The following morning, a box filled with pictures and letters was delivered to Potter at breakfast.
Cass honestly hadn't actually planned on giving him anything. But she didn't have much use for Harry's letters to Sirius or the pictures of Potters' parents. So, she'd decided no harm in giving them to Scarface.
Cass wore an old t-shirt of Sirius's under her robes that day. It felt comforting.
She'd also checked her bank account to see exactly how much money Sirius had left her. It wasn't that much, not quite enough for Cass's plans. She was definitely thankful for it, but she wouldn't stop doing her part-time gig just yet.
The idea to make an income that didn't come from the Malfoy family vaults came to her last year. When she'd started dreaming of taking her little sister and running. Those plans were on hold at the moment, but Cass knew she had to make them work at some point. So, she needed money.
Cass never had an allowance. If she needed money for things, she just asked her parents, and they gave it to her. She'd managed to put away some galleons by asking money for things she didn't need and then never bought, but she couldn't abuse that play too much or they'd get suspicious.
So, Cass's business was born.
Cass always liked fashion, and she'd taught herself to sew when she was young. It only made sense to go into that field. It's not as if she could do much else either way.
And it paid well enough once she how to milk it.
So, every other day, Cass would go down to the kitchens and work on clothes. A lot of it was repairs and alterations, but sometimes people would ask her to make them something, which was just her favourite.
Cass sat at her makeshift sewing table down in the kitchens and glued crystals on a short pink dress. Honestly, it was coming out great. She'd come a long way from her first unflattering, ill-fitting pieces.
A house elf, Mikey, glued stones on the other end of the dress.
People very rarely came into the kitchens, and the elves usually tried to keep people out when Cass was working inside, but every once in a while, someone would wander in.
Usually, nothing a quick Confundus wouldn't fix.
But today Cass was sleep-deprived, and a million thoughts occupied her head, so she didn't see the girl until she was almost right in front of her.
Just her luck. Hermione fucking Granger.
The Gryffindor looked dumbfounded. "What are you—Tell me you're not running a sweatshop down here, Malfoy!"
Cass shrugged, expressionless. "Okay. I'm not running a sweatshop down here, Granger."
Hermione scowled, her face going red. "You can't just use house elves for whatever it is you're doing here, Malfoy. They're not your slaves—"
"Calm your tits, Granger," Cass cut her off. "You can ask any of them. I pay them as much as they let me and everyone who helps me volunteers."
Hermione didn't seem very assuaged. She looked at the dress on the form beside Cass. "These are... Muggle clothes."
Cass glared at her. "If you don't go, I'm going to hex your damn teeth again."
A worried look passed through Granger's eyes, but she obviously wasn't too worried because she stayed. "Why are you... sewing Muggle clothes, Malfoy?"
"That's none of your damn business."
"If you don't tell me I am going to report you—"
This was why no one liked her.
"Go right ahead, Granger. Not sure what that's gonna accomplish though since I have explicit permission to do this."
"From who? Snape?"
"McGonagall, actually."
That shut her up. Granger's eyes wandered back to the dress on the form. She seemed like she still wasn't going to let up. Cass would've hexed her, but she was trying to turn over a new leaf. Be less of a bitch. So, she threw her a bone.
"I work on Muggle clothes because it's an easier market to break into. A Muggle dancer is going to pay me a fortune and a half for that dress you're staring at. That's why I do Muggle clothes."
Hermione sighed. Then she said, "I'm still going to check with McGonagall."
"Go right ahead," Cass said through the needle between her teeth, not looking up.
But Granger didn't leave. She only stood there, probably internally debating how much further she was willing to take this.
"So... are you leaving?" Cass asked.
"I came to check on the elves," Granger said, but she didn't sound very sure.
"You've seen them. Now go."
Granger ignored her. "Oh, hello, Dobby."
The elf had just come in, carrying a few rolls of fabric. "Hello, Miss Hermione. Would Miss Hermione like a cup of tea?"
"Dobby, you know you don't have to do as she says, right? She doesn't own you anymore."
Cass scoffed lightly but didn't interrupt the exchange.
"Oh, no, Miss Hermione. Mistress Cass is nice. She is paying Dobby. She teaches Dobby to knit."
Granger frowned. "But you know how to knit, Dobby."
"He means I taught him to knit. When I was younger, Granger," Cass clarified in an annoyed tone, without looking up from her work.
Dobby went to drop off the fabric, but Granger still didn't leave. She wandered about, walked into the food-making area and didn't come out for a while. Then she came back out and started talking to some of the elves helping Cass.
"Stop distracting my associates, Granger," Cass said.
"I just want to know they're being treated fairly."
"Okay. Fine, if you're so worried, why don't you talk to their union leader?" Cass snapped.
"They... have a union?"
"I didn't want to deal with them individually so I suggested to Dobby they form a union, and he negotiates for them," Cass explained, not nicely.
Hermione didn't speak for a minute. She approached Cass's sewing table and leaned lightly on the side. "So... you're just a different person now? Just like that?"
That gave Cass a pause. She knew exactly what Granger meant.
Of course the very first thing Potter had done was blab to his little friends.
Cass glared at the witch. "I'm not. Believe me, Granger, I'm the same bitch who once said you were so flat-chested it was a wonder Potter didn't mistake you for his broomstick."
"That's funny, now that I think about it, you haven't even made fun of my hair once this year. That's got to be a record for you."
Cass ground her teeth. "Make no mistake, Granger. Just because I've been too busy to deal with you doesn't mean I've suddenly changed. I could point out five things wrong with your outfit, ten with your makeup and another ten with your hair right now."
"Why don't you then?"
"I. Don't. Have. Time. I've said it already. Now go away."
And finally, she did.
—
Cass wrote to Remus later in the week. What Dumbledore said about Cass's blood status was still bugging her. Not that she'd be... too upset over not being a pureblood, but she'd like to know.
Cass had already tried to find her mother's family before, but they'd been hard to track down. Remus had helped her back then and there were a few leads that had been left pending, so... it seemed like time to try again. They were close, Cass was sure.
Cass only knew about her mother what Sirius knew. Her name was Linnea Turkkila, she was Finnish and had studied in England because of her sister. She'd been in Ravenclaw at Hogwarts, and she was who Cass had inherited her hair from, what she'd always thought was Malfoy hair. But she was curious to know more.
Cass flew close to the ground on her Nimbus 2000. She might not have enjoyed Quidditch that much anymore, but she still liked flying. She came out to the pitch every once in a while to fly, clear her mind.
So, of course, not even this time could be sacred for her, and because Potter and Weasley walked onto the pitch not even ten minutes after Cass got there.
Cass climbed off her broom.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy? You're not even on the Slytherin team anymore," Weasley immediately went on the offensive.
Cass gave him a saccharine smile. "You don't have to be on the Quidditch team to use the pitch, Weasley. Use your brain, for once."
The last comment was a bit unnecessary, but Cass couldn't help herself. Hardly her fault Weasley always made such a funny face when he got upset. Which he was doing now, all red a blotchy. Obviously unsure what to retort, he turned to Potter.
Potter looked like his brain was malfunctioning. "Oh, you're—I didn't know—I mean—"
"I'd make fun of you but I think you've embarrassed yourself enough."
Potter cleared his throat. "We... wanted to get some practice in."
"I've got the pitch for the next hour. Take it up with Madame Hooch."
"You can't book the pitch just to fly around and do nothing!" Weasley protested.
Cass's eyes narrowed. "Watch me, weasel."
Weasley took a step back, clearly affronted. "You deal with her, Harry. I'm getting my broom."
He ran off, and it's not that Cass wished he'd stay, but she also did not really want to be alone with Potter.
There was a moment of awkward silence before Potter said, "I hadn't gotten the chance to... thank you—for giving me the... pictures and stuff." He sounded like it physically pained him to say the words.
Oh, sweet Salazar, why?
"You don't have to do that. It was on his will."
"I know."
Cass raised a brow. "Well, can you leave now?"
Potter looked back in the direction Ron had gone, unsure. "He... really could do with some extra practice before tryouts."
"It's not like he needs it, he's going to make the team anyway."
Potter's brows raised. "Wow, I did not realise you had that kind of confidence in Ron."
Cass had the sudden and dreadful urge to laugh. Something must've been really wrong with her today, because when had she ever found Potter's shitty jokes funny before? She felt kind of disgusted with herself. She glared at him. "You're the captain, Potter. Who are you trying to kid?"
"If you're trying to imply what I think you are... the Gryffindor team has never had a problem with selecting those who deserve to be on the team."
Cass snorted in a very unladylike fashion. (Narcissa would've been appalled). "Right. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Potter. I still have the pitch.
He rubbed the back of his neck. The half-hearted defensiveness over his honour as Quidditch captain now gone. "Well... maybe we could share—"
Last week he'd been fuming, now he was all tentative. Why couldn't he just be normal?
Cass cut him off. "Will you stop that, Potter?"
Potter frowned. "Stop what?"
Cass gestured broadly at him. "Whatever this is. You're acting all... weird. Nothing has to change between us no matter who my father happens to be. I'll remain a cold-hearted bitch who hates you and you'll remain an egotistical hothead who hates me. Stop making things weird."
Potter scowled. He seemed to get some of his spine back. "It's not like I just completely changed my mind about you. I haven't. I just think that... Sirius would've liked it if we... gave each other a chance."
"Don't tell me what he'd like," Cass spat. "The only reason you're doing this is to make yourself feel better and I for one, don't want any part in it. I know where I stood with my dad and I don't need to play nice with you. We are never going to be friends or even polite acquaintances, so just stop. I am not interested."
Potter looked annoyed more than anything. "Fine. Whatever... I'll go." He sighed, looked at the ground, then back up at Cass. Those fucking eyes. "Just answer me one thing, and I'll go and I'll leave you alone and I won't try to be nice to you again."
Cass scoffed. "Fine."
"Why did he call you Sugar?"
Cass's breath caught. The damn letter. Why, Sirius? She asked to the skies. She debated for a second in her head before speaking. Well, if the answer got him to leave her alone forever... "When my mum was pregnant with me, she had terrible cravings for sweets, and Sirius joked that I'd end up made out of sugar. It was his nickname for me before I was born. They never got to name me, so that's what he called me."
Potter stayed quiet for a moment, before nodding once and finally, leaving.
