The first week drifted by without much fuss. Cassian and Bathsheda prodded at the diary a few times, testing and poking at it with spells that would’ve made an Unspeakable sweat, but still no reaction. Neither of them had dared to write in it yet. Not out of fear, Cassian insisted, loudly and often, but because they hadn’t got enough out of it to justify crossing that line. For now, they were content with staring it down and muttering about what sort of lunatic turned a bloody notebook into a magical trap.

On Thursday, the pair camped out near the Quidditch pitch for their annual tradition, watching the first-years take their flying lessons. Cassian sprawled on the blanket with his arms folded behind his head, while Bathsheda perched beside him, handing him bits of shortbread between amused remarks about Madam Hooch’s shouting.

Ginny Weasley zipped around the air like she’d been born on a broom. Cassian squinted up at her with mild surprise.

“She’s going to give the Chasers a run for their money in a year or two,” he muttered.

Bathsheda hummed in agreement. “Natural flier.”

Then there was Luna Lovegood. Cassian swore under his breath every time she tilted her broom at an angle that shouldn’t have been physically possible. At one point, she hung upside down, hands loose on the handle as if gravity were a suggestion.

“For God’s sake,” Cassian muttered, sitting up slightly. “Is she trying to give me a coronary?”

Bathsheda pressed her knuckles to her lips to hide her laugh. “She is… creative.”

“Creative?” Cassian snorted. “Creative is fine when you are finger-painting, not when you are thirty feet in the air without a helmet.”

But, somehow, there were no accidents that day… not even a scraped knee or a bruised ego. Madam Hooch looked ready to kiss the ground in gratitude.

By Saturday, the summer weather was starting to cool, and the pair were strolling lazily through the garden near the courtyard. The air smelled faintly of grass and parchment, the late blooms brushing their sleeves as they passed. Bathsheda looped her arm through his as they wandered.

Ahead of them, Harry and Ron were deep in conversation about Quidditch, their hands gesturing wildly as they reenacted some move Cassian couldn’t be bothered to name. Hermione sat on a nearby stone step, Voyages with Vampires open across her knees, the pages bristling with so many coloured scraps of parchment they looked ready to take flight.

Cassian caught sight of the mess of notes and nearly snickered aloud. “I think I’m gonig to cry,” he thought, “the girl’s trying to pull Lockhart apart line by line.” She wasn’t just reading, she was hunting, marking every inconsistency she could find, determined to force the text to confess its lies. “Lockhart’d better be prepared.”

Bathsheda rolled her eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I am not starting,” he said lightly. “Just observing.”

A boy with mousy hair edged forward, clutching a Muggle camera like it was a holy relic.

Harry blinked at him.

“All right, Harry? I am… I am Colin Creevey,” the boy said breathlessly, stepping closer. “I am in Gryffindor too. Do you think… would it be all right if… can I have a picture?”

“A picture?” Harry echoed, looking lost.

“So I can prove I’ve met you! It would be really good if I had one of you…” He hesitated, eyes bright. “Maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then… could you sign it?”

“Signed photos? You are giving out signed photos, Potter?” A voice said from the side.

Bathsheda glanced at Cassian, as if to ask whether he wanted to step out and intervene. He shook his head and kept watching from their hiding place.

The scathing voice rang out across the courtyard. Malfoy had arrived, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

“Everyone queue up!” Malfoy bellowed. “Harry Potter is giving out signed photos!”

“I am not!” Harry snapped, fists curling. “Shut up, Malfoy.” Follow current novels on novelFirｅ.net

“You are just jealous,” piped Colin, his small frame shaking as he stood against Malfoy.

Malfoy sneered. “Jealous? Of what? I don’t want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don’t think getting your head cut open makes you special.”

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered.

“Eat slugs, Malfoy!” Ron barked, reaching for his wand.

Cassian sighed. “Or maybe not.”

Two of them left their hiding place to stop the charade. 

Draco frowned at two of them, though his lips curled as he whispered to Ron. “Careful, Weasley. Wouldn’t want your mummy to have to drag you home.” He put on a high, mocking voice, “If you put another toe out of line…”

A knot of Slytherins burst into laughter.

“What is all this?” Lockhart swept into the scene, robes shimmering in the sunlight. His grin looked like it had been painted on. “Who is giving out signed photos?”

Harry opened his mouth, but Lockhart was faster. He flung an arm around the boy’s shoulders, beaming at the gathered crowd.

“Shouldn’t have asked! We meet again, Harry!”

Cassian groaned under his breath. “Of course he is here.”

Pinned to Lockhart’s side, Harry looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“Come on then, Mr Creevey,” Lockhart boomed. “A double portrait… can’t say fairer than that! And we will both sign it for you.”

Colin fumbled for his camera, snapping the photo just as the bell rang in the distance.

“Off you go!” Lockhart called cheerily, ushering students away with grand sweeps of his arm. “Move along now!”

Harry went rigid, eyes pleading. Looking at Cassian with puppy-eyes that could melt the stone. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as though this decision might shave years off his life expectancy.

“Professor Lockhart,” he said finally, each syllable dragged like it hurt him, “I need Mr Potter, Mr Weasley and Miss Granger for something. If you don’t mind.”

Lockhart turned, frowning at him.

“Oh?” he said, eyebrows arching. “But we were just discussing Harry’s, ah, rising popularity. The boy needs to learn how to handle his adoring public, you know.”

Cassian’s lips twitched. “I am sure the fundamentals of self-promotion can wait a half-hour. I promise I won’t ruin your star pupil’s momentum.”

Harry, for his part, looked like he might weep in gratitude.

Lockhart’s grin faltered a fraction. He glanced between Harry and Cassian, clearly trying to decide whether to put up a fuss.

Cassian tilted his head. “Unless, of course, the matter of staff cooperation is up for debate?”

“Oh, no, no,” Lockhart said hastily, waving his hand. “Far be it from me to hinder, ah… interdepartmental harmony.” He squeezed Harry’s shoulder with one last toothy grin before sweeping off in a swirl of aquamarine robes.

Harry sagged the moment he was gone, looking like someone had cut his strings.

“Cheers, sir,” Ron mumbled, still glowering faintly at the direction Malfoy had gone.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Cassian said, turning on his heel. “You might regret it.”

They trailed after him across the courtyard. Bathsheda fell into step beside Cassian.

Hermione’s voice floated up faintly behind them. “You didn’t tell them off for nearly hexing Malfoy in public?”

Cassian shrugged. “I am saving shouting for my own room. No sense in making a bloody spectacle in the courtyard. The acoustics are terrible anyway.”

They hadn’t made it halfway to the common room before Neville popped into view, head swivelling like an owl. His round face was flushed, eyes darting nervously as he hugged a battered herbology book to his chest.

“Lost something, Longbottom?” Cassian asked, slowing his pace.

Neville jumped. “Oh! Professor Rosier… I, er…” He fumbled with the strap of his satchel. “I lost my way back to the common room.”

“Hop along then,” Cassian said, flicking his hand in a vague wave. “You can tag with us before you end up in the kitchens by mistake.”

Neville’s ears turned pink, but he fell in step beside Ron, clutching the book tighter.

The walk back was blessedly quiet. Cassian pushed open the door to his office and let it swing shut behind them. 

He gestured vaguely at the chairs by the fireplace. “Sit, or stand if you think it will make you look more innocent.” 

Ron hesitated by the armchair before perching on the very edge. Harry slumped onto the sofa, shoulders tight, while Neville hovered awkwardly by the door. Hermione, of course, started scanning the shelves, fingers brushing over spines as if she stumbled into a treasure vault.

Bathsheda flopped into a chair and produced a paper bag of popcorn, popping one into her mouth as if she were settling in for a show.

Cassian shrugged off his coat, draping it neatly over the back of his chair. He took his time, setting his wand on the desk before turning.

“Right,” he said, tone deceptively mild. “Do you know what my favourite thing about Hogwarts is, Weasley?”

Ron blinked, startled. “Er… no, sir?”

“That there are some naive souls who think they can hex someone in broad daylight, in front of half a dozen witnesses, and then expect no one to mention it.” Cassian arched a brow. “It is adorable. Reckless, but adorable.”

Ron’s ears went crimson. “Malfoy deserved it.”

Cassian leaned back slightly, resting a hand on the desk. “Not saying he didn’t. The boy could start a duel with his reflection. But here is the thing, you hex him in the courtyard, and suddenly you’ve got an audience. Teachers, portraits, ghosts… hell, probably Peeves.” He tapped his fingers against the wood. “Next time, keep the wand down until you are somewhere quiet. Preferably with no one around to write a statement later. Since you’re already punished for the whole car incident, I’ll let this one slide, I don’t want to hear another Howler. But next time, I won’t be so lenient.”

Ron opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then thought better of it and shut it again.

He stretched out his hand, palm open. “Right. Your wand, Mr Weasley.”

Not a Spoiler, Just an image! ↓

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Author Rant ↓ 

Spoiler

Some call it silence. I call it interpretive listening.

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