BLOOD MAGIC | G. WEASLEY

44 - The Consequences of Caring

musical mood: mirotic – tvxq

Cass's footsteps echoed through the halls, bouncing off the walls as she practically ran to Dumbledore's office. Where that was, she had no idea, but she figured she'd find it eventually if she continued to roam around, or find someone who could show her.

She'd been up all night, the sun having barely risen when she decided now was the time to get out of bed and hunt down the Headmaster, to confess to everything. She'd been kept up with thoughts of nothing and everything, so incoherent that she couldn't process a thing.

For all she knew, she might end up in Azkaban for hiding her secret for so long, but it didn't matter. Azkaban couldn't be as miserable as living with the guilt and paranoia that she did currently. Maybe Azkaban would be a blessing in disguise, have the dementors suck out her soul and end everything.

"Cassiopeia."

Cass whipped around, heart pounding. She sighed in relief when she made eye contact with the person who had spoken her name - it was only Moody.

Ex Auror Moody. Best wizard of his time Moody. Someone who could help her.

"Professor."

"What are you doing wandering the halls so early? Constant vigilance!"

"I need your help." She said, hoping her voice was steady. While she was on the verge of a complete breakdown, he didn't need to know that.

Bartemius is dead.

Her fault.

Her fault.

Her fault.

He raised his eyebrows. "Do you, now?"

"Could you show me to Dumbledore's office? It's an emergency."

His eyebrows shot up. "An emergency, you say?"

She nodded, already growing frustrated by this conversation. Did he not understand what the word emergency meant?

"May I inquire on the nature of this emergency?"

That was perhaps the least Moody thing he could've said - who spoke like that?! He sounded like bloody Shakespeare, not the gruff Professor he usually was while he taught their classes. Oh well, maybe he was acting funny because of how early it was. She simply didn't have the time to care.

Besides, maybe Moody could help her. If she couldn't speak to Dumbledore, she could try him.

"I think something happened to my father."

His eyebrows perked up with interest, and his mad eye darted around the hallway, as if to confirm the two were alone. "Come with me to my office. We may discuss this further there."

Cass nodded, following him down the hallway, though she couldn't shake the feeling in her stomach that something was wrong. Surely, Moody would be the next best person after Dumbledore himself to approach with such matters, but it felt...wrong. But she couldn't quite place her finger on it.

Moody's office was disturbing, to say the least. The last time she'd entered this room, it had belonged to Quirrell, which had been rather barren and boring, outside of, of course, harbouring his Blood Magic book. No, unlike Quirrell, Moody's office seemed to have every possible creepy magical artefact you could think of, including a glass with what seemed to be ghosts reflected in it, and a chest in the corner that shook and yelled like a person was trapped inside, trying with all their might to break free.

Of course, that was impossible.

"Professor, this really is urgent." Cass said as Moody shut the door behind them, walking at an agonisingly slow pace.