July 16, 1976 — Déchant Townhouse. Continued.

They left for Cailean's house first, after informing the Muggle they had hidden that she could leave. It must have been shock, but it was only when she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, taking in her appearance, that Cassiopeia saw the blood - too much for it to only be hers - slowly drying on her arms, and the stinging of glass-like cuts across her limbs.

Sickened, she rubbed her hands raw in the boiling-hot water of the sink, her hands splotchy and sore when she finally deemed them clean enough to dry. The burning of the sharp soap seeping into her wounds remained still, and she took to the task of sewing the skin closed with her wand, damning the trembling of her hands for her lack of precision.

It was supposed to have been safe!

She didn't know where the rush of anger, of betrayal, had come from, but at that moment there was nothing she'd have wanted to do more than go to the Dark Lord and kill him with her own hands.

She was unsure even if she'd regret it, at this point. There was too much destruction, too much death. There was no cause that warranted the the random taking of innocent lives — of attacking simply to strike terror and fear into a people's hearts.

The Muggles wouldn't — couldn't even understand. By now, the Ministry had certainly been notified, and Obliviators deployed. A random building collapse — unsound architecture? A gas leak? — would be the merciless executioner. No blame to be placed on the real perpetrator.

Even the Ministry wouldn't know.

Though taking a step back from public life, Valens Gaunt was still a respected politician, still a favourite amongst the aristocratic elite. No-one suspected him of anything — his name clean and untarnished — except for perhaps the likes of Dumbledore.

Whatever her hatred for the man — and there was much of it — she knew him to be wildly intelligent. She was sure he suspected something.

It wasn't enough. Whatever plans he might have in the works for dealing with the Dark Lord, she knew she could not trust them. Too much betrayal, from both sides. Life was never easy.

She left the bathroom in a haze, flashes of the attack swirling through her mind. Her lungs ached, still touched by thick dust; her muscles were tense, ready to run at a moment's notice.

Had he known she would be there? Had it been planned? She doubted she would ever know, and the lack of certainty burned at her.

It was impossible to now to disentangle herself from his grasp — no matter how she wished to tell her younger self not to be so stupid, so naive; to never even let him near. Now, the best she could do was hope to survive. But — she was good at that, wasn't she? Surviving?

Surviving is not living. Even if she made it through the years to come - if the Dark Lord had his way - she wondered if some days she might wish she had not had. If the hellhole of his world was worth that extra time on Earth.

She stepped quietly into the living room, a headache pulsing at her temples. Sitting on the sofa, Cailean and Severus were discussing between themselves, and a little of their muffled conversation made its way to her ears.

"… certain it was Lucius."

"How could he have…"

Her brow furrowed, she made herself known by stepping near them. "You're talking about who the person who warned us?" she calculated.

Cailean murmured 'yes', standing and taking her hands into his, examining them carefully. She couldn't look, instead meeting Severus' gaze.

"I thought I recognised the voice," she said, a hiss of pain escaping her as Cailean readjusted her work.

"None of them would warn us, outside of Lucius," Severus replied with conviction. "The only question now is how he knew."

"Unless he was the first to come, and saw us? There's probably something to it."

Severus made a noise of agreement, and Cailean set her hands down. "These should heal quickly, but - I would advise against scalding yourself again," he added, sotto voce.

"I won't. I just needed to, once."

"Good.

July 18, 1976 — McGonagall Manor

The blood drained from Minerva's face in a moment's instant. She set the newspaper down, her hands trembling, her expression one of horror and distress.

"You never told me," she spoke, standing hastily, her movements rushed. "I'm sorry, I need to.. go."

Not moments later she disapparated from the house.

"Do you want to look, or shall I?" Severus asked, fairly alarmed, setting down his own utensils.

With Minerva's reaction, Cassiopeia was certain she did not wish to see it, but she picked up the paper nonetheless, resisting the urge to go after Minerva and search her out, make certain that she was alright.

Seven dead, one critically injured after Tuesday's building collapse at the former coffee shop, Café de la Poste. Dougal McGregor, along with his two children, remains at Caithness hospital, being treated for undisclosed injuries. Doctor Brùn, the lead physician, attests he remains hopeful of a future recovery, but that Mr. McGregor is not out of danger yet, and his condition could rapidly deteriorate at any given moment. The two children, Imma and Elenor, are expected to be released to their grandparents by Saturday.

Cassiopeia frowned, handing the paper to Severus. "There's nothing here she doesn't know, except — "

His dark eyes flicked over the text. "It's the names. Does she know these people?"

"No, I don't think — " she furrowed her brow. Unbidden, one of her first conversations with Cailean surfaced — taking place in the same café, sitting across from the same family that just two days ago she had helped pull from the rubble. She had eaten with a ghost.

"Cailean knows them," she spoke. "Minerva likely does too, then."

Severus set the paper down. "Where's she gone off to, then? The hospital? I doubt she'll be able to help the man, with Cailean already there."

"I'd imagine, but — perhaps she wants to see him. I might ask, though I'm uncertain she'd wish to disclose the details."

"We'll have to wait and see then," he replied, and after a moment made his way to the sofa, stretching his lanky body out over it.

They sat quietly for a little while, before Cassiopeia asked, wanting to break the silence. "Will you be writing to Eileen?"

Severus glanced up at her. "I thought I wouldn't worry her. She'll want me back if she finds out."

"Oh, alright."

"Unless you'd like me to leave?" he asked, his eyebrow raised.

"No, I'm glad you're here. It's easier to focus on… anything, really. Not — you know."

For a second, she saw Severus contemplating, before he opened his arms, inviting her to rest with him on his couch. It tugged at her heart as she nestled into his startled embrace, letting her head fall on his chest.

Listening to his heartbeat, racing a little at first, then calming, was a wondrous reminder of his existence, and when he ran his hand down her back she melted against him, in bliss.

"You're sure Cailean won't mind?" he murmured after a while, and she shook her head into his soft shirt.

"We're… not exactly dating. Or maybe we are? I'm not sure. But he's… not the type to care, either way."

As Severus tensed for the briefest moment under what he must have considered an implied insult, she suddenly realised that this was the first time in a long time — months, maybe years even — that she had felt his body so completely.

It seemed a strange thing to notice about one's friend, and she tried to put it out of her mind. And with the week's events, It felt... almost sacrilegious, in a way... to think about these things but... she could put those feeling aside, if it meant spending more time like this, she thought.

•••

This is part one of the chapter - part two will be published, hopefully, in the next few days. Apologies, but school has been really weighing on me lately, and it's been difficult to find the time and energy to write.