Archive of Our Own

It’s the first year that her mum doesn’t cry on her birthday, but the firmness of her hug is enough to tell Cassie that her mum is just barely holding it in. While the party is loud and raucous, overfilling their modest lot and garden, the distraction isn’t enough to keep the birthday girl from regularly checking in on her mum. A small crowd of their closest friends—people practically like family—hover near her, but her mum’s expression remains tight. But when Cassie frowns, lips tight and expression sharp, her mum smiles and makes a silly face. 

Her ninth birthday party lasts most of the day, and as the remaining few trickle away, the sun slips below the horizon. But as Cassie turns back to the small home she shares with her mum, she sees silhouettes backlit in the light of the kitchen.

When she enters the back door, it pauses Cassie in mid step to hear her mother’s frustrated voice. 

“No! I will not risk it!”

“Hermione,” Uncle Harry’s voice is pleading and gentle, “the war won’t stop at the edge of the hamlet. It’s coming.”

“Then we move.”

A less familiar voice speaks next. “And they will follow.” 

Cassie wants to know more, so on stealthy feet she creeps closer, using the darker shadows of the empty living room to hide at the kitchen doorway. Around the island, Uncle Ron and Harry, along with Kingsley and Theo, are studying her mother. 

“So what are you asking me to do, then, Theo? Fight and put Cassie at risk? Or should I just send her off to protect her, only for her to lose her only other parent?”

“We don’t know if he’s—“

Her mum’s laugh is off, somehow wrong, and Cassie knows it doesn’t mean she’s happy. Her mum turns and stomps out of the room. The men share an uncomfortable look until she returns, a leather and silver bound diary in her hand. She drops it with a thud in the center of the island. 

“It’s been nearly nine and a half years.” 

Theo seems to shrink, eyes pained, as the rest draw in hissed breaths. 

Her mum continues. “Nine and a half years,” she thumbs the diary open, displaying page on page filled with writing, “and not one word. Every word I’ve sent still sits here, unread, and not one word has returned. So tell me again how he is alive?”

A weighted silence settles across the group. Uncle Harry is the first to break the sombre hold over the group. 

“‘Mione, it doesn’t mean he’s dead. Maybe he just can’t get to the diary. Maybe he’s still on the run. Maybe--”

With a frustrated growl, her mother snatches the diary from the island between them and throws it across the room. Cassie watches it hit the wall near her, the dull thud of the spine meeting the corner of the doorframe echoing throughout the kitchen, before falling face down and open upon the ground. Her mother’s voice is rough. All turn their attention back to her. 

“Enough. It’s enough.” Tears are gathering at the corner of Hermione’s eyes. “I can’t keep hoping, Harry. I just have to do what’s right by ou—“ she chokes on the word, “ my daughter.”

Every adult’s attention rests on her mother, but Cassie spots a suspicious flash of green from the open diary. Slipping around the corner slowly, she moves towards it. The rest of the adults’ conversation is lost to her. Gently, she picks it up from the ground. She cradles it to her chest, before slipping back out of the kitchen. Cassie doesn’t stop until she enters her bedroom. Rushing to the bed, she climbs atop and finally pulls it from her chest, only to watch her mother’s writing slowly disappear, dissolving like ink in water.

What was happening? Her mother’s words of quiet desperation and the tears she could still hear echoing down the hall from the kitchen made Cassie pause. She knows that she should take it to her mum, should tell her what’s happening, but her intense curiosity keeps her eyes glued to the gently glowing pages.

More words fade into nothingness. Her eyes track the slow progress, but she is too busy watching the words swirl and disappear to actually take in the words. Page after page, it reverts to an empty diary. With a start, she realizes that her mother’s diary is nearly empty, and Cassie flips to the final few pages, trying to decipher the last few lines of her mum’s unruly writing. 

I’m sorry, Love. 

I just can’t keep holding on to the hope that one day this diary will light up and I’ll see your sweet words again. I can’t be half a person anymore. I can’t do that to her. 

I love you, Draco. And I’ll love her even more so for you.

Draco? She has heard that name, she knows it, but only for the lack of everyone else trying not to say it around her. It feels like a secret everyone knows, but no one has told her yet. Her mind wanders down familiar paths: ‘ she looks so much like Dra--’, ‘I’m so sorry, Hermione. It must be so hard to see Drac--’, ‘The older she gets, the more I see D--’... it’s a familiar interruption, as if the mysterious Draco hung just behind those words. But Mum used the name right there… as if to taunt her, the self-same words disappear, and the diary’s light fades to nothing.

For a long moment, she sits in the darkness, staring at where the diary had once been glowing. A thought shoots like a star through her brain. Jumping up, she snags a play wand from Uncle George’s stash of gifts he had brought her. His latest invention—he calls them Dark Lights—lights only what the holder wants to see. Using it, she drags the diary to her small writing desk. Propping the wand on a stack of books, she uses it to light up the now empty volume. As she turns to the first page, a flash of silver emanates from the diary. At the first page, precise letters form.

I’m so sorry, Hermione.

The words fade as soon as she reads them. Cassie swallows, but it sticks in her throat. The pounding of her heart in her ears drowns out every noise, but her Mum always taught her to face her fears, and she always does. Instead, she writes in her slow script, trying to be careful with her looped letters. 

Hello. 

Who are you?

As soon as she lifts her quill, the words dissolve. It doesn’t take long for a response.

Hello, little one. 

How did they know she was little? 

I am the one who made these diaries. How did you find this one?

She bites the end of the quill, a habit her mum tried to break from her but often did herself. Was Draco the one who made the diaries? Or was it someone else? Always tell the truth. Mum always says to tell the truth.

It’s my Mum’s. I wanted to see what was inside it. So I’m borrowing it.

She pauses, thinking as the words fade and decides to ask.

Why do you think I’m little?

The other writer’s words appear almost instantly.

Your handwriting. It’s very good, and I can tell you’re trying. But it’s definitely a learner’s script.

Script? What’s script?

She can almost hear the writer laugh. She wonders again if it’s the mysterious Draco.

It’s another word for handwriting. 

The question hangs at the edge of her mind and she writes before she can truly think about it.

Are you Draco?

The words fade. It takes a longer pause for them to respond.

Yes.

She gets a thrill of excitement, her quill jotting across the page. The quality of her script fails as she fills the page with questions.

You are?? How do you know my mum? She always looks so sad when people say your name. Why? Did you know my dad too? Were you friends? Mum won’t even tell me his name, even though I’ve asked her a ton. You made the diaries? How? Why? Where are you? Why were you sorry? What happened

She pauses, cringing, and shyly returns her quill to the page. 

Wait. I’m talking to much. Sorry.

She stops for a moment before realizing she never introduced herself, even as the words again disappear.

By the way, I’m Cassie. It’s nice to meet you.

Almost immediately, his words emerge on the page. 

It’s not wise to introduce yourself to a stranger, little one. Bad things can happen if you do. 

A feeling of dread washes over her, but more words  follow as soon as his have disappeared. 

You’re fortunate that I will always make certain that you will be safe. It’s an honour to meet you, Cassie. 

She smiles at his words, and she stares down at the page earnestly. A surprising swell of pride fills her, preening under the praise, but his words cut off any response she might have. 

If you are who I think you are, Cassie, then yes, I do know of your father, and I think I do know why your mother doesn’t want my name used around you. 

The words rise to the surface only to disappear again from the page. 

Why?

His response is immediate. 

To keep you safe. 

For a while, nothing else arrives on the page, and Cassie isn’t quite sure what to make of the silence or what to say in response. Finally, Draco breaks the impasse. 

I think you should tell your mother that Draco is writing in her diary. 

But I’ll get in trouble!

I don’t think you will, this time. 

Cassie huffs, arms crossed, and leans back from the table. If she tells Mum, she might not learn anything else about Draco or her dad. Or she might take away the diary entirely, and then she would get into trouble, and who knows what that would mean? She gasps. What if Mum takes away her favorite books?! No, Cassie needs a way to do this right. Where she can tell the truth, but not enough to get into trouble. A plan hatches in her brain, and she smiles as she quickly jots down her response. 

I’ll tell her in the morning. It was my birthday today, and I’m really tired. 

Eagerly, she waits for his response. 

Very well, but please speak to her as soon as you can. 

She nods as she closes the diary and caps the inkwell. Turning, she uses the Dark Light to place the diary on her bed before turning it off. Haphazardly, she wrangles her curly platinum blonde hair into a makeshift braid. The diary flashes again, and she opens it as she crawls into the bed next to it. 

And happy birthday, little Cassie. 

Cassie smiles as she slides the diary under her pillow. As she settles into bed, she tries, not for the first time, to imagine what her Dad must have looked like. It’s a practice in futility, a blond blur, but when she listens closely, she swears she hears Draco’s words, and she clings to something like hope.

When she wakes, the room is filled with sunlight. At the end of her bed, her new Gryffindor and snake plushies sit propped. Cassie smiles,  snagging them both before scanning the room. Around her, the plethora of handmade gifts fills her room. Her Mum must have brought them in while she slept. 

The window is slightly ajar, and the early autumn chill slips in on her. Her thin pyjamas are not enough to cut its cold fingers, and she shivers before pulling the quilt over her head and diving under it. In a flash, the memory of the evening’s surprise— her Mum’s diary actually responding— reminds her to pull it from under her pillow. 

There’s no new words waiting for her, so she snags a quill and inkpot blindly from her bedside. 

Good morning, Draco!

The response is almost immediate. 

Good morning, little Cassie. Have you spoken to your mother yet?

She frowns. 

Not yet. I just woke up. 

And did you sleep well?

Her smile comes easily. 

Yes! And you?

There’s a pause, but when the response comes, it’s pleasant. 

As well as to be expected. 

She draws a smiling face and it disappears as soon as she lifts her quill. Hesitantly, she writes her next question. 

Can I ask you a question about my dad? Mum tells me a lot, but there’s some things she won’t tell me. 

I will answer as much as I can. But only one question— you need to speak to your mother first before we continue. 

One question. Cassie thinks for a long while, not wanting to waste the question, but the only question she can bring herself to ask is the same one she’s asked her mum more times than she can count. 

Why did my dad leave?

There’s a longer pause before his response. 

Have you asked your Mum?

She swallows.

Yes. But I still don’t understand. 

Another pause. 

Dear Cassie, I can promise you one certain thing: your dad never wanted to leave you. 

The last word blurs slightly before it fades. She closes the diary and shoves it under her pillow. Curling her knees to her chest, she stays under the quilt until her mother’s voice calls her to breakfast. 

The day passes slowly, filled with lessons that the mums and dads, aunts and uncles teach all the children in the small hamlet. It’s just after supper when she slips into her room, the sun long below the horizon. She pulls her green and silver scarf-- far too large and long-- from around her neck and loops it on the hook beside her kid-sized ones. Closing her door, Cassie slips over to her pillow and extracts the diary. 

Opening it, she finds a note waiting for her. 

I hope your day has been peaceful. Please forgive my indulgence, my dear. I find that I want to know what has been missed these nine years. 

She smiles and places the diary on the writing desk, quill in hand. 

Lessons were fun today. What do you want to know?

I am glad to hear that. I’m assuming that means you learned quite a lot. 

Draco sounds like her mum, she can’t help but think.

I did, but Michael made fun of me for reading too much during break. A devilish grin breaks across her face. So I called him uncouth and tried Aunt Ginny’s jelly-leg curse on her. 

Good girl.

That’s what Mum said too.

She would. She’s done far worse to me. 

Her curiosity peaks, and she  jots down a brief question.

What did Mum do to you?

Well, I did deserve what she gave. There’s a pause as the words disappear, but he continues. You should ask her. I have no doubt that she’ll remember. Have you spoken with her yet?

Cassie frowns as she finds her quill once more between her teeth. She doesn’t have to respond.

You haven’t. 

She hangs her head in defeat. 

No.

Cassie…

The sigh is almost audible, and shame almost moves her to do it, but then she remembers her mum’s tears from the night before.

I don’t want her to cry again. 

Her words disappear into the page, but nothing happens for a long time. She almost closes the book, but it flashes silver again. 

I--

My dear

The words keep disappearing but they never finish the sentence.

Cassie, I’m tired of making your Mum cry, too. 

A little flash of hope flares in her chest.

So we can keep this a secret for a little longer? There’s so much I want to know.

The words fade again into a long silence. 

You should tell her, but…

She hangs again on the unfinished sentence.

But for now, yes, I will answer your questions.

Did my dad like to read, too? 

It started slowly, the shift in the conversations.

Very much so. When he was a child, he had a massive library, and spent many hours reading there.

Away from just questions about her father. Or even questions about Draco.

Mum likes to read too!

And into a conversation.

Cassie…

The word appears, hovers, and then fades. She waits, staring at the blank page for a moment. Was she supposed to respond to that? Or was he… nervous?

Cassie, how is your mum? Is she okay?

She hesitates for the first time during their conversations. A memory of her mum’s story about Aunt Ginny and a talkative diary hovers behind her eyes. But her mum’s words to Draco— the ones she had spotted moments before they had disappeared— ease her worry. Quill to parchment, the scratch is muted under the quilt.

She’s okay. She worries a lot. But Uncle Theo and Ron make her laugh a lot. Uncle Harry tries, too, but he’s not that funny. Mum says he used to be funny, but he got old.

The response is almost immediate, and slightly spiked.

So glad she has finally learned the truth about Scarhead.

Her brow furrows.

Scarhead?

A hesitation.

… don’t repeat that, Cassie.

She grins. 

I like you, Draco. You’re funny.

I like you, too, Cassie.

Thus began Cassie’s new obsession. She starts her morning with a hello to Draco, and he responds in kind. He asks her to tell her Mum. She avoids the question, or says maybe, and then finds out her little bit of information about her Dad. He then learns a little something more about her or her mum. 

Her questions are easy at first: her dad’s favorite sweet (sour apple toffees), favorite book (it’s a tie between Quidditch Through the Ages and the Muggle book Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde-- her mum had introduced him to it), favorite flower (she favors Gardenia, but according to Draco, her father loved roses). 

In turn, he learns about her and her mum. She answers about her favorites: her favorite sweet (Jammie Dodgers), favorite season (Autumn— the crunchy leaves are the best noise when she walks), favorite book (her mum has been reading Agatha Christie stories to her). Draco asks after her mum almost daily, and at one point even asks Cassie if her mum has been dating.

She cheekily responds that her mum doesn’t date diaries.

His response is simple: touché.

At one point she asks how he knows so much about her father, but he dismisses it with a vague answer: he was a good friend of Cassie’s mum. He was even at their wedding. Cassie is skeptical—she had met most of Mum’s friends. And no one was allowed to talk about Draco to her.

At another point, she asks Draco what her father’s name was. He begs her to tell her mother about the diary. She doesn’t ask again.

At night, she tells him things about her day or about things she remembers. Then, on one memorable night, she tells him more than he wants to know. There is a story she overhears from one of the older kids about Death Eaters and scarier things, and she tells him about it. She tells him how scared it makes her.

I know your Mum has you safe. One day, I hope to make it to you, but everyone is being very safe, and none of the Death Eaters will find you. 

Cassie sits up in her bed, suddenly excited, her cocoon under the quilt tenting over her head. 

You’re looking for us?

Yes, and I will get there one day. But only once I know you all will still be safe. 

She has information. Information to get him closer here, to find out everything he knows about her dad. Information that will bring her new friend here . Her quill moves like a flash across the page. 

I can tell you! We're in Scotland, near Kearvaig Bay! Between--

His words appear big and bold. 

CASSIE, NO.

She stops writing and closes the diary in sudden surprise. It flashes silver, but she keeps it closed. It flashes again, and she closes her eyes. Never run away. Slowly, she opens the page. His words are contained again. 

I’m sorry, Cassie. I didn’t mean to scare you. But you can’t tell me right now. It’s not safe enough. 

There’s a gap, evidently the second message he sent starting after.

There aren’t many things that scare me anymore, Cassie, but the idea that you or your mother could get hurt is one of the few things that do. Please, don’t tell me any more important things like where you are. I’ll find a way when it’s time. I always do. 

The words fade, and she stares at the blank page for a long moment. 

Ok.

Thank you, little one.

After the scare, Draco no longer asks for more details in regards to her or her mum. And when she attempts to offer, he quickly rebuts it. One time after such a rebuttal, she petulantly says he sounds scared. His answer is abrupt and simple: Absolutely petrified. 

She stops offering. 

They fall back into a rhythm, comfortable and soothing to her, Draco a faceless confidante, feeding her more information about her father than her previous nine years had. She offers snapshots of her daily life, never giving telling details. It doesn’t prevent her from asking him when he’s coming. His answer is always the same: soon. 

A few months pass in such a fashion, and before she knows it, the first snow falls over their little hamlet. Cassie’s morning routine starts with Draco, as before, and that day she reads about the first time her dad tried to impress her mum by making dinner. 

She wants to ask again about where Draco fits in all of this. She remembers his request to talk to her mum about the diary. She doesn’t ask.

Mum makes fluffy pancakes for breakfast that morning, a special treat, and lets her douse them in syrup. 

Cassie snags a green apple on her way out the door. 

Her lessons are tedious, so instead of listening to Michael Weasley mocking her for reading on her break again, she decides to go home and read in her room. 

She knows that Draco never writes to her during the day, and she’s usually the one to start the conversation. But when she arrives in her room, she spots a telltale flash of silver from under her pillow. A grin splits her face as she bolts across the room. 

Maybe her afternoon wouldn’t be so boring after all. 

She retrieves the diary and flicks it open. Instead of the typical sort of pleasant greeting she usually receives, the words are large and hastily written. 

Cassie, are you there?

You are in danger. They are coming. You need to leave. 

Cassie, find your mother, NOW. 

Give this to her. No more games. There’s no time .

She has a split second to decide whether to take the diary to Hermione, or bury it under her pillow with the bad news inside, muffled. But she knows, deep down, that it would only make things worse. It isn’t much of a choice. 

“Mum! Mum!” 

She listens and sprints towards the sound of her mother's panicked response. 

As soon as Cassie sees her mum, she pushes the book into her open hands. 

“My diary? Cassie, how did you find my diary?” Hermoine’s voice breaks. 

Her mum’s eyes are wide, and she gasps to see words appear on the page. 

Be brave, little one. I know you will. 

Cassie opens her mouth to explain, but the page lights up again, and her mum drops to her knees, both their eyes locked on the page as the writing appears. 

It’s intel— there are Death Eaters coming— but the details disappear almost immediately. She can't decipher what Draco is saying, and his script, as he called it, is different: smaller, and spiked. It’s only when Cassie finally looks up at her mum that she realizes tears are running down her cheeks. 

When Hermione closes the diary, she sniffles before she hands it back to Cassie with a sad smile. “Follow me, quickly. We only have so much time.”

As Cassie pulls the closed book to her chest, her mum speaks softly to her as she leads her into Hermione’s room.

“You remember what to do?”

Cassie nods. 

“Good girl.” Shuffling through her closet, she reaches deep into the magically expanded space and brings out a small wooden box. Placing it on to the bed, her mum swallows a deep breath. Cassie watches closely as tears gather again in her eyelashes. The box opens with a loud creak, and she reaches in and withdraws a black bundle of fabric, pooling it in her hands. She brings it up as if to breathe it in, but stops half way and instead unfurls it. 

It’s a large cloak, dark and lined, and when it unspools from her hands, a wave of oak and cedar fills the small space of her mum’s room. Hermione starts to stumble, but shakes it off, before turning and wrapping Cassie up in it. 

“This is something very special, and he— Draco would recognize it. It’ll keep you safe, even when I’m not able to.”

It settles surprisingly light on her shoulders, but she feels warm under it. She gazes up from under its overlarge hood and meets her mother’s eyes. 

“But you’re coming too?”

Hermione smiles, kneeling down to her eye level. “I’ll follow after you, but I’m not coming with you right now.” Her eyes drop down to the book for a half second before returning to Cassie’s. “I know you’ll be safe until I get to the outpost.”

She stands up, but bends to press a kiss to her forehead. 

“Go get started. I’ll go tell everyone else.”

As Cassie turns, she stops at the touch of her mum’s hand on her shoulder. 

“Please don’t tell anyone about the diary, not yet at least. If Draco asks where you are, tell him.” Cassie nods again, but her mum continues, voice cracking. “And-and when you talk to him again, please ask him if he’s okay, and that I miss him.”

Mum stays behind, but according to Cassie's uncles, she’ll meet back at the new safe outpost in a few days' time. Uncle Harry tells her that her mum is too smart to get hurt or get caught. She believes him, but her nightmares don’t. 

The roads are not kind as she follows behind Uncle Harry, his pace similar to hers and the rest of the children’s. Behind him, Uncle Ron and George are trying to keep the half-dozen children entertained to keep them from thinking of their missing parents. They are either unknown ahead of them, securing their next destination, or unknown behind them, keeping the Death Eaters from following them. 

When they stop for a break, allowing Uncle Harry’s leg to rest and the smaller ones to nap, Cassie retreats into her oversized cloak, the one that still smells of cedar and oak, and pretends to sleep. Instead, she pulls out the diary that is at the top of her bag and opens it. She remembers his last few words—the ones that were meant for her. 

Be brave, little one. I know you will. 

The new words from Draco are more desperate, his writing is something tougher to read than she has seen before. 

Send word when you are safe, Cassie. I’ll be waiting. 

From outside of her cloak, she hears a shuffle-- the sound of Uncle Harry grunting as he rises to his feet. Near him, Uncle Ron shouts a brisk ‘ Oi!’ . Curiosity gets the better of her and she peeks out of the hood. Most of the kids are asleep and those that aren’t are too distracted by George’s antics near the back of the group. 

A new figure, unrecognizable in a dark cloak and matching dragonhide gloves. He strides towards them, but raises his hands in surrender. There’s a wand in one, but it’s held loosely. 

Harry levels his wand. 

“Who goes there?” She recognizes the phrase; it’s one she’s heard multiple times over the past two days as different strangers have passed their band. Cassie knows that the answer will mean they’re a good or a bad person. 

“Harpocrates,” comes the stranger’s response, a lazy drawl. 

Ron’s face drops. “Bullshit.”

Uncle Harry frowns towards Ron — “ language, Ron” — but doesn’t take his eyes or wand off of the stranger. The stranger stops moving. 

“Forgive me, Harpocrates , but I think your intel’s a little old. He’s been dead for nearly ten years.”

Instantly, the stranger drops his wand. With steady hands, he pulls back the hood of his cloak. The first thing she notices is the hair— it’s unnaturally bright blond, almost as if casting its own light. That hair— it’s just like hers! When he turns, she notices the pale skin, even though there is a latticework of lighter marks across his neck and cheek. 

Across from the stranger, Uncle Ron and Harry gasp. Harry grips his wand with white knuckles and limps his way towards the stranger, eyes wide. He pushes his glasses higher up his nose. 

“H-how?”

Cassie sees the stranger smirk. 

“You should know by now that it’s hard to kill a ferret.”

A low whistle from Ron seems to break Harry from his shocked observation of the stranger. With a guffaw, he pulls him into a brisk hug that the stranger seems to bristle under, but doesn’t back away. Ron says another word that Mum would have hit him for saying. 

“Looks like someone tried to, Malfoy." When released from Harry’s grip, the stranger (Malfoy?) turns his gaze towards Uncle Ron. Cassie gasps slightly at the practically silver eyes that meet her uncle’s. 

They’re just like hers too! She wondered if maybe she was related to this stranger? Mum had mentioned cousins on her dad’s side, but that they weren’t the best people. She didn’t think Uncle Harry would be as happy to see them. But this stranger looked so much like her…

She has to tell Draco! 

Scanning them all quickly, she sees her uncles calm, their voices friendly and warm. She takes it as a good sign and pulls her quills out, scribbling in the diary. 

I’m safe. I went and talked to Mum as soon as you told me. I don’t know why she cried, but she got us all out of there. She told me not to tell anyone about writing to you. Not yet.  Uncle Harry’s taking me and the other children to safety. Mum's at home. 

But we just had a stranger meet us. Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron seemed happy to see him. He’s got hair and eyes like me! I haven’t seen anyone like me before!  Mum says I got my eyes and hair from my dad. Maybe we could be related. 

Mum said to ask you if you’re okay. And to tell you that she misses you. 

“Uh, Malfoy, you’re flashing.” Uncle Ron’s voice is closer than she expected, but quiet as if he didn’t want to wake her. 

She peeks out from under the cloak and watches as Malfoy reaches into his cloak, eyes wide and desperate. A gold flash emanates from a diary he clutches desperately for. He swiftly flips his open and she glances down at her diary, watching her words disappear. Cassie hears a thud, and looks up in time to spot the diary open on the ground and Malfoy turning toward Harry, hands gripping the other’s arms. 

“Where is she, Potter? Where’s Cassie? ”

For a moment, she ducks further down, before swallowing. We don’t run away from what we’re scared of, Cassie. So instead, she lifts her head and meets the stranger’s eyes. He’s studying her intently, eyes wide. She cocks her head to study him in return. A dark scar runs across one of his eyes, and the lattice work of what she now recognizes as smaller ones runs up the other side of his face. 

She watches his mouth move silently for a moment, before he presses his lips into a line and kneels in front of her. When he speaks, his words are rough and his eyes are glossy. 

“Cassie?”

When she nods, her curls break loose. A black gloved hand stretches out to brush them behind her ear. She finds her voice and schools it as close to her Mum’s as she can. 

“Cassiopeia.” Her imitation breaks at the sight of tears running down the stranger’s cheek. “A-are you Draco?”

He nods. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Cassie.”

The hand that brushed her hair back lays outstretched between them. She takes it gingerly, before suddenly crashing into him for a hug. He returns it eagerly. 

He smells like cedar and oak. 

Cassie studies Draco like he’s a new book. 

He’s across from her around the fire, his cloak pushed back from his shoulders, but his dark clothes make his pale skin and light hair stand out even more. Occasionally he glances up, and meets her eye. When he does, a watery smile pulls at his lips. 

Uncle Harry doesn’t stop asking him questions, but his answers are short and clipped. One of the times he looks up at Cassie, he asks Harry a question in return. 

“Why did Hermione stay behind?”

Harry grimaces. “She asked to. Said that Cassie would be safe.” He eyes Draco closely. “Almost as if she knew something more.”

Draco just shrugs. 

Cassie is too curious, and the conversation feels like the right time. 

“Draco,” her voice makes Uncle Harry jump, “how did you really know my dad?”

Any hint of a smile dies on his face, and all the adults grow very still. 

“I think that’s a question that needs to be answered when we meet up with your mum.”

“Why?”

Silver eyes flash, but a wry smile tries to pull at one of the corners of his lips. 

“Because it’s a decision we both made together.”

Her face scrunches up in confusion and she turns her attention to the fire. 

“Draco, you know ‘Mione wasn’t trying to—“

An upraised hand silences Uncle Ron’s protests. 

“That’s a discussion between me and my—“ Her eyes flicker to him for a moment, but he continues slowly and methodically. “Between me and Hermione.”

She scowls at the burning heart of the flame. 

That night, her diary flashes silver under her pillow and she starts, clutching for it. 

I’m sorry I can’t tell you more now, Cassie. But I will soon, once I speak with your mum. Sleep well, little one. I’ll make sure you are safe.

She pulls out a quill and quickly responds. 

Thank you. Good night, Draco. 

Good night, Cassiopeia.

She closes the diary and replaces it under her pillow, but finds that she can’t get comfortable. After tossing and turning, she gives up and instead tiptoes out of the tent. At the entrance, the same fire from earlier is now just glowing embers, and the only figure she sees is the dark clothed Draco, a book in one hand, his wand twirling in the other. Beside him, his diary is open but blank. She shivers as a winter wind tracks over from the nearby bay. Slipping back into the tent for a spell, she returns with her oversized cloak and scarf engulfing her in warmth and a familiar woody smell. 

Cassie makes her way to Draco’s side, but his eyes are on her from the moment she re-emerges from the tent. He hasn’t said a word. 

He still doesn’t speak as she sits down beside him. She cocks her head to read the title of the book in his hands. 

Slowly, she reads it aloud. “Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

Silver eyes shoot up to meet ones so similar to her own. 

“You said that was my dad’s favourite book.”

He smirks. “ One of the favourites.”

“Yeah.” 

Silence descends on them both. Draco’s the first to break it. 

“Why are you awake?”

She pulls her cloak tighter around her. “Nightmares.”

Draco nods sagely. “Ah, yes.” He looks at her. “Do you want to talk about them?”

“Mum dies.” She burrows her head into her retracted knees, her arms hugging them tight to her chest. “Every time. I know it's not real. I think I’m just scared.”

“Cassie, it’s okay to be scared.”

“Mum says not to.”

His brow furrows. “Does she really?”

“Yeah,” she nods vigorously and tries to imitate her mum. “ ‘Never run away from something scary.’ ”

Draco smiles. “You sound just like her.” His expression grows thoughtful. “But I don't think she meant you couldn’t be scared, Cassie.”

She turns to him, confused, but he continues. 

“It just means keep fighting, even if— especially if— you’re scared.” The smile falters for a moment. “That’s why I’m here.”

“You were scared?” Her voice is incredulous. It’s hard for her to relate this scarred, solemn man with the word ‘scared’. But then she remembers his response from before: absolutely petrified. 

He nods. “For far too long. When I first met your mum, I was scared and stupid. I ran away because I was scared.” He pauses, waiting until she meets his eye. “Now, I refuse to let someone else make me so scared that I run away. Now, I will stand and fight the things that scare me, if I can.”

Draco raises a brow. “Do you understand?”

“It’s okay to be scared,” she begins slowly, watching him, “but don’t get so scared I can’t fight what scares me.”

“Exactly, Cassie. Being brave means doing the right thing, even though you're scared.”

Her yawn interrupts their discussion and she shifts to lean against him. With her head against his arm, she feels her eyelids grow heavy for the first time of the night. 

“I think I’d rather stay here with you, if I can.”

The arm raises, and she snuggles up tight against his side. “You will always be safe here, Cassie.”

She smiles and it stays there as the dark claims her. 

A new pattern emerges in Cassie’s life. She wakes up in the big tent, wrapped in her oversized cloak like a blanket, and encased with the smell of cedar and oak. 

She gets up with the other half dozen kids, and begins the trek for the day. It’s all backroads and around small villages and hamlets. Occasionally, they wait outside of them while Uncle Harry or Draco or both go in to get more food and water. They always move on as far as they can before nightfall. 

Then, at night, they sit around the fire, eating. For a bit, it’s a manageable affair, and George’s antics are enough to keep the kids busy, but for the older few, it starts to run thin. A week and a half into their journey, they are faced with a half dozen miserable, tired and achy five to twelve year olds. 

One of the older boys seems to remember his old pastime of picking on Cassie— she knows it’s coming, they’ve been working up to it all day. 

Throughout the walk that day, Michael Weasley has been annoying at best. Small buzzing hexes around her ears that make her cringe at nothing. Cross-eyed hexes that make things double until Uncle George corrects them, glares at and chastises the older boy. She focuses on her book in hand and keeps walking. 

It comes to a head over dinner. 

She’s eating— it’s a hearty stew, similar to her mum’s— and listening to Draco and Uncle Harry discuss some old anecdote of their school years, when the world spins on its head. Cassie knows the ground is still under her, but it feels like she’s floating upside down in rapid circles. 

A vertigo hex. 

All of the food attempts to leave her stomach, but she smacks a hand to her mouth and bolts from the fireside. It’s a valiant attempt, but the vertigo makes her unsteady and she doesn’t make it far before expelling her dinner. Vaguely, she hears a deep voice behind her and a soothing hand on her back. 

When the world stops spinning, she can hear the other kids making exaggerated retching noises, or groaning. In the background, she can hear Michael snickering. The hand continues to run circles across her back. 

“Just breathe, Cassie.” It’s Draco. 

A sob escapes her. Then another. She squeezes her eyes shut tight. Another hand on her and he pulls her into a hug. She readily clings to him and the dam bursts. He merely holds her tighter. 

“Michael, wasn’t it?”

She’s surprised to hear his voice low, a whisper in one ear and a rumble in the one pressed to his chest. Cassie nods. 

“That’s what I thought.” He keeps an arm around her, but with his other, he pulls his wand. “I learned this one from your Aunt Ginny.”

A few words and suddenly, there’s a new sound. All the kids turn towards it, and Cassie dares to open her bleary eyes. Across the way, Michael looks concerned as he clutches to his mouth and nose, but it’s not enough. Soon, however, there was no way to prevent the bats that had emerged from his nose, and all the kids turned on him. 

Even Cassie can’t prevent the snicker that escapes her. Over the din of the other children laughing, she can hear Uncle Ron’s voice, angry. 

“… thought Augustus was raising you better! George told me what you’ve been doing and now this?”

She can see Michael open his mouth to defend himself, but fresh bats pour from him in the interim. Uncle Ron continues his tirade. 

“No, I’m not hearing it. That’s not fair to Miss Cassie, and I’m tired of it, Michael! Merlin, I hope my cousin’s at the Floo point! I don’t know what to do anymore, Harry…” His voice fades, and the sound of the hiccuping Michael and gooey bats starts to dissipate as he follows Ron dutifully away. 

“A little better?” Draco asks her quietly. Cassie nods as she sits up. His eyes scan her. “Let’s get you cleaned up and some tea in you.”

He stands, but offers her his gloved hand. She readily slips hers into it. 

Tea and fresh robes are enough to relieve the general unease, but she cringes every time one of the children moves near her in the tent. By the time all the kids make their way in— she’s in a ball in her sleeping bag— Cassie finds she can’t sleep. To her, every sound is a hex, every brush of hair that she doesn’t immediately recognize is a transfigured shoelace-snake. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time a shoelace-snake wound up in her bag. Unable to relax, she finally shoots from her sleeping bag and runs from the tent. 

By the fading fireside is a familiar form. Uncle Harry’s shaking his head at him— ‘he’s just a stupid kid, Malfoy’, ‘do you want him to be me at that age?’ ‘that’s not what I’m saying’— but Draco seems relaxed. 

Without preamble, Cassie walks to his side, drops down next to him and leans. His arm wraps around her without hesitation. Uncle Harry kneels down before her, eyes concerned. 

“How are you, Cassie?” 

She shakes her head in response. Harry sighs. 

In an undignified motion, he rolls back onto his backside, and sits, studying her. She finds she doesn’t like it and burrows her face into Draco’s side. His arm tightens around her. 

“She always helps me learn what to say,” Cassie surprises herself when she starts to talk, “but I can’t remember it when people are making fun of me. Especially Michael. I wish I could be like mum and know what to say.”

For a moment, Harry watches, green eyes studying her, before he speaks softly. “Do you know how your mum, Ron and I became friends?”

She shakes her head. 

“Ron made fun of her the first year of school and she ran and hid in the girls bathroom where she cried for the rest of the day. We had to find her when a troll got into the school and tracked her down.”

“You…” Cassie’s voice is rough from the evening’s events. “You made fun of Mum?”

Harry nods, his face pulled tight. 

Draco’s voice surprises her. “ That’s how you three became friends? You literally put her life in danger?”

Harry’s hand rakes through his hair. “Yeah, not the best of starts, would you say?”

Cassie lifts her head, forestalling any other comments. “Mum got teased?”

“Hard to imagine, isn’t it?” Harry smiles sadly. Cassie nods. 

“I would say,” Draco’s voice is tight above her, “that I was better, but that would be a lie. I used to torment your mother for a few years too.”

She sits up, surprise on her face. Draco’s lips are crooked, but there’s no hint of a smile. “But the one thing she always made certain of: I got as much as I gave.” His face is thoughtful when he turns it towards Harry. “I guess she learned to do that because of you two idiots.”

Harry chuckles beside them. “Absolutely. The real trouble began when she and Ginny became good friends. Ron and I were screwed.” He pauses, turning thoughtful for a moment, and looks at Cassie. “You know, while you are still too young to learn any real magic, I’m sure that Uncle George can set you up with some things…”

“Just like Mum?”

Draco finally smiles, and it’s a devious one at that. “Exactly like your Mum.”

She is still smiling when she falls asleep against Draco’s side. 

A day. 

One more day, and they would be at the safe outpost, on the other side of Loch Inshore. 

The adults sigh with relief as they set up the warming, disillusionment and silencing wards. 

Cassie has taken to trotting alongside Draco’s long gait, plying him with incessant questions, much to the wry amusement of the other men. He answers them with either a surprising level of patience or kind redirection. 

For all of the restraint he showed during their writing, he now returns her questions with his own. She giddily answers them. 

Her attention and obsession with Draco puts her with him near the front of the line. 

Thus, when she stops and points, asking what that is, Draco spots the attack first. Snatching her up, he jumps them away from the exploding hex that pocks the ground where they just were. A warning cry is on his lips, and the adults step forward, layering shielding ward upon shielding ward before the group. 

Draco slips Cassie behind the wards with a brisk command of ‘stay with the group, stay safe’ before pulling his cloak over his head and practically vanishing into the black shrouded attackers. While her uncles respond with wave after wave of offensive spell casting, and patching up the failing wards, her eyes are on a black figure that only ever seems to emerge long enough for one, two other ones to fall, always in a different part of the fight.

The attack is short, but it leaves her uncles shaken. They’re still watching the ridge line the Death Eaters had emerged from with concern, but when no others appear, they begin to move the group slowly down the path. 

Cassie watches the same spot as the adults, waiting for Draco to re-emerge. When it is almost out of eyeline, she panics and tries to hover behind, but George snags her. 

“Gotta keep moving, little Cass.”

“But Draco—“

George’s hand turns her shoulder, trying to steer her towards the group. “He knows what he’s doing. He’ll catch up.” She follows, despite keeping her gaze behind her. 

Before she can respond, George hisses and jumps towards the older boys. 

“Michael, James! Put down your damn wands, you idjits!” 

Cassie uses the distraction to hang back further, before turning and running back. She clutches to the toy wand tucked into her pocket but rounds the corner— straight into a black clad figure. 

She smiles, and then looks up, relieved to know Draco’s okay, that he’s not—

It’s not Draco. 

It’s not Draco. 

The mask is silver and gold, and every bit of a monster from her nightmares. She quickly retreats, trying not to scream or cry, and instead points her flimsy wand towards their feet. Cassie’s not sure where she remembers it from, but the words come nonetheless. One moment, the Death Eater is stalking towards her, the next his feet are slipping and sliding on nothing, unable to step out of the unseen goo. 

She starts to run, but the Death Eater is quicker. His wand is already in hand, aiming, when she hears the nearly simultaneous hexes. 

Cassie turns in time to see the Death Eater slump unconscious at the hands of a dark figure with wand leveled, when she runs into another person. She rebounds and looks up— to see her mum. 

Her mum’s face is tight and certain, her wand raised at the unconscious Death Eater, before it flicks towards the only other person standing. Hermione doesn’t waiver as she moves Cassie behind her. 

It’s then that Cassie recognizes the dark-clad figure who has still to raise his wand from the slumped assailant. 

“Mum, no, that’s—“

Her mum doesn’t even acknowledge Cassie in the moment, her entire focus on the other man. Slowly, he pockets his wand and starts to step forward. Her mum’s wand flickers dangerously. 

“One more step, Death Eater.” The warning is clear in her voice. He stops in his tracks, gloved hands raised in surrender. 

“I’m not a Death Eater. Not in many years, Granger.”

For the first time since her arrival, Hermione’s wand dips. 

“I-I know that voice…” It's a whisper that only Cassie can hear, until she clears her throat and speaks up. “It’s not just Granger anymore, as I’m sure you would know.”

There’s a crack in her voice and Cassie looks up to find tears tracking down her mother’s cheeks. Looking back at the dark figure, she finds he is tentatively moving around the unconscious body and towards them. He slowly raises his hands to his hood but falters for a moment. 

“ Please .” It’s her mum’s voice. Cassie can’t tell what her mum is asking, but she has dropped her wand altogether, and she can see her hands shaking. “ Please. ”

Cassie turns back to the dark figure and sees him take a deep breath. Then in one motion he steps forward, drawing the hood from his head. 

Draco Malfoy. Her friend who knows so much about her dad. Cassie sighs in relief. Her mum, to her dismay, sobs. 

“Draco?” The trembling hand that had clutched her wand raises as if to touch him despite the distance. 

“Hello, Hermione.”

In one motion, her mum is across the distance, arms around his neck, held up by his around her waist. His hands cling to her, his nose buried in the crook of her neck. Cassie can hear her mum crying, but she’s surprised to find she’s not scared at the sound like usual. 

“… so sorry , my love…” Draco’s voice is cracking and muffled, but Cassie can still hear it from time to time. “… I’ve been trying… couldn’t go back to our flat for the diary til… never meant to leave you. Both of you—” 

A break in his voice is quickly followed by him falling to his knees and Cassie starts to bolt forward until she realizes that both of them are kneeling together, holding each other tight. A hand rests on her shoulder and she sees Uncle Harry, tears of his own on his cheeks. 

 Draco is slumped, his hands tight on her jumper and his broken face turned up in Hermione’s hands. She kisses at his tears. 

“I can’t believe it's actually you.” Hermione smiles, watery but happily. She rests her forehead against his. “ Draco .”

He lets out a breath that almost sounds like a giddy laugh at the end. “ Hermione. ”

Her mum sighs. There’s a pause, before they both pull back to study each other for a moment. Her mum’s hand lightly traces the top edge of the scar, her other across the latticework on his cheek. His fingers play in the curls of her hair. 

As one, they crash together, a kiss that's full of years of missed moments. Cassie looks up at her uncle, and he meets her eye with a coy smile on his face. 

He clears his throat. 

"I think Cassie might have a few questions for you both." 

Both break away, but her mum’s face is the only one that blushes. 

“Oh Cassie, I’m sorry!” She stumbles to her feet, almost drunkenly, before kneeling again before her daughter. “There’s a lot of things to explain.”

Behind her mum, Draco gets to his feet and gathers Hermione’s wand. He steps up to the three of them before handing the wand back. 

“How far are we from the safe outpost?” Draco’s voice is rough. 

Harry meets his eye. “The kids are all there. We’re preparing to do a quick regroup before moving on.” He eyes the unconscious man. “We better move before he wakes up and calls for reinforcements.”

Hermione nods, standing. But it’s Draco who swoops to pick up Cassie. His other hand reaches for Hermione’s and her mum readily grabs it. 

Draco nods. “Lead the way, Potter.”

The heavily warded outpost is a collection of houses, a safe haven for large groups, and as safe as McGonagall could make it, her mum explains once they pass the barriers. But it doesn’t mean impenetrable. 

Now that the Death Eaters are aware of its existence, they will stop at nothing to get in. So it’s as simple as moving on as soon as they are done recovering from the journey. Thankfully, her mum continues, the Floo located at the center of the outpost is part of a private connection that will be destroyed as soon as the last person is through. 

According to overly cautious estimates, they still have a few days to recover before the Death Eaters even sniff out where they are. 

This is how Cassie finds herself around an unfamiliar table in a small cottage in the outpost with her mum and Draco. 

“Soooo….” Cassie starts, looking at them both with wide eyes. She zeros in on Draco. “You know my dad, true or false?”

He raises a brow. “Technically true. But not as you assumed.”

Her brow furrows, and she turns it to her mum. “My dad’s dead, true or false?”

Hermione sighs. “False, but I didn’t know that at the time. Cassie, if you’ll just let us explain—“

She shakes her head, before turning back to Draco. There’s a smirk on his face. “What’s your favorite sweet?”

He sits back, crosses his arms and levels her with a look, all while still smirking. “Green apple toffee.”

Hermione makes a sound of frustration. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Draco raises a hand to pause her rant. “Just be patient, love.”

Cassie stays focused on Draco. “Your favorite flower?”

His smile grows. “Roses. They remind me of my mother. She used to have a garden of them when I was a little boy.”

“Favorite drink?”

“Butterbeer.”

“Favorite memory?”

“Before all of this? Kissing your mum for the first time. She nearly hexed me, but it was worth it.”

Her mum makes a noise, almost like a squeak. “ That was your favorite?”

He turns a devilish smile towards her. “You didn’t actually hex me, though you could have. The memory of you looking all flushed and aggravated but sated like you couldn’t make up your mind if you hated me or wanted more was all I could think of for weeks.”

A coy smile spreads on her mum’s face. “Both. It was both.”

“Ahem.” Hermione jumps at Cassie’s spoken throat clear and a blush stains her cheeks. Draco merely raises a brow and lets out a small snort. “I’m still asking questions.”

“No you’re not.” Draco turns a sly look towards her, before leaning his elbows on to the table. His words come out in a lazy drawl. “You already know the answer to the big question. You’re just trying to milk this.”

Cassie narrows her eyes at him, but says nothing. 

He leans back, pushing his chair onto its back two legs. 

“I'm not so old as to forget my childhood, Cassie.” He meets her gaze straight. “Ask the question you really want answered.”

Cassie contemplates his offer for a moment before nodding. 

“Are you my dad?”

Draco’s smile grows. “Yes, Cassiopeia, I am.”

“Why did you leave?”

His smile disappears immediately, and his chair rocks forward onto all four legs with a thump. When he rests his forearms on the table, he contemplates his gloved hands with a solemn expression. Opening and closing them, she can hear the dragonhide creak. Finally, he seems to make a decision. 

With deft hands he unsnaps the back of them, and works the black leather loose from his fingers. One hand then another emerges from them and he gives them a once over before placing them palm down on the table. 

Cassie peers at his hands, at the scars littering the tops of them, of the mottled skin at the edges where the skin of his palm meets the back of his hand. The scars and mottled skin still looks red and irritated. She feels herself turn a little green. 

She looks to her mum, but Hermione is studying his hands with glassy eyes, one of her own hands hovering near his. 

“You’re not going to hurt me more than they already do, Hermione.” He smiles gently at her mum, and his hand turns to meet her hovering one. 

“Cassie,” he meets her eye again, his voice solemn, “I didn’t leave— I was taken. I was willing to be taken if it meant keeping you and your mum safe from this. You weren’t even born yet, we had just found out we were going to be parents…” 

His voice fades for a moment, but he clears his throat and tries again. “I was a traitor to them, but if they knew that you were mine, that I had married your mum, they would have done worse to both of you. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“You left to keep us safe.”

He nods. 

Hermione’s voice is rough but strong when she turns to them both. “That’s also why I didn’t want to tell you, Cassie, about your dad’s name or certain things that could identify you as his. If our enemies found out whose child you are, it could have cost your dad his life..”

She turns to her daughter, eyes focused and sad. “It killed me everytime I couldn’t tell you more about your dad or our history. I tried to tell you as much as I could, but I couldn’t trust anyone else to know where to stop.” Tears began to fall. “I’m so sorry, Cassie.”

For a long while, silence falls across the re-found family, but eventually, Cassie stands and walks around the table. Her parents watch her without a word, letting her choose her reaction. She stops between them, staring down at their hands tightly clutching to each other. Slowly, she drags her eyes up to both of them, and then places her hand methodically on theirs. As one, they release their hands and turn to her, gathering themselves together. 

Cassie’s not sure who starts to cry first, but they don’t let go until all three have finished. 

That night, she sleeps between them in the bed. But when she wakes up, her dad is gone. 

Panic besets her, and she bolts from the unfamiliar bed, down the hall to the kitchen, her eyes scanning for him, desperate, but stops in her tracks when she sees him over the stove. At that moment, the smell finally hits her: bacon. 

Her dad turns towards her with a confused expression for a half moment before he recognizes the panic that’s fading from her face. 

With a flick of his wrist, he turns off the stove top and moves the pan off the burner. Stepping to her side, he drops to a knee and rests a hand on her shoulder. 

“I’m still here, Cassie. I have no intention of going anywhere besides where you and your mum go.”

Her lip trembles and she thinks it’s stupid to be crying again, so she tries to stop. But then he’s pulling her into a hug, and she clutches back, and she can’t stop the tears. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay to cry, little one. I'm so sorry I scared you.”

She clutches to his neck, and he picks her up and continues to hold her long after she’s done crying.

Normalcy reigns. 

By the next day, she restarts her lessons with the rest of the children. Even if they are basic and simple, they create a pattern. 

Just like her new routine. 

She sleeps at night between her parents and wakes in the morning to find her dad missing. The second day, she doesn’t cry, but the panic still makes her walk quicker than usual. When she finds him in the kitchen, he smiles at her, but there’s worry in his voice as he asks her if she’s okay. She nods, letting out the breath she held all the way down the hall. 

Then she goes to school. 

In the evening, they have dinner together, her dad now a fixture in the kitchen with her mum. Cassie hears her joke about him and his old archnemesis, the stove top. According to her, they must have signed a peace treaty. 

Then at night, they cuddle together once more to restart the routine. On the third morning, upon once again finding her dad cooking in the morning, Cassie hopes that this is what her life will look like from now on. 

It’s also on the third day, that her mum emerges in one of her dad’s shirts. It fits her like a dress, and the long sleeves cover her hands entirely. Cassie doesn’t understand why her dad nearly burns breakfast that morning. 

It’s that same day that she comes home from school early. Tomorrow is the day they all Floo out, and everybody wants time to prepare. When she gets home, she calls out, but hears no response. So she grabs her favorite book and sits on the sofa. 

An hour or so later, she hears talking. It’s quiet but discernible. 

“ …Merlin , I missed you.” Her mum’s voice. 

“Don’t tell me you only want me for my body.” Her dad’s.  

“Umm…” There’s a rustle. Are they in bed? “I mean, the sex is amazing…”

“Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy. I did not come back from the dead just for mind-blowing sex.”

Suddenly, Cassie feels like she’s hearing something she shouldn’t. She contemplates her options, even as her mum’s voice reaches her ears. 

“While it is mind-blowing, I would have to agree: there’s far more to it than that.” She hears her mum sniffle slightly. “ There’s so… Draco, I missed you . I missed how you challenge me, how you make me think. Godric, the disagreements— we used to have the most epic battles over anything from Dickens to dueling strategy. And yet, never once did I feel like you belittled me.

“And the things you’ve missed— the moments with Cassie where all I wanted was you beside me to watch it too.” Her mum’s sniffle again. “She is so much like you.”

Her dad’s voice cracks. “I know.”

“It was so hard without you, but it was worse when I thought that I would never have you again.” The final word breaks.

There’s a rustle again. “Never again, Hermione. I'm here and I will fight the gods themselves to stay here with you two. I love you. Both of you.” A pause, and when he speaks it's broken. “There were times when memories of you were the only thing that kept me going.”

There’s a long stretch of silence. For a moment, she thinks that they’ve fallen asleep, despite it being midday. Then her mum speaks so quietly she can barely hear her. 

“I didn’t want to leave— Draco, I wish you had let me stay—“

“ No . No, it was better that you left. If you had stayed, they would have done worse to you.”

“H-how long?”

“The first time?”

“ Merlin .” There’s a sob at the end of her mother’s swear.

There’s a rustle of fabric. “ Fuck , Hermione, I don’t want to make you cry. I’m so tired of making you cry.”

She sniffles and her voice is thick, but when she finally speaks again, she’s pulled her words into control. “Tell me what happened.” 

Her father’s voice is resolute. “Not yet. I still want to feel whole. There’ll be plenty of time to discuss them. The scars aren’t going anywhere.”

The feeling of awkwardness returns at the silence, and Cassie makes her way stealthily to her room, pulling her few possessions into her bag in preparation for the next day and pretending she hadn’t heard her parents' broken words a few moments before. 

The plan had been simple, until a village joined them at their current outpost on the opposite side of Loch Inshore. Families are shuffled about the houses, where there is space. It’s a short rest for them, since they carry word— along with their wounds and casualties— that the Death Eaters are making fast work of the wards. It startles her uncles, and her mum and dad share worried glances at the news.

The Death Eaters are both faster and more hungry for their blood than Uncle Harry had expected. That night, Cassie spies a familiar group around the kitchen table. 

There’s a few new faces, but the rest she knows: Mr. Shacklebolt, Uncle Theo, Uncle Ron, Uncle Harry—his hand clutching to Aunt Ginny’s, who had arrived that morning— and her parents. Her mum sits on her dad’s lap, his arms around her waist. From Cassie’s angle, she can see her mum’s thumb running across his knuckles. 

“So the plan is to bracket the children.” Uncle Harry speaks, continuing a discussion she came in late to.

Her mum nods. “Those who are weaker duelists or are injured,” she gives a sad smile towards Uncle Harry, even as he rubs at his bum thigh, “will go first. We know the new location is safe. The better duelists and the most active fighters will take up the rear guard, making them the last ones through.”

Theo speaks next. “Is there a reason to be concerned? From what I understand, even at their speed, we should still have a few days.”

“They’re Death Eaters.” Her dad’s voice is hard. “To assume they aren’t trying to find even quicker ways through our wards is idiocy, Theo.”

There’s a slight twist in Theo’s lips, but he nods solemnly. 

“So the plan is accepted?” Uncle Ron glances around the table, waiting for dissenters. When none appear, he nods. 

The conversation devolves into discussions of groupings, and Cassie flops down on the darkened side of the doorway she’d been spying around. Unease gurgled in her belly, leaving her with a bad taste in her mouth. Strong duelists? Mum was one of the better in the hamlet, but… where did that put her dad? She didn’t know how good he was, but she had a feeling he dueled more than Mum did. Did that mean he’d be in the back? What if something happened? What if he didn’t–

Her attention is ripped back towards the conversation by a familiar name.

“—Ginny, you’re right. We should keep parents separate from one another, as much as I loathe the idea.”

Cassie spins around at the doorway, eyes wide. It was Mr. Kingsley who had spoken, to her surprise, and when she looks up at him, she sees the sadness in his eyes. Her heart pounds in her throat when she realizes he’s watching her parent’s reactions. 

The conversation shifts around them, but her mum’s hand has tightened around her dad’s, his chin on her shoulder. Cassie’s closest to them, so she can hear him when he whispers ‘it’s going to be okay’ like a mantra into her mum’s hair. Mum doesn’t look at him, but her hands shift and grow white from her grip. 

Uncle Ron swallows hard and turns to them. “Listen, Malfoy—“

“Don’t.” Her dad gives Uncle Ron a sharp look. “ Aside from the Weaslette, I’m the most practiced duelist in the group.” He spits the last few words. "Years on the run can do that to a person. It makes sense that I'd be in the rear guard." 

Aunt Ginny turns to her mum. “Hermione, I’ll stick behind with him—“

It’s enough . Cassie feels the fire in her belly, indignation swelling. She steps around the corner.

“ No. ”

All heads turn when she speaks, and those that can meet her eye are full of guilt. She sets her jaw, crossing her arms, letting her anger color her words. 

“I just got my dad. I don’t want him to leave again!”

The adults turn back to each other, eyes tight and words overlapping. 

“It wouldn’t be fair—“

“—just got back—“

“—one more or less won’t be the bat—“

But the voices stop when her dad raises his hand. Mum is already walking towards her, tears in her eyes, but Cassie shakes her head, not wanting to hear her explanation. She’s stopped by her dad’s hand on her shoulders. He presses a kiss to Hermione’s temple, whispers something in her ear, and Mum nods, stopping where she was. When he steps forward and kneels to be eye level with Cassie, her mum steps back.

Dad grabs her hands.

“Cassie.” His gray eyes are locked on her, trying to dig through the fear and anger so she understands. “Cassie, please trust us. We’re doing what we can to keep you and everyone else safe.”

“I don’t care about anyone else!”

A slight smile full of sadness pulls on his lips. “Once upon a time, I thought the same way. And I still do sometimes. But do you know what happened when I thought that way before?”

She shakes her head.

“I nearly lost everyone I loved. I tried to save them, but nearly killed them all. I can’t do that again.” It’s his turn to shake his head. “Maybe that’s the selfish part of me. I can’t live without those I love. But the only way I can keep them safe is to keep everyone I can safe. Safety in numbers, if you will.”

Cassie feels her eyes burn, the hot tears slipping down her cheeks. “But what if something happens to you?”

His hand tightens around hers, the other using a thumb to wipe away her tears. “I’ll always come back. No matter how long it takes or how hard it is. Always. ”

“But—“ she knows that it’s impossible. She’s seen the ones whose parents don’t come back. 

“Let me keep my promise, Cassie. Please, let me.”

His eyes are unwavering, patiently waiting for her. Slowly, she nods, before throwing her arms around his neck, sobs racking her body. His voice is a whisper at her ear.

“It’s going to be okay, Cassie. I promise.” His arms are tight around her. “I love you.”

She cries quietly into his shoulder, even as the conversation continues around her. She cries as she listens to the rumble in his chest as he talks, the words indistinct , but the vibration soothing. She cries to the rhythm of his heart beat, steady in his chest, until she falls asleep.

When she wakes, the same steady heartbeat is still in her ear. A large hand pushes the curls from off her face.

“Good morning, Cassiopeia.” Her dad’s voice is soothing, and she snuggles tighter to his chest. She can feel, more than hear, his soft chuckle.

“Your mum is already up and preparing,” Cassie peeks an eye towards the empty side of the bed. “And I should be up doing the same. Breakfast?”

She nods. He holds her tight for a moment, placing a quick peck to her crown before slipping out of the bed. Draco pulls the quilt up around her shoulders. He’s almost out the door, when she finally works up the courage to speak. 

“Always?”

He stops, turning to look over his shoulder. “Always, Cassie.”

It’s an easy Floo ride, she’s surprised, as she steps out, her hand still in her Mum’s. Hermione’s wand is out, but drops quickly when she spots the other figures in the room. Quickly stepping away from the Floo, she bolts to a brunette, wrapping her up in a tight hug. 

“Padma…”

She returns the hug. “Oh, Hermione! I knew you’d always find a way!”

When they pull apart, her mum turns to introduce Cassie, but her eyes are locked on the Floo, watching intently as a green flash brings in a new family. Five more families make it before the sixth tumbles through in a panic. 

"They're through the wards," the mother pants, "Rearguard are holding them off."

With each increasingly distressed arrival, attempts at introduction fall gradually silent, and instead Hermione joins her daughter to stare at the Floo, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. As the flashes grow more sporadic, the arm around Cassie's shoulder grows stiff. Finally, the last family flashes in. 

Cassie swallows. None of the rearguard have arrived. 

A single flash bursts from the fireplace, but the man that emerges is harried, and he clutches at a smoldering part of his robe. A few healers bolt forward, helping him away. There's no chance of any news. The next flash brings worse and worse. Within a few flashes, her mum is asked to help, and she does, working among the rest of the healers to help the injured rearguard into stable conditions. Cassie scans every face— no Aunt Ginny, no Dad.

For a long while the Floo falls silent. She doesn’t move, even when her mum returns to her side, squatting beside her. Cassie can feel the shake in her mum’s arms, but can’t bring herself to look at her. For a long moment, they wait. 

Always. Always.

She waits.

Always. Always.

And waits.

Always. Al—

A green flash. She sees them first— long red hair, a flash of blonde and dark clothes— and bolts, only to have her mother pull her back and into Uncle Theo’s arms as she runs to the Floo.

Sound comes crashing through only to remind Cassie that she hadn’t heard any until now. 

“—ose the Floo! Close it and break the link!” Her mum’s voice is frantic. Through the press of bodies around the Floo, she notices that her dad isn’t standing up straight, instead, bent over and leaning heavily on Aunt Ginny. He shifts into her mum’s arms and is slowly lowered to the floor. 

Where she couldn’t hear anything before, the only sounds she can hear now are her mum’s voice, slow and steady as she pries open the dark robes, and her dad’s grunts of pain and short responses. She doesn’t notice that she’s begun to speak. The words are mere breaths at first, but as she watches his face contort, the words grow frantic and shattered. 

“Alwa— Da— Always. Daddy!”

Gray eyes snap towards her. When he turns, he gives her a wavering smile but there’s pain in the tightness around his eyes. Cassie can just make out her mum’s voice, steady but sharp, and then the arms that hold her tighten and she’s lifted from her feet and walked quickly from the room.

The sobs and her cries for them to let her go are left unheeded, but as soon as she enters the room, she’s enveloped into hugs. Vaguely, she can feel familiar arms around her: Uncle Ron, Uncle Theo, Aunt Ginny, Uncle Harry. She melts into their arms, tears falling hard. 

It’s about an hour later that her mum enters the room. 

The arms around Cassie give way, only for her to be pulled tightly against her mum’s chest. She clings back. 

“He’s fine.” Cassie sobs harder at her mum’s words, but she doesn’t let go. “He’s fine. Just tired and a little sore. I needed to work on the particular curse he was hit with, but while it was painful, there’s not even going to be a scar.”

Her sobs devolve into hiccups, her mum’s hands rubbing circles into her back. Slowly sitting back, Hermione takes her in, wiping at the tears on her cheeks. 

“Would you like to go see him now?”

Cassie nods. 

He’s upright, rubbing at his bandaged shoulder when they enter. Cassie cowers behind her mum.

“Someone wanted to come see you.” Hermione steps forward, places a kiss to his cheek, and then leans in to whisper. “Don’t scare us like that again, okay?”

He smirks, but it fades when he spots Cassie peek around Hermione’s legs, glossy-eyed and red-rimmed. “ Oh .”

Cassie can only sniffle. Draco’s lips press into a fine line. He keeps his eyes steady on her, reaching out. Uncertainly, she rounds her mum, but waits, watching him. 

“I’m sorry, Cassie.” 

She sniffles again but bolts to his side. Strong arms encircle her, pulling her into his lap. 

“I’m so sorry, Cassie. It looked worse than it was, I promise.”

She nods into his shoulder. For a long while, she holds tight to him, desperately. When her dad finally talks, his voice is rough. “I promised I’d come back. I always will.”

“You came back.” Her voice is small.

“I did. Always.”

“ Always .” She nods. “I love you, Daddy.”

She feels him crumble, wrapping his whole body around her. “And I love you, Cassiopeia. Always. ”