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Cassiopeia Lestrange woke up in her dorm and tapped her wand to undo the hex-negating charms she always put around her bed. It was obvious who was very dedicated to making her underwear charm her hair Weasley red, but she felt lazy. Besides, she really didn't want Professor Sprout to be disappointed with her, the Head of her House was someone she admired.
Instead, she spoke her daily greeting of Parseltongue. The language sounded horrifying and revolting, the perfect way to say good morning to people who strongly disliked her without devolving into insults. The slight and imperceptible movement from all the other beds made her smile.
Cassiopeia stretched for a while before going to the lavatory, her bundle of folded Hogwarts robes and bathing paraphernalia prepared the night before in her arms. It was early morning, before daybreak. Personally, there was no point waking earlier than the sun, but it had been ingrained to her since the day she realised she didn't want to feel Mallock’s departure from her childhood bedside.
The lavatory was a very fancy greenhouse with mirrors and faucets. It had ebony floors, golden accents and very many potted plants, all of them thankfully not murderous. Usually, everyone took turns, she did it by herself because she was the only one who remembered how specifically early the plants needed to be watered. It was a way to promote punctuality amongst the students.
She groaned to properly feel the dread of classes, namely History of Magic, before brushing her teeth. Afterwards she went to one of the private bathtubs, partitioned into six by walls with creeping spider-orchids. She turned on the three faucets; the rose pink and baby blue foamy perfume, the plain blue-green water, and the gold and purple of bubbly magical skincare liquid, before jumping in like a happy kid on the beach on a summer day.
She dried herself up and wriggled into her black and yellow Hufflepuff robes, repeating Lumos and Nox verbally and wandless then back again to make sure her wand hadn't been tampered with. The only suspects awake at the ungodly hour were the Professors and the Headmaster, ensconced in their quarters.
She walked down to the common room. There was a heap of specialised books near the fireplace, and she took one that promised a dry and informative review of muggle and magical sweets. They were all “borrowed” from libraries and she mentally renewed her promise to return them. Eventually. Maybe.
She sank deeper into her beanbag, quietly imagining the scaly touch of her snake whilst reading a very delicious-looking pudding recipe.
A loud knock let her know that the Hufflepuff ghost was here. The Fat Friar slipped through the walls and floated to a few beanbags away from her.
Hannah Abbott walked down, looking neat and proper with her own Hufflepuff robes. They exchanged pleasantries, with Hannah checking herself for any forgotten items. Cassiopeia made an effort to befriend the tall brunette, she was genuine when she admitted to being afraid of her. Honesty like that was hard to come by.
They went together, with her adjusting to Hannah's long strides. During breakfast, the only instances that she received anything were the handsome owls of Malfoy bringing her sweets, a bit smaller than Draco's, but the less her cousin didn't know that, the better. She didn't brag about them like he did, dumping them in a pocket of her robes charmed with expansion magic, although she discreetly handed Hannah one peppermint chocolate swirled into perfection.
The first class was Potions. She neatly walked in step with Neville Longbottom, making it her life-long journey to keep her unexpected Gryffindor friend from earning the ire of Professor Snape with all the mistakes he made out of nerves. It worked most of the time, the explosions rarely causing him injury now.
It was another usual accident from Neville, the explosion of dark blue and sunset orange fumes and highly addicting scents a powerful showcase of utter incapability. They were sporting the colours of the fumes, her black hair already turning green in between, but nobody could see what changes Neville went through because he fell asleep, dead to the world.
The colourful and scented fumes brightened up the dreary dungeons. Even Professor Snape was mildly impressed by how each accidental pop of hue and smell pleasantly surpassed the one before, with an added benefit of deducting House points from Gryffindor.
She quickly carried him to the hospital wing after a nod from Professor Snape. It was expected that she would return. Even after the Professor deducted ten points from Gryffindor and was already insulting Potter as usual, she never did.
It had taken until lunchtime when her yearmates saw her, wearing robes that were not the black and yellow Hufflepuff, but Gryffindor's red and gold. When Hannah asked her what happened, she hissed in Parseltongue.
When asked later, Potter admitted to hearing only “—burnt—Pomfrey—switch—” in her words.
Cassiopeia quickly ran up to her room to get changed to another of her Hufflepuff robes, leaving Neville's robes neatly folded on her bed for a house elf to wash and return it.
It was a Tuesday, and since both had free time after Slytherin’s Herbology and Hufflepuff’s Transfiguration, a shared class on Care of Magical Creatures, and a Hufflepuff-Gryffindor History on Magic then dinner, she, Draco, Vincent and Gregory made a march to the empty Quidditch pitch, armed with brooms, a borrowed Quaffle from Madam Hooch, and the sweets.
Flying was the best feeling in the world, the air biting into her skin and whipping her hair into a small black flag, the thrill of aiming her broom to wherever she wanted, either with her usual teammate of Draco for offence or against the two for defence. After a thoroughly exhausting half hour of passing through the red ball through the hoops or stopping them, they squatted down the grass and passed around ginger newts and chocolate frogs.
It was no wonder that when Professor Binns droned on and on about goblin independence, all Potter could see was her head tilted into an unpleasant angle that cleverly hid her nap from the old ghost, instinctively motioning to write something on her parchment. It was jarring how afterwards, she inhaled copious amounts of dinner, not losing the grace she learnt from spending time with Draco and his family's manners.
Cassiopeia locked eyes with Hannah, both silently walking together back to their dormitory. The pleasant scents of the kitchens cooking passing by only served to make her long for the four-poster bed waiting for her.