Cassian sat at the grand dining table of the Rosier family, surrounded by relatives who barely tolerated his presence. The long, polished table gleamed under the enchanted chandelier, set with fine silver and delicate crystal, but he could feel their disdain on his skin. They all knew what he was… an embarrassment, a near-Squib with nothing to offer except a surname. And yet, his father insisted on keeping him at the table, forcing everyone to acknowledge his existence.

A house-elf scurried up, hands trembling as it placed a plate of pastries in front of him. Cassian didn’t bother looking as his boot connected with the elf’s ribs. The sharp crack of impact made the creature yelp and skid across the marble floor like spilled wine.

“What the hell is this?” he sneered, flicking a piece of pastry off the plate with disgust. “Did I ask for a pile of pastries or a serving of smeared turd?”

The elf, Towel, whimpered, scrambling to its feet, but before it could stammer an apology, Cassian’s uncle, Armand Rosier, let out a mocking laugh.

“Such refined taste for someone who can’t cast a proper Lumos,” Armand drawled, reaching for his wine. “You should be grateful the elves even bother serving you.”

A few chuckles rippled down the table. Cassian’s grip tightened on his fork, but he forced a smirk.

“Right, because you lot are such culinary experts,” he shot back, leaning back in his chair. “Half of you wouldn’t know the difference between wine and vinegar if the bottle didn’t have a fancy label.”

His aunt, Viola, wrinkled her nose. “At least we know the difference between a proper wizard and a…” She waved her hand vaguely in his direction. “Well, whatever it is you are supposed to be.”

Cassian’s father, Regulus Rosier, cleared his throat sharply. “Enough.” His tone wasn’t sharp or loud, but it was enough to quiet them. “Cassian is still my son and still a Rosier. He will have his place.”

Viola gave a delicate sniff and returned to her meal. The rest followed suit, though the occasional smirk and sidelong glance made it clear they weren’t done enjoying the moment.

Cassian stabbed at his food with unnecessary force, appetite ruined. He knew exactly why his father insisted on dragging him to these gatherings. It wasn’t out of affection… it was because Regulus couldn’t stomach the idea of his son being a complete failure. No matter how much Cassian botched every lesson, every spell, every single thing he tried, his father refused to give up on the ridiculous notion that he could still be useful.

And if there was one thing Cassian despised more than his family’s mockery, it was pity.

The conversation drifted to more pressing matters… the Ministry, bloodline politics, recent dealings with the other Sacred Twenty-Eight families. Cassian ignored most of it, sipping his wine and watching the way his relatives spoke.

His cousin, Damien, was discussing something with his father, Alistair, something about a new law being pushed through the Wizengamot.

“Mulciber is backing it, but he is an idiot if he thinks it won’t come back to bite him,” Damien said, swirling his glass. “He is pushing too hard. The Bones girl is making a fuss, and for once, the half-bloods are paying attention.”

“Let them whine,” Viola murmured. “It won’t change anything.”

“It does if they start looking into old records,” Damien countered. “We’ve been careful, but not careful enough. If they dig, they will find things.”

Cassian arched a brow. “And what, exactly, are they looking for?”

Damien shot him a look, half amused, half dismissive. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Right, of course,” Cassian muttered, tipping his chair back slightly. Cursing under his breath.

“Glad you understand,” Armand said, smirking over his wine glass.

Cassian clenched his jaw but forced out a laugh.

This was how it always went. Every meal, every gathering, every moment spent in this house was just another opportunity for them to remind him what he wasn’t.

He finished his wine and stood, pushing his chair back with an obnoxious scrape against the floor. “As riveting as this has been, I have far more important things to do than listen to you all prattle on about your latest political schemes.”

“Yes, running off to… what is it you do all day?” Viola mused. “Certainly not practising magic.”

Cassian’s grin was all teeth, cold and wolfish, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He didn’t wait for a response. He turned on his heel and strode out of the dining room, ignoring the murmurs and the chuckles behind him.

The halls of the Rosier estate were as cold as the people in it. Ornate, grand, dripping with wealth, but utterly lifeless. Cassian hated it.

He made his way to the small study… his father’s, technically, but Regulus rarely used it. He was always in the main study. The fireplace crackled dimly, casting long shadows against the bookshelves.

Cassian poured himself another glass of wine from the decanter on the desk and dropped into the leather chair, stretching his legs out.

He barely rested for ten minutes, before a low pop signalled the arrival of a house-elf after.

“Master Cassian, your father wishes to speak with you.”

Of course he does.

Cassian exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders before standing. “Fine.”

He followed the elf back down the hall to Regulus’s private office. The door was already open.

His father sat behind a heavy wooden desk, fingers steepled, eyes sharp.

“Sit.”

Cassian did, not bothering to hide his boredom. “What is it now? Another lecture on how I am failing the family name?”

Regulus ignored the jab. “You need a place in this family. I am tired of watching you waste time. You can’t duel. You have no talent for business. Politics…” He gave a short, humourless laugh. “Well, you would be eaten alive.”

Cassian raised his glass in mock agreement. “Excellent summary. So what is the point of this conversation?”

His father leaned forward, fingers still steepled. “I will give you one last chance, Cassian.”

Cassian sighed, swirling the wine in his glass. “Lucky me.”

Regulus ignored him. “In a week, during the Summer Festival, our family is hosting a public lecture for Mudbloods and worse. Your cousin Damien was supposed to handle it, but I need you to get something right for once.” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t expect much anymore, but do it for your brother. He has the best chance at inheriting the Patriarch seat. Don’t embarrass us.”

Cassian smirked. “Ah yes, the sacred Rosier reputation. Merlin forbid I stain it any worse than your side ventures already have.”

Regulus’s jaw tightened. “You think this is a joke?”

“I think it is a pathetic waste of time,” Cassian said, setting his glass down with a dull clink. “So you expect me to stand there, wagging my wand and spoon-feeding spells to filthy Mudbloods? Is this a lecture or a circus act for your amusement? But fine. I will stand up there and say whatever you want, if it means you will stop whining about me ruining the family name.”

“You already have,” Regulus said coolly. “This is about whether you will sink further or at least try to claw your way up.”

Cassian slumped in the chair. “Oh, now that is a heart-warming sentiment. So, what do I actually have to do? Recite some nonsense about blood purity? Throw in a few threats? Maybe hex a Mudblood for dramatic effect?”

“You will conduct yourself properly,” Regulus snapped. “You are a disgrace, but you are still a Rosier. Try not to drag our name further into the muck. And you can’t hex anyone even if you wanted to.” He took breath to calm himself, “This time, you will be teaching.”

Cassian arched a brow, swirling his wine lazily, ignoring the insult. “Oh? And what exactly am I supposed to teach?”

Regulus exhaled through his nose, clearly unamused. “Advanced magic. Defensive spells. Things that reinforce our position…” He cut himself off, studying Cassian for a long moment before sighing. “But seeing as you can’t manage even the basics, we will settle for something simpler. Lumos will do. As long as you don’t make a mess of that, at least.”

Cassian set his glass down, shooting up to his feet. “You are joking.”

His father’s expression didn’t shift. “Do I look like I am joking?”

Regulus leaned back, voice cold. “This is your last chance, Cassian. Do this, or you are out. I won’t have a failure staining this family’s name any longer. If you embarrass us, you will be disowned.”

Cassian scoffed, but the weight of it settled deep in his chest.

Regulus wasn’t bluffing. Not this time.

Scoffing to show his displeasure, Cassian left the office and returned to his room, irritation thrumming under his skin.

“Towel! Get the hell in here!” he barked, barely inside before the house-elf appeared with a crack, bowing so low its long ears nearly swept the floor.

“Yes, Master Cassian,” it squeaked.

“Wine,” he snapped, slumping into the armchair near the fireplace. “And don’t take all day about it.”

The elf vanished, reappearing a second later with a fresh glass. Cassian snatched it without so much as a glance, downing half of it in one go.

Lumos. That was what his father expected of him. Lumos.

His fingers tightened around the glass. He could barely manage a bloody spark. Regulus knew that, and yet here he was, being paraded around like some trained Crup expected to jump on command.

He slumped further into the chair, watching the fire crackle. The Rosiers weren’t known for their patience, and his father had finally run out of it. This was the last chance before they cut him off entirely. No inheritance, no name, nothing. Not that his name had done him any good.

The only thing worse than being looked down on was knowing they weren’t wrong.

The thought soured his drink, and he shoved the glass onto the side table, almost spilling it.

A knock rattled the door.

“What?”

It swung open, and Damien stepped inside, looking as smug as ever. “So, I hear you’ve been given a grand opportunity,” he drawled, shutting the door behind him.

Cassian didn’t bother to sit up. “Must be a slow night if you’ve come all the way here just to gloat.”

Damien smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t need to gloat, Cassian. You do all the work for me. A lecture? On magic? You?” He laughed, shaking his head. “I am almost impressed. Almost.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “It is called delegating, cousin. I will stand up there, say a few words, and then make one of the elves do the demonstration. No one actually expects me to teach anything.”

Damien’s grin stretched wide, all teeth and amusement. “Oh, Cassy. If it were that easy, do you think Uncle would’ve sent you?” He stepped further into the room, lazily dragging a finger along the edge of the desk, eyes flicking over the clutter as if Cassian’s very existence was some kind of personal joke. “Dear Uncle wants Lucian to take over the family, and to do that, he needs some backing. But… ah, how fate is cruel. His youngest son is a Squib. He fought Grandfather over this, you know? Took away my public appearance just to shove you onto the stage.”

Cassian tried to brush it off, but his jaw clenched hard. “Touching. Really. Must’ve been a hard blow to your ego.”

Damien chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, I am magnanimous, cousin. If you screw this up, when I take over the family, I might spare you a room. Maybe even feed you three times a day, if I am feeling generous. What do you say? Because let’s be honest, I doubt Lucian would even offer that much.”

Cassian reached for his glass and took a sip. Sour as it was, he would rather drown in it than listen to Damien sober. “You’ve really thought this through. Should I be flattered or concerned?”

Damien laughed again, the kind of laugh that came from someone who knew they were winning. He pushed off the desk and crossed the room in a few lazy strides, plucking up a book from the shelf. “I don’t need to think it through, Cassian. It is obvious. You are a failure. Uncle is desperate, and this is his last gamble. And you…” He turned the book over in his hands, flipping through the pages carelessly before tossing it onto the chair opposite Cassian. “Well, you will mess it up. That is what you do.”

Cassian’s knuckles whitened on his glass before he forced his lips into a lazy curve. “Your faith in me is truly heartwarming.”

Damien watched him with that same irritating amusement. “Oh, it is not lack of faith. It is just a pattern. You’ve spent your whole life failing. Why should this be any different?”

Cassian exhaled through his nose, setting his glass down. “Are you done, or did you come here just to hear yourself talk?”

Damien’s smirk didn’t waver. “Just making sure you know what is at stake. Uncle might be keeping you around for now, but if you embarrass him at the lecture, you will be out for good. No inheritance, no name, nothing. You will be a nobody.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “Oh, the horror. Whatever will I do without my adoring family?”

Damien shrugged. “That is the thing, isn’t it? You’ve got nothing else. No skill, no allies, not even a shred of magic worth a damn. The moment they cut you loose, you are done.” He turned and strolled toward the door. “Enjoy your wine, cousin. It might be the last good thing you will ever have. And do remember… my offer stands. If you manage to botch this harder than even I expect, and drag poor Lucian down with you, I will give you a cupboard to sleep in and toss you scraps from the table. Out of pity, of course. Think it over.”

With that, he left, shutting the door behind him.

Cassian sat there, fingers drumming against the armrest.

Useless. A failure. A joke.

Spoiler

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep