On a casual and normal day, Bathsheda woke Cassian from his well deserved sleep with an elbow jab to his ribs. He let out a groan, tugging her back under the blankets.

“What the hell?” His voice was thick with sleep. He wrapped her into the blanket and went on snoring.

She squirmed free, hair a mess, eyes sharper than they had any right to be this early. “Where is the diary?”

Cassian froze, hand still resting on her hip. “I dunno. Wasn’t it with you?”

Bathsheda frowned, looking jittery, gaze unfocused like she was scrolling through memories. “I don’t think so… I thought I gave it to you.”

Cassian ran a hand down his face. “Did I leave it in the loo again?”

Her head tilted just slightly. “Wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Oi, don’t start. That was one time.” Cassian sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. The room was dim, cold air nipping at his skin. “And to be fair, the little bastard does give off the vibe of something you forget next to the soap.”

Bathsheda swung her legs out of bed, already grabbing her dressing gown. “Think.”

“I am thinking.” Cassian’s tone sharpened slightly as he scanned the room from his perch on the edge of the mattress. “We had it in here last… what, Tuesday? After the fireworks with ‘Greg the Bold.’ Then I shut it and tossed it…” His sentence trailed off as his eyes flicked toward the desk.

The warded circle was empty.

“Right,” he muttered. “That is not ideal.”

Bathsheda was on her feet now, knotting her belt. “Not ideal? Cassian, it is gone.”

“Technically, it is just misplaced.” He pushed up, ruffling his hair as he crossed to the desk. “There is a difference between misplaced and unleashed terror of Hogwarts proportions.”

“You don’t sound remotely worried.”

“Because panicking isn’t going to make it reappear.” He crouched, checking under the desk. Dust bunnies, two pens, and an ancient Chocolate Frog wrapper. No diary.

Bathsheda’s mouth pressed into a line as she flicked her wand and murmured a tracking spell. The soft blue light fizzled in the air and then died with a sharp crack.

“Brilliant,” she muttered. “It is blocking the location rune now.” Her eyes darted to him. “You think it walked out on its own?”

He held up both hands. “Not saying it didn’t. Wouldn’t surprise me at this point. But let’s not start burning candles just yet. We probably forgot it somewhere. We don’t take the bloody thing out of our rooms, and unless one of us absentmindedly carried it into the next, it is probably tucked away crying into its own pages about too many Hogwarts students bullying it.”

Bathsheda slumped against him. “Are you sure?”

“Reasonably,” Cassian said, rubbing the back of his neck. “If it grew legs and walked off, I will eat my boots, laces and all. But I am betting it is sulking under a chair or wedged behind a stack of books.”

She snorted sharply, her breath warm against his shoulder. “It is dangerous, Cass.”

“Mm. Only if someone scribbles their little secrets into it. Otherwise, it is a notebook with an attitude problem.” He tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling. “We’ve been poking it for weeks and it hasn’t managed more than passive-aggressive comments and the occasional sulk.”

Bathsheda pulled away and started pacing, her bare feet silent on the cold stone floor. “Traces don’t work. That is new.”

“Which is annoying,” Cassian said, standing and tugging his jumper over his head, “but not shocking. Half the cursed artefacts I’ve seen throw out false signals when they don’t want to be found. This one’s got a flair for drama.”

She stopped, arms folded tightly. “What if it really found a way out?”

Cassian paused, one hand resting on the back of the chair. “Then we cross that bridge and probably set it on fire.” His lips twitched faintly. “But let’s not assume it is plotting world domination yet. Nine times out of ten, these things are more talk than bite.”

Bathsheda shot him a look. “And the tenth?”

“The tenth is why I keep my wand within reach,” Cassian muttered, patting under his pillow. His brow furrowed. “Where the devil is my wand?”

Bathsheda rubbed at her nose. “Right.”

She knew that despite his casual remarks, they had never been careless with the diary. That was why he was calm. “Even when we forgot it in the loo, the wards were always in place unless one of us was using it.” She sighed. “It can’t walk on its own. Right?”

Well, they didn’t find the diary. Cassian was sure it had to be somewhere in the chaos of their rooms. He probably chucked it late one night after teasing it and left it wedged between the desk and the bed… or somewhere equally ridiculous.

But as the day wore on, that certainty began to crack.

Bathsheda was pacing now, muttering charms under her breath, her voice growing sharper each time another tracking spell fizzled out. Cassian sat sprawled in an armchair, watching her like she was a particularly fiery lecture he didn’t want to interrupt.

“You are sure you didn’t leave it in the staff room?” she demanded.

“For the hundredth time, no. I am not in the habit of smuggling cursed artefacts into the staff lounge for tea and biscuits.” He rubbed his temple, eyes narrowing as he glanced at the desk again. “If it isn’t here, must be in your room.”

“It is! not! in my room!” she snapped, spinning on her heel.

He opened his mouth for a retort, but a loud, frantic pounding on the door cut him off.

Bathsheda froze. Cassian raised a brow, dragging himself upright.

The door banged again.

Cassian strode over and yanked the door open. A second-year Hufflepuff stood there, pale-faced and wide-eyed.

“If this is about missing biscuits, I swear—”

“Professor Rosier! Professor Babbling! You’ve got to come… quick!”

“What’s this about?” Cassian asked, trying not to show his frustration.

“It is…” The boy gulped air. “It is Mrs Norris, sir. She is… she is stiff! Like stone!”

Bathsheda was already moving, snatching her cloak off the peg. Cassian followed with a grimace.

“Where?”

“Second floor! There’s writing on the wall… red writing—”

“Red writing never bodes well,” Cassian muttered under his breath as they rushed with everything they had.

When they rounded the corner onto the second floor, the scene hit them like a punch to the gut.

Mrs Norris was suspended stiffly from a torch bracket, her fur gleaming like polished marble. Her eyes were wide and glassy.

And the wall.

Bright, bloody words stretched across the stones, dripping down like fresh paint.

“THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE. ESPECIALLY ROSIER AND BABBLING!!!!!”

Cassian took a step closer, boots squelching on the wet stone. Their names were underlined, the strokes heavy and angry, like whoever wrote it wanted to carve the words straight into the castle itself. 

Two of them looked at each other as the entire castle seemed to press in, students craning for a better view like they’d been waiting for this moment all year. Whispers rattled through the crowd. 

Bathsheda’s hand brushed his sleeve, fingers tense. He didn’t look at her, but he could feel the question radiating off her, Is this about the diary?

The whispering swelled, pockets of speculation darting from group to group. A Ravenclaw muttered that it had to be Peeves, a Gryffindor girl swore she saw blood dripping from the ceiling.

“Enemies of the heir, beware! You will be next, Mudbloods!”

Cassian’s head snapped toward the voice. Malfoy. The little blond brat had elbowed to the front, his pale face flushed with something between excitement and spite. His cold eyes gleamed as he stared at the petrified cat like it was the punchline of his favourite joke. Unaware of the fact, two professors were present too.

Cassian didn’t even think. His wand flicked up, and Malfoy jerked into the air by his collar, dangling like a badly hung painting. His feet kicked helplessly a few inches off the ground, robes riding up around his knees.

“What the hell did you just say?” Cassian’s voice cut through the crowd.

Malfoy twisted, clawing at his collar. “P-put me down…!”

“Oh no. Not until you repeat it,” Cassian said, eyes locked on him, so cold, froze the boy in place.

The silence was so heavy you could’ve heard a pin drop.

“I-I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t spew filth in front of the entire school? Was I too merciful after last time?”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

“Professor Rosier, please…” one of the prefects began.

Cassian didn’t even glance at her.

“What’s going on here? What’s going on?”

Argus Filch shoved through the crowd, his jowls quivering with fury. His rheumy eyes darted about until they landed on the cat. And then he stopped.

His face twisted.

“My cat! My cat! What’s happened to Mrs Norris?” he shrieked, stumbling back like the sight had physically struck him. Both hands shot up to his face as he staggered, his voice breaking. “Who killed her? Who killed my cat?”

“Argus!”

Dumbledore’s voice rolled over the students. He appeared at the end of the corridor like he’d simply materialised there. Professors trailed behind him, McGonagall looking grim. Snape gliding.

In three long strides, Dumbledore had reached the torch bracket. His hand lifted, and Mrs Norris detached from it with a flick of his fingers, floating gently into his arms.

“Come with me, Argus,” he said softly.

Filch made a strangled noise and followed as if tethered.

Snape’s eyes narrowed as they landed on Cassian and Malfoy. “What do you think you are doing?” he asked coldly, already drawing his wand.

*The end of chapter image in Chapter 79 was a reference to this chapter.

Not a Spoiler, Just an image! ↓

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Author Rant ↓ 

Spoiler

Your stillness is profound. Philosophers would write essays on it.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep