs, tucking the owl into a corner of her room. She didn't know what to do; too terrified to sleep, and unwilling to stay with… him one second longer.

So she stayed awake and still through the night, barely registering the sound of the front door closing through the ringing of her thoughts.

•••

One or two more chapters, then, until the summer is done. Thank you for reading as always, and to SilentMayhem. I hope you all have a wonderful week :)