hey, young london [cass]

Ostensibly Donna was doing homework in bed, which – as tended to happen when she did things in bed – had turned into lying flat on her back staring at the ceiling, her still-shod feet dangling off the pillow end and her hair dangling off the other side of the pillow end, and babbling at her roommate. It was hot – she had the thought to go open a window, but she didn’t want to get up and ruin her careful job of keeping her hair off her neck, so she groped for her bedside table for a Charms essay she’d folded into a fan.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” she concluded, having talked herself thoroughly out of the notion that Gryffindor had the next game in the bag. (She maintained that she was allowed to say their team was shite – she was friends with the Seeker.)

The fan she charmed to flap over her face; she was of age now, and felt like that entitled her to perform whatever frivolous magic she desired, and she was sure she was bright pink, and not just because her head was tilted funny, so this wasn’t quite frivolous anyway.

“Merlin’s cock and balls,” she said ruefully, “it’ll only get hotter, won’t it? I hope it’s not baking so during the game.”

@Cassandra Nichols

Some days, Cassandra felt sure the illusion was going to shatter.

In her terrible imaginings, the stairs would give out from under her right in front of her room, her hand missing the doorknob as she slid back down to the bottom of the tower. Some days she was so sure it would happen that she would stay in the common room all night, or hover outside her old room with her old roommates until the ache of it drove her all the way upstairs. Some days it was hard to remember that the castle saw her right, now -- The Sorting Hat had stared deep into her soul at eleven, after all, and hadn't declared anything wrong with her then, missing the reason behind her so-called bravery.

But some days were blessedly easy. There were days where she felt like she had always been in the Class of 2005's girl's room, always bunking next Donna, always able to ignore her homework in favor of some easy, frivolous, girlish activity.

Today was an easy day. In the heat, Cass had opted to sit on the floor instead of on her warm bedding, busy painting her short nails a sparkly sort of gold while Donna went on about the next game. It had started strong, Cassandra did think the odds were better for Gryffindor, but Donna had talked in so many circles of reasoning that Cass wasn't even sure they were still talking about the same team. She nodded, anyway, eyes flicking over to her roommate on the bed above her.

"I'll melt, I will," Cass agreed, not bothering to pitch her voice up. "Least flying does us a little wind on the pitch." It was one of the myriad reasons Cass never wanted to play Seeker – the waiting, the hovering, the slow circling of the pitch while waiting for a flash of gold, it was so agonizingly slow. Even if her goals were worth less than the Snitch, at least as a Chaser or Beater she was always moving. To hover in this heat? Cass couldn't imagine it.

"Maybe we'll have a freak ice storm, sumthat," Cassandra suggested, raising her right hand up to inspect her work. Uneven, but no more uneven than the other girls' right hand nails, when they did hand painting. She should learn a charm for this, probably. Instant Nail Polish Charm -- perfect French tips in 30 seconds or else. That would sell a Witch Weekly, wouldn't it? "Cool the pitch right down."

Hardly likely, though – it would just get more and more oppressive as time marched on from May to June. Cass carefully curled her fingers around her wand, trying not to mess up the paint, and quietly copied Donna's parchment fan charm with an old Potions essay. She didn't want to think about summer, but it was getting harder and harder to avoid.

Cassandra had been pretty quiet for Donna’s oration; she must have been able to tell it was winding down. “Oh will you,” Donna said – she considered herself rather sweatier than most people she knew, and loathed it. “Sometimes in the summer I’ll go out for a fly just to – what you said. Bit of wind.”

When she tilted her head to look to her right, Cass was holding one hand up to appraise her paint job.

Donna had never really cared to have her nails painted; she liked to paint them, liked the shivery coldness in her fingertips and the apparent skill it took, but it would only chip off in a few days. It was one of those things she wasn’t yet sure she could disparage to Cassandra, though, as Cassandra had apparently waited for sixteen years to try it. Often Donna wondered whether girlhood had started to disappoint yet – it’d disappointed her when she’d been, like, six – but she hadn’t had the guts yet to ask. Maybe she’d give Cassandra six years too.

She stretched her arms out over her head and yawned like a kneazle, left them there so that she had to twist her whole torso to see Cassandra past her own freckled arm. “If our luck stays the way it’s been, I wouldn’t put it past,” she added darkly – who ever heard of a team catching the Snitch and still losing the match? (She had not been to the 1994 Quidditch World Cup and if one more person asked her if she had, she was going to lose it!)

“My mum used to conjure snow for us if it got really hot,” she said, now threading her hands through her hair to tie it into a knot (taking advantage of where gravity was already gathering all her hair together) – “I reckon you lot have, like, aircan, right? Is that what it’s called? Never quite got it. Seems easier.”

Bit of wind, Donna said, talking about summers past. Cassandra carefully put the polish brush back into the little jar of paint. It seemed nice to go out for a fly just for the laugh of it. Cassandra, who used exclusively school brooms and certainly couldn't practice around the estate in Cardiff, was a little envious of Donna for that. There were a lot of things that Donna had that Cass did not, the least of which was year-round rights to fly. No reason to fixate on this one, except to not think about the rest.

"Wish I could do that over the bay," she said instead, twisting the brush-cap back onto the polish jar carefully. "We'd go there for a bit of sea breeze, and 'course the wind would stop right when we'd get done to the docks, and then it's a whole hike back into the city." She kept her voice light, conversational –– never mind that she wasn't sure she would be back in Wales at all this summer, simply no need for Donna or any of the girls to worry. It was so important everyone kept liking her in this room, kept enjoying her presence. Cass didn't need to be more of a pity case than she was already sure she was. 

Donna invoked their game record for the season – Cass groaned, falling from her crosslegged position to lay on the floor, hands carefully turned nail-side up despite the dramatics of the pose. "Quaffle-sized hail, just what we need," she added, her voice halfway between abject misery and profound amusement. From here, she could just see part of Donna's red hair and freckled face around her arms. She could see her roommate messing with her hair, too -- it was Donna's hands she was looking at, marvelling at how her straight hair could just, like, tie itself up like that, when she processed the question.

"I bet snow's easier than aircon," Cass said after a moment of thought. "Like, you can't muck up snow, much, once you got it conjured up. But aircon, you got to put it in a window, hope it don't fall out onto the street, s'got five hundred little pieces inside what got to work, and it's right loud." She pulled herself back to sitting, checking her nails again for chips (none so far). "We didn't have one though, because the islands are hotter than Wales ever is, or whatever, so Dad won't buy one." There were some uncareful verb tenses in that sentence, but Cass didn't notice them. "Never mind I've never left the UK, not even been to Ireland, so why'm I supposed to know Caribbean heat, hm?" Cass rolled her eyes, as if to say parents, right? without saying so. 

“I’d like to fly by the sea,” said Donna, “We’re like, never out there. I’ve got an uncle with a boat but we see him once in a blue moon ‘cause he’s a Muggle.”

She turned her head to the side, eyebrows raised up enough to crease her forehead – “Really?” she said, with fascination – “Least when it’s got little pieces inside you can fix it. All the really savvy wizard manufacturers patent their charms so you have to buy it new. And,” she added, trying not to sound too smug, but positive she was right in this, “Snow melts and gets everywhere, and then you’re wet and hot.”

Probably it wasn’t smart, to get into this kind of debate with a Muggleborn – even Donna, with her admittedly limited tact, generally avoided discussing the merits of magic versus nonmagic. Cassandra just didn’t seem to take it personally, was all, not like some people did.

Their discussion had drifted just off the merits of aircon (what in Merlin’s name did con mean, anyway?) and onto what sounded more like complaining. “So you still don’t have one?” she said, only half following. “Or has your dad got you one now?” She flopped onto her side, now that her hair was nearly kempt, and lifted her head so that she was looking at her roommate at an angle slightly less than ninety degrees.

She flopped back down on her back – she had nothing to say about the Caribbean heat, since she’d never been out of England either – “Lame,” she lamented. “And after you’ve been away all the year.” At least she was pretty sure that Cassandra hadn’t been home for either of the holidays this year yet. “Maybe I’ll see if we can go out to the sea if it’s going to be so hot. We could go to Wales, maybe. Just so long as we’re not stuck in Mould-on-the-Would the whole time.” She had wanted to mime gagging at that, but it was too hot.

Donna turned her head to the side again, caught a glance at Cassandra, who’d sat up again – “Your family do anything for the hols?”

Once in a blue moon, because her uncle was a muggle. "What, don't he know about your --" Cassandra stumbled for a moment, trying to remember which of Donna's parents was muggleborn and promptly giving up "-- folks, or is it like, magic messes with the boat or something?" A single crease lightly formed between her brows. Maybe it was because her own parents tried so hard to ignore everything weird about Cassandra, or maybe it was how she never took Muggle Studies, but the intricacies of muggle-wizard relations still evaded her. She hadn't had much practice trying to walk the line between magic and non-magic, really. She had a lot of practice hiding. But, the fact of magic in a family seemed like a hard thing to hide from siblings without major parental intervention.

Patents and charms and little pieces of machinery. Cass wasn't ever too put out by these sorts of conversations -- the magical world seemed to have way more to offer to her, but the grass is always greener, or sumthat. She knew some classmates took these debates seriously -- but, like, that was a Muggle Studies nerd thing, and Cass didn't care. "Urgh, that's disgusting," she settled on saying in a show of solidarity with Donna's wet hot snow scenario. "I figure the snow shouldn't melt, should it? What's the point otherwise."

Donna had picked up on some inconsistent tenses. Cass tried not to tense up. "Wasn't one when I left last, an' I haven't heard otherwise." Not lies, that -- there hadn't been aircon the brief week she had been home last summer, and no letters had come with news on that front. Not many letters had come for Cass this year. Cass stared at her nailbeds more closely, picking at some errant cuticle. It was the heat making her stupid, making her slip up.

And after you've been away all year, Donna said, commiserating. Cassandra stared vacantly past her nail beds. Well, it wasn't that out of the ordinary, was it? To spend the hols at Hogwarts? It was easier for some other muggle-borns, she knew, what with the annoyance of getting picked up at King's Cross if your family didn't live Greater London. Cassandra hadn't gone home for Easter in other years, just to save the expense of another round-trip train to Cardiff. "You'd like Wales, I bet," Cass said to fill the humid air between them. "No mould or nothing in the city."

Donna asked about the holidays, in a way vague enough to interpret either as asking about the past or about upcoming plans. Cassandra, who had no plans for the end of term and was terrified to think of making them, took the question the other way. "Every three years or so the fam goes back to the islands -- Jamaica, or Haiti, depending," though Cass wasn't sure of what the trips depended on. "Save up for it, so not a lot of anything the rest of the time. Went caravaning, once."

“Yeah, ‘course he does,” said Donna, “He just lives in Aldeburgh.” She thought at times that poor Uncle Matt might be a little bit sore that his sister had become a witch and he had become a tax collector, but at least he liked having their company.

She blew out a breath of relief that Cassandra hadn’t taken exception to anything, and threw up her hands – “Exactly! There’s something for the Committee for Experimental Charm Development or whatsit.” Of course, she still thought the Muggle gadgets were cooler anyway – there was just something so ingenious and fascinating about a box full of bits and bobs that, somehow, conned the air.

(While she was thinking about it, she resolved to track down a dictionary, because that did not sound right.)

“Oh, I follow,” said Donna; she wouldn’t have thought twice about it if Cassandra hadn’t moved on from one tactful avoidance of a question to another, and rather less tactfully. It didn’t seem like something to pry into, though, if there wasn’t anything wrong. “We live sort of near Wales,” she said, “Right by Monmouthshire. But we don’t really travel, except to go to Diagon Alley.” Nowhere else in London, even – they had enough to keep themselves busy at home.

Donna couldn’t tell from Cass’s explanation whether she actually had plans for this holiday or not, so she said, “Well, if you’re around this year, you could come and visit me. Or –” she attempted to swing upright, but gave up halfway through lifting her head and let it fall back again – “I could pop out to – where do you live again? Cardiff?” She shook her head to get some stray hair off her lips. “Probably wouldn’t be as fun as caravanning.” Not that caravanning sounded like much fun – she could hardly imagine life without the stretches of the hills around Mould-on-the-Wold to explore, much less living in a little box.

Ugh, Suffolk, Cassandra thought but didn't say. Good that he knew, though -- Cassandra hadn't figured out if she was meant to Obliviate her siblings one day, was glad of the confirmation she wouldn't have to.

She laughed when Donna threw up her hands -- not at the motion, exactly, but at -- with -- Donna's earnestness. "Maybe I'll give it a go after school," Cassandra said with a joking lilt. They both knew her OWLs were rubbish, but it was fun to dream about some sort of boring job in the magical world. How boring could it be when you had a wand at your side?

"Monmouthshire, that's not far 'tall." Cassandra wondered if, had they been roommates sooner, Cass and Donna could have been summer visiting sort of friends. Pop over on the bus or the train or the Floo or something, go for a walk in the rolling Welsh hills. It was a lovely little fantasy. 

I could pop out to – where do you live again? Cardiff? Cassandra's face froze, her eyes going a little vacant. She was losing her edge, she was. She closed the lid of the little nail polish box and stood up to put it away in her wardrobe. "Caravanning isn't much," she said, her voice a little distant. The box slide into place on the top shelf of the wardrobe. "Anyway. Not sure where I'm at this summer, yet." She hadn't worked it out yet, had been putting it off as long as possible. Maybe Kai would let her stay at the youth center again?  Maybe her new doctor would have an idea? She didn't want to sugar again, wouldn't even think of it as a possibility.

Her trunk was small, her purse fairly empty, and her options were unclear. "Prolly not Cardiff, though." She tried to keep her voice level -- it just sounded sort of empty.

“Sure,” said Donna, a little ironically. She’d give it a go too. (It felt less mean to disparage her roommate’s magical prowess when she was disparaging her own as well; neither of them were looking at illustrious careers in charm development. More likely Donna would wind up with her mum washing crups and kneazles for a while, or waiting tables or something.)

Cass had laughed, anyway, at least – that was a good indication that this was fine. Donna was still treading lightly, here – there were enough differences between the two of them (in blood status, and where they were from, and where their families were from, and the boy-girl thing) that she knew she had not a chance of always getting it right, of being sensitive. Cassandra had been easier to playfully bully before, when she had been Howard, and Donna had always had an easier time with playful bullying than, like, actual friendship.

Now she had to sit up – it would crick her neck too badly to follow her friend over to the wardrobe, where she was putting away her nail polish. “Your parents aren’t planners, are they?” she said sagely, before she started to register Cassandra’s flat tone, her distant look. With one finger, she hooked the hair off her lips, and shook her head again.

“What’re you on about?” she said, with concern bordering on suspicion. “Are you not going home?”

Donna's voice was a little muffled in Cassandra's ears -- bless her, Donna hadn't caught on right away. Cass closed the wardrobe slowly, trying to making the click of the door as quiet as possible. Her parents were planners, actually, had to be with the many children and a trans-Atlantic flight every few years and terrible wages, but that wasn't the point. The point was this -- Cass had fully planned to just Figure Things Out Later, because trying to figure out what to do for the summer hols was too terrifying to consider. Every time she tried to say, tried to write her friends in the year above to ask for a spare room, to ask McGonagal if please please please could she stay at the castle this summer, the quill broke in her hand of the words died in her throat. Denial was a powerful spell, requiring no wand and no incantation.

A year ago, Cassandra wouldn't have slipped up like this. (A year ago, Cassandra didn't know with sickening certainty she was not welcome to return to Cardiff.) A year ago, she and Donna were teammates, and friendly, and would banter like boys from time to time. A year ago they wouldn't have been making fanciful summer plans together on the floor of the girl's dorm. A year ago, Howard was better at hiding, better at lying, until he cracked and let Cassandra out into the world. She had gotten sloppy where he never would have.

Are you not going home? Cassandra shrugged, still facing her wardrobe and resolutely not looking at Donna. "Reckon not," she said, deliberately casual. She wanted to leave it there, but Donna needed to know it wasn't her fault, so Cass went on; "Folks said Howard could come home, yeah? Not me, though." She breathed in slowly. Keep your voice level. It's no big deal. "It's no big deal." She moved, suddenly, to flop down on her bed and stare at the top of the four-poster bed. "I reckon I'll figure something out."  Too much, too much. 'Figure something out' meant she hadn't yet -- Donna would notice, but it was too late to pull the words back into her throat.

Cassandra didn’t look at her – Reckon not – so Donna slid slowly off her bed, feeling stupid and unsteady all of a sudden. What was she supposed to do? Go over there? Let Cass work it out where she was standing? What was one supposed to say to one’s roommate who’d said, casual as anything, like they were talking about the weather, that their family didn’t want them back?

Howard could come home – not Cassandra – like they were two separate people. Donna tried to come up with a response to that – wasn’t Cassandra still Howard, kind of? Or was it Howard who was Cassandra? (And she had liked Howie, honestly, had liked him a good amount. He’d been weird for a boy – obviously now they all knew why – Donna had always gotten along with weird boys.) It wasn’t like he was, like, dead now, though, right? It wasn’t like Cassandra was a whole other person; it wasn’t like Howie couldn’t go home again, was it?

She couldn’t put the thought together enough to voice it before Cassandra moved on.

Casual as anything – it’s no big deal. “What,” said Donna, her voice pitching a little higher now, “It’s no big deal? What’re you –” Cassandra moved back toward her bed, abruptly, and Donna (who had been staring a little too long at the back of her head) moved too, sat on the edge of her own bed and looked away. Cass was doing an admirable job pretending it was truly no big deal, but it was too deliberate, too calm to be anything but practised nonchalance.

“Well, what?” she said bluntly. “We’ve only got like two months – you mean you still don’t know?”

Well. Donna was seeing right through her. Had it always been like this? Had she been able to see through Howie so easily? Low, on a reel of her subconscious that was rusty with disuse, Cassandra began to play over every interaction she had ever had with Donna. Maybe she just hadn't noticed -- when had they ever talking about shit this real? Never! That was the great thing about the closet door -- Howie had been able to see out of it, but nobody else had been able to see in.

"It's not," Cassandra insisted, staring at the top of the bed. Oh look, someone's had carved in a love heart up there. There were all sorts of interesting things to look at on that slab of wood -- she'd only been looking at it for a year, not five, and hadn't yet the chance to memorize it. "It's not a big deal." Maybe if she said it over again more confidently, Donna would believe her. "It's not a big deal 'tall." Nope, now she just sounded demented.

She glanced a look over -- Donna was looking away, was that good or bad? -- and then back up to the ceiling. "Not yet," she admitted with some reluctance. "But, look, it's going to be fine --" fine was starting to sound like big deal in her ears -- "I managed last summer alright. There's a bloke at the center what let me crash on his couch, I reckon one of the Tate's has got a couch or a friend with a sofa, it'll all work itself out." Crashing on her ex-girlfriend's couch was not ideal, but it was safer to mention than some of the other options. She glanced over again, just to see how -- if -- Donna was looking at her.

“Not yet is still ‘no’,” Donna insisted; she flexed her feet, digging the heels of her trainers into the carpet and pushing her bedcovers up with her bum. Cassandra wasn’t even looking at her anymore (couldn’t, supplied some part of her brain, couldn’t even look at her.)

It struck Donna, then, that Cassandra was probably afraid – that her lack of options had to be scaring her, even a little, even past all that hair and confidence. Little by little Donna had been noticing cracks in that facade already – had been getting the idea that restarting your life on your own terms wasn’t all it was cracked up to be – but it was more obvious now. It was a big world – even just the wizarding world was pretty big for a girl their age – and it would be a long summer too, and Cassandra wasn’t as tough as she acted.

As though Cassandra could hear her mentally disparaging her, she looked sideways at Donna. Donna attempted to school her sympathy into something a little more bracing and said, “I’ll write my parents and see if you can stay with us, then – we’ve got loads of space.” Maybe less space than some other families would have, she had to admit, but the Wests were starting to outgrow their house (she was the second-oldest child still there, she had realised over the summer, with mixed delight and shock.)

Now a little excited by the prospect, she gave up on keeping her shoes off the bedspread and pulled one foot under her knee to sit on, indulging in a couple of cheerful bounces where she sat. She was well convinced; now to convince Cass. “My mum’s a muggleborn,” Donna said, “She’ll understand. It’ll be brilliant! Come on!”