Ye of Little Faith PV Cassius Hirano

@Mercy King

Ever since Cassius had been recalled from The Blackbourne Academy, two weeks after the summer term’s start, both he and his father had been slowly getting accustomed to life in each other's vicinity once more. He’d not been home long to realise that, truthfully, Windsor was not so different from his time overseas. For as much supervised freedom as he'd enjoyed as a boarder, there was an even greater expectation of privilege that followed him upon his own family grounds. If not for the glaring lack of other students to ruthlessly compete against, the biggest difference was the new organisation of his everyday routine. The household seemed busy from morning till night, and Cassius was meant to fold himself into the chaos. Often out of the house for work, Charles Song had always been first a businessman before a father.

Luckily, Cassius had never been a very high-maintenance child. Rather used to constant activity, he’d taken to shadowing his father and the house staff alike, tolerating both event attendances and mealtimes alike with a lingering desire to be useful. The constant attention sometimes grated upon his low social battery, but rewarded sweets and snippets of praise made it worth it. He’d even been allowed in his father’s study, which had always seemed too intimidating to do anything in but quietly doodle on scraps of paper as Charles worked tirelessly on.

Backlit by large windows and lacking only a tie, which had been loosened and draped over the chair’s arm, Cassius’ father sat shuffling through mail at his desk. Though they had a housekeeper, Charles had always preferred to supervise such affairs himself. Not a day seemed to go by without a stack of papers brought home from the office. From where Cassius had curled up near the half-open, heavy velvet curtains, his father’s work monitors had gone dark with inactivity, and his briefcase lay open with organised folders of physical paperwork. The combination of fine china and sliced fruit upon his desk seemed to catch the evening light perfectly with an appetising gleam. Only half-focused on colouring in his drawing, Cassius curiously watched as Charles organised his daily stack of letters. At some point, something must have reminded his father of older mail, one hand suddenly rifling through a side cabinet before sliding an envelope across the desk in Cassius’s direction.

For him? That wasn’t usual at all. He hopped down from his wooden chair with a questioning glance, but his father didn't seem inclined to answer. Crossing the room to read his letter, the cause of his father’s aloofness was abundantly clear. Ah, that's right. He was 11 now. He'd almost forgotten.

Picking up the envelope, he found the velvety parchment cold to the touch, as if left outside for several hours longer than expected before being put away. The red wax seal was already broken, and it was dated a month prior. Inside lay multiple sheets of inscribed vellum, including a shopping list and welcome letter, all proudly proclaiming a coveted acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Had he not already anticipated his attendance since the first time he'd been sat down to explain his brothers’ absence, perhaps he would have been more excited over the opportunity. As it stood, only dread seemed to take the place of pride. The prospect of magic, as his dignified mother and her family boasted, was something powerful and mythical. To disregard normal rules of the Muggle world was a great privilege, and Cassius now held in his hands the greatest opportunity to prove himself worthy of the blood in his veins. Yet he was neither great nor powerful, and he didn't expect his mother's plans to cater towards seven long, looming years of general education away from his family. How could Cassius be worth a title he was meant to have always had? Despite his quiet ambitions, his general demeanour inclined him towards discretion as the better part of valour.

It made no sense to whine this late after being accepted. Considering the reality of his family's expectations, any complaints could only be routine, not something he truly believed would convince his father. Cassius had always been considered a somewhat easy child to raise, but the prospect of being tossed between the Muggle and wizarding worlds drew from him a childishly contrarian nature. “Hogwarts… Appa, do I have to go?” There was no way he could explain this to Mercy, not after making the U14 division and certainly not considering they'd just settled back home recently. “I mean, wouldn't the Blackbourne be better than Hogwarts? They're not wizarding, but they're proper, and I could learn things like you did if I stayed longer. Couldn't I stay with you instead?” Was this the life his mother had envisioned for him, if she'd thought of it at all? Had his father also dreaded the news since Cassius' first instance of magic? To think that in a month, he was to spend the rest of his entire adolescence in Scotland, when he knew only stories about the wizarding school to begin with.

“It doesn't make any sense that I have to go at 11 and not when I'm older. What about all the important things I have to be present for?” Before he could pick straws at complications like doctors' appointments and growing up, his father cut in with familiar disapproval. “Your education is most important. You cannot simply waste your future because you think things should happen later rather than now. If you're meant for Hogwarts, you will go and anything else 'important' I will handle.”

Stern and authoritative in the face of Cassius's half-hearted petulance, Charles Song had always seemed two steps ahead of every issue thrown at him. From acting as master of the house to head of their conglomerate's English branch, Cassius often thought of his father like a commander among men, capable of far more than he'd ever handle himself. Hogwarts was an altogether too-foreign danger for him to protect his youngest son against, but the expectation of expertise still held.

Clearing his throat, his father continued. “You will be transferring this September. Documentation for the Academy has already been arranged, and I’ve been informed that Hogwarts will handle your placement. If anything, you should have already said your goodbyes in America.” Cassius shifted uncomfortably, but, as terrible as it was, he had at least settled that beforehand. Of all preparations, it had been the easiest. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he had few friends at the Blackbourne. Even after making the lacrosse team, Cassius had never been as interesting or charming as his peers. He made it up with academics, but it was honestly easier to follow the crowd when it came to social interaction. Only Mercy remained a steadfast companion throughout it all, though now even that seemed threatened.

Rather chastised, Cassius pretended to occupy himself with the shopping list as his father continued organising correspondence. Were they supposed to exchange money themselves? All of the assigned author names sounded absurd—almost comically so— and it was even stranger still to know that his father was the one to read them, even accidentally. Surely Hogwarts was better prepared for its student body than to recommend a history book written in 1776. His hand brushed idly over ‘First years are not allowed their own broomsticks’, realising the depths of his required review of the school’s culture. A wand, he needed. Another sorted house, separate from those at the Blackbourne Academy, he’d presumably receive.

There was the soft clink of china on china as his father poured himself a cup of tea, the pot still somehow hot enough to lift great curdles of steam in the still room. “Your mother may write, so be prepared. Be polite.” Would she? Magical owls had to be faster than regular ones, for any poor bird flying cross-continentally would need greater recovery time than a month to deliver a letter back and forth. Since her eldest had come of age, his mother spent most of her time in Japan, attending to her duties alongside her family. If she could manage both of Cassius's elder brothers between their semesters at Mahoutokoro, why couldn't she do the same for him? If he were to receive only a congratulatory letter, it'd be no different if Hogwarts or any other school—wizarding or otherwise—contacted him. Surely this was a special occasion, even if the Songs had never been very special in Saori's eyes.

“Will she visit? To send me off.” His father paused mid-sip, turning as stone-faced and somewhat uncomfortable as always whenever they discussed Cassius’ mother. “That is a question for her.” Expecting little still didn’t lessen the blow of disregard. It never had, but at least his father hadn’t outright rejected the possibility.

Glancing back towards his youngest son, Charles’s tone hardened further. “Before you leave, remember to mind your manners as well. Complaining will do nothing but ruin others' perception of you. It's inappropriate.” Cassius, of course, knew better than to do anything but acquiesce. No matter how many times he heard this familiar refrain, it never failed to dampen his mood. “...Yes, sir.” Dejected though he was, he was at heart an obedient son.

A moment of silence fell over the two as the conversation lulled, but it was quickly broken by a cheery ringtone coming from Cassius’s temporarily abandoned phone. Thankful of the interruption, he dropped his papers as if burned and stepped to silence the now-buzzing device. In the calm of his father’s study, the silly chime he’d chosen seemed ever more out of place. The caller was obvious— who else but Mercy had the audacity and permission to cold-call him? Most other people knew to give him time to respond. Sure enough, an explanatory text pinged shortly afterwards.

Clipped. Concerningly so, as though none of their conversation could be explained in brief. “Mercy’s on his way right now, appa.” Disaster sometimes followed the other around like sillage, but even this seemed uncharacteristic. Knowing his friend, the other likely sent him a message mid-drive rather than beforehand, more focused on the destination than the preparations involved to get there. “His parents didn’t say that he was visiting today... but it seems urgent.”

Charles paused for a moment to take in the inexplicable idea of prepubescent urgency before sighing heavily. “Let the head chef know if he will be joining us for dinner.” It certainly wouldn’t be the first or last time.

Implicitly dismissed with a wave of a hand, Cassius slipped out without a look back. He could always return for his mail later, but Mercy was not a friend whom he could depend on to wait. Closing the door carefully, he walked down the hallway at a normal pace before dropping the dignified facade when out of earshot. A hurried concern had overtaken him and, honestly, he had little fear of hopping down the stairs two at a time, sliding freely across the grand salon, through the service entrance and out into the long driveway where Mercy’s chauffeur had already parked.

“Mercy! I got your text.” Cassius nodded politely at the driver as he passed around the car, crossing around to greet his friend. “Are those… tears? What happened? Are you okay?”

banner by my frat brother forever, cashmoney

@Cassius Hirano

The brief car ride over to the Song estate was soundtracked by Mercy’s leg shaking nonstop, the heel of his loafer carving its mark into the floor of the Range Rover speeding down the winding road. Time still seemed to be acting up— the brief ten-minute drive had seemed to morph into both a three-hour trek and a blink of an eye, all in one. Why on earth was this happening to him? How could his parents possibly go along with this nonsense? His gaze stayed fixated on the blurry landscape speeding by as he tried his best to regulate his breathing and compartmentalize the tornado of thoughts rattling around in his brain, both of which were strategies that Theory had imparted on him when playing games (for Theory, the video variety; for Mercy, the lacrosse kind).

Both after an eternity and before he could even buckle his seat belt, they had arrived at the Song estate. Mercy slid his phone into his back pocket as the driver asked politely, “Would you like me to wait here?”

“No, I’ll call when I’m ready to head home,” Mercy said quietly as the car pulled into the driveway, where he could see Cassius already stepping outside to greet him. He was just stepping out of the car when Cassius approached, and he felt the wave of relief crashing over him immediately at the sight of the familiar face.

Tears? “No!” Mercy muttered petulantly, a bit more harshly than he had originally meant. He hastily wiped any evidence that suggested otherwise from his cheeks with the back of his hand, sniffing a bit as he shut the car door with just a bit more force than necessary. “I mean, no, I’m fine. Sort of. Look, let’s talk inside.” He shot a glance towards the driver, whose perfectly stoic poker face gave away nothing, although he could only imagine the amused thoughts that must have been running rampant through the older man’s mind. “It’s a… sensitive conversation. Between just the two of us. No offense to your dad.” Not that he had ever really tortured Charles with the inner workings of his young, pre-teen mind before, but he had certainly held lengthy conversations about sports over dinner with the man, even if they tended to be a bit one-sided.

Mercy had been to Cassius’s house more times than he could put a number to, but he still let his friend take the lead as the two headed inside as a facade of etiquette. “Hi, Uncle Charlie!” he shouted into the abyss as they entered, as he usually did, the greeting his compromise between etiquette and respecting the man’s very clear boundaries. He quickly untied his shoes before placing them neatly on the mat by the front door, taking just an extra moment to ensure that they were perfectly straight before straightening up. “Come on,” Mercy hissed, all pretense of manners dropped as he impatiently grabbed Cash’s wrist and dragged him to his own bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time and at a pace that suggested an intimate familiarity with the exact height and spacing of the steps.

Finally reaching the safe haven that was Cash’s bedroom, Mercy belly-flopped onto the bed with a muffled groan into the duvet. “My life is over,” he stated, most of which was eaten and insulated by the bed. “My parents suck so bad sometimes.” He rolled over, doing quite a remarkable impression of a dead fish flopping on a dock, and blew his bangs out of his eyes with a puff of air and a loud sigh. “I didn’t want to just text you this, and you didn’t pick up, so I came over.” Right, because being unavailable for a phone call meant being perfectly available to host a guest for dinner. Brilliant eleven-year-old logic, right there. Mercy sat up suddenly and patted the space on the bed next to him, indicating that he wouldn’t explain himself until Cash was next to him.

Taking Cassius’s hands in his own, his legs criss-crossed and his feet neatly tucked under him, Mercy leaned forward until their foreheads were almost touching. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears again, except instead of the despair from earlier, the butterflies in his stomach felt frantic, and the tightness in his chest felt anxious. But unlike the pre-game jitters he sometimes got before a big game, this nervousness was heightened tenfold by the dead silence of Cash’s room and the sweatiness of his palms. “Okay, you can’t tell anyone this,” he said in a hushed whisper. “Nobody but my family knows, although I don’t think Theory really knows what’s going on, because when has Theory ever really understood anything that wasn’t shooting a virtual gun?” he rambled on, stalling as he tried to find the right way to break the news. Here goes nothing. “But, um, anyway… my parents are pulling me out of Blackbourne, and they’re sending me away to Scotland for school instead because… because I’m gay.”

@Mercy King

Before the accusation of tears had even left him, Cassius should have known better than to expect Mercy's easy admission of such weakness. Clever and defensive, his dear friend was, but never usually at the same time. He tamped down his amusement and looked towards the King's driver for some insight, but the other’s familiarly stoic attitude intimidated him too much to glean further context. Not that he was expecting much, of course. In the face of conflict, it was Cassius who'd come out undefeated as Mercy's #1 confidant. Context clues aside, if even he didn't know yet, there wasn't much that could be expected.

Backtracking the way he came, content to let Mercy collect his worries for a proper conversation, Cassius led the two inside. “I don’t think he’d mind. He’s in his study right now, you know. You don’t need to shou—” Before he'd even finished his refrain, there Mercy went. The greeting echoed off their high ceilings and into the gaping void of second-hand social embarrassment with a loud-mouthed ease that Cassius had never shared. Yes, it was a bit hard not to notice the youngest King. Whether due to prior warning or sheer routine, his friend visited often enough to consider their house a second home. “... Never mind. Now you really have to show your face at dinner.” Nothing would stop Mercy from announcing himself, even if unnecessarily, and Cassius had by now realised his time was better spent waiting for his friend to put away his shoes than convincing him to stop accidentally terrorising the house staff. Small mercies for professionalism.

Whether as a token of good faith or simple desensitisation to Mercy’s insistence (why not both?), Cassius good-naturedly allowed himself to be dragged along to his own bedroom as if a guest in his own home. Of course, he’d acquiesce, but not without a few obligatorily loud sighs as tribute. And perhaps a bit more grimacing as well, as Mercy’s draping, oblivious lament wrinkled his made bed. His room—seldom used during their several years boarded in America—had multiple seating options for a reason, but it simply wouldn’t be Mercy without dramatics. “Your parents suck? Well, they also didn't say you were visiting today, either. What is it now, Silly?” He crossed the room with the intent to right his wronged bedspread before sitting down next to Mercy. His poor, fallen stuffed animals needed to be rearranged. No matter if they were likely used to being jolted around, Cassius felt bad for them every time.

Letting Mercy take his hands was as easy as breathing. It was easier, really, as any routine comfort became over time. He’d know his best friend even on the worst of days, when the terrible weather and worse days for lacrosse obscured all but them on the same team. Them against the world, always and without question, in their two-person team huddle. Even with Mercy's forehead still a little red and warm from roughly swiping at his face, confident voice drawn into a tight and frantic whisper, Cassius could excuse sweaty palms and needless brother-slandering in favour of Serious Conversation.

Yet whatever he'd expected his friend to admit, that certainly wasn’t it. “Um.” Considering they’d been sent to an all-boys boarding school, one would think that this revelation would make a lot of sense. Unfortunately, being 11 and currently free from the terrors of puberty didn’t exactly inform him of things outside his sheltered bubble. Quietly dumbfounded, he stopped focusing on their joined hands, which he'd idly rocked together in a childish bid to pass the time as Mercy rambled through an internal crisis, to stare up between his eyelashes at his dear friend. Um, indeed. Possessed by the blank, polite confusion of a boy trying hard not to offend, Cassius stiltedly matched Mercy’s frantic whisper. “About that, I’m not… entirely sure how being gay means you have to transfer schools…?” Was that the natural progression of things? Hypothetically, if Cassius were to figure the same out, would he also be forced to transfer? That didn’t seem entirely right.

Either way, he must not have been paying enough attention in church if he’d missed the King's apparent intolerance. It sounded absurd that they—who, for all of their flaws, Cassius had always considered the epitome of successful joint parenting—would immediately think to transfer schools after finding out their youngest son’s preferences(?). Relationships had always been something for their upperclassmen to brag about, not something that would encroach upon them until they'd outgrown their middle school years. But if Mercy said so, who was Cassius to question the validity of his fears? Were there private schools in Scotland that catered to such circumstances? How'd Theory react? Sending Mercy to another all-boys school would surely give the same results. “Unless it’s a co-ed school, I suppose. Not that that’s bad! Different, sure, but not bad.” Whether he meant schooling alongside girls or being gay, Cassius wasn’t entirely sure which Mercy would find worse. He’d settle for both of them being equally fine, because he’d hate for his friend to think that they’d no longer be close because of something like this.

“But never mind that. Gay or not, you’re my best friend, and I love you. Thanks for telling me.” He squeezed their hands together reassuringly, pressing foreheads a little closer together before sitting back. “Would it make you feel better to know that we’d be in the same country, no matter what? I’m also transferring this year.” Maybe Cassius being bound for Hogwarts was for the better. From how he was trying to rationalise it, he was certainly trying to make it seem that way. Leaving the Academy hurt a lot, but mostly because of all the missed opportunities he and Mercy wouldn’t be able to share anymore. This way, even if the adjustment period sucked, they’d be less than a country away. “It isn’t my choice, but my mother says that it’d be better to study at a more specialised school like my brothers are. Which means we’d be in Scotland together! Maybe not at the same school, but in basically the same place, and it’d be both of our first years away from the academy.” If only his dear friend weren’t a Muggle... Even if the circumstances were subpar, suffering through a slowly drifting friendship seemed a far worse fate than tempting the Statute of Secrecy.

Yet even towards his quest to alleviate Mercy’s concerns, a question nagged at him. “Was there someone in our classes, or at an event, that made you realise? I just mean, how'd you figure it out? How did you know?” Though Cassius had always been soft-spoken and accompanied by his much flashier friend, some of the boys at Blackbourne were admittedly quite nice. He'd never been very close with them, but he could presumably see the charm. How many times had he begged off birthday parties and gym-partner invitations in favour of spending time with Mercy? He'd only ever had enough room for one best friend in his life (Mercy’s personality took up a lot of room, no matter where he went), but if any of their classmates had harboured a secret crush on Mercy, or vice versa, Cassius had never noticed it. If Mercy had met someone at one of the many events they attended, he’d be doubly oblivious. To think that, despite growing up back to back at every twist and turn, there were still big and important things he didn't know about his best friend... It was the strangest thing. It was a yawning blank in the whole of their universe, and he hated the mere idea of its existence.

banner by my frat brother forever, cashmoney

@Cassius Hirano

It was hard to do anything except exactly what Cassius asked whenever he said that magic word. Not many other people even remembered that Mercy’s old moniker was Silly, let alone were allowed to use it. But Mercy knew that Cassius was fully aware that when he did utilize it, he could get Silly to do just about anything. Perhaps far too great a power to give anyone, the complete and utter control of oneself, but Mercy knew that his best friend would never abuse it. His entire body seemed to deflate as his shoulders slumped, knowing that the news he was about to break was a total and complete bombshell out of the blue.

But he shouldn’t have doubted for even a second that Cassius would take the news with anything other than composed grace and ethereal acceptance. He could feel the tears springing back into the corners of his eyes as his face grew warm again, those damned emotions getting the better of him once more. His mother always liked to comment on how sensitive he was, the observation more of a disapproving stab than an uplifting compliment, but Cassius always made him feel secure about his big feelings. His best friend was always a safe space for him, and those emotions always tended to rise and bubble over when Mercy was around him, irregardless of whether they were positive or negative. He sniffed in a futile effort to banish those tears back to wherever the hell they had come from, but they spilled over in spite of himself. Of course Cassius would understand. Of course he wouldn’t judge. He had been a fool to think otherwise, even for ten minutes. He mentally shook himself, trying to ground himself in the moment as he focused back in on Cassius’s questions, his best friend’s calm and measured voice surrounding him like a warm blanket.

“No no, it’s not like my parents think it’s wrong or anything, but this professor came by and said if I didn’t learn to control it, or like, harness it, I could put people in danger,” Mercy explained hastily, realizing that Cassius was quickly jumping to a different conclusion than was the truth in this instance. His parents, although staunchly traditional and occasionally misguided, were far from politically incorrect. “So logically, it’s probably better that I’m transferring there. I don’t really want to become an outcast at Blackbourne, my reputation is already stellar there, so it’ll be like leaving on a high note. Like stocks. I’m just cashing it in while they’re worth a lot.”

Cassius’s next words were completely and utterly unexpected, catching Mercy completely off guard. He had no idea that Uncle Charlie had any intention of pulling Cassius from his alma mater, and had no idea why he would even consider such a thing, especially considering he was the sole reason as to why Cassius and Mercy were even attending an international boarding school to begin with. “You’re transferring to Scotland?” Mercy responded incredulously, leaning back on his hands after wiping his tears away for the umpteenth time today. The plush layers of Cassius’s nest dimpled beneath his weight, a soft but steadying presence to pull him back into reality. “Crazy coincidence, I guess.” If only he understood just how insane the coincidence of it all really was. But in Mercy’s mind, it was Cassius who was following him to Europe and not the other way around. “That’s wild, though. I thought your dad loved Blackbourne enough to keep you there through middle school, at least. Does your mom not like it enough to think you need to start going to a specialized school so early?”

Cassius’s next question seemed a little odd, but Mercy supposed it was a reasonable enough follow-up to the atomic bomb of information he had just dropped. “I mean, there was this one time with Theory, I guess,” Mercy mumbled thoughtfully, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought back to that school holiday so many years ago. The memory of it was hazy and dream-like, and he was self-aware enough to critique his own recollection. He knew it was likely that he had ended up blowing things a bit out of proportion throughout the years, and he wasn’t entirely certainly that things had happened exactly the way he remembered in the current day. “I don’t think you were there, but we were playing video games, and I made everything short-circuit. At least, I think I was the one who made it happen. Or maybe it really was Theory overloading the outlet, like my parents said. But I just got so mad one second, and then there were sparks everywhere.” He paused, then added, “I don’t think it was anyone in particular, although I guess Theory is usually a good bet. He makes me so mad sometimes, I feel like I just can’t control those urges, you know.” He figured that this conjecture was a reasonable and logical one, and certainly not the most outlandish jump to make. After all, he was gay, not stupid. There was no way he’d be caught dead making bold, unsupported claims.

“Anyway,” Mercy said with a faux-cheeriness in his voice. “Yeah. Sad stuff all around. But maybe we can travel together on breaks. Hopefully, our vacations will line up so we can be at home together. Plus, we always have our phones, so we can FaceTime every night before we go to bed.” His gaze dropped to his hands as he searched for something, anything, to fill the uncomfortable silence threatening to swallow him whole in the moment. “Should we… um… Is your dad going to eat dinner with us? I don’t think I’m in the mood to eat at home right now.”

@Mercy King

Biased though Cassius’s opinion may be, none of the world’s excess of measured class and public sociability could conceal Mercy’s good heart. His best friend could be heavy-handed at times, of course, as any well-raised young master could be, yet one could not initially fault Mercy for his frequent straightforwardness when the path had always been laid out plainly. Indeed, it was more often a sign of great privilege than true thoughtlessness that drew the other towards dramatics and, in confident opinion, Cassius had always considered his friend’s kindness as immediately defining as any critically cultivated fashion style. Even as Mercy’s habitual ramblings ran laps around logic’s boundaries, and even as the world’s weight of separation threatened them, Cassius could count on being one of his best friend’s safety nets at the end of the day. What great privilege he held, to walk so readily alongside his dearest friend past every bend and branch in the road, and to predict every subsequent turn of Mercy’s mercurial moods before they overwhelmed them both completely.

As the self-made emotional anchor of their little two-person ship, it was therefore no great surprise to Cassius when his best friend’s tears spilt over. Increasingly concerned, less so confused with every half-clarification admitted faster than he could process, he brought both of Mercy’s hands into one of his own to fish out a spare handkerchief from his bedside drawer, offering it freely for the other’s poor face. “It’s good then, right, that your parents don’t think things are wrong? They’re worried! That’s it, I’m sure, and someone else coming to tell them all about it without more context makes it worse.” If he said it like that, so assuredly and so well, in the same way Mercy often reasoned things out, perhaps Cassius could offer his best friend a greater portion of the hope they both sought. And though he privately doubted the validity of Mercy’s stock market analogy (in what situation would his reputation drop so greatly?), casting doubt on his friend’s already-threatened coping mechanism would do little good.

He shifted back as Mercy broke their handholding to lean further against the mattress, hands turning to fiddle at the handkerchief’s hem instead. “I’d be concerned, too, if someone said you could get hurt. But I’m just not sure how you’d put other people in danger just by being yourself. It’s not as if you’re slashing people in lacrosse or something, even on a bad day.” A distant curiosity lurked beneath his words—would Mercy still play, wherever he went? He was a fantastic attacker, someone their coaches had always been proud of, yet Cassius still couldn’t imagine his best friend forging the same dynamic with another midfielder— a blank face lacking identity, whose deadly experience in the sport lacked the connection Cassius felt every time they played. He didn’t doubt Hogwarts’s sports reputation, but, absurdly, having to break the news to his best friend felt like being traded for a worse team, one that likely didn’t know the definition of lacrosse if asked.

It’d been Cassius’s quiet burden upon his father’s attention that had brought the two of them to the Blackbourne, but it’d always been Mercy forging ahead once there. For this reason, for all of their success in America, facing his honest incredulity felt worse than ever. Cassius had only meant to reassure his dear friend, not force the conversation back towards himself, but he’d never been able to lie to Mercy about anything as big as this before.

“Well, truthfully,” He started, not entirely lying, but not-not either, “I think my mother would rather have me study in Japan. So Scotland’s a better alternative than that, at least?” Perhaps Cassius was giving his mother slightly too much credit, considering her honest disregard, but he’d never been very good at understanding her. He didn’t often have much opportunity to do so, either, but even a stranger could reason that having three sons in the same school would likely have been more strategic than his current predicament. “My brothers started a new school when they were my age, too, so I don’t think it was ever supposed to be a long-term placement.” Cassius had never been close to his brothers—rarely had the reason to speak to, let alone of, them— but some amount of inherited potential must bind them together, right? The idea of it was better than the alternative. “The school she wants to send me to is supposed to be a lot more old-fashioned, too. I can’t bring my phone, but we could send letters…? We could make them really cool, send photographs and stuff, too. It works out easier, though, doesn’t it, since we’d be in the same country rather than several time zones away.”

At the very least, being Hogwarts-bound simplified travel plans, even if it left Cassius with the difficult interpersonal burden of explaining his departure to everyone he ever knew. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it’d be for his father, who’d been bound towards damage control ever since he’d left South Korea. “And, um, for as much as the Blackbourne is my dad’s Alma mater, it’s also quite a bit further away, and we’re getting old enough that we’re meant to be more present rather than all the way in America.” He shrugged half-heartedly, still not entirely convinced by the cover story he’d been given.

Yet no matter how grand a misdirection he’d had been bound towards since birth, he could never compete with natural misstatements. Now, Cassius would have loved to say that he’d always taken Mercy’s explanations willingly, at face value, with all the care and concern he always sought to express in their relationship, but even a stranger could have recognised the cold wash of absolute horror that distracted him from this boast. He should not have asked, no matter how curious he was.

Curiosity, cat, take mercy on him, for— “You can’t be serious, Theory?” Of all half-decent boys, fictional or otherwise, the one to give Mercy his gay awakening was his own elder brother?? Surely Cassius had heard wrong, or Mercy must have misunderstood him somehow, because there was no way his earlier misreading of the King’s decent family structure had devolved into this. No matter how great, alarm could not outpace concern in Cassius’s racing mind, but this single lore-drop threatened to hurdle every path towards understanding.

Of course, he’d always hold his friend’s feelings and confessions in strict confidence, but perhaps they’d gone a bit too far in their expectations if this was the fruit of his labour. Cassius felt like he was having the crisis of a lifetime, or at least of the entire summer, and Mercy’s absolute obliviousness was not helping matters. How on earth did implied incest lead to a shortened circuit, or the loss of one of Theory’s treasured gaming sessions?? Perhaps Mercy truly didn’t know what being gay meant, and this was a code-word for something else less criminal—yes, that was right, it must be, it has to be! Sticking resolutely to such justifications (he’d hear of no objections tonight, not for his own sanity), Cassius honestly could not believe this was what his life had come to. He’d held his tongue for Theory’s sake, and his judgment for the King family’s reputations, but he’d never been in a worse situation in his entire (short) life. Mercy could lead conversations into forgetfulness with assumptions alone, he knew, but this one’s reliance on code bordered on indecent.

He cleared his throat pointedly, totally in on the secret despite the panic still shooting up his spine, still rather incapable of meeting his dear friend’s eyes. “Right! Yeah. Sorry, I was just surprised. I shouldn’t have assumed.” He’d need to discuss subtlety with Mercy sometime. Or, at the very least, connotations and whatnot. Maybe they’d need to open a window, or an intervention, but mostly a window, because his ears were feeling really warm all of a sudden. “I suppose your brother can be… um, inflammatory, sometimes.” Cassius conceded lightly, neither willing to slip the truth of Mercy’s implications nor sort through a mental list of decreasingly insulting adjectives to describe the other’s rebellious older brother without betraying honest fondness. Though little respect could be garnered from someone who drank energy drinks like water, the mere idea of tarnishing Theory’s opinion of him—even in spirit—dissuaded Cassius from the same slander that Mercy so loved to engage in, even accidentally. “I didn’t mean it like that. At all, really. But sure, I think I understand.” He did not, at least not fully, but Cassius would rather complete timed multiplication tests than voluntarily admit it.

If Mercy wanted any chance of legitimate understanding, he’d need to do more than go along with such unfortunate implications. For all the strength of Cassius’s threatened attempts at saving face, the surrounding context remained still, and logic, no matter how absurd, could still be gleaned.

A professor, though? “Weird that your parents talked to a professor in person, in their house, though, and not the other way around. Aren’t they supposed to have their own office, or leave the conversations to the headmaster or someone?” Perhaps Mercy’s parents had already been in contact with other school administrations, and this was simply a formality… but he didn’t know any such places that did house-calls, let alone ones that’d cause such widespread distress amongst the Kings. “Are you sure they weren’t a therapist or a police officer, or something of that sort? Undercover-like, like that movie we saw the other day on a billboard.” Both of them had only returned from America recently, and while Cassius certainly didn’t think his friend had a mean enough bone in him to necessitate legal intervention, the urges that Mercy warned about seemed less of a ‘revelation of adolescent queer identity’ and more of an anger issue to speak to one’s therapist about.

The Blackbourne Academy was far, but its programs were robust and certainly enough to control one 11-year-old’s impulses even as he grew up. The boarding school had certainly met more interesting, troublesome characters than his dear friend, who spent an equal amount of care in rearranging his shoes on a rack to putting away his lunch tray. If anything, the Blackbourne had surely met their own Theory’s, not that Theory was truthfully much of a degenerate except in language and general aesthetic. It wasn’t as if Mercy would be missing curfew, or skipping class, or getting into fights anyway—his dear friend just wasn’t the type. Their definition of trouble involved forgetting class directions and throwing a few too many lacrosse balls over the fence. No regular person would consider Mercy’s presence uniquely degenerate, much less potentially dangerous.

And yet a professor, not even a teacher, or a secretary, or even a school administrator, had somehow managed to warn the Kings in their own home. It spoke to a strange, awkward power imbalance that neither adult would normally accept unless it truly seemed serious, and it’d been enough to drive their youngest to tears. If not for Mercy’s genuine distress, Cassius would have considered the whole affair simply strange— a coincidence, even, for responsibility to have originated from a spontaneously overloaded outlet. He’d never been in the habit of completely rejecting his dear friend’s fears, but no explanation on the tip of his tongue justified such guilt.

A thought occurred to him suddenly, almost absurdly. “Wait—” Now that he thought about it, Mercy had been right earlier: it was certainly a crazy coincidence, but none so much as the convenient timeline. What strange luck it was for it to be the summer of Mercy’s 11th birthday. They’d always celebrated together, and this year had been no exception, except for how it was the last one he anticipated normalcy, but it’d been a milestone Cassius had anticipated for years. Mercy’s role in all of this threw a wrench into everything. Suddenly, Theory’s role in his friend’s ‘revelations’ made more sense, and not in the criminal way Cassius had been led towards.

But there was no way—the likelihood was just too low. There were too many other people in the world, upper-class or otherwise, to miraculously introduce two would-be-wizards without the careful coordination usually necessary to predict such things. Prediction was an unreliable resource, he knew, but this seemed too perfect even with magic’s involvement affecting chances. Magic, of which Cassius had always been familiar, but had never made it out of his self-made bubble because it’d just make no sense for them to be this lucky. The Kings were Muggle anyway, with Theory’s obsessions as the surest proof, and it’d be the cruellest twist of fate for Cassius to have spent so long stressing over an (im)possibility, only for none of it to be true.

Much to his mother’s frequent and privately held disappointment, and though his father had never admitted it aloud, Cassius’s magicality had been inconvenient for nearly everyone in his family. He’d been born too late and grown up too quiet. Unlike his elder brothers, though their age gap still considered them incomparable subjects, he had nothing to identify himself with except his foreign birth. Cassius had neither been great enough to strategically game the Book of Admission, nor terrible enough to genetically eschew magic entirely and allow his father at least one muggle son to compensate for his estranged eldest two. It was not mere skill or luck that’d invited him into the wizarding world, but simple expectation, and unasked-for inheritance. For his entire life, ever since he’d first turned water to ice in a bid to save himself from harm, there was never a week when Cassius wasn’t reminded of the inevitable—of the fact that he’d one day be separated from the Muggle life he’d always been raised in. How different would things have become had he been raised under his mother’s hand?

Had he the fortune of winning magic’s favour on his rare, half-remembered trips to Japan rather than the halls of his own childhood home, he would have never needed to attend the Blackbourne. He would have neither known about nor started lacrosse, would have never spent his years in America under his housemaster’s care, would have—most devastatingly, considering the high probability— perhaps never known the Kings as anything more than distant family friends. The mere idea of it seemed impossible, and yet, though he’d spent a decade in the Muggle realm, the same logical future promised to rule his life for the next 10.

He hadn’t realised exceptions could exist in their deterministic world. It made sense, though, this fleeting shot in the dark.

Studying Mercy in this moment, attempting to reconcile the boy he’d recognise by heart with the looming future haunting over both of them, Cassius could not help but hope for something sweeter than the life already promised to him.

“I think,” He started diplomatically, trying to shape the fluttering hope in his chest into something less wishfully improbable, “that we’re having two different conversations, actually. It’s neither of our faults, but I think I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

If his best friend—if his Mercy—turned out a bit more magical than the glittered pens he’d definitely seen in the other’s pencil case, then all of their concerns would suddenly be easier to address. “Bear with me, and I know this sounds strange, but have there been other instances of weird things happening? Lights flickering, glass shattering, things floating—anything of the sort. It’s just that your story sounds really familiar. Not quite the same, but familiar enough.” Was it too wishful to entertain? Cassius had certainly never seen anything overly strange happen in relation to his best friend. If he had, it’d likely been explained away in the breezy, nonchalant way Mercy always explained things, and, though that didn’t always necessitate complete faith in the other’s dramatic retellings, Cassius had always valued Mercy’s words over his own. If things weren’t as they seemed and Mercy had been witness to mere coincidences, at least Cassius could say he tried his best without explicitly breaking the Statute of Secrecy, but he couldn’t disregard the idea unless he asked.

If it were anyone else, he’d think himself naive even to consider the possibility. With his best friend, however, nothing less than betrayal seemed completely impossible. “Yeah, he’s meant to. I think my dad could explain things better than I can, anyway, so it's actually better if you stay for dinner… You’ve told your parents you’re here, right?”