“Who here knows why Muggles started burning witches?”

A few hands shot up.

“They thought witches were evil,” a Slytherin girl said.

“Fear of magic,” Percy added.

Cassian gave a half-shrug. “Yeah, sort of. But here is the fun part… it didn’t work.” He gestured vaguely. “Most witches and wizards caught in those burnings just threw on a Flame-Freezing Charm and sat through it like a minor inconvenience. Some even let it happen on purpose, had a laugh, then Disapparated when they got bored.”

A few students snickered.

“But here is where it gets interesting,” Cassian went on. “Fire wasn’t just something done to wizards. It was also something wizards used. Pyromancy, fire magic, goes way back. Some of the earliest wizarding battles fought with fire. Goblins? Resistant to most kinds of magical flame.”

Cassian smirked. “Fire in your hand? Power. Fire out of control? Chaos. That is the difference between a wizard and a madman with a matchstick. The reason most of you will only ever use Incendio to light a few candles and not, say, burn down an entire village? That is control. Which brings us back to Incendio… one of the simplest fire spells, but also one of the most useful. You learn this, and you learn the foundation for every flame-based spell that came after it.”

He wait them to ponder his words a bit.

Most of the class was paying attention now. Even the ones who’d looked bored earlier were watching the fire like it might do something interesting if they stared hard enough.

Cassian smirked. “Now, let’s talk about how people used Incendio in history.” He turned, pacing a few steps. “Take duelling, for example. Back in the old days, wizard duels weren’t about stunning and disarming. They were fights to the death. And you know what is a great way to make sure your opponent stays down?”

He straightened, crossing his arms as he looked over the class. Not answering his rhetoric.

“One last thing before you go,” he said, tapping the desk with his wand. “Extra homework. Not mandatory, since I am not your Charms professor, but if you do it, I promise you will see an improvement in your magic. Write two feet on fire… what it is, why it matters, how it shaped humanity.”

A few students groaned. He ignored them.

“Think about it. When you are at a distance, fire is warmth, comfort. Get too close, and it will burn you to ash. It cooks your food, boils your water… God forbid, what would we do without tea?”

Some students chuckled.

“Understand it,” Cassian said, tapping the desk one last time. “Then you will understand why it is one of the first things wizards ever learned to control. That is all. You are dismissed.”

Chairs scraped against the stone floor as the students gathered their things, some already chatting about the lesson, others eyeing the extinguished fireplace like it might relight itself. Warrington left first, muttering something under his breath to Marcus Flint. Percy lingered, jotting something down on his parchment before following the rest of the Gryffindors out.

Cassian slumped to his chair. The first lesson had gone better than expected. They hadn’t tuned him out. More importantly, they listened. Even the ones who thought history was pointless had been paying attention.

He grabbed his lesson notes, stuffing them into his bag before heading out. His next class wasn’t until after lunch, which gave him a few hours to have a bit of fun.

Walking through the corridors, Cassian made his way to the kitchen near the Hufflepuff common room. He stopped in front of the large painting of a fruit bowl, eyeing the plump green pear in the middle.

“If I recall correctly, I should play with that pear,” he muttered, reaching out and giving it a quick tickle.

The pear wriggled before letting out a high-pitched giggle, then twisted itself into a doorknob. Cassian grabbed it and pulled, stepping into the warm, bustling kitchen.

Inside, house-elves flitted about, hands busy with trays of food and bubbling cauldrons. The smell of fresh bread and roasting meat filled the air, thick and rich. Cassian barely had time to take it in before a small figure popped up right in front of him.

“Professor Rosier!” the elf squeaked, bowing so low its nose nearly touched the floor. “What is Professor wanting? Boppy can bring anything, yes!”

Cassian took a step back, eyeing the elf. It was shorter than the others, ears slightly drooping, with a clean white tea towel wrapped around its tiny frame like a uniform.

“Boppy, is it?” Cassian asked.

The elf bobbed its head so fast Cassian thought it might snap its own neck. “Yes, yes! Boppy is in charge of kitchen when Househead Sprout is not looking!”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “Is she supposed to be looking?”

Boppy froze, eyes darting left and right before whispering, “Boppy does not know!”

Cassian snorted. “Relax, I am not here to snitch. I just need something sweet. Healthy ones though, do you do yoghurts? Whatever won’t give me diabetes before dinner.”

Before he even finished, Boppy clapped its hands, and three elves bolted off in different directions. Within seconds, a silver platter was shoved into Cassian’s hands, piled with tarts, shortbread, and something that looked suspiciously like treacle fudge.

He whistled. “Efficient.”

“Boppy aims to please!” the elf chirped.

Cassian grabbed a tart and took a bite. Raspberry. A good one. He chewed for a moment before glancing down at Boppy, who was still watching him like a dog waiting for praise.

“You lot ever get tired of this?” Cassian asked, waving the tart in the air.

Boppy blinked. “Of what, Professor?”

“This.” He gestured at the room, the endless cooking, the endless scurrying. “Serving wizards all day, every day. Don’t tell me it is ‘your greatest joy in life’ or some nonsense. That is just sad.”

Boppy looked like Cassian had just suggested jumping off the Astronomy Tower for a laugh. The little elf’s ears drooped, and its big, watery eyes went even wider.

“Oh, Professor Cassian! What are we poors to do?” Boppy wailed, wringing its tiny hands. “We are bound to Hogwarts, yes, bound! We cannot be otherwise!”

Cassian stopped mid-bite, eyeing the elf. “Right. So, you are telling me if I tried to free you, you would just… what? Drop dead on the spot?”

Boppy let out a high-pitched squeak and shook its head violently. “No, no, not drop dead, sir! But… but elves are not made for not serving! Without Hogwarts, we be… nothing!”

That sounded like absolute bollocks, but Cassian had never paid enough attention to house-elves to argue about it. He chewed his tart, thinking.

“So, you like working yourself half to death, getting kicked around by snotty kids, and living off scraps?” He gestured around the kitchen. “This is the dream, is it?”

Boppy blinked, then nodded so fast its ears flapped. “Yes, sir! House-elves lives to serve, sir! Without work, we… we is nothing!”

Cassian sighed through his nose. “Well, that is depressing.”

Boppy beamed. “Thank you, sir!”

Cassian rubbed his temple. “Not a compliment, Boppy.”

The elf clearly didn’t care. It scurried off, probably to go organise a tray of biscuits with the same enthusiasm some people put into duels. Cassian shook his head, grabbed another tart, and left the kitchen before he accidentally started a revolution.

Walking to the library, Cassian barely had time to swallow before a sharp voice cut through the air.

“No food in the library.”

Madam Pince stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the tart in his hand like he dragged in a tiger.

Cassian chewed slowly, staring back at her. Not out of defiance… he was mid-bite, and he wasn’t one to rush a good pastry, also chewing was healthy. The silence stretched, and Pince’s eye twitched.

“Swallow,” she snapped.

Cassian finally did, licking a stray crumb off his thumb. “Would you rather I leave these outside or bring them in with me?” He gestured to the plate stacked with sweets, as if this was an actual decision she needed to make.

Her nostrils flared. “You will leave them outside.”

“Of course,” Cassian said, walking past her and setting the plate on a windowsill. He glanced at it. “No guarantees they will still be here when I get back.”

Pince made a noise like she didn’t care if a swarm of Cornish pixies flew off with them. Cassian strolled in, hands tucked into his robes, scanning the shelves. The place smelled of old parchment and ink.

He headed for the history section, dodging a couple of Ravenclaws hunched over a shared textbook. He plucked a tome from the shelf… Magical Conflicts of the 14th Century, and flipped it open, leafing through the contents. Goblin revolts, territorial disputes, an entire section on how a wizarding duel led to a two-week rain of fire over Lancashire.

Interesting enough, but he wanted something older.

He slid the book back and reached for another… Ancient Wizarding Cultures: The Lost Arts, when a voice interrupted.

“You are actually reading?”

Cassian sighed, already knowing who it was before he turned.

“Anything I can do for you, Mr Rosier?”

Leander Rosier leaned against the bookshelf, arms crossed, looking far too entertained for Cassian’s liking.

“Just making sure my dear cousin isn’t completely lost,” Leander said, gold-brown eyes glinting. “Cassian Rosier in a library? Merlin, did I die and step into some parallel world?”

Cassian snorted, slipping the book off the shelf. “Scandalous, I know. I can actually read.”

Leander smirked. “That is up for debate.”

Cassian flipped through the pages lazily. “Shouldn’t you be off cursing tombs or whatever it is you are pretending to do with your summers?”

Leander tapped a finger against the nearest book spine. “Aspiring Curse-Breaker, Cassian. It is a respectable line of work.”

Cassian hummed. “That what we are calling grave robbing these days?”

Leander laughed. “And teaching is a noble pursuit, is it?”

“Compared to looting, yes,” Cassian said, shutting the book with a snap. “Now, as much as I enjoy our little family bonding sessions, I do have actual work to do.”

Leander didn’t move. “You are actually taking this seriously, aren’t you?”

Cassian gave him a look. “What gave it away?”

Leander tilted his head, studying him like he was something new and mildly interesting. “The Cassian I remember barely made it through school. Now you are here, throwing around lectures on history like you actually give a damn.”

Cassian smirked. “Must be a phase.”

Leander chuckled. “Or maybe you’ve stumbled onto the one thing in life you don’t actively loathe.”

Cassian didn’t respond to that. Instead, he tucked the book under his arm and stepped past Leander. “As riveting as this family therapy session has been, I have actual work to do.”

Leander let him go, but not before calling after him, “Try not to set the school on fire, yeah?”

“No promises,” Cassian said over his shoulder, pushing out of the library. “Why does everyone say the same thing?”

Spoiler

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INCOME: Awaiting Rate and Review

EXPENSES: 10 chapters of emotional turmoil

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“No credit without contribution.”

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