When she looked back, even months later, Cassandra found she had only scattered memories of the next few days. It was as though she had been through too much to take in any more. The recollections she did have were upsetting. The worst, perhaps, was returning to Lestrange Manor after being discharged from St. Mungus.

Hux and Gibbo, the two remaining house elves in her family's service, had done an excellent job scrubbing her bedroom clean of blood and guts. Were it not for a few details — a missing perfume bottle that'd belonged to her mother, probably broken during the fight; a different Persian rug in place of the old one the DMLE had taken as evidence; a scratch on the back of her bedpost missed during repairs — she might've been able to pretend the room was the same as she'd left it every year going back to Hogwarts.

Cassandra thought of the blood soaking the hardwood floor underneath her broken body, painting it maroon. She thought of Mimi — the startling white of her spine jutting from her back, the stink of wild dogs filling the air. No amount of pretending could erase what had happened there.

She walked to the bathroom, popped open a vial of Calming Drought and drank the potion in one gulp. She ran her hands beneath the faucet, watched the water pour over her fingers until they stopped trembling.

For the first time in days, she looked at the girl in the water-speckled mirror. She watched herself pull the sleeve of her top down her right shoulder. The scars ran from the curve of her shoulder to just above the swell of her right breast, four angry welts parallel to each other, each about two centimeters wide. The scratches had been deep. She knew she ought to be thankful she hadn't lost the arm. The knowledge didn't make the scars look any less ugly.

"That looks ghastly, girl," the enchanted mirror tutted, sounding rather displeased.

"I know."

She put her sleeve back in place and focused on pulling her hair up in a sleek low bun. The severe precision of her center part highlighted the hollowness of her eyes. She looked malnourished, her cheekbones sharp as daggers. Her wounds had healed, but not without cost.

Without pulling out her wand or uttering a word, she summoned a bandbox from her closet. The simple charm took more focus and effort than much more complicated magic would have, were she using her wand.

It was well known that only the most powerful and disciplined wizards and witches could perform wandless magic reliably. It had taken her weeks to master nonverbal summoning, and before her almost death she had failed entirely to perform a summoning spell wandlessly, despite months of effort. She had always had the discipline, but it had taken a fight for her life for her to be able to summon the willpower necessary to channel her magic without a wand. The skill had saved her life, and no matter how much it drained her, she would continue to practice it until it came to her as naturally as breathing.

She opened the bandbox and took out the black fascinator stored inside, affixed it to the top of her head, brought its netted veil down to cover her face. The hat paired nicely with the black wrist-length gloves and the heavy dress robes she had picked out for herself. It was the costume of a pureblood witch in mourning.

Her grandfather's body would be laid to rest that afternoon. There wasn't a body to bury with Mimi, the numbskulls from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement having taken her remains as evidence. Cassandra did not know how the funeral would affect her, having never buried someone she loved before. She wondered if their deaths would be more real to her once it was over. Though she had moments when the horrible fact of it threatened to overwhelm her, there were long stretches of numbness where she found it difficult to believe they were really gone.

"It's nearly time," she said to herself a while later, and called for a house-elf to apparate her.

The Black family mausoleum stood magically hidden among the trees, shrubbery and wildflowers that had grown over the wealth of gothic tombs, buildings and memorial statues that made up the burial place known by muggles as Highgate Cemetery, in north London. The entire structure was constructed of black granite, with beautiful leaded glass windows overlooking the crypt. Across the front of the building, a name plate contained the family name and date of birth and death of all members of the House of Black entombed there, their family motto engraved above it — TOUJOURS PUR.

Cassandra ran her gloved hands across those words, mapping them out with the tip of her fingers. The phrase had been such a constant in her life, she couldn't remember the first time she'd heard it, or had its meaning explained to her, back when she was too young to retain any knowledge of French. It meant: Always pure.

Her blood might be pure, but her body no longer was. Her skin would forever be marred, scars from cursed wounds never faded. 'Toujours pur, souillé à jamais', she thought bitterly. Always pure, forever sullied.

Crossing the mausoleum entrance, she felt the magic inlaid in the building like a live thing. It was defensive magic, hostile and dangerous to anyone who oughtn't be there, cast and reinforced by generations of Black witches and wizards. It recognized her, just as she recognized it.

She took her place before his grandfather's tomb, standing poised in wait of the other mourners.

Narcissa Malfoy arrived minutes later, Lucius and Draco in tow. Even in repose the blonde witch was a standout, a lily among the reeds, black sunglasses shielding her eyes. They held each other's stare over the body of the man who raised them. Neither of them were in tears.

A little tufty-haired wizard in plain white robes intoned the traditional funeral platitudes. As the sound of his voice rose and fell, Cassandra heard only snippets, her mind far away. "Family man"... "pillar of the community"... "what it means to be a wizard"... It didn't matter. Those words meant nothing coming from someone who hadn't known Cygnus Black.

A breeze wafted past Cassandra. She turned her face to face the mausoleum's open brass door, closed her eyes. When she opened them, she saw something she didn't expect: a man, alone on the hillside looking straight at the funeral party. He was standing quite still, hands shoved deep in his pockets. That he could see them meant he was magical. Cassandra squinted, trying to get a better look, but from this distance the man's features were a blur, indistinct. Someone cleared their throat by her side, loudly. She turned to look and was met by Lucius Malfoy's reproachful stare. When she turned back, the man was gone.

"... Let us bow our heads..."

Cassandra bowed her head with everyone else, but her eyes remained fixed on the empty hillside.

After the ceremony ended, Cassandra had one of her house elves take her to Ottery St. Catchpole. The Diggorys had been insistent on checking in on her, and she had promised to visit them as soon as she could.

"Cedric, she's here!" Mrs. Diggory called out when Cassandra appeared on their doorstep. The handsome witch smiled warmly at her. "It's so good to see you. I'm so glad you've come."

"It's good to see you as well," she said. To her surprise, she meant it.

Mrs. Diggory stepped back from the doorstep, Cedric quickly taking her place. Before Cassandra could say anything, he had her enveloped in a hug. She wanted to hug him back, but her arms felt like they were made of lead, hanging limp and heavy at her sides. She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of his hands on her back instead, the pleasant scent of soap and boy she could pick up where her nose was buried in the hollow of his throat. Little by little she felt her body relaxing against his.

"We should step inside, mum's probably got tea waiting for us by now," he said softly, rubbing gentle circles between her shoulder blades.

She nodded without lifting her head from his chest. It was rude to keep his mother waiting. But they didn't let go of each other.

"Okay," Cassandra whispered after a while, bracing herself. "Okay," she repeated and pulled away from his arms.

She followed him into the house, closing the door behind them. It was a modest stone cottage surrounded by a cluster of small hills, neat and cozy. A nice place to grow up in. There were bright orange geraniums planted on the windowsills, and outside the front door lay a mat that read 'Home Sweet Home'.

A whitewashed wooden table and matching chairs dominated the kitchen. There were several cookbooks on display on a shelf, and a pretty but unremarkable landscape that seemed to have been painted by a talented amateur hung on the wall. It was a room meant for family, unlike the large, white-tiled kitchens Cassandra was used to, the kind meant for staff. She took a seat at the dinner table and Cedric sat by her side, putting his arm around her chair. Mrs. Diggory didn't pay them any mind as she finished setting the table for afternoon tea with casual flicks of her wand.

"Where's Mr. Diggory?" Cassandra asked for politeness's sake. She lifted the netted veil that covered her face, removed her gloves and placed them on her lap.

"Oh, Amos's at the Ministry. Work emergency," Mrs. Diggory said. Satisfied with the results of her work, she finally took a seat across from the two teenagers. "Please, help yourself, those scones are blueberry."

"Thank you," "Looks lovely, mum," they said at the same time.

While the teapot floated around the table pouring them all tea, Cedric busied himself tipping three or four savones onto his plate, then onto his girlfriend's. He did the same with the scones and muffins in front of them. A week ago Cassandra would have smiled and maybe kissed his cheek for his thoughtfulness, but the idea of doing that same thing now was overwhelming, and she found it easier to stare at her plate and avoid his gaze entirely.

With graceful, practiced movements, she picked up the saucer holding her teacup, placed it in the palm of her left hand and moved it forward to rest on her fingers, which were slightly spread apart, steadying the saucer with her thumb resting on the rim. She held the teacup with her right index finger through the handle, her thumb just above to support the grip and her second finger below the handle for added security.

"It is an affectation to raise your little finger, even slightly," she suddenly remembered the sour-faced etiquette tutor from her childhood croaking at her. Merlin, how she'd despised the crone, even at six years old. She'd even glued her perpetually pursed lips shut in a bout of accidental magic once during one of their lessons. Mimi had had to fetch Cygnus from his lab to reverse the spell, and instead of punishing his granddaughter for her mischief, the wizard had remarked upon the strength of the magic she'd performed, the slightest hint of a smile on his face. He'd been proud of her.

And then, as she finished reminiscing, without warning, the dreadful truth swept over her, more completely and undeniably than it had until now. Cygnus was dead, gone... And so was Mimi. She pressed down the hurt blooming inside her chest, willing it to subside, blinking rapidly to keep herself from crying. The world had no use for her tears. There would be no waking from her nightmare, and words of comfort would change nothing; the last and greatest of her protectors had died, and she was more alone than she had ever been before.

"Cassandra," Cedric said in an undertone, rousing her from the reverie in which she was sitting with glazed eyes. Both Diggorys were looking at her with identical frowns of concern. She realized her hands were trembling again.

"Could I bother you for some firewhisky, Mrs. Diggory?" she asked a little shakily. "For medicinal purposes."

Mrs. Diggory startled at the request, then her expression softened. "Of course, dear. I suppose if any fifteen year old has ever earned the right to some Blishen's, you have."

She summoned a bottle of firewhisky from a kitchen cabinet, uncorked it and poured some in the girl's teacup, as well as her own, passing over her son's without comment.

Cassandra thanked her and drank.

The liquor warmed her throat. It seemed to set her insides aflame, burning away the pain and sense of hopelessness, filling her with something akin to calm.

"I wanted to apologize. For coming here that night."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Cedric said at once.

"I should've gone to St. Mungus. I had no right to drop in on you in that state."

"I don't blame you, Cassandra." Mrs. Diggory assured her. "I understand you didn't… You didn't feel as if you had anyone else to go to."

She could've snorted at how pathetic that made her sound. And yet it wasn't far from the truth. Had she gone to the Malfoys or the Tonks, her aunts would've done their very best to keep her alive, but her choice would be perceived as a declaration of… something, by her blood relations as well as outsiders. Knowing what she did about the future, she wasn't prepared to pick a side just yet. But politics wasn't why she had come to the Diggorys that night. She'd thought she was going to die, and had wanted to see Cedric one last time.

She felt another pang in her chest, and poured some more tea for something to do, topping it with a dash of firewhisky. As she drank, she inched her knee closer to her boyfriend's until they were touching. A small gesture, and the biggest one she could muster then. He turned his head to look at her and without meeting his gaze she pressed against him a little more firmly, willing him to understand. I'm sorry. I need you. I love you. He squeezed her shoulder, quick and reassuringly, and she chose to believe he had.

"Has the matter of your guardianship been settled yet?" Mrs. Diggory asked, breaking the silence that had settled over the table.

"I have until the end of term to decide between my aunts or choose another magically-capable adult."

"That's good, that they're giving you some time to think it over."

Cassandra nodded. She had fought for the right to choose her own guardian once, back when she was a little girl young enough to be molded into someone else's vision of what the last standing Lestrange heir ought to be like. She'd been a prize worth fighting over then, unconquered territory. It had been the calling card of skepticism plus a childish instinct to take her parents' every word as gospel that had made her distrust the Ministry and won her the privilege of choice. Now that same privilege felt more like a burden.

"I don't mean to overstep, but I want you to know you can count on us for anything you need," Mrs. Diggory said. Her tone was careful, neutral, but her eyes showed she was brimming with compassion.

"Thank you," Cassandra said, not knowing how else to respond.

"Right. I'll go tend to the garden and give the two of you some time alone. Be good."

"We will, mum."

There was a beat of silence after Mrs. Diggory left the kitchen. Cassandra could see the gears turning inside Cedric's head. It was in his nature to try to support and comfort others through their struggles, and he'd been working overtime with her recently. It made her feel grateful and ashamed.

"You want to go up to my bedroom? You can see the really cool Ballycastle Bats poster I got when I was 12. It really brings the whole room together."

She shook her head and leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm a Magpies fan."

He put his arm around her. "Right. How could I've forgotten that."

"Can I help?" he asked softly. "Can I do anything?"

She shook her head again and Cedric hugged her even closer to him.

"We're going back to school tomorrow. Maybe it'll be good for you. You'll have plenty of things to distract yourself with, take your mind off all of this. We can practice quidditch every day, we'll go into the Forbidden Forest to search for unicorns again if you want to. I bet Klaus misses you."

She nodded, thinking about their return to Hogwarts. She would have to act normal, pretend nothing had happened. But Cassandra knew that wouldn't be a problem. She'd been doing it her whole life.