Blood Magic ✤ George Weasley ✓

50 - Not So Swimmingly

musical mood: somebody's watching me - rockwell

The next time Cass saw Barty, she was in her room at Grim Old place, sitting on the ground and finishing off the potion she'd been making for the twins.

"What are you making?" He asked, sitting next to her, and she jumped up in alarm, knocking over the cauldron and spilling the potion all over the floor.

"Fuck! Shit!" She whipped out her wand and vanished the mess before it could burn a hole in the carpet. Great, now she had to start all over.

"You should watch your language."

"Fuck off."

"I'm afraid I can't."

She sighed, turning to look at him, a proper look this time. He was still completely emaciated, his bones sticking out awkwardly and his hair as greasy as Snape's. He wore the same robes that he had in the forest nearly a year ago.

"Are you real? Or am I just imagining you?"

"Why can't it be both?" He smirked at her, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Who are you talking to?" The door swung open without any warning, and in walked George. Cass jumped, turning to look at him, and when she glanced back at where Barty was, he had disappeared.

"No one. Just myself." She forced a smile, though she could tell it didn't look authentic. "I, er, I spilled the potion. I need to restart. I'm sorry."

George frowned. "Nothing to apologize for."

A pregnant pause fell between the two.

"Was there something you wanted?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, yeah, bloody hell, sorry. Er, Moody wanted me to give this to you." He held out an envelope, looking around awkwardly.

"What is it?" She pushed herself up from the ground and approached him, eyeing the envelope suspiciously.

He shrugged. "Not sure, only know what Moody told me. They, er, found it in your home when they searched it the other day."

"House." She corrected, as she took the delicate envelope from his fingers, examining the handwriting. Cassiopeia was written in small, swirly letters on it, and she immediately recognized the handwriting to be her fathers. The envelope had already been opened, and a piece of parchment peaked out from inside.

"What?"

"House. Not home. There's a difference."

George blinked. "Oh, er, okay."

With hesitant fingers, she took out the letter from the envelope, unsure of what she'd find. Was it a will? But then why would it be addressed to her specifically? And why did Moody have George deliver it, instead of doing it himself?

Dear Cassiopeia,

If you're reading this, I am either dead or in Azkaban. I've been in our home, fighting the imperius curse Barty has put me under, and I've finally grown enough strength to write this. I plan on going to Hogwarts, to tell Dumbledore everything, but I cannot do so without writing to you first, without pouring my heart out to my precious daughter.

I know you think I hate you. I know I haven't been a good father. I thought, if I distanced myself from you, you wouldn't grow up to be like me - the cowardly man who hid his son in his attic. I thought, maybe, if you stayed out of the house, with your muggle friend and away from me, Barty couldn't get to you. You'd never be aware of his existence.