musical mood: oh no! - marina and the diamonds

"Bloody hell, where is it?" Cass murmured, frantically tossing everything out onto the wooden floor without a care for the mess she was making.

After her...interesting...confrontation with her father, she had been told to go to the Moore's house, but for the first time in her life, there was a more pressing matter at hand than her best friend.

Surely her father was mistaken, surely he had just forgotten about the note he had written her. But the look of fear on his face...it was so raw, so real. Cass just had to check.

Finally, at the bottom of the trunk, all wrinkled up from the time spent crushed from her other items, was the letter her father had written her on Halloween.

She flattened it out on the floor, setting it side by side with the chores list her father had left Winky the night before. As she closely examined the two, her heart dropped to her stomach.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

The handwriting was completely different.

Her father was right. He hadn't written it.

She'd known all along that there was something off about that letter, but it had never occurred to her that her father hadn't sent it at all. Now that she read it again, it was obvious. Aside from the handwriting, how did she not notice every other flaw with the words - the tone, the care, the love? How could she be so damn stupid?

The anger with herself didn't outweigh the hurt for long, though. The only reason Cass had come back to Stromness for the winter holidays was because 'Bartemius' had said he wanted her to. She had thought he might've begun to care for her personal life, with the questions about friends, and boys, and schoolwork.

Then, her hurt shifted to fear, as the looming question shot to the front of her thoughts; if Bartemius didn't write it, then who did?

"What the hell is on your face?"

Cass stared down at the person who had answered the door - Connor's youngest sister Saoirse, a nine year old with fiery red hair and no filter.

"Er...ash." She mumbled, rubbing her palm against her cheek. When she pulled it off, her hand was caked with the black powder. She probably should've washed her face and changed her clothes when she had returned home from her fathers office, but she was in too much of a rush. "Is Connor home?"

"Yes." Saoirse answered, not moving out of the doorframe. It had begun to snow again, and wind began to blow the white powder into the home.

"...May I see Connor?" Cass peered behind her.

"Sure. Why didn't you just ask?" Saoirse moved out of the way, letting Cass in, and shutting the door behind her.

The house was clearly busy, a plethora of voices echoing down the halls, and people Cass didn't recognize pushed past her as she made her way through the cramped rooms. Usually, Connor would be in his bedroom, the one he shared with his brothers Brian and Fionn. But when she finally spotted her friend, he was sat on a couch in their parlour, watching some cartoon on the telly.

"Connor!" She called as she practically ran up to him.

Connor's hazel eyes met hers, and he jumped up off the couch. "Oh my gosh, Cass!"

Within moments, the two were clung to each other, Connor's face buried in her hair that cascaded down the front of her shoulder. Cass closed her eyes, tightening her embrace, as she let out a breath she didn't realise she had been holding.

All the problems from the past few weeks felt miniscule in that moment, the fury she felt towards her father, the confusion about Quirrell, the irritation with Bethany, all seemed so silly in retrospect. Now that she was back with her best friend, she was reminded of the only thing that truly mattered in the world.

Through the months at Hogwarts, she had let herself get too emotional, too caught up in things that didn't actually concern her. Why should she give a damn about Quirrell, or her father, or anything for that matter? Life had been so much easier for Cass when the only thing she cared about was her friend.

"Cass...I can't breathe..." Connor squeaked, and she quickly let go of him.

"Sorry."

"It's alright." He laughed, and Cass felt herself soar with delight. Merlin, that laugh....

"How have you been?" she asked, sitting down on the couch with his hands entwined with hers. "How's school going?"

"Alright." Connor shrugged. "Secondary school is a bit harder, and all my teachers call me Fionn. Apparently we look alike. But I get to meet with a special teacher once a week, who's helping me with reading. She says I have something called...uh...dee-lex-uh? I can't remember how to say it."

"Dyslexia?" Cass offered, and he nodded.

"Yeah, dyslexia. But I'm getting better at writing and reading and all that."

"Really? That's so good! I'm so proud of you!"

Connor bit his lip, suddenly seeming withdrawn. "I take it you didn't read my letters, then. Because I wrote about it in one of them - the teacher helped me."

Cass felt her heart break ever so slightly at the betrayal in his voice. "I never got the letters, my blasted father took them. I wrote to you too, twice, but he never delivered them."

"Why?" He frowned. "Why would he do that? I know he's a dick, but..."

Cass shrugged, happy she didn't have to lie to him for once, because she also didn't know for sure why her father had intercepted their communication. "I don't know. But I can convince him to stop, alright? Don't worry too much."

"Okay. I won't." Connor grinned, and Cass mirrored him. Connor was happy. All was right.

"By the way...why are you covered in ash?"

The two spent over an hour catching up, before Cass was chased home by Connor's mother Catherine. She had asked to spend the night, like her father had so oddly requested, but turns out the Moore's had relatives over from Ireland for the holidays, and they had absolutely no room left for her.

Cass wasn't too bothered. Sure, she would've preferred to spend the night with Connor instead of alone in her creepy house, but at least she had got to see him, and confirm they were still best friends.

She felt like nothing could tear her mood down as she entered her home, stomping the snow off of her shoes and basking in the warmth from the lit fireplace in the parlour. Of course, she was right. Nothing could make her upset, and seeing Connor had reminded her of that.

Apathy was a skill she had mastered as a young child, and her time at Hogwarts so far had led her away from it. The more she felt, and the more she expected from others, the more miserable she would be. Seeing Connor had reminded her that he was truly the only thing in the world worth getting emotional about. Her father, Quirrell, anyone else, who bloody cared?

Not Cass, that was for sure.

"What is Mistress Cassiopeia doing here?!" A squeaky voice echoed from down the hall, as Winky dashed into the parlour with wide eyes. "Mistress Cassiopeia is supposed to be sleeping over at her muggle friend's house!"

"Yeah, they have family visiting, so I can't." Cass shrugged, sitting down on the couch. She adored the elf, how could you not, but Merlin could she be dramatic.

"Mistress Cassiopeia is not supposed to be here!" Winky seemed on the brink of a proper panic attack, shaking and hyperventilating as though the world were about to end.

Cass stared at her, a mixture of an amused and bewildered expression on her face. "Winky, I know I've been away at Hogwarts, but I still live here."

"Winky is going to get Master Bartemius Sr.! Mistress Cassiopeia must stay right here, okay?"

"Okay..." Cass blinked as the elf apparated away with a snap.

What the hell?

Even if she wanted to move, she wouldn't have had time, as just moments later, Winky returned with Bartemius at her side, looking uncharacteristically frazzled. His grey hair was out of place, his clothes crooked, and his brown eyes wide.

"What are you doing here?"

"Bloody hell, have you all seriously forgotten that I live here?"

"I told you to spend the night at the Moore's."

"They have company." Cass repeated, irritation in her deep voice. "Merlin's beard, would you lot calm down? It really isn't a big deal-"

"Grab my hand." Bartemius interrupted her, reaching out his left hand for her to grab.

Cass looked up at her father with raised eyebrows, analysing his expression. Usually, the man was as stone cold as her, if not more, but today, his mask had fallen. Something was very wrong, and it dawned on Cass that it must have something to do with whoever wrote her that letter. In her opinion, he was being a tad dramatic. Sure, it was bizarre, why would someone forge such a simple note? But Bartemius was acting like he had seen a dead man.

Maybe the ghost has finally gotten to him. Cass thought, as she tentatively grabbed his hand, and before she could process what was happening, the room spun around her as they apparated away, and moments later materialised in a much fancier entrance hall.

It didn't take long for Cass to realise where she was, pushing herself up off of the ground, which she had fallen onto from disorientation. Between the empty, perfectly polished halls, the hanging chandelier, and the eerie atmosphere, it was impossible to mistake the Malfoy manor for anywhere else.

Clearly, their arrival had not been expected, as Lucius Malfoy rushed into the room to see what the commotion was about, and stopped dead in his tracks when he made eye contact with Bartemius. Narcissa and Draco were at his heels, Narcissa as stoic as ever, and Draco wearing a confused expression.

"Crouch." Lucius spat out his name like a slur, his knuckles white from aggressively clutching his walking stick, as if prepared to use it as a weapon. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Cassiopeia," Bartemius turned to his daughter, ignoring the elder Malfoy's question. "Go run along and play with Draco, alright? I need to speak with Lucius alone."

Usually, Cass would argue back if her father told her to bloody play with Draco, but she could sense the urgency in his eyes, and decided to obey, following Draco outside of the entrance room and down the hall.

"So, are you going to tell me what exactly you're doing at my house on Christmas Eve?" Draco asked with crossed arms as they turned the corner, and suddenly stopped in his tracks.

She shrugged. "I think my father is having a psychotic episode. He's been acting bloody insane all day. Either that or he's possessed - the ghost in our house hasn't been particularly active lately, maybe it's taken over his body."

"I'd say the first one. Bartemius has always had a few screws loose, that's for sure. It's about time he cracked." Malfoy snorted, before turning around and walking back the way they came without any explanation.

"Where are you going?" Cass followed him. "Isn't your room that way?"

"Where do you think I'm going? I want to eavesdrop! You've got me curious." He whisper-shouted at her as they grew closer to the entrance hall, where Bartemius and Lucius still were, talking in low voices. Narcissa had left, seemingly also being kicked out by the men. Cass and Malfoy peered from behind the corner, while the men were engaged in an intense conversation, that felt far too personal to be listening to.

"I don't think this is a good id-" Cass began, but Malfoy put a hand over her mouth before she could finish, much like how George Weasley had when the troll broke in on Halloween. She was tempted to bite his hand as well, but the harsh words of Lucius distracted her.

"-you expect me to babysit your blood traitor kid on a damn holiday, just because that freak got loose again? Maybe instead of so pathetically trying to weasel your way up in the Ministry, you should spend more time finding a solution to that! A permanent one."

"Don't speak about Cassiopeia like that!" Bartemius's voice raised. "And don't tell me what to do about him, calling him a freak when you've sinned just as wretchedly. Only difference is you've gotten away with it. For now."

"You'd do well to watch your words, Crouch." Lucius snarled, gripping his cane. "You wouldn't want to falsely accuse a close confidant of the Minister, would you? Not with everything I have on you."

Bartemius inhaled sharply, moments going by without either of them speaking. The room was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop, and Cass didn't dare so much as breathe.

"Please," Bartemius pursed his lips, his tone sounding uncharacteristically...desperate. Cass wasn't sure she had ever heard her father beg, but he looked about ready to drop to his knees and pray. "Please, Lucius, just keep your eye on her, for the rest of the holidays. I can't let anything..." his voice caught in his throat, and he took a deep breath, choosing to not finish his sentence. "I'll make it worth your while."

Lucius pondered for a moment, his nose turned up and his icy grey eyes examining Bartemius up and down. "Fine." he begrudgingly agreed. "But you owe me."

"Thank you." Bartemius exhaled, more emotion in those two words than Cass had ever heard from him in her life.

As her father apparated, presumably back to the Crouch manor, Cass turned to Malfoy, who mirrored her bewildered expression.

Apathy for Cass had gone out the window just as soon as she had decided to adapt it again, as her mind scrambled for answers, but instead, only more questions turned up.

What in the ever loving fuck was that about?