The sky stretched endlessly in a blanket of dull grey, heavy clouds pressing down as if they carried the weight of the world. Cassie could hear the steady patter of raindrops on the canopy of umbrellas surrounding them, hushed voices murmuring in the distance.
The rain fell in soft, unrelenting sheets, clinging to Cassie's skin and soaking into the hem of her dress. It wasn't a storm — there was no thunder, no lightning, no violent downpour — just a slow, ceaseless drizzle, the kind that blurred the edges of the world and dampened everything in its path.
The whole world felt quiet. Heavy.
It suited the day.
Everything about it — the bleak sky, the dense, wet air, the way the earth smelled of mud and loss — felt like an extension of the grief pressing in around them. Even the trees seemed weighed down, their branches sagging under the weight of the rain.
Cassie didn't remember much about her grandad. He had been kind, in a quiet sort of way. He always carried a handkerchief in his pocket, which he'd pass to her when she had a runny nose, and he smelled like old books and pipe smoke. He never spoke much at family gatherings, but he would let Cassie and Calypso sit on his lap while he read the paper, not minding when they whispered and giggled over whatever nonsense had preoccupied them that day.
And now he was gone.
Cassie knew what that meant. She knew what had happened. She remembered when their family owl died — how her parents had sat her down, explaining in hushed voices that death was forever, that Nox wouldn't be coming back, no matter how much she wanted him to. She had cried then, but over time, she had understood. Death was a part of life. No amount of waiting would bring them back.
Her grip tightened around her father's as they followed the crowd toward the grave site. Calypso's small fingers clung to her other hand, damp from both the rain and her own nervous fidgeting. Their mother walked ahead of them, close to their grandmother, her black veil drawn low over her face. She had barely spoken since they arrived, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she, too, had been caught in the rain's spell.
Cassie didn't quite understand how to feel. She wasn't sure if she was allowed to cry, if she should be crying. She felt sad, of course — her chest ached with it, a slow, twisting sort of sorrow — but she hadn't been as close to Grandad as she was to Grandma. It didn't feel right to cry when she wasn't sure she had the right to.
Calypso, however, had no such reservations.
"Cassie?"
Cassie glanced down to find her little sister gazing up at her, brows furrowed in confusion, her green eyes bright against the dreary backdrop of the cemetery.
"When is Grandad coming back?"
Cassie stopped walking.
The question landed like a pebble dropped into still water — small, but sending ripples through everything around it.
Their father stopped too, his hand pausing mid-swing as he turned to look at them. Cassie felt his gaze settle on her first, searching, before flicking to Calypso. He exhaled softly, shifting his grip on her small hand.
She didn't understand.
Of course she didn't. She was only six.
Cassie suddenly felt the weight of that gap between them — just a year apart, but at that moment, it felt like an ocean. She knew something that Calypso didn't. Something that would change how she saw the world forever.
Their father glanced ahead at their mother and grandmother, but they hadn't noticed the pause in movement. He let out a slow breath before carefully pulling them to the side, guiding them toward a nearby wooden bench beneath the low-hanging branches of a willow tree.
Cassie didn't realize how tightly she was gripping Calypso's hand until she let go.
She climbed up beside Calypso, the damp wood cool against the backs of her legs. Their father knelt in front of them, resting his hands on his knees, his dark eyes soft but serious. He was quiet for a moment, as if choosing his words with great care.
"Caly," he said gently, brushing a damp curl from Calypso's forehead. "Grandad isn't coming back."
"Why not?"
Cassie saw the way their father's shoulders shifted, the way his throat bobbed before he spoke again. His voice was soft, the same voice he used when they were sick, when he sat by their beds and read to them until they fell asleep.
"Because he died sweetheart," he said softly. "Do you know what that means? What death is?"
"No."
Cassie felt her stomach tighten. She knew what was coming next.
Their father nodded as if he expected that answer. "It means he's gone, my love. He was very sick, and when people get too sick, sometimes they…they can't get better."
Calypso's frown deepened, her small hands curling into the fabric of her dress. "But Mama's a Healer. She fixes people. Why didn't she fix Grandad?"
Cassie felt a sharp sting behind her eyes. It was such a simple question, and yet, it held so much weight.
Cassie watched as their father's face tightened for just a moment before smoothing again. "Some things can't be fixed." He reached for her hands, holding them between his own. "Grandfather's soul has moved on. He's not sick anymore, but it also means he won't be with us."
Calypso didn't seem to like that answer. Her lower lip trembled. "Forever?"
"Forever."
Calypso sniffled, her cheeks blotchy with the effort of holding back tears. "I don't want it to be forever."
Cassie sat still, staring at her hands. She had known this moment was coming — Grandad had been sick for a long time — but now that it was here, she didn't know what to do with it. She didn't like the way her father's voice sounded, so careful and quiet. She didn't like the way her mother had hardly looked at them all morning. She didn't like the way her grandmother stood off to the side, her veil hiding her tears.
She didn't like any of it.
She suddenly wished she could be as small as Calypso again, too young to understand.
Calypso wiped at her nose, her eyes growing shinier with each second. "Will we ever see him again?"
Their father exhaled, reaching out to brush her hair from her face. "One day," he promised. "But not for a very long time. If things go well, not for a very long time."
Calypso sniffled again, but nodded, as if she was trying to be brave.
A shift in the air made Cassie glance back toward the crowd. The soft murmur of voices had grown quieter. The low hum of music swelled in the distance, signaling the start of the burial. Their father exhaled, giving Calypso's hands one last squeeze before helping them down from the bench.
"Come on, my loves," he murmured. "It's time to say goodbye."
Cassie let herself be pulled up, her legs stiff from the damp chill in the air. She tried to focus on the feeling of her father's hand around hers, the warmth of it, steady and strong. But as they rejoined their mother, she felt that warmth fading, replaced by something heavier.
The casket was lowering.
Cassie barely noticed the water collecting on her lashes, blurring her vision as she watched it sink beneath the earth. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, her fingers tightening around Calypso's.
A sniffle came from beside her.
Calypso had stopped clutching her hand and was now gripping her sleeve, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Her wide eyes were locked on the descending casket, her small face frozen in something Cassie had never seen before.
Not sadness.
Not confusion.
Fear.
The last inch of the casket disappeared and Calypso turned to her, looking up at her with tearful eyes.
"I don't like death."
Her voice was so small, so fragile. The weight of it hit Cassie all at once. The words felt heavier than the rain, heavier than the grief pressing down on them.
Cassie stared at her, her heartbeat hammering in her ears.
She barely had time to process it before—
The scene shattered.
Cassie jolted awake, her breath catching as Calypso's voice echoed in her mind, the image of her wide, fearful eyes still burned into the darkness behind her lids. For a brief, disorienting moment, she wasn't in her four-poster bed at Hogwarts — she was back there, trapped in the dream, in the memory, watching it unfold as helplessly as she had every time before.
Her pulse thrummed loudly in her ears as she took in her surroundings, the heavy drapes around her bed filtering in the dim, early morning light. The weight in her chest felt unbearable, like something was pressing down on her ribcage, holding her in place even though she was already awake. She sucked in a sharp breath, forcing air into her lungs.
The dormitory was calm save for the shuffling of feet and whispered conversation between her friends. The world around her felt too real, too solid, like she'd been violently yanked from somewhere else.
Slowly, she turned her head to the small calendar on her nightstand.
February 21st.
A sigh escaped her lips, and she pressed her fingers against her temples, trying to will away the dull ache that was already forming behind her eyes.
Of course.
She should have known before even looking. It didn't matter how much time passed or how much she tried to move forward — this day always found a way to drag her back. She had that dream every year.
It wasn't just the dream. It was the knowing. The moment she opened her eyes and saw the date, something deep inside her remembered.
It always came on this day, slipping into her subconscious like an unshakable ghost. She used to wake up crying when she was younger, but now? Now it was just a dull ache. The kind of pain that never really left — just settled into her bones, waiting for moments like these to remind her it was still there. It never failed to pull her back into the past no matter how much she tried to move forward.
She blinked hard, rubbing the exhaustion from her face as she sat there for a moment, trying to collect herself.
The quiet rustling of fabric and the occasional clink of a belt buckle or shoelace reminded her that she wasn't alone. Cassie glanced around and realized she was the last one awake. Padma stood by the mirror, fixing the collar of her uniform, while Serena sat on the edge of her bed, tugging her hair into a loose ponytail. Lorelei, perched on her trunk, was fastening the buckles on her shoes.
Their usual morning chatter quieted when they turned and saw her sitting up, still half-trapped in the dream. Instead, all three of them had turned their attention to her.
"Cass? You alright?" Padma was the first to ask, her voice soft but careful.
Cassie hesitated.
"You look like you had a nightmare," Serena added bluntly, giving Cassie a once-over.
Cassie's gaze flickered to Serena, but she didn't answer right away. Her throat was dry, her mind still tangled in the remnants of the dream. She swallowed hard, as if that alone could force down the lump forming there.
"I did," she admitted finally. Her voice was hoarse, like the dream had reached out and dragged its fingers across her vocal cords. "It was about my sister."
The air in the room shifted instantly.
Lorelei stood, walking over to sit beside Cassie on the edge of the bed. She didn't say anything right away, just watched her with an expression that wasn't filled with the same careful hesitancy as the others. It was just understanding.
"Are you okay?"
Was she okay?
No. Not really.
But how was she supposed to explain that? How was she supposed to put into words the exhaustion she felt — not just from lack of sleep, but from the way grief wrapped itself around her like something she could never fully shake? How could she explain that waking up from that dream always felt like resurfacing from deep, freezing water, gasping for breath only to realize the weight never really left?
Then, Lorelei's hand found Cassie's shoulder, warm and grounding.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Cassie hesitated. She knew it would probably help. It always did, in some way, to get it out. But she was so tired. Talking meant reliving it, dragging the memory into the waking world where it would sit heavy in her chest for the rest of the day. And even if she talked about it, what would she say? That she dreamt about a funeral that happened years ago? That she saw Calypso's face again and it still made her stomach drop?
No words would change anything.
She swallowed down everything she wanted to say and instead murmured, "It's just…it's Calypso's birthday." She glanced toward the calendar again before looking away. "I always have this dream on this day. It's an old memory — one that surfaced after she died."
A silence stretched between them.
Serena looked down, something uncharacteristically soft in her expression. Padma's hands fidgeted at the hem of her sweater, like she wanted to say something but didn't know what. Lorelei just squeezed Cassie's shoulder.
Cassie cleared her throat, trying to shake off the weight pressing against her ribs. "I think I might skip classes today," she admitted after a moment. "I just need some time to pull myself together."
The words felt half-formed, like she wasn't entirely sure of them herself. A part of her thought she should go to class, keep moving, push through the fog in her head. But what was the point?
She knew skipping wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't make the dream go away, wouldn't make the weight in her chest disappear. But she knew she wouldn't be able to focus. Even if she went, she'd just be staring at her parchment, pretending to care about whatever Sprout was droning on about or trying to focus on Ancient Runes when her mind was anywhere but present. It felt impossible.
If there was any solace, it was that she had Charms today. If there was one professor who would understand, it was Flitwick.
"We can stay with you," Lorelei offered immediately. Padma and Serena both nodded.
"Honestly, I wouldn't mind another day off," Serena added. "Binns was already putting me to sleep yesterday."
Cassie felt warmth creep into her chest at their willingness to stay, but she shook her head. "You guys don't have to do that."
She appreciated them, more than she could put into words, but it wasn't a good idea. If all four of them skipped classes, someone would notice. And while she might be able to get away with it, she doubted professors would let all four of them slide so easily. The last thing she needed was to get them all detention just because she couldn't handle a school day.
"I just need some time alone."
Serena folded her arms. "Are you sure? We could bring you breakfast—"
"It's okay. I'll come down in a bit."
Hesitation flickered between them, none of them eager to leave her alone, but eventually, one by one, they relented. Before stepping out, Lorelei cast one last look over her shoulder, eyes still full of concern. "If you change your mind, we're here, alright?"
Cassie nodded, then watched them disappear down the staircase, their voices fading as they descended toward the common room.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Cassie sat still for a moment, trying to will away the exhaustion pressing into her skull. But it didn't work. With a quiet sigh, she pushed her covers off and swung her legs over the side of the bed, feeling heavy, weighed down by everything simmering beneath the surface. She forced herself to her feet and began to move on autopilot, tugging on her uniform as her mind whirled.
The dream still clung to her, stubborn and lingering, but it wasn't the only thing looming over her. The past few weeks had been relentless — assignments piling up, exams creeping closer, deadlines tightening around her like a noose. It was suffocating, each new demand stacking on top of the last, leaving her with no room to think, no time to breathe.
And yet, somehow, there was always more.
Her hand stilled mid-reach for her sweater as her gaze landed on the letter sitting on her desk. The parchment sat neatly atop her books, right where she left it last night.
She hadn't even wanted to open it at first. It had felt heavy in her hands, like whatever was inside would add another burden to the ever-growing pile. But she had read it anyway.
With a sigh, she stepped over and picked it up, unfolding it again.
Dear Miss Valencourt,
I hope this letter finds you well. I have spent the past few weeks looking into the subject we discussed, and I believe I may have found someone who can provide you with more information regarding what you're looking for. They are willing to meet, should you be open to it.
I understand that this is a matter of both importance and discretion, and I assure you that I have been as careful as possible in my inquiries. The individual in question has some knowledge of the Scrolls of Athanasia, though the details they are willing to share remain to be seen. They have expressed interest in speaking with you directly.
If you are interested, I would be happy to arrange a meeting. Lavender has informed me that Hogwarts has a scheduled Hogsmeade weekend in March. If that suits you, I can arrange for the meeting to take place then. Please let me know at your earliest convenience if you are interested, and I will make the necessary arrangements.
Sincerely,
Edward Brown
Cassie exhaled slowly, setting the letter back down.
She should feel relieved. This was what she wanted — a lead, a step forward, something tangible to hold onto. Instead, all she felt was exhausted.
It was just another thing. Another responsibility. Another thread in the tangled mess of things she had to juggle.
And wasn't that always the way of it? One thing after another, pressing down on her shoulders until she wasn't sure how she was still standing.
Cassie dragged a hand down her face, shaking her head. There was no point in dwelling on it now. She still had time to figure things out. For now, she just had to make it through the day.
She moved on autopilot, finishing getting ready with slow, deliberate motions. Her body knew the routine, even if her mind was somewhere else entirely.
Shove it down. Tuck it away. She had done it before — every year, without fail. It wasn't easy, but she could do it. She always did.
The Great Hall hummed with morning chatter, but to Cassie, it felt like nothing more than distant background noise, a dull buzz against the pounding in her head. She'd joined the other girls at the Ravenclaw table, her steps automatic, as if her body knew where to go even if her mind was too tired to keep up. Padma was already waiting with her Herbology notes, the pages neatly spread out in front of them, but Cassie's eyes barely registered the words on the page. The scent of warm porridge and bacon filled the air, but she couldn't quite focus on that either.
"Alright," Padma said, her voice soft but steady, "Let's try to break this down, yeah? Wiggentree and wormwood, right?"
Cassie blinked, trying to shake the fog from her mind. "Uh...yeah, okay," she murmured, her gaze drifting to the diagrams on the page. But even though the drawings were right in front of her, they might as well have been a blur. The more she tried to focus, the more distant everything seemed.
She'd agreed to study with Padma because, frankly, she didn't think she'd be able to do it alone, but even with Padma's patient guidance, her brain wasn't cooperating. She just…couldn't.
"Okay," Padma said, breaking the silence between them, "Let's go over it again. How do you tell a wiggentree apart from wormwood?"
It all blended together into a meaningless hum as Cassie stared down at the page, where a sketch of a gnarled-looking tree took up half the parchment. Wiggentree. Or…wormwood? No — wiggentree. Right?
"Uh…the leaves?"
"Right. They have different shapes. Wiggentree has—?"
Cassie squinted at the diagrams in her book, but the leaves all looked the same to her.
"Spiky?"
Padma's smile tightened. "No, that's wormwood. Wiggentree's leaves are smoother and—"
Cassie's eyes glazed over, unable to keep up. The words swirled around her like the steam rising from the tea in her cup, slipping in and out of her head with no real meaning. She felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, watching everything slip from her grasp, just out of reach. The more she tried to focus, the more distant it all became. The plants blurred together, and the words Padma spoke just turned into a dull hum.
A few feet away, Lorelei and Serena were talking. It was hard to ignore them — they weren't being loud, but Lorelei's voice carried a kind of brightness, even if it was slightly strained. Cassie's attention flickered toward their conversation for a moment, but she quickly felt herself tuning it out. Lorelei was asking Serena something about Hagrid, and Cassie found her mind wandering.
When would Hagrid be back? Had anyone heard?
"I don't know," Serena's voice floated over. "I'm just saying, I doubt he's coming back before term ends."
"He will," Lorelei insisted, flicking her spoon against the rim of her teacup. "It's Hagrid. He'd never leave the school for good."
"I, for one, won't be shedding any tears if he doesn't return. His class was never that great. I'd much rather spend my time learning something useful."
"Well, I just miss the way he actually seemed interested in creatures, y'know? Grubby-Plank's just…not the same."
"At least she's a professor you can trust. Not running around keeping secrets, like half the staff here."
Cassie's stomach turned.
Trust.
Her thoughts swirled back to the letter from Mr. Brown. The meeting he'd set up. She didn't even know who it was with. Who they were, what they wanted, or why it had to be so secret. She trusted Mr. Brown — he'd always been kind to her, was more than willing to help her, and he'd promised this wasn't anything dangerous — but the uncertainty gnawed at her.
What if it was someone dangerous? She had no idea who she was meeting, and the thought of being in a room with a stranger, with no one else knowing what was going on, made her skin crawl. She couldn't ask anyone to go with her, either. That would raise too many questions, and Cassie hated questions. She hated the feeling of drawing attention, but more than that, she hated feeling like she was keeping something from her friends.
"Cassie?"
She blinked. Padma was staring at her expectantly.
"Right — sorry. What was the question?"
Cassie tried to focus on the pages in front of her, the Herbology diagrams blurred in her vision. Padma sighed, but there was no real annoyance in it. "Do you remember which creature resides in the wiggentree?"
"Uh…pixie?"
"Not quite. Bowtruckle, remember?"
"Sorry, yeah. Can we…can we just go over this again?"
Padma's lips twitched in a soft smile, but before she could say anything, something small and pink landed in front of Cassie, breaking her attention. It was a delicate, heart-shaped box, tied with a ribbon and topped with a folded note, gently resting on her Herbology book.
Cassie blinked and looked up, her eyes scanning the air. No owl. No one had approached their table. She turned toward the far end of the table, wondering if someone had tossed it, but no one was looking her way.
Serena and Lorelei had stopped talking immediately, both of them now staring at the box with obvious curiosity. Serena raised an eyebrow. "What's that?" she asked, her voice suspicious.
"Uh…I'm not sure."
Lorelei leaned forward slightly, her gaze fixed on the box with a curious look on her face. "Who's it from? What's the note say?"
Cassie hesitated, then picked up the small piece of parchment. The handwriting was instantly recognizable — messy, slanted, familiar.
Dear Soaps,
"What kind of nickname is that?" Lorelei interrupted, her brow furrowing in confusion. She leaned closer, her chin practically touching the table as she tried to read the note over the top of the parchment.
Cassie rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. "It's a long story," she muttered, brushing Lorelei off and trying to focus back on the note.
Sorry for the late delivery. Hope this makes up for it. If it doesn't, then I'll accept my fate and let you hex me — ONCE — no questions asked.
A memory flickered in her mind — Valentine's Day, teasing Fred about forgetting to bring sweets. She could almost hear his chuckle, feel the way he held onto her arm. A warmth spread through her chest despite herself.
"Must be chocolates or something," she muttered to herself, feeling a faint flicker of warmth.
Lorelei's voice cut through her thoughts. "Open them! Let's see what kind of sweets he sent! If it's anything good, maybe I'll swipe one."
Cassie gave a half-smile at Lorelei's excitement and looked over at the Gryffindor table. Fred was sitting behind her, watching her with wide, hopeful eyes, his grin spreading even further as their gazes met. She couldn't help but appreciate the gesture, even if it was a little unexpected. Maybe this was the little pick-me-up she needed.
She tugged at the ribbon and lifted the lid—
Poof.
A cloud of red and pink glitter exploded out of the box, bursting into the air like a firework set off too close.
Tiny flecks of shimmering dust clung to her lashes, tickling the bridge of her nose, catching in the strands of her hair. Cassie sat, unmoving, as the glitter rained down in slow motion, coating her robes, her hands, the open pages of her book. A few stray specks landed in her tea, spinning lazily before sinking beneath the surface.
Fred and George's laughter echoed from the other side of the room, but Cassie didn't hear it. She didn't see them. She didn't feel the familiar warmth of their joke. All she could feel was the weight of the glitter on her face, the heaviness in her chest.
There was no real malice behind the prank. She knew that. But the weight of the morning, the exhaustion pressing down on her, the unspoken grief still rattling in her chest — it was all too much.
Serena was the first to react, swiping a napkin from the table and attempting to brush some of the glitter off Cassie's sleeve. "It's everywhere," she muttered.
Lorelei reached out, brushing some off Cassie's shoulder. "At least it's — uh. Pretty?"
Her mind felt blank, yet unbearably loud at the same time. Her thoughts scattered again, and before she could even think about it, the tears came. They weren't loud or dramatic, just slow and quiet, like everything inside her that had been pushed down for so long finally found its way to the surface. The weight of it all crashed over her.
The room around her felt small, suffocating, but she couldn't stop it. She couldn't stop the tears. She just sat there for a moment, completely still.
Cassie's breath hitched, and suddenly, the laugh she meant to force out came out strangled, breaking into a sob. Without even realizing what she was doing, she stood up, wiping her face with the back of her hand. Her heart was pounding, her hands shaking, and she couldn't stay here anymore. She couldn't breathe here, couldn't process it all under the weight of everyone else's eyes on her.
"I…" Cassie started, but the words wouldn't come.
"I can't do this," she muttered, wiping her eyes in an attempt to stop the tears, but it only made them come faster.
"Cass?" Padma's voice was careful, concerned.
"Cassie, wait—" Lorelei started, but Cassie was already moving.
Cassie turned and fled the table, her heart pounding as she hurried out of the Great Hall, ignoring her friends' worried shouts. She didn't want to stay.
She didn't have the energy to fight it anymore. All she knew was she had to get out. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't hold herself together any longer.
As she left, the laughter behind her faded, and the glitter sparkled in her wake.
Cassie barely registered the sound of her own footsteps echoing through the corridors. Her vision blurred with each fresh wave of tears, the flickering torchlight smearing across the stone walls like paint running down a damp canvas. Every corner she turned, she tried to ignore the looks of concern from students who passed her by. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered right now except getting to her dorm and locking herself away in the safety of her thoughts.
She knew rest wouldn't come easy, not with the way her chest ached, not with the way her mind buzzed with emotions she didn't know how to contain. The glitter still clung to her like a cruel joke, dusting her robes, tangled in her hair, speckling her hands like stars scattered across an empty sky.
She barely noticed when she almost collided with Professor Flitwick, who was heading in the opposite direction.
"Oh — goodness!" a familiar voice squeaked in surprise. Cassie stumbled back a step, lifting her gaze just enough to see Professor Flitwick peering up at her. His usual warm expression faltered as he took in her tear-streaked face.
"My dear girl," he said gently. "What's happened?"
Cassie shook her head quickly, an instinctive attempt to dismiss the question, but her throat clenched too tightly to force words past it. She tried again — tried to say nothing, I'm fine, it's stupid, don't worry — but all that came out was a small, broken hiccup.
Flitwick's sharp eyes flickered over her, taking in the glitter clinging to her robes, the trembling of her fingers as she wiped furiously at her cheeks. Whatever he saw made his expression tighten, and with a gentle nod, he gestured toward the door just down the hall.
"Come," he said kindly. "Let's step into my office for a moment."
Cassie hesitated. The thought of stopping, of sitting, of letting the weight of everything settle — it was almost unbearable. She wanted to keep moving, to outrun the emotions pressing in on her. But Flitwick's voice was steady, grounding, and before she could think better of it, she found herself following him.
The rhythmic shuffle of their footsteps echoed in the corridor as he ushered her through a door to his cozy, cluttered office. It smelled faintly of parchment and herbs, comforting, soothing.
A fresh wave of tears slipped down her cheeks as she collapsed into the chair in front of his desk, burying her face in her hands. Flitwick didn't speak right away. He didn't ask her to explain or try to force her to stop crying. Instead, he simply stood beside her, waiting, his presence steady and patient, like an anchor. He knew from experience that sometimes, all someone needed was time.
"I—" Cassie tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat, and she burst into more tears.
"Take your time, dear. I'm not going anywhere."
After a few moments, he moved to his desk and conjured a handkerchief, placing it beside her with a gentle hand. Cassie took it with trembling fingers, pressing the soft fabric against her face as she fought to steady her breathing.
Minutes passed in silence, but it was not a heavy silence. It was an understanding one.
When Cassie finally lowered the handkerchief, Professor Flitwick pulled a chair closer, settling across from her. His small frame might have made him seem delicate to some, but there was something solid and unwavering in the way he carried himself — a quiet strength that put her at ease.
"There now," he said softly. "Whenever you're ready."
She was so tired. Tired of carrying this, of holding it all in, of pretending it wasn't there. She didn't want to talk, didn't want to explain, but Flitwick was patient, and his presence — so familiar, so steady — was enough to pull the words from her anyway.
"It's Calypso's birthday." She paused, as though those words alone carried the weight of years. "I was fine. I was fine. Keeping it together. But…I don't know. Fred — he…" Her voice broke, and she stopped, shaking her head as if trying to make sense of everything. "It was just a stupid prank. Harmless. But it was too much. I don't know why."
Flitwick hummed thoughtfully, glancing at the lingering shimmer of pink and red dusting her robes. "That would explain the glitter." His voice was light, as if attempting to ease the weight in the air.
Cassie managed a tiny, watery smile in response, but the tears didn't stop. It only made her feel worse.
"I just — I know Fred must feel guilty. I left without saying anything, and I made a scene. Merlin, I shouldn't have let it get that far. I have to apologize."
"I'm sure Fred won't mind. He understands more than you think. Besides," he added with a small, half-hearted chuckle, "The glitter is an easy fix."
Flitwick studied her for a moment longer, then, with a flick of his wand, the glitter vanished from her robes, her hair, her skin. The relief was immediate — at least in a physical sense. But inside, Cassie still felt weighed down, as if the glitter had settled into her bones instead.
She took a slow, shaking breath. "I just — I don't understand," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "It's been years. I should be fine. I should be over it. I should be able to handle this, but I can't. I'm just so tired."
"Cassiopeia. Grief doesn't work on a schedule. It doesn't simply disappear because time has passed. If anything, it lingers longer when we try to ignore it."
Flitwick's expression grew more serious, and he stepped closer to her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. His touch was warm, grounding, as if reminding her she wasn't alone.
"Grief is a strange thing. It doesn't follow rules, nor does it fade simply because we will it to. It is something we learn to live alongside."
"I just — I don't want to be weak about it. I don't want people to feel like they have to—"
"Dear, you've never allowed yourself the space to grieve. You've kept it all in for so long, you haven't had the time to properly heal. It's no surprise that it's all coming to the surface now. Caring about someone you lost is not weakness. And allowing yourself to feel — truly feel — that loss does not make you any less strong."
Cassie opened her mouth, but no words came.
"You don't have to bury your feelings. You're allowed to rest. You're allowed to be tired. I know you've been through something difficult, and it takes time. You don't have to push through this all by yourself."
Flitwick gave her hand a comforting squeeze. "Perhaps it is time you allow yourself to feel it properly," he suggested. "To sit with it. To let it hurt. To acknowledge that it is still a part of you, even now."
"I just miss home," Cassie whispered, her voice barely audible. "I miss my family. I feel so far away, and it's been so long since I've written."
"I can imagine. It's not easy being away from home when you're carrying so much. When was the last time you wrote to your parents?"
"It was during Hogsmeade weekend. I — I've been so wrapped up in everything, I just didn't make time."
"You should write to them again," Flitwick suggested, his tone kind but firm. "A letter might help ease your heart a little. It's a small thing, but sometimes it's the simplest things that make the biggest difference."
Flitwick stood up straight and moved to his desk, where he retrieved a piece of parchment and a quill. He handed them to her with a small, encouraging smile. "Take your time. No rush. And, if there's anything else I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask."
Cassie took the parchment and quill, her hands still trembling slightly. She had so much she wanted to say, but not enough words to say them. She hadn't realized how much she'd been avoiding that connection to home, but now the idea of writing to her parents felt like the right thing to do.
Dear Mum and Dad,
I hope everything's well at home. I've been keeping up with my studies, but I wanted to write to you about something I've been struggling with lately. I thought I was fine. I told myself I was fine. But I wasn't. I'm not.
I miss Calypso. I miss home. I miss both of you.
It's been so hard, and I don't understand why it's hitting me like this after all this time. I thought I had everything under control, but today's been difficult. Something small happened, something that shouldn't have mattered. I'm doing my best to keep my head up, but I'm learning that it's okay to take breaks when I need them.
I miss you both so much. I wish I could be there with you, especially today. Please don't worry about me, though. I'll be okay.
I'll write again soon. I love you both.
Love,
Cassie
She wrote for a while, the words pouring out of her as she shared the weight on her heart with her parents. It was simple, but it felt like a release. When she finished, she looked up at Flitwick, who had been quietly watching her, a gentle smile on his face.
"Will you be sending it now, or later today?"
Cassie sighed and stood up, stretching. "I think I'll send it now. I don't want to wait."
Flitwick nodded in approval. He walked with her toward the door, and she thanked him quietly, wiping the last of the tears from her face and taking a deep breath. He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"I'll let you get some rest, Cassie. Don't be afraid to come talk to me if you need anything."
"Thank you," she said softly, her voice hoarse from crying. As she stepped out of his office, she felt…not better, exactly, but lighter. Like the weight wasn't pressing quite so hard.
She made her way to the Owlery, the crisp air stinging against her damp cheeks. When she arrived, she felt the familiar calm settle over her. The towering structure was quiet, save for the soft coos and trills of the owls perched around the room. Her eyes immediately found Styx, her small, brown owl, perched on a high beam. The owl seemed to sense her presence, looking down at her with those knowing eyes before flying down to land on her shoulder.
"Hey, Styx," Cassie whispered, her voice hoarse. The owl nuzzled into her hair, as if trying to comfort her, and Cassie smiled faintly. Styx had always been the one thing that made her feel a connection to home, to her family.
Styx cooed softly, rubbing her head against Cassie's cheek, sensing that something was wrong. She trilled again, pressing closer. Cassie closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sound of the owl's gentle coos soothe her. Styx always knew when something was off, when Cassie needed her most.
With a small, shaky sigh, Cassie tied the letter to Styx's leg, watching the owl patiently as she fluffed her feathers and adjusted the letter. "Take care of this, okay?" she whispered. The owl hooted softly, as if to say, "I've got it."
With a final nudge, Styx took flight, soaring through the window and into the open sky. Cassie stood there for a while, watching her owl vanish into the distance. For a long moment, she stood there, arms wrapped around herself, listening to the quiet rustle of wings and the distant wind against the castle walls.
She turned, making her way back toward Ravenclaw Tower.
Just a few hours of rest. Then maybe — just maybe — she'd feel a little lighter.
A soft murmur drifted through the dormitory, threading its way into Cassie's half-conscious mind. It was distant at first, like the remnants of a fading dream, but as she surfaced from sleep, the hushed voices sharpened, breaking through the hazy quiet.
She resisted waking at first, the pull of sleep still heavy, her body sluggish with exhaustion. Everything ached — not sharply, but in the dull, lingering way that came after a day spent carrying too much, the weight of emotions pressing into every muscle.
She stirred against the blankets, her body reluctant to leave the cocoon of warmth. The air outside her bed was cool against her skin, the ever-present draft of the Ravenclaw Tower brushing over her arms where they peeked from beneath the covers.
With a quiet groan, Cassie forced her eyes open. The dim candlelight flickered against the high stone ceiling, casting long, shifting shadows across the room. She blinked against the bleariness clouding her vision, her gaze dragging over the familiar outlines of the dormitory — the high arched window, the rich blue curtains framing each bed, the faint shimmer of enchantments woven into the walls.
The sky outside was a deep navy, dotted with stars. She turned her head just enough to catch a glimpse of the small clock on her nightstand. Her stomach gave a feeble protest at the realization that she'd slept straight through dinner.
A faint grumble slipped from her lips as she shifted onto her side, intending to bury her face into the pillow and ignore whatever was going on. But across the room, the voices came again — soft, conspiratorial whispers, threaded with anticipation.
Her friends were huddled together a few feet away, their faces half-lit in the dim glow of the enchanted lantern on Padma's nightstand. Cassie let out an incoherent, half-muffled sound as she pushed herself upright, the motion far more effort than it should have been. A wave of disorientation dragged through her skull, the kind that came with waking too fast after too long.
"…What are you lot whispering about?"
The conversation stopped instantly.
Four heads turned toward her in unison.
"You're awake!" Lorelei said, perking up like a startled owl.
Cassie pushed herself upright, feeling as though her bones had been replaced with lead. A yawn escaped before she could stop it, and she ran a hand over her face, her body still protesting the movement. "Unfortunately." Her voice came out thick, still wrapped in sleep. "How long was I asleep?"
"Quite a while," Serena teased with a grin. "We debated if we should check for a pulse."
"If I'm dead, I'd like to request a slightly less noisy afterlife."
"Noted."
Padma, sitting cross-legged at the foot of Cassie's bed, nudged her knee gently. "How are you feeling?"
Cassie hesitated, rolling her shoulders to shake off the stiffness. "Like I got trampled by a herd of hippogriffs," she admitted, voice still rough around the edges. She rubbed her temple before her gaze drifted across the room — only then realizing there was an extra figure among them.
Hermione.
"What's—?"
"We have something for you," Serena cut in before she could finish, leaning back against the footboard of Lorelei's bed. "If you're up for it."
Cassie glanced between them, suspicion creeping in. It wasn't unusual for them to scheme together, but the way they were looking at her — like they were waiting for her to agree to something big — made her wary.
"…What kind of thing?"
"The kind that requires shoes," Lorelei said, already tossing Cassie's nearby ones toward her.
"That's not an answer."
"Nope," Serena said cheerfully.
Hermione shot her a dry look but turned to Cassie with a small smile. "We wanted to do something for you," she said. "Something to cheer you up."
Cassie hesitated, still groggy, her brain playing a losing battle between exhaustion and curiosity. Part of her wanted to burrow back under the blankets, to let sleep drag her under again. The day had been…long. Heavy in a way that settled in her chest like an iron weight.
But the hopeful look on her friends' faces gave her pause.
Even Serena, who usually took a more skeptical stance toward anything overly sentimental, was here, sitting among them, clearly in on whatever they had planned.
"Fine, but if this ends with me getting detention, I'm dragging all of you down with me."
Lorelei gasped dramatically. "And after all we've done for you? How cruel."
Still shaking off the last remnants of sleep, Cassie swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stretching stiff muscles before pulling on her shoes. She straightened her wrinkled shirt half-heartedly, running a hand through her tangled hair before giving up on the notion of looking remotely put together.
Cassie, still confused, trailed after the others as they slipped out of the dormitory, down the spiral staircase, and into the Ravenclaw common room. The fire crackled warmly in the hearth, but they didn't linger. They stepped through the arched doorway and out into the corridors, the castle quiet aside from the occasional distant echo of movement.
Cassie quickened her steps to walk beside Padma. "Are you going to tell me what this is, or…?"
Padma simply shook her head. "You'll see. Besides, only Hermione actually knows the way."
Cassie shot Hermione a suspicious look, but the older girl merely smiled enigmatically.
The longer they walked, the more Cassie's curiosity grew, her fatigue slowly giving way to intrigue. The girls led her down staircases, through winding corridors, until finally, they stopped in front of a large portrait of an old wizard with a wild tangle of hair. Cassie squinted at the plaque beneath the frame.
Archibald Alderton.
"Okay, so…why are we stopped at—"
Hermione — who had been oddly quiet this whole time — stepped forward. Without explaining, she leaned in and muttered something to the portrait, too low for Cassie to catch. The portrait nodded sagely, then, with a deep creaking sound, swung open to reveal a hidden passageway.
Cool, musty air drifted out, thick with the scent of damp stone and something older, something untouched. Cassie blinked. Sleep deprivation was definitely hitting too hard, because there was no way that had just happened.
"Since when is there a passage here?"
"Since always," Hermione said, smug. "Just not as well-known as some of the others."
"How did you—?" Lorelei begins, then huffs, crossing her arms. "Alright, Granger. Spill. We all know about tickling the lemon bowl at this point, but I've never heard of this passage. How did you even find this?"
Hermione merely shrugged, though there was a flicker of amusement in her expression.
Cassie blinked, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "And where exactly does this go?"
"Why don't you find out?"
Cassie hesitated for only a second before stepping inside, ducking beneath a low-hanging beam as the others followed. The tunnel was narrow and musty, cobwebs clinging to the edges of the stone walls. She could hear the quiet drip of water somewhere, the damp air thick with the scent of moss. The deeper they went, the more the passage sloped downward.
A part of her — the part still tethered to exhaustion — wanted to question whether this had been a good idea. But with every step, her curiosity won out, something restless and searching unfurling in her chest.
Then, just as the tunnel curved once more, the wall ahead of them shifted with a low, grinding sound. A door-sized section of stone slid open, revealing—
Warmth. A soft, golden glow spilled out, pooling at their feet, flickering against the damp tunnel walls.
Cassie stepped forward, breath catching slightly as she took it in. She couldn't see much yet, just the glow, but there was something comforting about it. Familiar, even. The scent of baked bread, melted butter, and warm spices flooded her senses, wrapping around her like a thick, heavy blanket.
As the girls moved further inside, the glow sharpened into the flickering warmth of lanterns strung across the towering racks of copper pots and hanging ladles. The Hogwarts kitchens were bustling — house-elves flitted from counter to counter, cleaning up the remnants of dinner, stacking plates with an efficiency that made Cassie's head spin. The sheer size of the place was dizzying, nearly mirroring the Great Hall above, with long wooden tables stretching out beneath the high ceiling. Copper pots hung from racks, gleaming in the warm glow, and the air hummed with the soft clatter of utensils and the bubbling of simmering sauces.
Before she could fully process what she was looking at, a particularly wide-eyed house-elf scurried toward Hermione, his bat-like ears twitching.
"Miss Granger! Dobby is honored to see you again!"
Cassie blinked in surprise, eyes darting between Hermione and the elf.
"Hello, Dobby." Hermione smiled and gestured to the others. "These are my friends."
He gave the girls a deep bow before straightening, his enormous green eyes darting across them. Dobby's thin lips stretched into a nervous grin as he adjusted the pair of mismatched socks slouched around his ankles.
Cassie stared for a moment before looking to Hermione. "Er — nice to meet you," she said slowly. "So…why exactly are we in the kitchens?"
The girls exchanged quick glances before Padma stepped forward, her voice light but purposeful. "Because we remember you saying that baking helps you when you're stressed. And we also know you haven't been able to since coming to Hogwarts."
"I mean…yeah, but—"
"Hermione saw you at breakfast this morning," Lorelei cut in gently. "She knew you weren't doing great and thought she might have a way to cheer you up."
Cassie stared at them, something softening at the edges of her exhaustion.
"We figured you could use a night off. Something to help take your mind off things. The house-elves were more than happy to let us use the kitchen for the night," Hermione said lightly, though she huffed, crossing her arms. "Though I did have to promise to stop 'threatening' to free them."
Cassie let out a choked laugh, but the sound barely left her lips before her throat tightened. The warmth in her stomach curled, thick with something she couldn't quite name — something dangerously close to overwhelming.
Emotion swelled in Cassie's throat, her chest suddenly tight with something unfamiliar. She wasn't about to cry again, but — Merlin.
They remembered.
She wasn't sure why that thought unraveled her so quickly, but it did. It was one thing to have friends, but another entirely to be seen like this — to have someone notice the quiet things, the things you don't even realize you need, and do something about it simply because they care.
It was so simple, the way they cared. The way they showed it, not by saying the right words, but by being here. By making her laugh. By making her feel like it was okay to have these moments of warmth even on days when it felt like she shouldn't.
A familiar pressure built behind her eyes, but for the first time that day, it wasn't from sorrow or exhaustion. It was something else entirely.
Her vision blurred before she could stop it.
Immediately, the girls went into a flurry of concern.
"Oh, no—"
"Cass, what's wrong?"
"Do you need to sit down—?"
Cassie let out a weak laugh, swiping at her damp lashes. "I'm fine," she assured them, her voice thick. "I just—" She exhaled, shaking her head. "You guys are kind of ridiculous, you know that?"
Relief swept through the group. Before she could react, arms wrapped around her from all sides, a tangle of warmth and fabric as her friends squeezed her in a crushing embrace.
Lorelei let out an exaggerated breath. "Merlin, don't scare us like that," she teased, pulling her closer.
"Sorry. I just — thank you. Really."
"Right, well. Now that we've all had a touching moment, can we get started," Serena quipped, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the amount of emotion in the air. "Because we went through a lot of effort, and I really want to make a mess of Padma's jumper with flour."
Cassie let out another watery laugh, shaking her head with a grin. "Hand me an apron."
The tension in the air dissolved as they got to work. Dobby led them toward one of the long cooking tables, where an array of baking ingredients and dishes were neatly arranged. Several aprons were stacked in a pile, each one patterned differently — Cassie grabbed one embroidered with tiny blue stars and tied it around her waist.
They decided on cupcakes — "In honor of the birthday," as Lorelei put it.
What followed was an hour of controlled chaos.
Lorelei, self-declared cupcake connoisseur, took charge of mixing the batter, but by the time the flour was measured out, Cassie had already gotten a dusting of it across her sweater.
Serena, attempting to measure out sugar, accidentally tipped the bag too far, sending a cloud of white dust into the air.
"Merlin's beard, Serena—"
"I said I had it under control," Serena huffed, coughing as she waved a hand through the sugar-dusted air.
Padma snorted, swiping a streak of flour off her arm. "Right. Total mastery."
Somehow, the mess only escalated from there. A flick of Lorelei's wrist sent a smear of batter onto Padma's cheek. Padma, in retaliation, wiped her flour-covered fingers against Lorelei's arm. Before long, there was as much flour on them as there was in the bowl. Hermione, at one point, got into a quiet but very serious debate with Dobby over proper egg-cracking techniques.
It was messy and loud and exactly what Cassie hadn't known she needed.
By the time the cupcakes were in the oven, the girls were sprawled across the floor and countertops, catching their breath as they waited.
"So," Serena drawled, tipping her head back against the cabinets. "Think Potter's ready for the second task?"
Hermione sighed, pulling her knees up to her chest. "He's under a lot of pressure," she admitted. "But…I believe in him."
Lorelei propped her chin up on her palm. "You should sit with us while we watch."
"I was probably going to sit with Ron—"
"We don't mind if he joins," Padma assured her.
"That…actually sounds nice."
The conversation drifted after that, shifting from Quidditch to classes to, eventually, birthdays. When Hermione curiously asked whose birthday they were celebrating, the mood shifted, just slightly.
The warmth Cassie had been feeling stilled, cooling at the edges. She hesitated, fingers lightly tracing a stray sprinkle on the table's surface.
"…My sister's."
Hermione immediately understood. Her lips parted slightly, as if about to offer words of sympathy, but then she stopped. Instead, she simply nodded. "Then let's make them extra special."
She didn't press further, didn't ask questions — just gave a small, thoughtful smile.
The silence didn't linger long.
"Well, speaking of birthdays," Serena said, stretching her legs out, "Lorelei's is next. What's the plan?"
"After Cassie's birthday, the Yule Ball, New Year's, and Valentine's? I think I'm tapped out." Lorelei slumped against the counter.
"You could do what Serena does," Padma suggests, smirking. "Completely ignore your birthday and pretend it doesn't exist."
"Tempting."
Hermione hummed thoughtfully. "What about a movie night? We could borrow Professor Burbage's VCR."
"Oh, that I could be convinced to do."
Before they could discuss it further, Dobby appeared with a loud pop, beaming as he motioned to the counter. "Cupcakes are ready, miss!"
The girls jumped to their feet, gathering around the tray of warm cupcakes, still soft and golden. The scent of vanilla and sugar curled through the air as they grabbed the decorations — frosting, sprinkles, and an alarming amount of edible glitter.
Lorelei crafted an elaborate design with blue and silver swirls, while Serena went for a chaotic mix of colors. Just as Cassie wiped the last streak of frosting from her fingers, the lights suddenly dimmed.
She turned, blinking in surprise, just as Dobby reappeared with a small, birthday candle in his palm. He held it up to Hermione, who smiled and gently set it in Cassie's hand.
The warmth in her chest softened into something almost fragile. She twisted the candle between her fingers, then slowly pressed it into the frosting. She glanced down at the tiny wick, lighting it with a quiet whisper of Incendio.
For a brief, fleeting moment, the kitchen felt impossibly quiet.
Cassie closed her eyes.
She could almost picture it — her friends fading into the background, the warmth of the lanterns blurring into soft golden light. She imagined, just for a moment, that if she opened her eyes, she'd see her sister sitting across from her. Legs swinging. Grinning cheekily.
Cassie didn't look.
She inhaled deeply, steadying herself. Then, in a voice just above a whisper, she murmured.
"Happy birthday, Caly."
And blew out the candle.
