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CASSIA GREENGRASS DIDN'T DOUBT A LOT OF THINGS. And for some bizarre, unfamiliar and frightening reason, she found herself doubting the actions that led her to getting a detention. That led her having to wait outside of Professor bleeding Umbridge's office at just before 5pm. She'd hardly been able to focus on eating that evening with the thoughts of oh god what was this vile woman going to do to me ridden throughout her mind. (She regrets it, though — her stomach was embarrassingly groaning by this point.)

At the time, she perceived that standing up for Cedric Diggory was the right thing. That retaliating from the lies that were being so fondly spoon-fed into their mouths, would result in her feeling some sort of accomplishment. A satisfaction.

But alas, no.

All she's been left in is a predicament involving a detention with the most unpleasant of women whom Cassia has ever encountered, and judgemental stares from the people she deemed her home away from home. The criticisms from her fellow Slytherins that she backed up Harry Potter were plentiful, and Cassia was doubting the intentions she initially felt indebted to.

And it's because of this that every time Cassia remembers what happened in that classroom the previous day, she had a lack of conviction towards her actions. It was the right decision, yes — but maybe not the correct one. Because really, was fighting for a cause worth it if the people that could actually make a difference paid no heed or respect to what you were saying, and if it only led to more people getting hurt? More prominently — what was the point? Was it really worth it in the long game?

Cassia Greengrass was a Slytherin, there was no doubt about that. She might have been compassionate and understanding, but she was sly and ambitious, and above all, self-preserving. She cared about saving her own neck. It's how it's always been — even outside of the Slytherin clan. It's how the Greengrass family manages to save the necks of their presiding lineage, and its why there are still people with Greengrass blood living to this day.  When a Greengrass fights, like it depicts gracefully for them to fight, they fight first and foremost, for themselves. So, for Cassia, it's only the right thing to say that being self-preserving came as a natural instinct to her.

It was almost melancholy. No, not almost. It was melancholy. This trepidation within Cassia existed because she wanted to do the right thing and make good amends with all the lies being fed into her society. She already felt sympathy for people like Harry, constantly putting themselves into dejection. But now that's she's experienced what it's like for herself... she feels regretful. Doubtful. A feeling that she absolutely hates. And she's realised, that even if you do something with good intention, it doesn't always result with a good outcome.

     When she remembers Harry was also meant to show up at the detention, she's perplexed when it's solely her at the encrusted door, cloaked with her Slytherin robe. She didn't tell Harry last night that she would be in this detention — it wasn't exactly the best of breaking news. She'd already had the worst day for herself, and apparently so did he — it seemed like a bad idea for her to bring out this bombshell along with it.

     But then, he did show up.

At about five minutes before the designated hour, she sees Harry come in, his figure illuminated by the dim flickering of embers from lanterns lining the walls of the castle. He looks exhausted, if anything. And nervous. Cassia was nervous. And at the sight of Cassia, Harry appears confused.

     "Cassia?" He asks, as if his sight didn't serve him correctly. "What are you doing here?"

     Cassia presses her mouth into a thin line. "I—uh— I have a detention too, like you do."

     His mouth parts open in shock — he obviously hasn't been there to witness the events following his storming out of the room.

     "But — but why?"

     Cassia smiles, a false sense of security imminent. "It — it doesn't matter. I'll tell you after. Okay?"

     "O—okay...?"

     With haste and a sort of desperation of not wanting to have this conversation with Harry just yet, she leaves Harry to wallow in his short-term confusion, knocking on the door. The sugary, transparent voice that sounded on the other side only made Cassia's stomach sink further.

"Come in," says Professor Umbridge.

The door swings open and Cassia enters first, Harry behind her, and she immediately finds the room as totally different to anything a Defence teacher before them had. It wasn't like the narcissistic Gilderoy Lockhart, or the kind Remus Lupin or the impostor of Alastor Moody. It was flowery, and lacy, and pretentious, and... a bit too much. There were plates lining both horizontally and vertically across the floral wallpaper, with meowing cats depicted in each of the plates.

     "Good evening Mr Potter, Miss Greengrass," says Umbridge. She was wearing a silk flower gown, one that just nauseated Cassia and made her want to renounce any kind of flower immediately (Yes, even the one she was named after!).

     "Good evening," Cassia utters, her voice a reduced whisper. On the outside she may have been somewhat composed... but on the inside it was as if her innards were experiencing a trembling earthquake, and she was finding it more difficult to hold up this front because Salazar, she was nervous.

     "Evening, Professor Umbridge," says Harry, an acrid bitterness to his tone.

     "Well, sit down, both of you," Umbridge says. Her eyes direct to two small tables with blank parchment laid atop them, two chairs drawn back against the tables swimming in ostentatious lace.

     Harry didn't move. "Er— Professor Umbridge— er— before we start, I — I wanted to ask you.. a favour."

     Umbridge's podgy eyes narrow, her curiosity being seemingly piqued. "Oh, yes?"

     "Well, I'm — im in the Gryffindor quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o'clock on Friday and I was — was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it — do it another night... instead..."

     Umbridge smiles wickedly.

     (Oh no, Cassia thinks.)

     "Oh no," Umbridge says, "Oh no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do as planned. As for Miss Greengrass, it is in my perception that one evening's punishment for your misdeeds will be sufficient enough. In fact, Mr Potter, I think it is a rather good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you."

     She can see Harry attempting to subside his rage. His eyes held a fury she had hardly ever seen him inhabit.

     Cassia lets out a low, suppressed sigh. It was unfair that Harry was being given these punishments. He spoke the truth. And she was being ignorant. And he was paying the price — they both were. And she can only wonder how much of this dejection Harry could take in a lifetime.

     Umbridge clasps her hands together, smiling widely. She gestures to the two chairs still uninhabited. Cassia and Harry sit down.

     "There," Umbridge smiles, "we're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we? Now, you two will be doing some lines for me this evening."

     At this information, Cassia couldn't help but inwardly furrow her eyebrows. For a vile woman like her, lines seemed to be a bit of a... weak punishment? Nonetheless, she bends down towards her bag, before Umbridge's voice intervened again.

     "No, not with your quills," she tells them both, "You're going to be be using a rather special one of mine. Here you go."

     She takes two long, sharply pointed black quills out of elaborate cases, settling them down on each of their desks.

     "Mr Potter, I want you to write, I must not tell lies." Umbridge says to Harry. She turns to Cassia, the most false, saccharine of smiles stretched out across her face. "Miss Greengrass, I want you to write, I mustn't insult my superiors."

     "How many times?" Harry asks scathingly.

     "Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in," Umbridge says, a patronising sweetness depicted within her tone. She smiles. "Off you go."

     "There's no ink—?" Cassia says apprehensively. It didn't make sense that Umbridge would give them quills minus the ink, but then again — the woman did seem to have an ulterior motive up her frilly silk sleeves.

     "Oh, you won't need any ink." Umbridge says sweetly, a laugh nearly escaping her.

     Cassia nods, biting her lip. She doesn't retort any of her confusion. She practically learnt her lesson yesterday — to say less is better. She already messed things up for herself — she didn't want to mess them up anymore. So, she gets her head down and writes:

     I mustn't insult my superiors.

     She waits for a moment, before it dawns in her realisation that the mystical ink across the page was red. As in, blood red.

     How on earth—?

     An itching sort of pain scratches on her hand — as if the sharp talon of the quill was fervently scraping against the unblemished flesh. And then — the skin began to itch more hotly, and she could see the pale flesh reddening, and it was then, that she felt her worst suspicious were proven. She'd only heard about them a handful of times, but she knew what this punishment was entailing.

     Blood quills.

     And as if the truth caught up with the act itself, anxiety and pain rushed through her in an abrupt wave and like that, the words had appeared on her hand. Red, and inflamed, her skin was no longer smooth, unmarked and clean, but etched with the words that elicited a sharp gasp of pain, shock and abhorrent disgust at the sheer cruelty of this woman. There, serving as a vindictive reminder, were the cursed words on her hand.

     I mustn't insult my superiors.

     But, the skin soon healed up, leading Cassia to believe the worst — she would have to write, and write, and write until the words have been near-enough permanently etched onto her hand. Her stomach drops.

     She connects eyes with Harry, who looked a cross of furious and helpless. She looks to Umbridge, who was smiling at them with a toadlike stretch of the mouth and bulging, prodding eyes. Cassia hates Umbridge.

     "Yes?"

     "Nothing," utters Harry.

     In return to the toad of a Professor, Cassia makes a noise close to a low squeak, and she's embarrassed. Embarrassed for getting herself into this situation, embarrassed for making such a fool of herself and embarrassed for acting like such a coward.

     And so, the time ticked on. Hours passed, and Cassia has had to grit her teeth every single time she sees the sharp scalpel hit the parchment, and every time it diminishes her blood. She continued to cut her own hand open, pretending like everything was fine when it wasn't, and watches as the words appear and disappear on her hand.

     And eventually, Umbridge beckons Harry up towards her, after many, many painful hours. Harry's hand healed, but remained blisteringly red. Cassia's hand, however... the words were clearly and harshly scratched into her flesh, and after some time, they stopped healing. She wondered why Harry's had healed and why hers had stopped... Was it because Harry was stronger than her? Was it because Cassia was weak? She certainly appeared weak, with her minimal movements and lack of retaliation in this damned detention. She was weak. She didn't fight back. Because she thought it wasn't worth it. She was weak. And Harry, certainly... wasn't. He'd endured so much in his lifetime, it shouldn't come as a surprise to Cassia that he came out on top. That he was strong, and courageous, and the most Cassia could ever do was attempt to be either... and eventually fail.

     "Tut tut," Umbridge says, "I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet." She smiles sweetly, but it comes off as bitter if anything. Cassia is tired of seeing her smile. She just wants to get out. "Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go."

     Harry was about to exit the room enragedly, but without comment. But then he sees Cassia is till seated, and his expression hardens. "What about Cassia?" He asks, no, demands.

     Cassia shakes her head. Harry can't confront Umbridge anymore than he already has. Even if she couldn't stand being in this imprudent room any longer. "Harry—"

     "Miss Greengrass will be free to go soon," says Umbridge. She smiles. "I wish to have a chat with Miss Greengrass before I excuse her. Is that alright?"

     Cassia nods. Meanwhile Harry, who'd stopped at the door, took one look at Cassia in hope that she could give him some sort of signal. She looks at him, upholding a smile, nodding slowly. Harry huffs a breath of air before shutting the door behind him, disappearing himself.

When Harry leaves, Cassia has to inhale a shaky breath. It was just her and Umbridge now. Just her and the bleeding toad. She was somewhat... anxious now that Harry had left. Well, more anxious. The worry she'd felt all day had only but heightened itself by now. And glancing at the blood-stained paper, with ghastly lines of I mustn't insult my superiors scrawled all across, smudged with the natural penmanship. What broke her even more was seeing those words on her hand, and the reminder that she tried to do good, and ended up having her freaking hand bled out as a result.

Umbridge smiles. She gestures the pot forwards. "Tea, dear?"

"No, thank you," says Cassia. She was sceptical at her sudden change in mannerisms... could you blame her, though, when the pink toad made her bleed vindictively as a punishment not ten minutes ago?

     Umbridge lets out a sycophantic sigh before seating herself at her desk, swirling sugar cubes in her scalding teacup, lined with intricate, frilly patterns. Cassia finds herself looking at the movements very stiffly, as if she were a frigid pole, frozen into place.

     "Now, Miss Greengrass," she says, "It has come to my attention that your mother works in the Ministry. The Obliviator office, correct?"

     "Yes, Professor."

     "Yes. And I believe that your mother is very well respected among the Ministry, and it is my intention that you, along with your predecessors, are a very respectable young lady too. The Greengrass family has always been held with such high esteem in the Pureblood community, I should know so, coming from one myself."

     Cassia furrows her eyebrows. What was she getting at?

     "And I do believe," says Umbridge sweetly, "that you shouldn't put yourself at such risk, Miss Greengrass. This is not your fight, and you shouldn't put yourself at harm for silly, petty lies. For such a young woman to have come from a respectable family like yours, I do believe it futile for antagonising yourself on the wrong side."

     They weren't silly, petty lies, Cassia thinks, firmly gritting her teeth. And her parents thought just as well. Umbridge has her facts wrong. The Greengrass family were unlike any other when it came to their beliefs. They stayed to their true faith, and let no blanket come in between them.

     Umbridge smiles. "Let me see your hand, dear."

     Her hand was shaking as Umbridge clasped it between hers. There was blood leaking in small intervals along the edges, her hand inflamed and tender to the touch. Cassia draws in a sharp gasp as Umbridge prods it with her ridiculously-ringed, fat fingers.

     "There, now." A wide smile stretches across her toadlike face as she lets go of Cassia's hand, leaving her to slowly recoil it onto her lap, desperately trying to disregard the stinging sensation emanating furiously from it. "I believe you've learnt your lesson, Miss Greengrass. You now know how to behave in the presence of those more superior to yourself. And you also know that speaking in such matters benefits none and harms solely yourself."

     Umbridge takes a mindful sip of her tea, pausing when the china cup was a mere touch away from her lips. She looks at Cassia. "You may go."

     Cassia doesn't say anything. She slings her bag over her left shoulder, holding her right hand in her left, as she walks with a scamper out of the wretched toad's office. A hoarse, shaky breath escapes her as the door closes behind her and she's left in the dark corridor, with nothing but a bleeding, scarred hand and a regretful soul. It was past midnight, that was for sure. But Cassia wasn't fatigued, or sleepy, but just fed up. And so, she goes to the one place where everything seems to always be at a standstill. Where there is always peace. And it doesn't surprise her to see the same, raven-haired boy already by the railings on the Astronomy Tower.

     Harry looks back. When Cassia sees him, there's almost a look of dejection, of hurt, of anger within those mesmerising emerald orbs. And it just made Cassia's heart... plummet. Because he's been through so much in his life, and now he's being put through even worse. She may have her whole house looking at her with incredulity, but Harry had an entire Wizarding community ridiculing him. She was better off, and shouldn't compare herself to the war-torn boy, the courageous, resilient, adamant boy in front of her. He was a warrior, that much Cassia could tell. And she could only ever dream of being just that.

     "Why did you have a detention?"

     A self-deprecatory chuckle escapes Cassia's mouth as she inches closer towards Harry, leaning against the railing and allowing the cool gust of wind somehow numb the pain in her hand, and in her mind.

     "After you left, I... I stood up to Umbridge." Cassia discloses.

     "Oh," says Harry. "Y—you did?"

     Cassia nods. "Yeah."

     "That's—well—I mean, good on y—"

     "Don't." Cassia shakes her head. "There's nothing good about it. Everyone in Slytherin but my sisters and Theo hate me, and my hand is bleeding like hell. There's... nothing good has happened because of what I did."

     "Welcome to my world."

     Cassia looks up. She knows she can never compare to this wonder of a boy, who has endured so much yet still finds a way to... move on. And she doesn't know how he can bear to fight, and how he gets off the ground every single time.

     "How do you do it?"

     Harry's expression grows puzzled. "What?"

     She sighs. "How can you constantly afford to fight, to be knocked down, and have the courage to get back up? I mean, you're a Gryffindor for a reason but Merlin, you are... remarkable."

     A slow breath escapes his mouth. "I... I don't know, anymore."

     "It's different now," says Harry, "before... I always had a hope inside of me that if I do the right thing, then I'll be rewarded. But now... with his return and no one believing me... it's harder than I thought. Small things, like Ron getting Prefect instead have made me so... frustrated because it feels like no one believes in me anymore. They all think I'm a liar. Seamus has stopped talking to me altogether. Mrs Weasley and everyone else don't want me to know anything when I am the one affected most. Voldemort wants to kill me. And I know nothing. Professor Dumbledore is ignoring me. And now, here at Hogwarts, the Ministry is doing everything they can to convince people that I am wrong when I was in that graveyard, when I witnessed Cedric get killed, when I saw Voldemort come back to life.. hell, it was my own blood that brought him back and I could do nothing about it... I feel so lonely, and helpless, and alone, even if I'm not. The only person who hasn't tried to keep me in the dark is Sirius.. but he's not of much use is he? He's disguised as a blooming dog. It's just... I feel so angry, and frustrated all the time, and I don't know why."

     The only thing Cassia could do was sigh. What else could she do? Provide comfort to a boy who's seen horrors worse than anything in her nightmares. She couldn't compare, and she couldn't sympathise, and that... that was the worst part of it all. The helpless feeling he was talking about.

     "Let me see it," says Harry. Cassia realises he was talking about her hand.

"Sure," says Cassia. She puts her hand, stained in blood and scarred, into Harry's. It was different to when Umbridge had demanded to see her hand — Harry was being gentle, humane. The toad was anything but.

"It's worse than mine," he says, followed by a weak attempt at a chuckle.

"Yeah."

     There is a beautiful moment in which Harry holds Cassia's pained hand delicately within his own two and they both meet each other's eyes. From there, they can see each other without the metaphorical glass in between — they can see each other without a shield, they can see each other in all their vulnerable, fragile states. Harry, a boy plagued with the demons of his past come present and Cassia, a girl plagued with the doubt of her intentions. Perhaps it was good that they let themselves be vulnerable with each other. In their most fragile states. Bob Morley once said that "Being vulnerable is the only way to let your heart feel true pleasure". Perhaps by this, it was opportune that Harry Potter and Cassia Greengrass were able to stand there in the fulgurate moonlight, dimmed with streaks of phosphorescent light. They could see each other what they were, for who they were — two corresponding, complex people yearning for the comfort they sought through each other's gaze. Being vulnerable can be good. It is the last thing anyone will ever let other people see in themselves, but perhaps the only thing that can create a heartfelt connection. The only thing that shows true humanity. It's an authentic state, it allows people to connect, to sympathise, to open yourself. Vulnerability is beautiful. It shows that you are human. It shows that in this terrible world that we live in, for people to have the strength to persevere and deal with horrid outcomes, that they have more courage and compassion than most people. That they are the most human of us all.

     It's also said that vulnerability is a way to the heart. That it builds a bridge between two people, two souls, two hearts. And in this case, it was true for Harry and Cassia. They found a way to each other's heart not by speaking, but by looking into the naked irises that were each other's eyes. It gave way, provided more information than any book or essay could give, and made them see each other stripped back, bare, natural. And they saw each other. Not the Gryffindor and the Slytherin, not the boy cursed from the moment he was born and the girl blessed with a whole universe the moment she was born, but each other. Harry Potter and Cassia Greengrass. Vulnerable and scarred in many ways. But comforted in one — with each other.

And then, the moment ended. Not by one of them tearing their gaze away, or saying something, but by an irritating noise. They broke apart like that, springing back into themselves when they heard a growl, one they had only heard numerous times in their time at Hogwarts. The blasted cat, Mrs Norris. It was like the deities high above wished to rain down misfortune onto the two, because Cassia found herself grabbing Harry's hand and guiding themselves to a darkened space in the scattered-lit Astronomy Tower, before she could even register what was happening.

This wasn't the first time in their past year of them both being nearly caught. There have been other times where they woke a portrait (as in the case where Theo had found out), or when they heard receding footsteps nearing the Tower. Then, they'd used Harry's providential Invisibility Cloak to hide, and honestly — Cassia thought he was lucky that he had such a means in his life. This time, was like no other.

"Do you have your cloak?" Cassia whispers, facing Harry, both of them hidden in a confined space between some telescopes.

"Yeah," Harry replies quietly. He fishes into his bag and pulls out the thick, silky cloak, and drapes it over the two. Argus Filch's voice scratches their eardrums with his horrid tones.

"Who's there! Show yourselves!"

Cassia inhales sharply. She can hear the light, pattering steps of the blasted cat creeping towards them. If it stuck out her paw then she could catch the fabric with her claw and rip it off...

A sharp, low gasp escapes Cassia when Harry slides his arm around her waist, pulling her towards him so that her chest is pressed flush against his. (He did it just so that she'd be further away from the cat, of course — that's what Cassia knows.) She didn't take much notice of it before but with them being so closer, their faces inches apart, he seemed so much more taller... and there was something different about the way the taller boy stared down at her. It seemed to convey ten different emotions at once. It was a vigilant, tense moment, but it also seemed to be another moment where they just... looked into each other. Again. Her breathing is harsh, and rapid, while his seemed to have been halted completely. His face is straight, immobile, inches away from Cassia's, and he tries to give the faintest trace of a smile to assure her as they hide beneath the Cloak. His chest is solid and a musky scent of aftershave emanates from him, one that Cassia cannot ignore no matter how much she tries to. She's staring into those eyes, those beautiful emerald orbs, that she seems to forget the risk they're both at with her mind being so distracted with the feeling, the sensation, the secure hold of his arm around her waist.

With Filch still grasping frantically around the Tower and both Harry and Cassia being on the verge of trouble, Cassia reaches a finger up to her slightly parted lips, signalling him to keep quiet. She is sure she can hear the retreating paws and the scuffling of Filch's worn shoes dimming in sound, and once she is certain that both caretaker and pet are no longer present in the Tower, Cassia releases a relieved sigh, her head inadvertently dropping onto Harry's chest.

"I think they're gone," says Harry, his voice still in a hushed tone for stealth reasons. An unaware smile spreads across his lips when he sees Cassia's head against his chest, her thick auburn hair flowing in winsome waves down her back.

"Yeah," whispers Cassia, her head lifting up. She gives Harry a half-hearted smile. "We should probably go now."

"Yeah," he agrees. His arm lingers in its place across her waist, somewhat relishing the indefinite moment, before loosely releasing his grip, recoiling to his sides. And with that, they both set off in silence, accompanied by the everlasting darkness, with no mention of whatever went on in the Astronomy Tower previously and more significantly, what went on in their minds at their fortuitous moment together. When they reach the top of the dungeons staircase, Cassia gives him a parting smile.

"Goodnight, then."

"Night," says Harry. She begins to descend the dusty stairs, and he sighs. "Wait—"

Cassia was so overwhelmed with grief, regret and pain, that she's whirled around in an unknowing flurry when Harry grabs her wrist and swirls her around so that she almost clashes into his chest, had she not managed to adjust herself in time. They're inches apart again, just like both times in the Astronomy Tower. The feeling of his hand on her wrist is so... sensational that she forgets for a moment that her hand was searing with pain. She doesn't know what to do this time since neither of them are in any sort of trouble and were instead in another fortuitous moment (or was it predictable?), but her eyes find it's way to his collar, where there was a spot of red. She frowns.

     "There's blood on your uniform," she says lightly.

     Harry looks to his collar, but shakes his head. "That... doesn't matter."

     She looks imploringly at him, planting her feet more firmly in place. "What, then?"

     "I— I just..." Harry sighs deeply, "Take care of yourself. Please."

     Cassia smiles weakly, nodding her head. "I will. But..." she bites down on her lower lip, looking at him hesitantly. "I don't think we can meet anymore. At night, at least. With Umbridge here now, and us almost getting caught, and the rate of your detentions... I—"

"I know," Harry says compassionately. "I don't want to, but..."

"—It's the best way to keep safe." A culminating sigh escapes her, and she tugs her wrist lightly out of his grasp, and after half a moment of thought, he releases her. Before she descends the stairs into the cold, draughty dungeon, she looks to Harry. "Have faith, Harry," she says, "Good night."

     Harry exhales as he watches her go down the stairs. "Night, Cassia."

     The smile on Cassia's face faded the minute she made the incline down the stone steps and into the Slytherin common room, where the room itself was deserted and all that remained was the drafty gust of wind blowing in from the open windows, billowing curtains, and a calm hoard of mermaids swimming in the early hours of the day. It was surely past one in the morning. Cassia was ridden with pain, her hand was throbbing, and all she wanted to do was fall asleep by this point. She hoped her roommates were asleep; judging by the empty common room, they'd all left for bed long before Cassia returned in the evening. Her tireless footsteps trudged sullenly up the steps to the girls dormitory, and she could see her dorm in sight, but before she was able to progress further, a door shuffled open, her wrist was grasped and she was pulled into a room that most definitely wasn't hers.

     "Oh, Cass!"

     The short-lived panic Cassia felt at being dragged into the room of someone else's dissipated when she was faced with the alleviating face of Daphne, looking ever-so-ravishing, though anxious, in her dressing gown, her silky auburn curls in a flowing cascade over her shoulders. As she adjusted her bearings, she saw Pansy in her fluffy pink pyjamas standing a small distance away also looking quite worried. In that dorm too were Maryam, in a tshirt and tartan pyjama bottoms and Eva, in luxurious silk garments, both sitting on a spare, unoccupied bed and then Millicent and Tracey, slumbering deeply in their own with no idea of the current scene.

     "Are you okay?" Daphne asks worriedly, her hands grasping each of Cassia's shoulders. Cassia keeps her hand hidden under her robes. "What took you so long? We — we waited! We were so sure you were gonna come! We—"

     "Daph, I'm fine." Cassia assures, watching as Daphne releases her hold on her twin's shoulders though still appeared unconvinced. "You guys stayed up for me?"

     "Of course we did, Cass. We were worried for you! Theodore also stayed up but when it hit ten in the night we told him to go to bed."

     Cassia smiles.

     "What — what did she make you do?" This time, the question came from Maryam. She seemed nervous, cautious, hesitant in doing so. And Cassia knew why: because Maryam — and Eva — thought Cassia doubted their friendship after they'd avoided talking to her in the last couple of days. But the fact that they both were here, clearly worried, clears any doubt present for Cassia. They were her friends. They always had been. No doubtful feelings or opposing opinions could take that away from them.

     "I did some lines." Cassia says bluntly. She can see them all furrow their eyebrows at the mismatched truth, and honestly, Cassia knew that leaving out the part about using blood quills was a major detail.

     "And... that took you all night?" Eva implores with genuine curiosity,

     Cassia looks at each of them: Daphne, Maryam, Eva, even Pansy, who was present even if she was the one who treated Cassia the worst ever since her affiliation with Harry came into the open — Draco included, too. She sighs. She's fed up of keeping secrets. So she takes her hand from underneath her robe, and holds it out to all them, who gasp in horror at the sight of it.

     "Blood quills?" Daphne shrieks, her blue eyes ridden with fear. Her hands come up to cup the sides of her shocked face. "No way—"

     "Yeah," says Cassia, nodding her head. "She made me use... a blood quill. And Harry, too."

     "That's horrible," says Eva. By now, the blood has dried, leaving only the residue of crusted ichor and a burning scar. She lets her hand drop limply to her side, looking at the four in front of her wearily.

     "She's vile."

     Cassia's eyes raise themselves in surprise to find Pansy, looking at her with sympathy in her doe-like, black eyes. She still wasn't sure why Pansy stayed up for her, when she so clearly showed animosity to her with pleasure over her affiliation. It's rare moments like these that Cassia can see the face void of spite, the face void of the mean intentions, the face claimed with empathy. Cassia has hardly ever seen this side to her in all her years of knowing Pansy — and she's sure no one else outside of their Slytherin bubble could've ever thought her capable of kindness.

     "Why did you stay up, then?" Cassia asks Pansy blankly. "I don't get why you would."

     "The sister of my best friend was in need. Of course I had to stay up." Pansy says. She takes a hesitant pause, before sighing and saying, "And if I'm honest... I know I haven't been the nicest person to you lately, but... I care about you. And... I consider you my friend." Pansy strides forward slowly, taking Cassia's scarred hand into her own. "I'm really sorry. For... what I put you through."

     Cassia lets a sincere smile stretch across her face. "It's okay," she says. "Well, it's not, obviously. But... I forgive you. I consider you my friend too, Pans."

     When Daphne takes Cassia's hand after her moment of reconciliation with Pansy, Cassia doesn't have the physical energy to protest as she takes her to lay down on (supposedly) Daphne's bed. Daphne sits cross-legged on her bed and guides her twin to lay her head comfortingly in her lap, Cassia's eyes closing soothingly as Daphne reached for a hairbrush, combing through the waves auburn tresses side-ways.

     (It was a bit of an awkward position to brush hair in, by any means, but Cassia looked exhausted and Daphne thought her sister's comfort was more of a priority than her own.)

     "Eva, there's a box of medical supplies beneath the bed you were just sitting on," says Daphne. "Can you pass it over, please?"

     "Yeah, sure," Eva abides, fetching the medical supplies. "Why do you have it, though?"

     Maryam grins. "It's because Tracey and Millie have been practicing Quidditch with me. With luck, one of us will be able to make it onto the team. It doesn't stop the injuries and friction burn whenever we get hit by a bludger and fall to the grass, though..."

Cassia chuckles. "That's... nice. I'm glad you guys found something to work hard on. You don't have to... fix my hand, or anything, though. I doubt you can do much—"

"Just stay down and let us do the rest, Twinnie," Pansy coaxes. She sits on the side of the bed next to Cassia. Pansy opens the box, and smiles at Cassia as she begins clearing away the stained blood, while Daphne is taking to brush the noughts out of Cassia's tangled hair. "You'll get the bed dirty. That is not a good look."

Cassia raises an eyebrow amusedly, peering up at Pansy from her laid down position. "Does this happen to mean that you're going to be... well, nicer, by any chance?"

"As if!" Daphne scoffs incredulously. "Pansy's speciality is mean. She's lucky I'm here or else she would be dead by now."

Pansy sends an entertained glance Daphne's way. "True," She says, "But... I'm willing to make a bit of an exception. Just for you. I'll reduce the mean-ness by twenty percent, if that makes you feel better."

"Lovely." Cassia says dryly.

"I can't say the same for your bestie Potter, though." Pansy adds defiantly. "If anything, I'll dial it up by twenty percent. I hate the guy."

Cassia rolls her eyes. "I wouldn't expect anything else," she admits, "But — can we please talk about something else other than Harry?"

"Gladly."

"Um—" Daphne says. Cassia can practically feel Daphne grimacing from her position. "Would now be a bad time to tell you that... well, me and Sterling... broke up?"

"What?" Cassia exclaims, her expression ridden with ridicule and shock. She knew that Daphne and Sterling weren't exactly going through the best times with each other but they actually... broke up? It was appearing to be a time full of shocks. Cassia makes an attempt at rising into a sitting position, only to have Pansy push her shoulders back down as she begun bandaging the wounded hand.

"Wait—seriously?" Cassia lets out, more composed this time. Again, she can feel Daphne nod — this time it was due to the actual sensing rather than an intuition.

"Yeah..." Daphne trails off.

Cassia was surprised by the lack of... conviction? that Daphne held in relation to the matter. It sounded like she was taking this breakup well?

"How... well... how are you?" Cassia asks meaningfully, though with a visible sense of curiosity. "How are you taking it?"

Daphne inhales, putting a smile onto her face. "Better, I guess..."

"Okay," says Cassia, "And... if you don't mind me asking... why did you two break up?"

Daphne inhales again. "We just didn't... connect anymore. It's like... we kinda had to be different people around each other? It just wasn't the same. But... I don't regret breaking up with him. Me and Sterling were friends once before, and we can be friends again. It wasn't him — he is, quite literally, one of the nicest and most genuine people I know, and I'm glad we met. So... I'm handling it... well. Better than well."

"Okay..."

"Yeah." Daphne chuckles apprehensively, "Millie took it the completely wrong way, though. Saying how she would break her broomstick over his was just to get him back. It took a lot of strength, but... she eventually gave it up. Thankfully."

In the small chorus of laughter vibrating  quietly in the room, one of the figures stir in their bed. Millicent Bulstrode rises half-presently on her bed, her eyes squinted with the light adjustment, her coppery ringlets scattered in a disheveled, tangled bundle over her shoulders.

"Did someone... mhh.. say my name?" Millicent asks drowsily, much to the amusement of those awake. She groans. "Is it morning already?" Millicent was hardly able to recognise Cassia laid down in Daphne's lap, let alone the presence of Maryam and Eva in the spare bed.

"No, Millie," Daphne assures, "You still have a few hours left to sleep. Go back to bed."

"Mhm, okay," Millicent mutters, falling back into her bundle of emerald sheets, and into a fantasy land only her mind was aware of, muttering muffled incessant ramblings in her half-asleep state. Well — three-quarters asleep. "Sterling Donahue, break my best friend's heart again and you won't even have a heart! Those trolls seem friendly, don't they—?!"

"See what I mean?" Daphne says to Cassia, referring back to her previous statement with an arched eyebrow.

But no answer came from her sister lying in her lap. In fact, she hardly moved at all. Since Pansy had released her newly-bandaged hand, Cassia was void of movements, and her eyes had eventually drooped to a close.

Cassia was asleep.

"Should we take her back to the dorm?"

Daphne hadn't realised it, but Maryam and Eva approached her bed, looking at a sleeping Cassia with adoring smiles. Daphne grins softly, stroking a strand of her sister's hair.

"No," says Daphne, "It's fine. She can stay here. I'll take the spare bed tonight."

"Of course." Eva says gently. "Night."

     Maryam and Eva left, and Daphne adjusted cassia so that she now laid on top of the soft pillow, nuzzling her cheek against the vision fondly. Daphne smiles before pressing a kiss to her sister's head, giving Pansy a passing smile as they both attended to their own beds.

And all that was left with Cassia was a hopeful slumber, a hand less pained than before and a somewhat healed mind too. She felt... lighter than she had when emerging from the toad's office. She wasn't sure if it was as a result of talking to Harry, or making slight amends with her friends, but Cassia was at peace. The innocence of the night took over, and she had a nice slumber.

As well as that, thoughts of the night also took over. They were the ones of Harry... and for some reason, her mind couldn't escape him. The image of Harry, holding her hand, being held against his chest, his gentle grasp on her wrist... the look in his eyes all three times they seemed to effervescently clash... The way Harry looked at her meant something. And more importantly, the way she felt when she was just able to look at him, and bask in the glory that was Harry Potter... that meant something too. And she had no idea what.

And perhaps also that the way in which Cassia saw Pansy stare at Daphne when she divulged her breakup story... also meant something. And she had a fair idea what.

***

hey guys💓💓💓not even gonna lie i loved writing this but also hated writing this cus i made cass sad again 😔😔😔 BUT ON THE BRIGHT SIDE!! we got loads of harry & cassia content so 💓💓💓 they make me so🥺

and im sorry there was no theo in this chapter 😔 but he'll have a decent amount of time in the next chapter dont u worry✨idk it feels... weird not having theo in a chapter is that just me??? but like we got a sweet pansy moment cos i feel like i make her out to be the annoying bully so much in this but that's NOT how i think of her at all so🥰

there was meant to be another scene in this too but i didn't like how it turned out so i left it out🤣

i hope you guys acc liked this!!! pls vote comment and keep supporting ily all💓💓

(yes i used my signoff gif from my misc book bc im obsessed with stephen playing with his figurine and this gif but also bc the message still stands ily all💞)