Fred grinned wide. “You actually know a werewolf, sir?”

“Course I do. He is very polite. Used to be a scholar before he got bitten. Knows more about lunar cycles than half the Astronomy professors.” Cassian sipped his tea. “You lot probably think they are all drooling beasts who tear through forests every full moon. Most just want to keep their limbs attached and avoid the Ministry breathing down their necks.”

Hermione perked up, eyes gleaming with interest. “Is it true their transformations are influenced by certain potions?”

Cassian smirked. “That is the theory. Wolfsbane helps, but it is not foolproof. Poor bloke still ends up as a four-legged nightmare once a month, he is just less inclined to eat the curtains.”

George’s brows shot up. “Bet Lockhart wouldn’t last five minutes in a room with him.”

Cassian hummed. “Lockhart wouldn’t last five seconds. He would be halfway out the window before the werewolf even sneezed.”

A few first-years down the table giggled at that.

Luna, still humming faintly, spoke without looking away from the floating candles overhead. “They say werewolves howl because they are mourning their human selves.”

Cassian’s lips twitched. “That is poetic. Not wrong, either. Early Germanic lore called them Nachtvolk… night folk cursed to wander under the moon, crying for the lives they left behind. They weren’t all monsters back then. Some villages even left out bread and milk for them, like stray dogs.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Cassian said lightly. “Textbooks are written by people terrified of nuance. Can’t have students thinking werewolves are anything but bogeymen, can we?”

Harry glanced between them, brow slightly furrowed. “So… you are saying not all werewolves are dangerous?”

Cassian tapped a finger against his teacup. “Every creature is dangerous in the right conditions, Potter. Werewolves just have a more dramatic trigger.”

Bathsheda gave a soft, amused hum from across the table. “Are you planning to invite your werewolf friend for tea here, too?”

“Tempting,” Cassian murmured. “Wouldn’t be the strangest staffroom guest Hogwarts ever had.”

Fred shot a grin at George. “Reckon Mum would beat us if we invited one home for Christmas?”

“Add eternal grounding,” George said.

Neville was quietly turning his fork between his fingers, lips pressed tight like he wanted to ask something but couldn’t decide if it was worth the risk. Cassian caught the movement.

“Spit it out, Longbottom.”

Neville jumped slightly. “Sir… if someone was bitten, do they ever get cured?”

Cassian’s expression softened slightly.

“No cure,” he said. “Once the curse takes hold, it is for life. That is why Wolfsbane was such a breakthrough. Doesn’t undo it, but it gives the bitten a fighting chance at keeping their minds during the change.”

Neville nodded faintly, staring down at his plate.

Cassian then added lightly, “Still, there are worse curses. At least werewolves get a few weeks of peace between transformations. You lot would’ve hated ancient Greece. Their curses didn’t have off-switches.”

Hermione almost squealed. “What sort of curses?”

“Oh, all sorts,” Cassian said, waving a hand vaguely. “Family lines cursed to sprout scales, turn to stone, or scream themselves to death if they heard music. My personal favourite is the bloke who got turned into a tree every Spring, until Autumn. He spent half his life sprouting leaves.”

George barked a laugh. “Sounds like a right boring existence.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Cassian said with a shrug. “His cousin got cursed to sneeze bees until she apologised to Hera.”

Hermione’s fork froze mid-air. “That is horrifying.”

“Creative, though.” Cassian’s grin sharpened. “Say what you will about the old gods… they knew how to make a point.”

Ron muttered something under his breath about “mad professors.”

Cassian stood up with a stretch. “I will see you lot in class. Try not to get eaten by any cursed textbooks before then.”

Bathsheda followed him out of the hall. “You do realise you’re ruining Lockhart’s reputation with every meal.”

“I am not ruining it.” Cassian smirked. “I am just… rebalancing expectations.”

As they stepped out of the Great Hall, Harry jogged up behind them.

“Professor Rosier.”

Cassian stopped, turning slightly. “Is it about your parents?”

Harry nodded, not meeting his eyes.

Bathsheda gave Cassian’s arm a brief squeeze before stepping back. “I will catch up with Aurora and Septima. You go on.”

Cassian gave her a lazy little wave as she drifted off, then tipped his head at Harry. “Come on then. Best not have you looking like a lost lamb in the corridor.”

In his study, Cassian nudged the door open and gestured Harry inside. The boy hesitated for a half second before stepping over the threshold to his office.

“Grab a chair,” Cassian said, tossing his coat onto the back of an armchair. He crossed to the kettle perched on the small hearth and flicked his wand, coaxing a low flame from the embers. “Tea?”

Harry blinked. “Er… sure.”

“Good lad.” Cassian reached for two mugs. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Just milk, please.”

Cassian fixed the drinks and set one down in front of Harry before sliding into the opposite chair. He let Harry speak first.

“It is just…” Harry fiddled with the mug handle, eyes fixed on the steam curling from his tea. “Everyone keeps saying how great my parents were. Brave. Brilliant. All of that. But no one ever says much more than that. I don’t… I don’t really know them.”

Cassian leaned back, resting an elbow on the armrest. “Your parents were in their seventh year when I was a firstie. They were already legends by then. Not in the ‘moved mountains’ sort of way, but the kind where the air felt different when they walked into a room.”

Harry glanced up, eyes wide.

“Your mum?” Cassian went on, drumming his fingers lightly on the mug. “Lily Evans was sharper than a guillotine. Clever in a way that made professors sweat. She once shut down a seventh-year duel with three words and a look that could have felled a Dragon. Half the Gryffindor table wanted to marry her, and the other half wanted her as Minister for Magic.”

Harry gave a small, almost disbelieving smile.

“And your dad…” Cassian’s lips twitched faintly. “James Potter was a menace. Charming, yes, but a bloody menace. He and Black spent more time in detention than the rest of us combined. They lived for pranks.”

Harry tilted his head. “Black?”

Cassian sighed, resting his elbows on his knees. “I am really not sure how much I should tell you here, Potter. Some things are better found out when you are ready. The Headmaster would’ve said something if he thought now was the right time.”

Harry nodded, though his lips pressed together like he wanted to argue. “I just… I just want to know why none of my parents’ friends have ever reached out. Were they so unloved? Didn’t they have any friends?”

Cassian let out a slow breath. “Of course they did. But much like your parents, they were at the front line. That war didn’t leave a lot of people standing at the end, Potter. Most of the ones closest to them are either gone… or…”

Harry’s fingers tightened around his mug, his knuckles pale. “So they were all killed?”

“Not all. Some, yes. Others… let’s just say they didn’t come out of it whole.” Cassian’s gaze flicked to the small hearth fire, the light dancing over his face. “War breaks more than bodies. It breaks lives. Friendships. Trust. Those who survived, they are still carrying the weight of it.”

Harry swallowed hard. “But… they could’ve come to see me. Even once.”

Cassian leaned back slightly, running a hand over his face. “You’ve got to understand, Potter. For them, looking at you is like staring straight into a grave. You are their friend’s son, but you are also a walking reminder of how it ended. Some people aren’t strong enough to face that.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged. “So I am just… too much for them?”

“No,” Cassian said firmly. “You are not too much. But grief makes cowards of people. It isn’t about you, Harry… it is about their own ghosts. You deserved better, I will give you that. But better doesn’t always happen, even when people mean well.”

Harry stared down at the mug. “Did you know them? Properly?”

Cassian shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. As some memories surfaced. Damn Black… “You know I am a Slytherin, right? And a pure-blood, direct line. Back when I was a student, I was a proper git. Not the charming sort either. If I crossed paths with your parents, it wouldn’t have been friendship. It would have been all-out war.”

Harry blinked at him.

Cassian leaned back, balancing his chair on two legs. “We weren’t on the same side of the playground, let’s put it that way. They were golden Gryffindors… brave, loud, reckless. I was… well, everything they hated wrapped in a tidy green-and-silver package. If we talked, it wouldn’t have been civil.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped a little. “Everyone talks like they were perfect.”

“They weren’t,” Cassian said plainly. “No one is. Lily had a temper sharper than her hexes. James was clever, but he had all the subtlety of a Bludger. They were good people in a bad time, but they weren’t saints walking on air.”

Harry’s mouth twitched, like he wanted to argue but didn’t know how. “You make it sound… normal.”

“They were normal.” Cassian set his cup down with a soft clink. “That is the part people forget when they start telling stories. Your parents laughed, argued, made mistakes, just like the rest of us. Only difference was they chose to stand up when the world turned ugly.”

Harry looked down at his tea, watching the faint steam curl off the surface. “So you didn’t like them?”

Cassian rubbed his jaw. “It wasn’t about liking or not liking. We weren’t close enough for that. They had their circle, I had mine. If I’d been older, maybe I would have been on the other side entirely.”

Harry’s brows pulled together. “Would you have fought them?”

Cassian didn’t answer straight away. “I would like to think I wouldn’t have been that bloody stupid,” he said finally. “But back then? Slytherin house fed us ideas about power and legacy like they were sweets. Plenty of us swallowed it.”

Harry glanced up, searching his face. “But you didn’t.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Cassian said with a faint smirk. “Life knocked sense into me later. Back then, I was as arrogant as the rest of them.” He looked away. “Your parents weren’t perfect, but they were the kind of people you would want beside you when things turned bad. That is the best anyone can be.”

Harry gave a small nod, staring at his hands. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Cassian said lightly. “They were your family. You deserve to know more than bedtime stories.”

Harry stood, clutching his mug a little tighter. “Do you think… do you think they would be proud of me?”

Cassian’s lips curved. “They would be furious you even asked that.”

Harry froze.

“They would be proud,” Cassian said. “Even if you turned up tomorrow with your tie on backwards and your shoes on the wrong feet.”

Harry let out a short, quiet laugh.

“Go on,” Cassian said, flicking his hand toward the door. “If I let you stand there any longer, you will start brooding, and I’ve already got enough moody teenagers to deal with this week.”

Harry hesitated, then gave a quick nod and slipped out, closing the door behind him.

Cassian leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath. “Can I tell you your dad was a total dick, Potter? He made sport out of bullying Slytherins… those who were already hated in their own house, and he still went for them. Humiliated them in front of the school for a laugh. Even Draco isn’t that low.” He shook his head and reached for his tea. “Maybe one day you will see that, maybe not.”

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Silence looks good on you. Very academic.

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