Chapter Text
Crystalline. That was the only word to describe the energy Cassia had felt building up. Sharp, smooth, and absolutely beautiful, but it was uncut, and she didn't know how much longer it would last under the pressure. Eventually, the earth always released its power, and it could be a glittering treasure or a devastating disaster.
She held her wand steady in her hand as the sun glimmered at its zenith and birds twittered overhead, like nature itself urged her onward. Glints of blue flickered from her wand's tip. Although the Ancient Magic lived in her, she had yet to wield it on command, to subject it to her control. And if no one would teach her how, she would learn it on her own. She was good at that sort of thing.
She shifted her feet, focusing her intent on pulling that energy from her core and breathing bright, vivid life into it, life that could heal unseen wounds and bring a village from the brink of death. That was her ultimate goal; that was what she truly meant for it. She had already stepped too far into the shadows, and the memory felt like a millstone in her gut, making the energy waver.
Never again, she had promised herself. And she meant it this time.
Shaking her head free of dark thoughts, she breathed deeply, watching the blue reappear, captivating her. Almost whispering to her.
Crunch.
She whirled around, the magic fading away. A broad-shouldered boy leaned against a tree, one hand folded at his side, an apple in the other. He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Looking to get in trouble, are you?" He said, swallowing.
Cassia frowned, tucking her wand away. She stepped toward him, took the apple from his hand, and had a bite herself before pushing it back to him. She was glad to see him eating something.
"It's not like this is the first time I've used magic this summer. And the Ministry hasn't said anything yet. Bunch of dolts. They probably still think I'm home-schooled," Cassia said.
Sebastian sank to the ground, shaking his head. "I meant your nan."
Cassia groaned, joining him amid the scrub grass and wildflowers. He had an excellent point. 'Well, I hope I can count on you not to tell her."
"Of course, you can. I'm very good at keeping secrets."
She scoffed. "Sometimes!"
After the horrific events in the Feldcroft catacombs just months ago, Sebastian had been left with nowhere to go, not if he wanted to escape his demons. Cassia's family had been happy to take him in, although they, like many others, were under the impression that Solomon Sallow had died in his sleep. The truth was a secret they both had no choice but to be very good at keeping.
Over the summer, Cassia had watched her friend wilt into little more than a husk. Dark circles hung under his eyes, his untidy hair fell below his chin, and he had become raggedly thin. At night, she heard him pacing the floor above her. During the day, he spent most of his time sitting quietly, reading, thinking, or simply staring until someone interrupted him. For him to willingly come outside gave Cassia hope that he was feeling better, even if only for a moment.
"Don't worry, I won't say a thing to her," he promised.
"Good, I don't need another lecture."
She stretched and fell backward, looking up at the gray clouds rolling in, pushed by a salty breeze from the sea. An insect hummed nearby, and gulls called in the distance.
"I still have chores to do," Cassia moaned.
"I've already done mine," Sebastian said.
"Well, goody-two-shoes for you."
The Brightberry home was nestled on a healthy plot of land in Horsham Hollow, a wizarding village on the very edge of the southern English coast. The family enjoyed a garden of turnips and carrots, a flock of chickens, a small herd of Mooncalves, and four cats, of which Cassia couldn't pick a favorite.
Summer days at home meant taking part in household duties, which Cassia usually didn't mind, as it had been a part of everyday life before she began Hogwarts. But with the start of term fast approaching, Cassia wanted to savor each carefree moment she had left.
She was the only child of her family to attend the Wizarding school. A tight-knit community, the residents of Horsham Hollow chose to homeschool their children, which consisted almost entirely of excursions for a "hands-on" experience—observing magical beasts in their natural habitats, gathering rare potion ingredients, and visiting places of historical significance. These journeys had fostered a love of adventuring within Cassia, which got her into trouble more times than not.
However, after her fourth year, Cassia was the only school-aged child left in Horsham Hollow, as the only other children in the village were still toddlers. Her parents, valuing social development as well as academics, enrolled her in Hogwarts for the remainder of her school years, where she could study and grow with friends.
And friends she had made. Poppy, Ominis, Amit, Natty, Imelda. She valued them all. She missed the practical classes and frequent outings of her home education, but she wouldn't trade it for the people she'd come to love so much. She looked at Sebastian, and a grin broke over her face.
She poked him with her wand. "Want to see something cool?"
"Wand to see something cool, you mean?"
Cassia laughed. "Shut up! Watch."
A flurry of gold and silver glitter erupted into the air, sparkling thickly into the breeze and fluttering into Cassia's mouth and nostrils. She bolted upright, coughing and spluttering. Beside her, Sebastian did the same.
"What did you think—" he choked. "What did you think would happen?"
The shimmering dust settled, and Cassia pulled her dark-blonde hair from its bun to shake it clean. "That."
"Sure you did. You're so weird," Sebastian said, clearing his throat. He extended his apple toward her, glitter sticking to the inner, white fruit. "Here, clean it off."
"Evanesco!"
He took another bite. "Thanks."
Cassia pulled her hair back again, fringe falling over her eyebrows. Soft thunder rumbled from the clouds, and the air suddenly grew heavy. Delicate raindrops stained the ground and streaked over the grass and flowers. Yet, Cassia and Sebastian remained, letting it fall over them.
"Well, I guess I won't be folding the laundry any time soon," Cassia said.
"You could just magic it dry."
"And risk the wrath of my nan? If she really needs it done soon, she can have my mum fix it."
Cassia's father came from a Wizarding family, but her mother was Muggle-born. Her Muggle grandparents, fascinated by the world their daughter had been taken into, had assimilated themselves into Wizarding culture nicely. They were the only non-magic folk in the village but were widely accepted throughout. However, Cassia's nan valued physical labor and had a strict no-magic policy outside of school until Cassia and her siblings came of age, a rule her parents agreed with.
Cassia wiped the wetness from her brow. As quickly as it had started, the rain had vanished. "I should probably feed the chickens, though."
"You haven't fed the chickens yet?" Sebastian grinned. "Forget the laundry; that's going to incur your nan's wrath. Poor things are probably starving."
"Right." Cassia stood and brushed off the seat of her trousers. "You want to come with me? I have to pull weeds and brush the Mooncalves too, but you can just keep me company."
She stretched a hand out to him, even though he could easily get up on his own. He took it and stood, then chucked the apple core as far as he could.
"No, sorry, I'm actually feeling quite tired. I think I'm going to read for a bit."
They started back to the house. The brief storm now past, songbirds emerged from their hiding places, twittering through the air once more. A white cat pranced through the grass to greet them, its green eyes blinking sleepily.
"Hello, Crumple. Good kitty." Cassia scratched the cat's ears. 'Have you even anything left to read? I swear you must have gone through all the books by now."
"Oh, come on. I don't read that much."
"You kind of do."
"That's rich, coming from a Ravenclaw. No, there's plenty I haven't read. For example, I've had my eye on The Brothers Karamazov."
Cassia's grandad had been a literature professor in his younger years. Now retired, his goal was to instill his passion for books into his grandchildren and anyone else who would listen, so Sebastian, taught to love reading by his own parents, was an absolute dream.
"Who would've thought there was so much to learn from Muggles?" He said.
"Wizards don't give them enough credit." Cassia scooped Crumple into her arms, and the cat purred contentedly.
"That they don't. It's fascinating what they've accomplished without magic. I suppose human determination is a trait we all share."
Enchanted vines hung over the door frame, and they curled in greeting as they entered the cozy home, the door creaking open and Crumple leaping to the wooden floor. Floral wallpaper peeled in the corners, a clock ticked over the stove, and a mismatching sofa and set of armchairs sat around a fireplace that waited cold and dark for evening. Along the walls were rows and rows of shelves, each bursting with books and little knickknacks collected over the years: a family of porcelain rabbits, a stuffed bear, and a photograph of her four siblings sitting together, among many others.
Sebastian pulled his desired book from the shelf and sank into a squashy armchair while Cassia sat cross-legged on the sofa.
"Have you read Aesop's Fables yet?" Cassia asked. "We should take it to Professor Sharp and ask if he wrote it."
Sebastian snorted, opening his book. "Yeah, I'm sure he'd get a real kick out of that."
"Good, it'll mean his leg is working."
Sebastian dropped the book's cover, and it fell shut with a puff of dust. He looked at her with a mix of amusement and perplexion. "You really think you're funny."
"I think I'm hilarious."
Footsteps clunked down the hall, and a moment later, Grandad peeked around the corner, his gray mustache spreading with delight when he spotted the two of them.
"Well, what are we looking at today?" He asked, shuffling toward them and taking the chair across from Sebastian. "Cassia, get your feet off the sofa. You'll give your nan an aneurysm." He winked at her. "Ah, Dostoevsky, I see. One of the greatest philosophers of our time."
Cassia hopped off the sofa, a smile twitching in the corner of her mouth as she watched Sebastian lull into conversation with Grandad. He could escape reality for some time there, but she hoped he wouldn't stay for long. She stepped softly so Nan wouldn't hear the sound of her boots on the floor and went outside, peeking through the cracked door at her friend again before going to her chores. She sighed.
A whole lifetime had passed in a single year. Difficult choices and unthinkable situations had aged her. Although still very much a girl in body, in mind and spirit, she felt older, tired. Supposedly, experience brought wisdom. Yet, in quiet moments, she only felt uncertain.
She kneeled in the garden, knees sinking into the wet dirt, and pulled on a thorny weed. A fly buzzed in her ear, and she swatted it away. Like other magical children, her magic manifested at ten years of age. But then there was Ancient Magic—a whole different matter. It should have been special, learning she could both see and wield it. However, only seconds after discovering her extraordinary ability, everything changed, and she wasn't sure it was for the better.
She yanked another weed as an image of Professor Fig, bruised and broken, swirled into her mind. It was all still there—the burning scent of dragon fire, the vision of debris crashing down, the wheeze of his last breath. Cassia fell still, staring resolutely at the ground as everything became blurry. Her face grew hot, and her eyes stung, but she wouldn't let the tears fall. She snatched a weed.
"Dammit!" She threw her thumb to her lips, coppery blood leaking onto her tongue as she glared at the offending thorn. She sucked on the wound, savoring the sharp pain. Physical pain. A distraction from the ache in her heart, the guilt she felt. If only she had been a little faster, a little stronger...
Then, there had been the catacombs. Watching her beloved mentor die was like feeling her heart ripped from her chest. But the catacombs... that had been so much worse. She pulled a weed, then another, and another, tearing through them as the memory seared her mind.
It had been Sebastian's own choice, but she had always been alongside him, stepping further into the dark, pushing the limits. All to quench her curiosity. Now, a man was dead, and Sebastian was a hollow fragment of himself.
Some curiosities should be left to dry up.
The weeds done, she went to the Mooncalves. Anne might never forgive Sebastian. That had been clear in Ominis' letters. He was no longer the brother she knew and loved, and it broke her apart, intensifying her pain, making her sicker and sicker. She partially blamed Cassia for the path Sebastian had taken. That had been clear in Ominis' letters too.
An old cat with a tangled, black coat sat beside Cassia as she brushed the Mooncalves, depositing the fur in a bucket.
"Hello, Grimmy. Good kitty," she said without thinking.
George Osric. Solomon Sallow. Eleazar Fig. In one year, she'd seen them all die. Then there was Lodgok—her throat swelled up—and Tobbs.
And Victor Rookwood. She had done that one herself. A tremble ran through her spine.
Cassia put the bucket of Mooncalf fur inside the shed where it wouldn't blow away. Dad would collect it later. Now, with Grimmy trailing behind her, she could go walk through the hills to clear her mind—remove the heaviness from her stomach and make room for all the joy and lightness she could garner from these last summer days.
The clouds had drifted away for the time being, leaving warm rays against her skin. She hiked up the dirt path from the small farm, gravel crunching under her steps. She quickened her pace, the wind pushing her bangs aside. Faster. Faster. The poor, old cat couldn't keep up. But it felt good to run and smell the sea and hear the birds cry, each sensation washing away the heaviness, setting her free, releasing the guilt.
She halted, nearly stumbling over an upturned stone.
She still hadn't fed the chickens.
***
Leaving the flock to cluck happily over their grain, Cassia trudged back toward the hills, Grimmy mewling after her. Purple heather swished over her steps as she went off the path, going nowhere in particular. Her thoughts had somewhat quieted, but if she didn't keep moving, they threatened to come back.
The neighbors' laughter carried on the wind as she considered heading to the beach where sparkling sea glass often washed up on the white sand. Finding the little treasures and holding them up to see their colors glint in the sun brought her a simple joy. She turned toward the distant cliffs where the blue sea kissed the pale gold of the late afternoon sky. Joy was such a precious thing.
Grimmy scuffled in the grass, her eyes big and ears pricked forward. A moment later, she tossed a mouse in the air. Its little form tumbled over itself, squeaking in distress.
"Oh, Grimmy. Grimmy!" Cassia said.
She hurried to the mouse's aid. Crouching, she held Grimmy in one hand and scooped the tiny critter in the other. The cat chattered and trilled, lifting a paw to retrieve its quarry.
"No, Grimmy. I know you're just being a cat, but still."
The mouse squirmed in her gentle grip as she looked over it for wounds. Aside from being frightened, it appeared unharmed, and Cassia lowered her hand to set it free.
But as she did so, that crystalline energy awakened. It rose through her chest and stretched into her fingers. The mouse went rigid in her palm. Translucent facets crept up its tail and legs, shimmering in the light. Its eyes grew big and pained as the phenomenon overtook its body, and it emitted a final squeal. Cassia gasped and tossed it aside. Hitting the ground, it broke into two.
She scrambled to her feet, gaping at the shining pieces before her, blue wisps streaking from where they lay. Her Ancient Magic had taken a life. Only a mouse, but a life nonetheless. What would be next?
She dashed home, worry surging through her. She needed to control it, keep it from causing harm. If only the Keepers had shown her how, but they had only taught her to hide it away.
The vines welcomed her back with curling tendrils as she threw the door open. It was silent inside. Nan and her parents hadn't returned yet from their daily tasks, Grandad had left, and Sebastian sat right where she had left him, reading in the armchair, his back toward her. The only thing that changed was the lamp had been ignited.
Cassia looked at the clock. Half-past six. She closed the door and ran a hand over her forehead, wiping away beads of sweat. Her boots were muddy, and Nan would certainly chastise her for it, but she didn't care at that moment. Nan, Ancient Magic, broken mice. All concern had suddenly fled. All except one.
She went to Sebastian and leaned against the back of the armchair. He didn't acknowledge her, but she knew he was aware of her.
"Let's go on a walk," she said softly.
Without a word, he folded a marker into the pages and placed the book on the side table. He stood, stretched a little, and turned to her. He kept his gaze downward, but Cassia noticed the flicker of light she'd seen that afternoon had vanished. Instead, his eyes were empty with dissociation—his way of escaping the hurt, the overwhelming guilt.
He followed her outside, where the sun still shone bright and warm in the early evening. A few crickets had begun their serenades, accompanying the songbirds in the trees and bushes. Cassia allowed the silence to linger between them as they wandered the heath, the tall grass and heather swishing against their steps. In the distance, a violin played, its merry tune unfitting for the melancholy hanging in the air. A pair of rabbits hopped nearby, pausing to sniff something only they could detect. At any other time, Cassia would have delightedly stopped to watch them.
"You want to talk about it?" She asked.
For a long, pain-filled moment, Sebastian didn't say anything, then, "I don't think I should be in this world."
Cassia halted. "Don't say that!"
"No, I mean the magic world. I shouldn't be here. I think I should join Muggle society—never use magic again—so I can't hurt anyone."
He sat down, the shade of a young sycamore tree covering him, and Cassia joined him.
"I think I could make a life for myself there," he continued. "I'd have to catch up first, but perhaps I could go to university—study something harmless like literature or agriculture. Maybe I would just do farm work the rest of my life."
"If that's really what you want to do, you know I'll support it."
He hunched over, placing his face in his palms. "What I really want is to go back and choose a different path."
No words would comfort him, Cassia knew. He was well aware that his choices couldn't be undone, well aware that the only way was forward. She put her arm around him, and he leaned into her shoulder, shifting slightly to adjust for her shorter height.
"I never should have gone so far," he said. "I should have listened to you and Ominis, but I was just too damn stupid! And you know what I hate most? In the end, it wasn't even about Anne anymore. If I'm really honest, I liked learning about dark magic, thought it was fascinating, thought it was some piece of history I was unlocking. Anne was only a way to justify it. And where did that get me? I'll probably never see her again. I knew deep down it was wrong, but I just kept going and going, and now I'll have to live with it for the rest of my life."
He sank lower and lower until his head rested in her lap. She kept her arm draped over him, watching the shadows grow steadily longer. They'd had the same talk many times before, and they would have it many times to come, but Cassia didn't mind.
"I ruined nearly everything. My sister, my home." He choked on his words. "My uncle... No love was lost between us, but he didn't deserve that. I know it's only dumb luck that you and Ominis stuck around, but I wouldn't blame you if you also left."
"I'm not going anywhere."
He breathed deeply, slowly, intensely. He was trying not to cry, and Cassia knew he only held back because she was there. She wished he'd forego his inhibitions, his stubbornness in this moment of weakness and vulnerability. However, she didn't press him.
"I am such a horrible person. I'm selfish and manipulative, and I lied, and I cheated, and I hurt so many people." He fell silent for a moment. "My parents would be ashamed of me. This isn't how they raised me. They were really good people, you know. Really good. I have no right to call myself their son. No right to call myself Anne's brother or your friend. I just wish I could take everything back. Just wish I could take it all back!"
His voice was low—lower than usual—and gruff. His bright, chipper tone and witty repartee seemed like a memory of another person. Cassia took his hand. It was ice cold, and he was shaking. A kaleidoscope of butterflies flitted about, dancing to the distant violin and bringing Cassia back to those simpler days of banter and adventure. It hadn't been so long ago—not really—and still, it felt like the distant past.
"For what it's worth," Cassia said slowly, "Feeling those things means you're truly sorry. But at the same time, please know you're so much more than that."
His silence urged her to continue.
"You're... curious and kind-hearted and intelligent. You're determined, thoughtful, loyal, and brave. So very brave. And you're fun to be with. Remember Mr. Moon when we sneaked out so you could show me those unicorns? You had him convinced we were ghosts and not students."
"And without magic." A tear finally rolled down his cheek.
"Waving your arms was the perfect touch," Cassia said.
"He was nearly too drunk to function."
"He barely functions when he's sober."
"What a sad, strange little life."
Cassia chuckled, remembering Mr. Moon's bewildered face and Sebastian's comical, ghostly groans. The sun began its final descent, washing everything in golden light. It reflected off Sebastian's eyes, illuminating the shades of brown, copper, and hazel, all shimmering with sadness escaping at last. A spot of wetness grew around his cheek, staining her trousers, but it didn't bother her at all.
His voice cracked as he spoke again. "I never should have cast Crucio on you—"
"Shhh... It was my choice."
"I should have insisted that you cast it on me. ...I never should have known how to cast it."
"But then we'd be dead in the Scriptorium."
"Well, I shouldn't have gotten us into there in the first place."
She squeezed his hand gently. The heather rustled in the wind, filling the air with a sweet scent. In the distance, the setting sun illuminated the sea with fire. "You were doing the best you could at the time. There are a lot of things we all should have done differently. No one meant for it to go as wrong as it did."
His eyes flicked back and forth, and Cassia wondered what he was seeing in his mind. She ran her thumb up and down his hand, hoping to pull him from whatever nightmares might be plaguing him. Although he didn't speak, she sensed the heaviness he was feeling. She had made her own mistakes, yes, but they both knew he'd done so much worse. A butterfly flitted past his nose, and he blinked, coming out of his trance.
"You still owe me," he croaked.
"For what?"
"For when you took Polyjuice potion and told Professor Sharp to have me give Professor Black his Cure for Boils."
"Ha!" Cassia laughed. "I'm still sorry about that."
"You should be. I had two weeks' detention for doing exactly as I was told, with no chance of talking my way out of it. Wretched man thought I was having a go at him."
"Well, you were."
"No, you were. And at me too!"
"But didn't the look on his face make up for it?"
He smirked. "For half a moment, then he laid into me."
Cassia laughed again. "I'm so sorry! I swear, I'll get you a butterbeer next time we're in Hogsmeade."
"You're going to get me more than that. I think half of Honeyduke's ought to do it."
"Deal."
The butterflies moved on, and the violin faded. But more crickets joined the evening serenade, accompanied by crows and the gentle wind in the trees. Sebastian's hand was still cold, but it had stopped shaking a little. His face was flushed pink, drowning his many freckles. Cassia resisted wiping the tears away for fear of embarrassing him.
"I've only known you about a year, and yet it feels like my whole life," he said.
"That's because enough has happened this one year to last a lifetime."
"That it has."
Gold turned to amber and then to dusky purple as they sat there quietly. What needed saying had been said, and everything else was spoken through silence, a light touch, togetherness. The first star blinked from the velvety blue. A sadness still drifted around them, but milder than before.