Bathsheda’s fingers brushed the desk. “Do you want me to try?”

“Not yet.” He wrote once more, ‘You say you can help me. How?’

The response came quickly this time, as though eager, ‘I know things. Things hidden. Things others have forgotten. I can teach you, if you trust me.’

Cassian let out a low hum. “Oh, that is not sinister at all.”

Bathsheda crouched lower, her shoulder brushing his. “You think we can trust it to tell truth?”

He smirked. “Trust a talking notebook? About as far as I can throw Hagrid’s rock cakes.”

Her eyes flicked back to the page. “We could close it. Seal it again.”

Cassian rubbed his chin, staring at the last sentence. “Or we could see just how much rope it gives us before trying to hang us with it.”

Bathsheda gave a soft sigh. “You are going to poke the bear, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am.” Cassian’s snickered like a brat about to pull a prank. “That is how you find out if it is a bear or just a very ugly dog.”

‘Prove it. Teach me something no one else knows.’

‘Very well…  let’s begin.’

Cassian’s fingers tightened slightly on the pen as he glanced at Bathsheda, as more words began to unfurl in neat, elegant script.

The ink rippled. ‘Tell me about yourself. Where are you writing from?’

Cassian raised a brow at the page. “That’s… not a lesson.”

Bathsheda leaned in. “Maybe it needs context?”

He snorted. “Context for what? My handwriting? Not bloody likely.” Still, he scrawled, ‘From Hogwarts. Why?’

‘Hogwarts… fascinating.’ The words appearedt. ‘Are you a student? A teacher?’

Cassian frowned at that. ‘A student.’

‘Student. Excellent. I can help you with your classes, spells… or anything else you need. What year are you in? Who are your Professors?’

“Mm. Teachers love a bit of small talk before springing an essay on you.” He laughed, then scribbled, ‘Second year. Mostly boring old bats for Professors. Why?’

‘Second year… so young. A perfect age to grow, to learn. Tell me, is Hogwarts still… safe? Still as great as it was meant to be?’

Cassian tapped the pen against the edge of the desk. “Sounds like someone trying to sell me on a pamphlet.” He muttered, but his hand moved anyway.

‘Safe enough. Not exactly exciting though.’

‘Ah… uneventful years can be a gift. But tell me, who leads Hogwarts these days? Is it still someone visionary?’

Cassian narrowed his eyes slightly. ‘Dumbledore runs the place. Visionary? Sure. Let’s call him that.’

‘Professor Dumbledore… interesting. And outside Hogwarts? How fares the Ministry? Is Britain at peace? Or are there shadows?’

Cassian tilted his head. “Shadows? Sounds dramatic.”

‘Britain is fine. Ministry is full of idiots, but when isn’t it?’

‘A relief to hear. I’ve heard stories of times when Britain wasn’t so peaceful. A time of fear. Do you know of such times?’

‘You mean the war? Yeah. Bit before my time. All gone now though. Shadows cleared, no monsters under the bed.’

‘No monsters… that is good. Tell me, how long has it been since those dark days?’

‘Dunno. A decade or so?’

‘That is good. People must be healing,’ the diary wrote. ‘What happened to the shadows? Hopefully they were taken care of permanently?’

Cassian’s lips twitched. Subtle as a brick, aren’t you? He scribbled back, ‘Gone. Poof. No more boogeymen lurking around. Everyone’s busy complaining about cauldron thickness regulations now.’

‘A welcome change, no doubt. Peace allows growth. Progress. But peace can be fragile. Sometimes the wrong leader or the wrong idea brings darkness back. Do you ever worry about that?’

Cassian snorted softly through his nose. ‘Not really. Wizarding Britain doesn’t strike me as ambitious enough to try it again. Everyone is too busy buying new robes and pretending they’ve always been on the winning side.’

‘A fair point. But surely you’ve heard stories of those times? Who was it that brought such fear before?’

‘Some nutter with delusions of grandeur. History is full of them. Doesn’t matter now… he is gone. I think he liked snakes, if that helps narrow it down.’

‘Snakes? Curious. And this figure, this dark one… he is not spoken of anymore? Even in whispers?’

‘Oh, people whisper,’ Cassian wrote, tapping the quill lightly on the page. ‘Mostly about how brave they were fighting him. Truth is, most of them hid in their cellars.’

‘And his name? What did they call him?’

Cassian gave a faint huff. ‘Nice try. If you don’t know already, not my job to educate you.’

The ink paused, then spread slowly. ‘I see. Forgive me. I only wish to understand history and how it shaped the present.’

‘Ask Binns. He’s been dead long enough to know the full story.’

‘I would rather hear it from you.’

Cassian rolled his eyes and wrote, ‘You’re very nosy for a diary.’

‘Knowledge is power.’

‘Or a headache. One or the other. I need to go now.’

‘Take care.’

The words bled away into the page, leaving the paper blank again. Cassian leaned back as Bathsheda traced a warding rune in the air, sealing the diary back inside its protective circle.

“Definitely fishing,” she said as the wards clicked into place.

His lips quirked. “Mm. Bait on the hook and everything.”

Bathsheda dusted her hands and straightened. “Do you think it’s sentient or just mimicking conversation?”

Cassian rubbed at his jaw, watching the diary like it might blink at him. “Not sure yet. Could be clever enough to hold a chat or just parroting answers to keep us interested. Either way, it’s not harmless.”

She sat back down, her knees drawn up, gaze still fixed on the little black book. “If it’s trying to pull us in, it’s doing a bloody good job. It wants context. Names. Dates. That’s not idle chatter. It is building a map.”

He huffed a laugh and dragged a hand down his face. “Well, it hasn’t offered me eternal life or a unicorn horn yet, so I am reserving judgement.”

Bathsheda straightened, dusting her palms off on her robes. “And we haven’t got anything useful so far. Brilliant.”

“Depends how you feel about Ulaanbaatar,” he said dryly.

Her mouth curved slightly despite herself. “You are an arse.”

“Better an arse than a corpse with ‘trusted a notebook’ on the gravestone.”

She hummed softly. “Let’s try again later.”

Cassian grimaced. “Why do I feel like I’ve used up all my free trial? This is too much deja vu for my liking.”

Just to get it out of his system, he opened the diary and wrote, ‘Unit Three: Magical Thermodynamics and Strategic Nudity.’ 

Before the diary could even scratch out a confused ‘???’ Bathsheda flicked her wand and Cassian’s bed promptly went up in flames.

***

Next few days, they tried every approach they could think of. Sometimes coaxing, sometimes pressing. The diary proved surprisingly useful when pushed… if left in its casual chat mode, it spent most of the time fishing for details about Hogwarts, Britain, and names of notable figures. But once Cassian scribbled, “Help or I am chucking you straight into the Black Lake,” it seemed to decide cooperation was preferable.

It handed out neat little tips on first and second year material… nothing earth-shattering, but clever enough to make even Bathsheda raise a brow. Brewing hints for Pepperup Potion, tricks to stabilise a Levitation Charm, even a suggestion for how to breeze through Professor Sprout’s Herbology quizzes.

“I could get used to this,” Cassian muttered one afternoon, pen tapping lazily against the edge of the desk. “This thing could have done my work for me.”

It even offered to do Cassian’s essays.

“Literally an AI,” Cassian muttered, again and again, like repeating it would make the absurdity any less real.

On the fifth day of poking and prodding at the diary, Cassian and Bathsheda hovered over it at the desk, both wearing the same not-so-innocent look.

“You think what I think?” Bathsheda asked, her fingers brushing the edge of the protective wards.

Cassian glanced sideways at her and gave a slow nod.

“Oh, this is going to be cruel,” he said, lips twitching.

“Delightful, though.”

Cassian’s grin sharpened like a blade. “Oh, it is going to hate us for this.”

Bathsheda smirked faintly, her fingers still brushing the ward line. “Good. It deserves it. Sentient notebook thinks it can play puppet-master? Let us see how well it dances when we pull the strings.”

‘Do you know why you are here?’

The reply bled across the page after a pause…

‘I am here to help. To guide you.’

Cassian let out a snort. Not amused. More like a teacher laughing at a wrong answer.

His pen tapped against the parchment.

‘You are not useful. You are tolerated. There is a difference. I open you because I am curious, not because you matter. You understand that, don’t you?’

Cassian chuckled, writing more.

‘Let me tell you. A man named Lucius Malfoy tossed you away like a bit of rotten meat. By pure chance, I found you. You’re an unwanted diary. Not even worth a knock-off galleon at Borgin’s.’

The ink bled slowly across the parchment, like it was struggling to form words.

‘I am here to help. That is my purpose.’

‘No? You’re the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. Sitting there, praying someone would spill their heart into your pages. Even Knockturn Alley wouldn’t touch you. That is saying something… those vultures buy anything with a faint whiff of blood magic.’

Bathsheda leaned over his shoulder, her lips twitching faintly. “You are cruel.”

“Cruel is leaving a cursed object to rot for decades, praying some poor idiot stumbles over it. I am doing it a favour.” 

Not a Spoiler, Just an image! ↓

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Author Rant ↓ 

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I could lecture into the void and at least the void hums back. 

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep