Discovering You

The days faded seamlessly into months, and the crisp rusty leaves on the trees fell off and covered the misty grounds with a dress of fallen leaves. Students’ breath puffed out in clouds as they hurried along the grounds, gripping their robes tightly around them and bending their heads against the biting wind. There was a tang in the air that promised winter that had started ever since the first Quidditch match – Gryffindor against Slytherin that ended in a victory from Gryffindor and quelled any doubts that people had been thinking about Ron’s ability as Captain. There were no crown shaped badges on the Slytherin’s chests this time, and the version of ‘Weasley is our King’ was sung solely by the Gryffindors.

The common rooms were full those days, many people huddled around the fires, reading or playing games of gobstones or chess. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Cassandra had managed to snatch the popular seats by the fire in the Gryffindor common room. A large chess board was spread out in front of them, and they constantly had to keep Yolanda and Crookshanks away from pouncing on the figures.

“Pawn to E2,” said Hermione after a pause, frowning at the board.

“Wait!” Cassandra spread her arms out. “That means Ron’s queen can take the knight!”

“Which leaves us able to take his rook.” Harry said, motioning the confused looking pawn to move forward.

Cassandra swatted Crookshanks away, occupied him with a small cat treat and propped her chin on her hands, her eyebrows knitting together as she focused on the game. “I still don’t get it.”

Their queen strode forwards and, with a giant swing of her sword, reduced Ron’s rook to dust.

“See?”

Cassandra yawned obviously, stretched her arms back behind her head and watched Ron argue with Harry and Hermione that it wasn’t much of a game if they discussed what move they would make next in front of him. Yolanda curled up on her lap, and Cassandra closed her eyes, rubbing her cat’s fur dreamily.

“Hey, Cass.”

She looked up and saw Dean, one hand clutched tightly around his bag so his knuckles stood out. She struggled into a sitting position, feeling uncomfortable. She and Dean hadn’t spoken since the end of last year, and seeing that she had started going out with Harry almost immediately she doubted that he would be feeling friendly towards her.

“Hi.”

Yolanda tried to jump off Cassandra’s lap to reach Harry. She held her tightly.

“Dumbledore asked me to find you. He wants to see you in his office. The password's ‘Ice Mice’.”

“Oh. Thanks.” There was a slightly awkward pause when Cassandra racked her brain to think why and Dean glanced towards Harry, who was looking confused. “Um, did he say why?”

“No, I…don’t know.”

Cassandra nodded and twirled her hair around her finger, biting her lip. “Thanks, Dean. See you later?”

Dean shrugged, and went over to join Seamus and Parvati.

Yolanda made a sudden dive for the chessboard, caught Ron’s king in her teeth and started chewing it.

“Oi!” said Ron indignantly, jerking his head up. “Bloody cat.”

Cassandra smirked. “Does this mean we win? Good girl, baby.” She stood up, stroked Yolanda’s head and kissed Harry, her smirk deepening when Ron looked away pointedly. “Best go and see what Dumbledore wants.”

“Tell us what it’s about,” Hermione said, propping herself on her elbows. “It can’t be anything bad, can it?”

“Well, I have my fingers crossed that Professor Macklin that I accidently destroyed all the practice dummies in Defence. Stressing the word accidentally.” She stood up and left the room as they were setting up another chess game.

The corridors were humming with chatter that issued from the portraits on the walls. Cassandra watched a gorilla scratching his head, a table full of wizards playing cards and a warlock flirting with a witch before she ended up outside the gargoyle that led to
Dumbledore’s office.

“Ice Mice,” she said, and the gargoyle leapt aside with a wink that made her wince as she heard the stone crunching, and Cassandra jumped on the moving staircase and ended up staring at Dumbledore’s polished oak door. She raised her voice to knock, and Dumbledore’s voice called, “Come in.”

Cassandra stepped inside the office hesitantly.

“Ah, Cassandra,” beamed Dumbledore, swinging his long white beard over his shoulders. “Please sit down.”

She sank into the chair opposite his, noticing that his was much more comfortable than hers.

“A little refreshment, perhaps?”

Dumbledore shook the brightly coloured Honeydukes box at her, and she grimaced when she saw the name.

“Eww. Ice Mice make me keep rushing to the loo every few seconds; the feeling of mice jumping in the stomach makes me think I have a really bad stomach disease.”

“Again, not all Honeydukes confectionary is a pleasure to all,” sighed Dumbledore, popping a sweet in his mouth. “It is true that not everyone has the palate for these delicacies, I know a very funny story of a man I once knew who ate some Ice Mice once…but perhaps this is not the time.” He chewed his sweet thoughtfully. “You must be wondering why I asked for you.”

“Well, it had crossed my mind a little.”

Dumbledore put the tips of his fingers together and surveyed Cassandra. His eyes were a deep, icy blue. “It was about a year ago, when you were first here, and I told you that you were the last living descendant of Godric Gryffindor.” He bowed his head. “A lot has happened since.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes and groaned. “You’re not kidding.”

“You will know, of course, of Rachel Leroy. She is a descendant of Ravenclaw, and, like you, the last one alive today.” He paused, and his wrinkled fingers smoothed a quill lying on his desk. “Rachel is different to you. She is, perhaps, a little more involved in the founders. You, who never knew about your descendants until you were sixteen, have been allowed to live your own life a little more. Rachel is naturally bright, but because she is related to Ravenclaw, and has been reminded of that her entire life, she has focused on becoming very clever.”

“Doesn’t that come more from your parents though? I mean, Debbie and John have never exactly pushed me to be like Gryffindor, so…”

“Yes, it does, it has come from her parents.” Dumbledore locked eyes with Cassandra again and raised his eyebrows slightly as if to emphasise a point. “But that is Rachel’s own affairs, we must not meddle in them. But, Cassandra, I must ask you,” here his voice lowered and his gaze because scorching, “Has Miss Leroy ever confided in you? Ever interrogated you about Gryffindor, perhaps?”

Cassandra frowned, confused. “We’ve hardly spoken.”

Dumbledore nodded. “You know that the rift is not yet healed, don’t you, Cassandra?”

She had wanted to believe it, wanted to think that because that one time many Death Eaters had begged forgiveness everything was alright, but she had always known, deep down, that the rift was much bigger than that. ‘It is not a thing that can be healed in one afternoon…’ It went far back through history, and because a few people had had a change of heart, the rift between Gryffindor and Slytherin would not be healed. It went far deeper that that.

“I must warn you not to let your want for the healed rift to cloud your better judgement,” continued Dumbledore.

He looked sombre, more serious than she thought she had ever seen him. Pieces clicked together in her mind.

“Sir, are you saying that this links to Rachel…?”

“Just a warning.”

Dumbledore leant back in his chair and the atmosphere in the room, which had been taught and tense, lightened. Fawkes gave a small ruffle of his feathers.

“And so, I have called you here to give you something.” Dumbledore stood up and headed over to a large glass case that rested on one of the many bookshelves that line the circular office. He gave it a tap with his wand and the glass vanished like smoke in the wind.
“Here. It is rightfully yours, after all.”

The sword gleamed in the firelight, the scarlet flames sparking on its smooth, polished surface. It glistened, radiating with power, the ruby standing out against the silvery blade. Cassandra’s eyes roved over the words etched into the hilt. Godric Gryffindor.

Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “Well, Debbie will be surprised when I return home with this,” she grinned. “You’re giving me a sword?”

“It is yours. Gryffindor entrusted you with his spirit. He would want you to have this sword.”

As Cassandra grasped the hilt, Dumbledore leant forwards and looked earnestly into her eyes, the ice-cold blue meeting her grey fire.

“Use it well.”