Cassian groaned in discomfort as he shifted his weight again, trying to find a modicum of comfort on the hard wooden Slytherin bench. His eyes were locked in a permanent glare aimed directly across the Great Hall.
Specifically, they were set upon one Harry Potter.
The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. The godson of the man who was supposed to be Cassian's father.
Cassian used to be quite close with Harry. They'd laugh, study together, and make fun of Malfoy in their free time. Heck, Harry still had half of Cassian's chocolate frog collection. You could say they were great friends.
Until Harry ruined it.
When Harry—with his innocent demeanor—hesitantly told him:
"Sirius is your dad. I found your name under the Black family tapestry. I just... I just thought you should know."
Cassian remembered how everything inside him froze.
How he laughed at first. How he half-jokingly sent a letter to his mother, begging her to tell him Harry had just played a cruel joke on him.
But that's not what was sent back.
Instead, what came back was a letter apologizing for never telling him. She said she wanted to wait until he was older. That Sirius was such a good man if a bit unreliable. She was scared of what would happen if someone found out what they had done and the result. She also had no idea why he became a Death Eater, and that just because he had a Death Eater father didn't mean he'd be one too.
If only she knew he had already met the man.
If only she knew that he, along with Harry's gang, had ascertained that Sirius was innocent of those crimes.
He soon accepted that Sirius really was his father and nervously waited for an owl from the man himself.
But it never came.
Not when Cassian sent his own letter.
Not when he wrote again.
Not when he stopped writing.
Instead, he had to watch as his father's owl swooped in, delivering letter after letter into Harry Potter's hands.
What hurt most came later, when Cassian forced himself to ask Headmaster Dumbledore if he could use the Floo to try and contact Sirius. Just as he made his way to the statue that guarded the office door, he heard raised voices arguing behind it.
"Harry's had a rough life," Sirius shouted firmly. "He's going to need all the love and support he can get if he's going to face Voldemort. Cassian will be fine—he still has his mother—while Harry has no one!"
Cassian felt his heart split in two as tears streamed down his face, but the conversation continued.
"Sirius, he's your son! Why can't you see that it doesn't have to be one or the other? You can be there for both!" Dumbledore exclaimed.
Sirius roared back, "AND WHY CAN'T YOU SEE THAT I CAN'T DO THAT!"
Sirius's loud breathing was the only sound for several long moments before he added, quieter now:
"Azkaban took many things from me. I'm so broken, I don't know what needs fixing. Cassian doesn't need that in his life. But Harry doesn't have any other options. It's either me or no one."
Cassian hadn't said a word. He just turned, walked back to the dungeons, and didn't speak to Harry again.
Not for a month.
Not ever, if he could help it.
---
"You're glaring again," came a calm, dreamy voice to the left.
Cassian's eyes shifted. Luna Lovegood stood beside the Slytherin table with a distant smile on her face. That alone would be a capital crime for any non-Slytherin, but with her reddish beetle earrings, it was practically a declaration of war.
Ignoring the stares aimed at them from his housemates, he muttered, "Not glaring."
"Your eyes say otherwise," she said in a singsong tone, plopping down directly in his line of sight.
Cassian sighed and gestured slightly with his head. "You know they're going to bug me endlessly when we get back to the dungeons, right?"
Luna hummed in response, content to dig into her daily fix of pudding.
Cassian scanned the room. He saw angry eyes from across the Slytherin table glaring at him like he'd just invited a Muggle to breakfast. He shot them a proper pureblood sneer in return.
He truly didn't mind putting up with the inbreds for her. She was the only one who never treated him differently. Not like the Slytherins, who looked at him like he was a rat spying for Gryffindor. Not like the sheep in Gryffindor, who acted like he was one insult away from becoming the next Dark Lord.
Neither side had endeared themselves to him. So he chose his own.
He knew war was on the horizon—and he'd be damned if he was dragged into someone else's army just to die for their cause.
A particularly loud sound caught his attention as Potter laughed obnoxiously at something Weasley said. Cassian's fist clenched under the table.
"I hope he chokes on his treacle tart," he muttered.
Luna paused, looked down, and said, "It's pudding today. Far less dangerous."
Cassian blinked, then started chuckling as he realized she was right.
He was about to dig into his own dessert when he heard a tired voice:
"Do we have to antagonize our house so early in the morning?"
Cassian looked up to see Blaise Zabini gliding toward them with his usual grace. His robes were immaculate, tailored by the best designers, and his hair was trimmed perfectly. The only blemish to his appearance were the deep bags under his eyes.
"You look like death," Cassian observed.
"I feel like it too," Blaise replied in a drained voice. "Didn't sleep."
Cassian raised an eyebrow. "Again?"
Blaise folded a napkin over his lap. "Didn't feel like dreaming."
Cassian frowned. "Nightmares?"
"No," Blaise paused. "Just... thinking too much."
Cassian didn't press. In Slytherin, he'd learned not to ask questions you didn't deserve answers to.
Luna, still nibbling her pudding, said, "You shouldn't stay up with thoughts like that. They grow teeth when no one's watching."
Blaise shot her a weary look. "I'm too tired to decode whatever that means."
Another burst of laughter echoed through the hall. Cassian's jaw clenched.
Blaise rested a hand on his shoulder. "You going to be alright? You look like you're one bad joke away from turning Potter into a cautionary tale."
"Why did he choose him?" Cassian muttered, bitter. "Do I just not matter to him?"
Luna shook her head. "I think you do. But Sirius is made of old bones and new guilt. He doesn't know how to carry both."
Cassian didn't reply.
Standing, Luna glanced at Blaise. "Sleep soon, or you'll start thinking your nightmares are giving you good advice."
"Too late," Blaise muttered. He looked at her a second longer, then said, "You realize you talk like a cursed riddle box, right?"
She beamed. "Thank you!"
She turned to walk away, but over her shoulder added:
"Make sure to eat something green today. It helps keep the resentment from sticking to your lungs!"
She skipped off, humming a tune neither Cassian nor Blaise recognized.
"She's a walking dream journal," Blaise commented. "A chaotic one. With glitter."
Cassian nodded, then turned back to his half-finished plate feeling much better than he did at the start of the morning.