Cassandra Godwineson was hunched over the blueprints of Grimmauld Place that Sirius Black had sketched the evening before; the moonlight from the window above her provided a ghostly glow over her face as her blue eyes sought out every possible entrance and escape that the plans provided. She was alone in the room, or so it seemed, and it appeared that she was the only one who had even thought to stay up so late. The sun was breaking out over the horizon and yet she hadn't moved as her eyes searched desperately over the map. She couldn't afford to make a mistake this time, not when innocent lives were on the line, and she planned to make everything perfect; her best friend was caught in the labyrinth this time and she was determined not to make the mistake that would cost anyone their life, even if it meant her own death.

She hadn't been sleeping properly. It had been twelve hours and twenty four minutes since Hermione had been kidnapped and she hadn't slept even for a moment; Cassandra didn't want to chance making a mistake and thus she was attempting to keep herself awake long enough. Her knees had long since buckled from standing up so long and she had fallen into a nearby chair and hunched wordlessly over a table, still penning whatever plans she might have made since that morning.

"Miss Godwineson," said a disapproving voice from her left, and Cassandra immediately leapt to her feet, drawing her wand and jabbing it in the shocked and yet somehow still stern face of her Head of House; she flushed and tucked it away instantly, shifting back into her chair and taking up the pencil again as she marked two large lines through the front entrance - it was likely to be guarded severely as it was the most known and they wouldn't plan on having an infiltration. "I insist that you get to bed now. It's been twelve and a half hours since you last slept."

"No, it hasn't," she croaked, shaking her head as she looked up into a pair of slightly surprised murky brown eyes. "It's been twelve hours and twenty seven minutes exactly and I'm not going to sleep, not even a little bit, not with Hermione in danger and possibly dying as we speak. With all due respect, Professor, you know as well as I do that I can't afford to make a mistake."

Minerva McGonagall wasn't as brusque and abrasive as everyone thought. She was fiercely protective of her lion cubs and would do anything for them, and this brave and observant little one wasn't making her job as leader of the pack very easy. She had grown a fondness for Cassandra and was determined to drive her to putting her health right. "You do realise that this isn't all on you, don't you, Cassandra? There is the whole Order on this mission and you don't have to take the weight of it on your shoulders in entirety."

"But I'm the one responsible for planning the mission and making sure there are no flaws in the plan, Minnie," she replied sharply, looking up. "I'm wide awake, as you can see, and I will continue to be until this mission is completed and my best friend is home and safe!"

She stood up abruptly, stalking forward and hanging onto the curtain rail for support. Her head spun rapidly and her knees buckled, falling as the Head of House lunged to catch the fallen lioness. She couldn't breathe, couldn't form incoherent help. "Help..." she rasped out, the edges of her vision blackening and leaving her in darkness.

Dark blue eyes flew open, her chest heaving with every breath she took; she gasped for air that would not leave her lungs as she clenched her fists upon the cold marble floors, her knuckles turning white and her fingers locked together as she fought to control her thudding heart. Cassandra Godwineson pushed herself up on her elbows and looked around the room, pushing herself up on her knees and eyeing the locked door with a critical eye; four weeks worth of their popular Dumbledore's Army meetings had taught her to always be on her guard in places she did not know and places she felt unsafe in, even if it meant neglecting everything else she had meant to do in that place; something about it, maybe the aura, as Hermione had commented once, of the room was dark or powerful, or something like that. She hadn't paid much attention in the weekly Order meetings and had instead fixed a pleading stare upon Hermione, as if asking her to give her a little bit of reassurance past her aloof persona that she had developed over the past few weeks; it hadn't worked, but now she wished she had been paying attention instead.

The floor was a stretch of cold marble, and, to her disgust and slight wariness, it was coated in a thin layer of blood in the middle of the room, only a few steps away from where she had been lying just minutes before; above it, hovering over the pool of blood, hung a figure, strung like a marionette, eyes clamped shut, skin pale and lips bleeding. The sleeves of her shirt had been torn just above the elbow and the tights had been laddered in several places, though what really caught her attention was the masses of untameable chocolate curls that spilled over her shoulders, somehow still alive even if it seemed that the owner was not. Cassandra lunged forward and made to grab the form of one of her best friends out of the air, but she tumbled straight through Hermione Granger and landed on her stomach in the blood; she gave a surprised gasp as she twisted to her feet, looking at her friend almost wearily.

Raising her hand, Cassandra pushed her hand straight through Hermione's cheek, leaving a rather grotesque image forming in her mind. Shivering, she pulled her hand right back and shook her head as if to push the image from her mind or to store it in some part of her brain. She gasped and shuffled straight out of the path of a bright white jet of light as it made contact with her friend's body, the light colliding with Hermione's chest and seemingly sinking into her skin; brown eyes flew open, so full of agony and pain, as a shrill and drawn-out scream filled the room. Cassandra ached as she let out a similar scream, her hands seeking out the comfort of her heart beating in her chest and she felt the pain that Hermione was feeling as something inside her gut tore in two; anger pulsed inside her veins and she whirled around, facing whoever had done it to her, and she felt the rage increase tenfold, along with the sense of betrayal that filled her as she looked into the coal black eyes of Severus Snape.

"No! No - Hermione! No! Please, no, Hermione! Not 'Mione, please, take me, me instead - HERMIONE!"

"Well done, Snape."

This voice was high-pitched, cruel and cold. Cassandra's blood stopped pumping in her veins, her body freezing and her limbs beginning to shake; she didn't have to turn around to know who had spoken nor who was in the room with her. Lord Voldemort's darkened maroon eyes shone from the darkness, the shining scarlet filling her and causing her to feel a hatred she had never felt before; not only had he ruined the world, he had also brought upon the torture of her best friend, and this made her feel very angry indeed.

"You bastard!" She flung herself forward, smashing her fist through his face and feeling the sickening sound of her own body passing through his tall and cloaked body; her heart thudded faster as the curse's force was increased, the white light seeping through Snape's wand and engulfing Hermione's thrashing form in a white mist that shrouded her. Hermione's tortured screams filled the room once more, echoing off the walls, ringing in her ears and possibly scarring her for life. "You bastard!"

But she couldn't move. She was propelled backward by an unknown force, and her eyes immediately sought through the room for the owner of the magic, but she could only find the emerald light that was shooting toward her best friend. "Hermione!" came the strangled cry from Lily Evans' lips, and Cassandra gave a long, shrill and drawn-out scream that resounded through the room and yet fell on deaf ears.

The emerald light, so mesmerising and so beautiful, was shattered. There came a great roar as a plump figure propelled themselves into the line of fire, blocking Lily from the attack and sending a loud and audible crack around the room as the form slumped to the ground. Cassandra's heart roared in her ears and she found herself weeping, calling for Peter Pettigrew, the plump and dead form on the ground that would never crack a feeble joke or pull a prank ever again.

"PETER!"

If you've got any guesses on how our Cassandra can see the future, then your reviews are welcome and I'll respond to them with a PM or another review or something. It's probably very easy to see, but it will complicate the story far more than you'll expect and there'll be a lot more action in it now that she's discovered the talent.

Suggestions that could put me back on my updating track are also welcome - actually, they're fucking needed because I can't concentrate lately. I'll try and update at least four times over my Easter holidays, which started last Friday, so there's one down!

IMPORTANT: Special thanks to everyone that reviewed and I'm ecstatic... I've almost got 200 followers for this story. I'm sorry I haven't appreciated that properly, but I checked last night and I almost died of happiness and I want to hug each and everyone of you for supporting the story. I felt really guilty about it so I'll try and keep up with everything that my wonderful, beautiful, fantastic, supermegafoxyawesomehot readers. I love each and every one of you and I shall continue to FOREVER because this is my first actually successful baby and argh...

I love you all!

... Mmhmm...

Love,

Marlene