Closed Friendly Faces In Unexpected Places PV Harlan Montgomery

mentions.

@Harlan Montgomery

Cassian yawned as he slipped into the first open seat he could find at the Gryffindor table, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Though he greatly enjoyed breakfast, he had never been — and likely never would be — a morning person. He reached half-blindly for a slice of toast, nearly knocking over a pitcher of pumpkin juice in the process. A nearby second-year snorted into their bowl of porridge. Cassian didn’t rise to it, although the tips of his ears flushed an unattractive violet. He slumped forward onto the table with a dramatic groan and let his curls tumble into his face.

He had survived nearly all of his first year. Only a few weeks remained before he could board the Hogwarts Express and escape back home to the warm embrace of his mother and the comfort of his own bed. He had enjoyed himself, of course — Hogwarts was thrilling, there was no doubt about it — but Cassian looked forward to no longer having to spend every waking hour buried in textbooks or scrambling to complete the next assignment. Of course, he could have allowed his grades to slide in exchange for an easier go at it, but Cassian had been hardwired since birth to excel. His father wouldn’t accept any less.

Outside the windows, summer sunlight streamed through the frosted glass, catching in the rising steam from the porridge and tea arrayed on the long table. Everything felt muffled, as though the castle itself hadn't quite woken up yet. As Cassian sat upright again and began absentmindedly buttering the toast he’d finally obtained, his mind drifted — as it often did in the quiet in-between moments where there was nothing to distract him — to the estate back home.

There had always been breakfast there too, naturally. Just quieter, more formal. Less chaotic shouting and owls swooping in to deliver mail — well, there had been owls too, of course. Cassian’s father was far too important a man to be unavailable during something as trivial as breakfast. Everything had been perfectly ordered: polished silverware, porcelain teacups, and his mother humming a waltz while choosing her jam. Cassian could remember sprinting barefoot down the wide staircase, hair sticking up at every angle, trying to escape the latest governess with a half-buttoned shirt and stolen spoon of marmalade.

No matter how much fun he had at Hogwarts — cheering and whooping at Quidditch matches or exchanging notes with his friends in class — Cassian would always cherish the memories of home. They belonged to the best parts of his childhood, carefully preserved in golden light. Still, he could admit that Hogwarts suited him in ways the estate never had. As a boy, his world had been remarkably contained. Playmates were few and far between, mostly the children of other pureblood families, acquaintances of his father, or old society connections. Even then, they appeared only for scheduled visits every few months at most. It had made for quite a solitary upbringing. And yet Cassian had always been a buoyant child — bright, sunny, irrepressible. Still, Hogwarts had felt like a breath of fresh air after so many years spent in stiff social events and starched collars.

Cassian wondered vaguely about those playmates that he had left behind in the gilded halls of memory. They had spent hours traipsing through the numerous rooms on the estate and giggling as they sprinted through the hedge maze they were definitely not supposed to be in without an adult. Most of them were likely already attending Hogwarts or another magical institution by now. Perhaps he’d ask his mother for their addresses once he returned home, maybe reach out over the summer.

Finally remembering his abandoned toast, he took a bite and reached for a mug of tea that had appeared beside his elbow. He sipped it gratefully and scanned the room through sleep-lidded eyes, watching the tables slowly fill up.

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