Fred let out a bark of laughter loud enough to draw stares. “Merlin’s beard, Professor R actually clocked him!”

George slapped his twin on the back, eyes wide with delight. “That’s going in the family record books. First Weasley to see a Malfoy get smacked, and it wasn’t even us!”

Ginny gave a small gasp and immediately ducked behind Ron again, clutching his sleeve as though the cobblestones might swallow her whole. She peeked around his arm, eyes flicking between Cassian’s feral expression and Lucius’s bleeding nose, shivering.

Ron’s jaw dropped. “Blimey…” he muttered, not sure if he should shield Ginny tighter or applaud.

“You’ve got a death wish?” Cassian asked, his eyes feral.

Lucius’s cane clattered to the cobblestones. For once, the man didn’t have a ready retort, his breath hitched, eyes wide as he felt the pressure on his throat.

Draco froze where he stood. His pale face went sheet white, lips parting soundlessly.

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes huge. “Professor… you can’t just—” she whispered, though her gaze betrayed a reluctant flicker of satisfaction.

Arthur reached for Cassian’s arm. “Rosi—”

“Stay out of it,” Cassian snapped without looking at him. His grip tightened, thumb pressing to make Lucius’s face darken. “You don’t insult her. You don’t touch her things. You don’t even look at her sideways again, or I will make sure you choke on your own bloody teeth. Are we clear?”

Malfoy clawed at Cassian’s wrist, voice rasping. “Unhand… me—”

“Ah, so no, then.” Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “I will say it louder next time, shall I?”

Around them, the crowd had gone still. Even Lockhart’s fans had paused in their shrieking to gape at the scene.

“Cassian,” Bathsheda held his arm. “Let him go.”

But Cassian couldn’t even hear her. He was about to strike again, when her hand grabbed his arm.

“Cass, please.” Read full story at novęlfire.net

Cassian’s jaw tightened. Then, with a shove, he released Lucius. The man stumbled back against the window of Flourish and Blotts, a smear of blood under his nose.

Lucius straightened slowly, one hand dabbing at his face with a handkerchief. His pale eyes burned as he stared at Cassian, but he didn’t step forward again.

“Rosier…” His voice was low, coiled tight like a snake ready to strike. “You’ll regret that.”

Cassian cocked his head, expression flat. “By all means. Write me a strongly worded owl.”

Draco made a strangled sound, but Cassian’s sharp glance silenced him before he could open his mouth.

Bathsheda tugged lightly at Cassian’s sleeve. “Enough. We’re going.”

Cassian didn’t argue. He stepped back, hands sliding into his coat pockets as if nothing had happened. “Enjoy book signing, Lucius. Don’t trip over your pride on the way out.”

Lucius’s jaw twitched, but he stayed rooted, shoulders stiff.

Cassian turned on his heel, letting Bathsheda guide him away.

Lockhart rushed outside, hearing the commotion. The git couldn’t stand not being the centre of attention. His gaze flicked from face to face.

“Rosier,” he said, his smile turning strained as his eyes briefly skimmed Cassian. He stopped with Bathsheda, looking back at him. Then, as if a light went on behind them, Lockhart’s attention snapped to Bathsheda, and his grin brightened alarmingly.

Cassian’s jaw ticked. He didn’t like that look one bit, but before he could plant himself between them, Lockhart’s focus shifted again. The crowd rippled, parting on cue. A few voices rose in excited whispers.

“It can’t be Harry Potter?”

Lockhart swept forward, seizing Harry’s arm and yanking him through the gap like he was reeling in a prize catch.

“Ah! There he is!” Lockhart’s voice rang out, too loud by half. He clamped his free hand over Harry’s in a crushing handshake. “Such a pleasure, Harry! Don’t be shy… step up. Let the fine folk see us together.”

Harry’s face went red to the roots of his hair as a photographer appeared from somewhere, camera flashing with loud pops and puffs of smoke.

“Nice big smile now,” Lockhart coaxed, teeth flashing like a Patronus Charm gone wrong. “Together, you and I, front page material!”

The Weasleys shuffled awkwardly as more flashes went off. Cassian folded his arms, watching the spectacle with a look that could have dried paint.

“You reckon he practises that pose in the mirror?” George muttered to Fred.

“Practises? He probably charges himself for lessons,” Fred replied under his breath, lips twitching.

By the time Lockhart released Harry’s hand, the boy was flexing his fingers like he’d been hexed. He tried to slip back towards Ron, but Lockhart swung an arm over his shoulders and hauled him back to centre stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Lockhart’s voice boomed, silencing the chatter. He raised a hand for quiet, “What a moment this is! A perfect time, I think, to share a little announcement I’ve been keeping to myself…”

Lockhart carried on, beaming at the crowd. “When young Harry here came in today, he only wanted my latest book, Magical Me, which I shall be thrilled to present to him free of charge—”

The crowd erupted in applause.

“—but little did he know,” Lockhart said, giving Harry a hearty shake that nearly knocked his glasses off, “he’s getting far more than my autograph today.”

Lockhart’s grin widened as he swept his gaze dramatically across the street. “I am delighted to announce that, starting this September, I shall be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts!”

Another wave of cheers rippled through the crowd.

Harry stumbled out of the limelight the first chance he got. He made for Ginny, who was clutching her new cauldron like a lifeline.

“You have these,” Harry muttered, tipping the stack into her cauldron. “I’ll buy my own.”

Ginny blinked at him, startled but said nothing as Harry rubbed his hand where Lockhart had crushed it.

Meanwhile, Lockhart was still basking in the crowd’s adoration, his robes swirling dramatically as he posed for one last photograph.

Cassian felt the hair on his neck stand. “I think I am going to quit. I hope Master Ji’s still hiring.”

Bathsheda rolled her eyes. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It is that bad,” Cassian said flatly.

The crowd found its noise again, flashes popped. 

Cassian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is Hogwarts’ future Defence professor? God help us all. I should’ve stayed in Greece and wrestled that bloody monster.”

Bathsheda smothered a laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “What monster? Also it is one year. How bad could he be?”

Cassian shot her a look, one brow arched high. “Bad enough to make me start praying. And you know how I feel about praying.”

***

When Cassian and Bathsheda stepped into the staff room that morning, the first thing he saw was Lockhart sprawled across an armchair. His peacock-blue robes glittered obnoxiously in the sunlight streaming through the window, and every time he shifted, they seemed to toss out fresh sparkles for the poor house-elves to sweep up later.

“Filius, Filius!” Lockhart waved like he was hailing a taxi, leaning so far forward in his chair Cassian half expected him to topple headfirst onto the rug. Well, he hoped. “Life is so much more than this castle! Britain! I was terribly narrow-minded before I travelled… thought I knew the world, but no. Saving lives, besting beasts… oh, you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen.”

Cassian arched a brow. “I’m already struggling with the things you’ve said.”

Lockhart ploughed on, oblivious. “The Wagga Wagga Werewolf, for instance… ghastly business. Almost ripped me apart, you know. I put my wand to his throat, gathered my last ounce of strength, and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm.” He made a vague swooping gesture, as though the spell had involved a pirouette. “The fur vanished, fangs shrank, and, poof! He was a man again. Simple, yet so effective.”

Filius looked up from his teacup, blinking. “The Homorphus Charm? That’s… highly specialised magic, right? Not something one performs under duress.”

“Oh, I don’t deny it.” Lockhart smiled, teeth gleaming bright. “It’s all in Wanderings with Werewolves, of course. I’ve detailed every step for posterity.”

Lockhart leaned back with a self-satisfied sigh. “And yet people ask why I’ve agreed to teach this year. As though Hogwarts is some trifling distraction from my adventures.”

Cassian gave him a look. “You don’t say.”

“I do!” Lockhart declared, missing the sarcasm entirely. “It is a noble calling. After all I’ve done out there… facing banshees, duelling vampires, it is only fair I pass on my wisdom. Why, if I don’t teach the next generation, who will?”

Cassian turned to McGonagall, rubbing at his temple. “Can we, for the love of God, start already?”

McGonagall’s lips thinned, though he could swear there was the faintest twitch in her eye. She set down her parchment with a snap. “Indeed, Professor Rosier. I would like to get through this before term begins.”

Flitwick shifted in his chair, ever the peacemaker. “Quite right, Minerva. The students will be arriving by evening, best we finish while it is quiet.”

“Quiet?” Madam Hooch said under hre breath. “Feels like someone left a pixie party in here.”

Lockhart beamed, oblivious to, or ignoring the sting in her tone. “Ah, but the energy is marvellous, isn’t it? So much anticipation in the air! You can feel it.”

“No,” Snape said flatly.

Lockhart carried on, undeterred. “I remember the night before I faced Bandon Banshee. Nerves, yes, but also a sense of destiny. I daresay the children won’t know how lucky they are to have me.”

Cassian shot him a look. “Oh, I am sure they will figure it out by October.”

McGonagall cut across him before Lockhart could launch into another monologue. “Staff assignments. We’ve confirmed patrol rotations for the first week.”

…

“We will discuss schedules after the feast,” she raised her hand before Lockhart could say another word. “That concludes the essentials. Feast preparations are underway. You will be expected in the Great Hall at half-six.”

“Splendid,” Flitwick said, hopping down from his chair. “A moment’s peace before the term begins.”

He bolted for the door before anyone could grab him, his little legs a blur as he vanished down the corridor. Sprout was hot on his heels, determined to outpace him. Behind them, Poppy muttered darkly about bed linens and potion stocks as she swept after them in a huff.

McGonagall didn’t waste time on pleasantries. She shifted into her Animagus form and leapt clean out the window.

Cassian stood frozen, mouth slightly open. “Did… did McGonagall just…?”

Bathsheda grabbed his sleeve. “Move.”

“Wait, we are not seriously…”

“We are.” She was already dragging him toward the door, her grip surprisingly strong for someone with such delicate-looking fingers.

Cassian dug his heels in for half a second, craning back toward the staffroom. “But…”

Lockhart’s voice floated after them, syrupy and booming. “You know, it really is a shame when colleagues can’t appreciate the artistry of storytelling. I find it so rewarding to share my wisdom with those less experienced…”

“Run,” Bathsheda hissed.

Cassian didn’t argue this time. He stumbled after her as she hauled him into the hall, the sound of Lockhart’s monologue echoing like the world’s worst alarm bell behind them.

“Flitwick is a traitor,” Cassian muttered under his breath. “Didn’t even try to save us.”

Bathsheda shot him a look over her shoulder. “Would you?”

“Fair.”

They rounded a corner so fast Cassian had to slap a hand against the wall to keep his balance. Somewhere above, he thought he heard McGonagall yowling at a passing owl.

Not a Spoiler, Just an image! ↓

Spoiler

[collapse]

Author Rant ↓ 

Spoiler

I reached my hundredth monologue today. You celebrated by vanishing spectacularly.

[collapse]

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep