August 25, 1976 – Malfoy Manor

Rodolphus went unseen at breakfast, and Bellatrix arrived late, an ungodly grin on her face and the stench of blood on her body. Her curls, usually left uncombed, were riotous, and her cheeks glowed red. She threw herself down at the table, manners forgotten or simply ignored.

"Apologies, my Lord. I was… very occupied," she explained, throwing Cassiopeia what could only be described as a conspiratorial smile.

The Dark Lord was quick to notice, his violet eyes snapping between them. "Anything you'd like to… tell us about, pet?"

He did not wait for a response, delving into Bellatrix's mind immediately. For a second, there was a tense silence over the dinner table, as his expression progressively darkened, before he broke eye contact with her.

Cassiopeia kept still as his gaze moved to hers, filling her mind with heavy, still darkness.

"He will regret his actions. I do not like people taking things that are mine."

Bellatrix scowled, and Narcissa's brow rose slightly.

"I am… 'yours', my Lord?" she asked mildly, surprised by her daring.

He paused, his smile sharp and glittering. "Soon enough you will be."

His unsettling stare turned to Severus. "Both of you. Mine."

August 28, 1976 – Diagon Alley

Lucius watched over them as they shopped, a silent, grim protector. He leaned on his cane – his pain grew worse when the weather turned – but his body was taunt, as if expecting an attack. It put the two of them on edge, unwilling to leave their backs exposed, or their wands in an inaccessible place.

The alley was… quieter, than it had usually been – especially at this time of year. It was impossible to notice the furtive glances, the whispers, mothers holding their children close and hurrying, as if they only wished to leave.

The attacks, the fear hung over the district like a dark cloud.

The Potters, Sirius Black included, passed them by as they stood waiting for their books. They had tensed, waiting for an altercation, but although Black scowled at them, making a move as though to step closer, he was rebuked by Mrs. Potter, who pushed him forward to hurry along, her face shadowed by thinly veiled fear and dislike.

They were met with similar reactions throughout, and Lucius, though keeping his mask firmly in place, seemed unsettled.

September 1, 1976 – Hogwarts

Cassiopeia stepped off the Hogwarts Express, disquieted.

Though being a Slytherin had often caused her to be the object of dislike and suspicion, those feelings seemed… impossibly amplified this year. Even some Ravenclaws, who did not usually bother with such house rivalry, had fixed her with glances of distaste – mild, however, in comparison to the glares received by her older Housemates.

She wondered, almost absently, as she walked down the beaten path to the carriages, if the entire year would be spent like this. If the bullying, the favouritism, the attacks would only get worse – if Slytherin would lose even the last parts of its good standing amongst the occupants of the castle, and perhaps the outside world as well.

She hoped not. It had always been a point of pride for her, for Severus, for all their classmates to be sorted here – to be initiated into centuries-old traditions, to be respected as intelligent, resourceful, and ambitious.

As their means of transport came into view, she saw Severus' eyes widen, and she gave him a sympathetic smile.

Professor Sayre's lecture from last year rang in her mind.

'Thestrals can only be seen by those who have experienced death viscerally – who have seen it for what it is. They are called Dark for this trait, and for the fact they feast on necrotic flesh, but they are not violent, so long as they are unprovoked.'

She suppressed the memories that threatened to emerge from the deep corners of her mind, standing before the animal, Severus at her side. The students around them were getting inside the carriages, but Severus couldn't take his eyes off them – these dark animals made of scarcely more than bone; great, powerful wings resting at their side. They were beautiful in their own way – captivating.

The thestral huffed at her, its head turning to eye the carriage balefully. They took it as a sign to get inside, Severus helping her up.

They were silent as the carriage began to move, each lost in their own thoughts. She could only guess at Severus', but her own turned suddenly to the – boy? man? – in front of her.

At sixteen, they were both in the transitory period between the two, but as she looked at him, framed by the lantern's light above them, she thought he seemed older. The lines of his face, soft and boyish when she had first met him, had since turned somewhat harsh; his eyes, previously filled with curiosity, warmth – even anger – now seemed cold under the influence of his Occlumency.

But – no. When he glanced up, an eyebrow rising as he noticed her assessment, she thought they softened, something like affection lurking within their depths.

She shook her head – don't worry about it, – curious when she saw his skin redden ever-so-slightly, his gaze falling away.

Aurora found them as they stood waiting outside the Great Hall, the Slytherins congregated on one side, while the rest of the Houses mixed on the other.

"Thank you," she whispered to Severus, and Cassiopeia gave her a look of sympathy. Augustus, standing next to Avery, looked miserable – his skin pallid, dark circles under his eyes – but seemed to be fighting desperately not to express it.

When they were finally allowed to enter the Hall, her eyes flew to the head table, curious as to who would be teaching DADA. Past experiences had left her… wary. To her surprise, and everyone else's, Professor Sayre was still among the staff, sitting next to Professor McGonagall with a self-satisfied grin across her face.

They took their seats, and she met Severus' eyes. If the rumours about a curse on the Defence position were true – which seemed likely, given the decades of one-year tenures – then there was a good reason the enchantment had been lifted.

And she knew it wasn't Dumbledore's doing.

Following the sorting, the Headmaster gave his usual speech and she listened to it half-heartedly, clapping politely while it was over. To her surprise, most of the seventh years, as well as Augustus and Auberon, remained silent, but their protest seemed unnoticed by Dumbledore, or was perhaps ignored.

The feast passed by undisturbed after that, discussions of summer activities kept shallow and uninformative as it always was, and Regulus joining them for a second to show off his Prefect badge, a proud smile around his lips.

It was only once they were leaving, almost all of the student body congregated in the main hallway, that a hysterical shout was heard, and the sound of a dull thud as Avery was knocked back against a wall. Immediately, he was surrounded by his housemates, but the Hufflepuff girl who had attacked him kept screaming, her wand pointed at the Slytherins, and her face filled with grief and rage.

"Your father killed my parents! They're dead!" her voice broke, but she did not back off her threatening stance.

"A serious accusation to make," Auberon answered levelly, his voice barely audible in contrast to the girl's cries.

"I saw him with my own eyes – don't you dare say otherwise!"

A curse began to leave her lips when the Headmaster made his presence clear.

"Just what is happening here?" he asked with a smile, stepping between the rift that had formed: Slytherins versus everyone else. Just like it always had been, but even deeper now; wider.

"Just what I needed – a slight against my family," Auberon exhaled. "And apparently she doesn't even want to apologise."

Crouch shrugged. "Well, did you expect a Mudblood to understand basic manners? If she wants to face the repercussions of disrespecting Sacred Twenty-Eight, I say let her go ahead. But if you want… I'd be happy to serve some retribution from Slytherin House."

She felt Severus tense with the casual utterance of the slur. He had told her, some years later, what he had done to make Lily hate him so abruptly.

She thought that, at least, their former friend should have accepted his apology, but – it was her choice, in the end. Her loss.

"Don't bother – it'll only fuel the suspicions."

Here the seventh-year smiled sharply. "Wouldn't want that, of course. Not with the… current people in charge."

September 2, 1976 – Hogwarts

"They're fools, and they're going to get themselves killed."

It had been impossible to miss the whispered discussions amongst the oldest Slytherins, the proclamations of the power and influence that could be gained under the new authority.

"And they'll kill others in the process," Cassiopeia added, watching from one of the lab tables as Severus brewed the Draught of Despair. "But it's not like we're in much better of a position."

"At least we know it's all lies: that counts for something. But – kill or be killed," he gestured, somewhat helplessly, to the cauldron. "I have no idea what this is going to be used for."

She exhaled. "'Try not to think about it,' is my current strategy, but I don't think it's going that well."

Severus paused for a moment, concentrating on the potion which had just turned a deep shade of maroon. "...Do you ever get the thought that he's doing this just to put blood on our hands?"

"Just to further… taint our souls?" she asked, tilting her head to the side in thought. "Truthfully, it is the impression I get sometimes. And, well – if that is his strategy, he's certainly succeeded," she sighed. "I still almost can't believe – do you remember? First year, I was terrified to cast an offensive spell. And now – "

She observed Severus for a moment. She had refused to explain the Dark Lord's words days prior, but she had clearly seen his suspicion – especially when Rodolphus failed to reappear for the last days of their stay.

It was an odd hesitation, she knew, but Rodolphus' words had stung, reopening an old wound. Slut. Whore.

It had been the furthest thing from truth when she had first been called such names, and it still was – in her mind, at least.

Severus didn't know – or at last couldn't prove – how far her relationship with Cailean had progressed, and she was very happy to keep such information to herself. But if he found out, would those same names flow from his lips as they did from Rodolphus'?

Logically, she knew that such events would most likely never come to pass, but fear – unfortunately, she had learned – was more often irrational, preying on your vulnerabilities. He had abandoned her before.

She had been silent for too long.

"Did something happen?" Severus asked, delicate fingers laying the stirring stick to rest.

"Rodolphus – we – " she sighed. Why was it that so often around him she could not find the words to express herself? "You were right in your assessment. Nothing happened – " she countered the rapid darkening of his expression, " – but I cursed him, and felt… vindicated."

Severus frowned, casting a stasis. "As you should, if he tried anything. What spell?"

"I have no idea. It was – more akin to accidental magic than anything, but I caused it. I wanted it. I wanted him to feel pain."

He seemed interested in knowing more, but decided against it: "Bastard deserved whatever you gave him, Cassiopeia."

She smiled slightly. "I think I do agree. I just don't like that it seems I've been manipulated into this thought."

He stared at her for a moment, his expression calculating. "No matter if you enjoyed it, no matter if you do it again, you are nothing like them, and you never will be."

"Optimistic, are we?" she deflected, wondering how he knew her thoughts so well.

"No. Just telling the obvious truth."

September 3, 1976 – Hogwarts

Cassiopeia –

I hope this letter finds you well. I mourn that we were unable to spend more time together, but I look forward to our further correspondence, if you are still amenable.

How are things at Hogwarts? I have just started at Saint René – the hours are long, and the French much less polite than our lot, but I'm quite enjoying myself. I hope you find the opportunity to practice the spells we learned, and if you are ever in France – for any reason – know that you'll be welcome.

My apologies for the short letter, but I am just about to collapse into my bed. I am renting a little flat in a Muggle village, and I do wish you could see it – it's quite lovely.

– Cailean

She smiled, folding the parchment closed. Attached to the letter was a small, unassuming parcel, and she opened it, running her fingers through the soft, grey wool of the scarf she discovered. Woven throughout were runes: Algiz, for protection, Sowilo, for good fortune, and others she did not quite recognise.

Severus eyed the gift curiously, his breakfast temporarily forgotten. "From Cailean?" he asked carefully, and it was clear he was taking great caution to keep his voice emotionless and level.

She inclined her head, then, just as carefully – "We parted ways, you know."

Yes. She might have missed it if she wasn't paying attention, but it was there – that little exhale, that shift in his stiff posture. Curious.

"Hmm."

Professor Slughorn had delegated the task of distributing schedules to the seventh-year prefects, Dolores Umbridge and the younger brother of Thoros Nott, Caius. The former practically threw their schedules onto the table when she passed them by, a distasteful sneer on her face.

Cassiopeia glanced at Severus' timetable. They'd be sharing all of their classes, having decided to take their NEWTs in Potions, Transfiguration, DADA, Charms, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.

"Has Umbridge really changed so much?" she asked Severus, who shrugged.

"Maybe. But she also might want to… secure her place - make her viewpoints clear, if anyone ever finds out she's not pureblood."

She nodded, but in the back of her head a memory of a tiara appeared, beautiful and shining, yet with a heavy weight that settled around her heart, amplifying the worst of her – bringing out her fear and rage.