The crunch of Train wheels over frost-glazed cobblestones echoed through the Somerset countryside as Cassandra Vole sat poised, chin high, arms folded neatly over her chest. Beyond the carriage window, the familiar hills rolled by—ancient stone walls half-buried beneath a thin veil of snow. It was quieter here than at Hogwarts. Quieter, tidier… smaller, somehow.
She adjusted her wool cloak, fingers lingering on the silver snake-shaped clasp at her collar—a gift from Father the night she'd been Sorted into Slytherin. As if she needed the reminder. Slytherin: ambitious, cunning, disciplined… exceptional. And yet, there had been moments, alone in shadowed castle corridors, when the edges of belonging felt less defined.
The Train slowed, steam curling from the upper deck with a loud sound indicating the Arrival . Cassandra disembarked at the station, the winter air sharp against her cheeks. Waiting by the platform was their family's house-elf, a small, weathered creature in crisp livery. His large eyes brightened as she approached.
"Welcome , young miss," he squeaked, bowing low as he scrambled to collect her luggage. "Apologies—the master was summoned to the Ministry by the Minister himself. He sends word—he'll return before you arrive home."
Cassandra lifted a brow, unimpressed. "It doesn't matter. Let's go. Are we using the station's Floo network or those dreadful Muggle vehicles?"
"The Floo network, miss," the elf replied humbly, gesturing with a bony hand. "Please, this way."
In moments, emerald flames swept them from the station to the threshold of Vole Manor—a grand, ivy-draped estate rising stark against the grey winter sky. The family crest gleamed above the towering door: a silver falcon clutching a key—symbol of insight, vigilance, and quiet control.
The elf opened the door of the manor's Floo chamber, and Cassandra stepped onto the flagstone floor, her boots clicking with precision. Snow clung to her cloak as the front doors creaked open.
Her mother stood in the doorway, the picture of elegant poise. Ash-blonde hair coiled flawlessly at her nape, deep emerald robes trailing in soft folds.
"There's my little princess," Lady Vole greeted, embracing Cassandra lightly, her sharp eyes appraising. "You've grown thinner. Are they feeding you properly at that school?"
"I'm fine, Mother." Cassandra returned the hug stiffly, voice clipped but courteous. "And I'm not little anymore."
Lord Vole appeared beside them, tall and sharp-featured, silver streaking his temples, eyes as penetrating as ever beneath heavy brows. His stern expression softened the moment his gaze settled on her.
"Good to have you home, Cassandra," he said, patting her shoulder with rare warmth. "Come inside. Your mother and I have been eager to hear all about your first term—I've already heard some… interesting stories."
The grand hall smelled faintly of aged parchment, polished wood, and winter roses from the conservatory. Cassandra followed them into the drawing room, where a fire crackled behind a marble hearth, casting long shadows across the velvet chairs and ancestral portraits.
Tea poured itself into porcelain cups at the flick of Lady Vole's wand.
"Well," her mother began, studying her with that cool, incisive gaze, "how is Hogwarts treating you? Are you keeping ahead of your studies?"
"Of course," Cassandra replied crisply, perching on the edge of her chair. "Charms is elementary—I mastered Lumos and Alohomora weeks ago. Transfiguration is tolerable—Professor McGonagall is strict, but competent. I've already finished the entire first-year syllabus for Potions. Herbology is… simplistic."
Lord Vole chuckled softly behind his teacup. "Brilliant and beautiful—as expected of my daughter."
Lady Vole smirked faintly. "Says the man who barely scraped through his exams."
"Come now, dear," Lord Vole protested, shifting uncomfortably, "let me keep some dignity in front of our heir."
Lady Vole's eyes twinkled with amusement, but she let the moment pass. Her expression sobered as she turned back to Cassandra.
"And… friends?" she asked, tone mild but edged with expectation. "Surely you've made a few?"
Cassandra hesitated, swirling her tea, watching the amber liquid ripple. The faces of her classmates rose unbidden—the loud, posturing boys who cloaked their incompetence behind pure-blood arrogance; the giggling girls absorbed in gossip rather than spellwork; the insufferable Slytherins, most of whom weren't worth a second glance.
"Not… many," she admitted, choosing her words with care. "Most aren't worth the effort. A few show… potential."
A glance passed between her parents, subtle but laden with meaning.
"Cassandra," Lord Vole began, his voice gentle but firm, "ambition and intellect will take you far. But doors rarely open for those who walk alone. You must experience people—their loyalties, their faults. Friendships, betrayals—they teach you far more than solitude does."
Lady Vole nodded, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "It's admirable to set high standards, darling, but do not wall yourself in. Prejudice—whether born of arrogance or caution—limits you more than it protects you."
Cassandra bristled. "I'm not isolating myself. I simply see no value in wasting time with those who lack discipline or integrity."
"Discipline isn't everything," her father countered. "Wisdom, humility… kindness. These things matter too."
A flicker of unease settled beneath her composure, but Cassandra held her tongue. The fire crackled between them, casting its soft glow over the polished furniture and rows of dusty books.
"We're proud of your academic success," Lady Vole added, reaching to smooth a stray lock of Cassandra's dark hair. "But arrogance breeds loneliness, Cass. Even the sharpest minds need allies."
Cassandra's chest tightened faintly, though she disguised it well. Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Hogwarts—the towering halls, the candlelit feasts, the whispered conversations curling through hidden corridors. Perhaps… perhaps she had judged too swiftly.
"I'll try," she murmured, so quietly it was almost lost to the crackle of flames.
Lady Vole's smile was small but satisfied. "That's all we ask. You are the future of this family. One day, you'll lead. And no leader stands alone."
Snow dusted the windowpanes as the three of them sat together—the Voles: ambitious, proud… still learning, perhaps, how not to walk their path alone.
Her mother poured more tea, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You've always been observant, Cassandra. Which of your classmates… stands out?"
Cassandra's fingers drifted to the silver clasp at her collar, tracing the snake's coiled shape. She considered lying—but they would see through it, as they always did.
"There's one," she admitted, gaze distant. "Cael Vale."
Her parents exchanged a subtle glance—curious, cautious.
"Oh?" Lord Vole asked, arching a brow. "What has this boy done to earn your attention?"
"A Gryffindor," Cassandra replied, her tone clipped but thoughtful. "Muggle-born. Yet… sharp. Smarter than he lets on. His spellwork—his control—it's far ahead of most."
Lady Vole's brow lifted slightly. "A Muggle-raised wizard with real talent? And yet you sound… disappointed ."
Cassandra's frown deepened. "At first, I thought he was mature, disciplined. But then… he became a prankster. Constantly targeting Slytherins with his little gang. He puts on a perfect face for the professors—always polite, always clever—but behind that…"
She trailed off, jaw tightening, frustration flickering beneath her calm.
"During the Slytherin-Ravenclaw Quidditch match," she continued, "he and his gang planted Dungbombs in the stands. Midway through the game, the entire pitch stank. People vomited. Some passed out. And when I heard that they did it I reported them to the Headmaster and professors "
Lord Vole chuckled under his breath. "Resourceful and smart."
Cassandra shot him a sharp look. "It's not resourceful or smart—it's reckless. And he's obsessed with House Points, practically clawing for praise from the professors."
Her mother tilted her head. "A clever boy, driven, ambitious… a touch unruly." She smiled faintly. "Sounds promising."
Annoyance prickled behind Cassandra's ears. She looked away, but the boy's face lingered in her thoughts—those blue eyes, sharp with quiet defiance; that infuriating smirk; the subtle tension even the Defense professor seemed to sense around him.
"You don't have to like him," Lady Vole continued softly. "But don't dismiss him. Allies can appear in unexpected forms."
Lord Vole's voice followed, cool and measured. "The world is larger than bloodlines and grades, Cassandra. Dismissing potential allies for arbitrary reasons… narrows your future."
Cassandra's pride bristled, but their words lodged in her mind like splinters. She wasn't blind to the undercurrent of isolation curling around her at Hogwarts—the hushed conversations that paused when she approached, the guarded looks.
"Being exceptional doesn't mean being alone," her mother added, her voice softer now.
Silence settled over the room. Snow drifted beyond the window, delicate, fleeting.
After a long pause, Cassandra exhaled slowly. "I'll… consider it."
Her parents exchanged satisfied glances. Lord Vole's smile deepened. "That's all we ask, princess."
The fire crackled on as her tea cooled, shadows dancing across the polished floors. But Cassandra's thoughts had drifted to her parents words .
Perhaps… the world was bigger than pride.