“That name mean anything to you, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore tilted his head. For a moment, the only sound in the room was Fawkes shifting on his perch. He then said, “Please, continue.”

Cassian didn’t press. “We thought we had it under control. The diary wasn’t showing any real power. No curses flying about, no possession or hexes, nothing except words on paper. Until recently, when we realised it was gone.”

“Gone?”

“Vanished,” Bathsheda said tightly. “It was behind layered wards. Nothing that can be easily broken. But now it is missing, and then this…” She gestured vaguely. “Mrs Norris. The wall. Our names.”

Dumbledore’s hands folded more tightly over each other.

“Someone’s playing a game,” Cassian said with a tired sigh. “And they are using us as pawns… or bait. We thought Lucius was the one behind it. Now I am not so sure.”

Dumbledore looked tired. “You think this diary is somehow responsible for what happened tonight?”

Cassian gave a sharp nod. “One time the diary said it knew a secret in the castle. Something that could grant immense power. Destroy our enemies, it said. We just had to open our minds for it to show us.”

Dumbledore’s eyes flicked to Bathsheda, then back to Cassian. “And did you?”

“Of course not.” Cassian let out a soft snort. “I might be reckless, Headmaster, but I am not thick. That thing gave me the creeps before it even finished its first bloody sentence. You could feel it trying to pull at you.”

Bathsheda spoke up then, her voice tight. “It was subtle at first. Friendly. Patient. But there was this… purpose behind it. Probing for cracks.”

Dumbledore leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “This diary… what else did it say?”

“Bits and pieces,” Cassian said. “About the school. About his time here. He called himself a student once… claimed he learned things in these walls that would change the world. Never outright said what, though. Always danced around it like he was dangling bait.”

Bathsheda’s fingers tightened against her sleeve. “He wanted us to ask. To give it an opening.”

“And why didn’t you consider telling me this sooner?” Dumbledore asked, his voice calm but carrying an edge now.

“We considered it,” Cassian admitted. “Then we thought about what Malfoy might be playing at, and how fast word travels when you breathe wrong in this castle. The last thing we wanted was to tip off the wrong ears.”

There was a long silence.

Finally, Dumbledore let out another slow breath. “If this diary is what I suspect, then the danger is greater than either of you realise.”

Cassian frowned. “What do you suspect?”

Dumbledore didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted to Fawkes, the phoenix watching them quietly from his perch.

“Headmaster,” Bathsheda pressed, her voice quieter now. “You know something.”

Dumbledore’s fingers tapped the desk again. “Perhaps. But I will not say more until I know more. Certainty is the one luxury we cannot afford to counterfeit.”

Cassian’s lips twitched faintly. “You’ve got the air of a man sitting on an unpleasant truth, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore looked at him. “Would you prefer I spoke recklessly and added more fear to this castle?”

Cassian didn’t answer.

“You should never have brought it into the castle. And even if you had, you should have told me at once.” His voice was heavy, before softening just slightly. “But what’s done is done. You’ve done well to contain it as long as you did. But now we must assume the worst. Someone is using that diary to open a very old wound.”

***

When the pair trudged back into Cassian’s rooms, they looked every bit like two kids who’d just been raked over the coals by a stern teacher. And frankly, they deserved it. Not only had they brought a cursed object into a school crawling with children, they’d also kept it from the Headmaster and… worst of all, lost it.

Cassian dropped into his armchair, scrubbing his temple. “Well. That went swimmingly.”

Bathsheda didn’t sit. She hovered near the desk, arms crossed, lips pressed tight. “He didn’t yell.”

“Worse. He was calm.” Cassian tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Never trust a man who sounds like he’s about to offer you biscuits while he is thinking of ways to nail your hide to the wall.”

Bathsheda huffed out a breath through her nose. “We deserved it.”

“Oh, no argument there.” Cassian let his head loll to the side, watching her pace. “Still, I can’t help feeling like we were the ones sent to detention and Malfoy gets to preen around the castle”

“Lucius or Draco?” she asked sharply.

“Yes.”

She gave him a glare over her shoulder but didn’t argue. Her fingers drummed against her palm as she turned and scanned the room for what had to be the twentieth time that day. “If it is the diary…”

“No ‘if’ about it, love,” Cassian’s voice was quieter now, lacking his usual flippancy. “It is the diary. Has to be. Timing is too perfect for it not to be.”

Bathsheda dropped onto the sofa beside him, her knees knocking into his. “Let’s string the clues. What do we know so far?”

Cassian huffed slowly, “The diary was created by a bloke calling himself Tom Marvolo Riddle. He kept going on about a secret that grants immense power. Every time I pushed, he fished for more, politics, the castle, even the Headmaster. We didn’t learn his big secret, but now it is bloody obvious. The Chamber of Secrets. Fifty years ago, it opened. A monster attacked, killed a girl. Hagrid took the blame, even almost got sent to Azkaban for it. They let him out eventually, but not before snapping his wand. And now…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Now the diary, stuffed in your bag by Lucius Malfoy, has opened it again.”

Bathsheda pulled her legs up on the sofa, curling her toes against the cushions. “Lucius didn’t just want to dump a cursed object. He planted a weapon. He knew. He had to. That diary wasn’t planted by accident.”

“Oh, no chance it was.” Cassian shook his head, a humourless smirk curling his mouth. “That slimy bastard couldn’t resist leaving a little present. Probably thought it’d stir the pot, distract everyone from whatever he’s got going on.”

She stared at the floor. “We were idiots. We should’ve destroyed it the moment we realised it could write back.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered,” Cassian muttered. “That sort of magic doesn’t go down easy. You don’t just toss it in the fireplace and hope for the best. Even cursed artefacts usually give up faster than this thing.”

Bathsheda got up again and started to pace, every turn of her heel snapping like punctuation to her own fury. “Merlin, I am so stupid,” she muttered, clutching her sleeve so tightly the fabric wrinkled. “Should’ve known better. Should’ve left it where it was. Should’ve burned the damn thing instead of—” Her breath hitched, words breaking into a low growl. “Merlin, I should’ve told Headmaster the moment it wrote back. What was I thinking?”

“Baths—” Cassian started.

She cut him off, her voice sharp. “No. Don’t you dare try to make this lighter. This is our fault. Ours. That thing is loose now, and something dark is walking these halls where students sleep. Students we were supposed to protect.” She spun on him, eyes bright with the kind of anger that came from guilt turned inward. “Cass, it’s gone. That thing is out there, and we’ve no idea who holds it. It could be whispering to some poor child right now, sliding its poison in, and we wouldn’t even know until it’s too late.”

He rose, hands raised in mock surrender. “Alright, easy. We’ll get it back. Step one, figure out exactly what it is. Step two—”

“Step two?” she snapped, cutting him off. “Step two, what? We pretend we’re still in control while something dark walks freely in this castle? While children we were supposed to protect sleep with a cursed diary under their pillows?” Her voice cracked, frustrated. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “This isn’t just a mistake, Cassian.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Baths, you’re not the one who slipped it into your bag. That was Lucius.”

She let out a sharp laugh, bitter and short. “Lucius may have planted it, but we kept it alive. We gave it time to settle, to learn us. We’re the professors here. It was our responsibility to keep the children safe, and instead we let something clever, patient, and hungry through the front door.”

Cassian hesitated. He could argue, deflect, but the steel in her eyes warned him against it. So he reached for honesty instead. “Then it’s on both of us. Fine. But wallowing in it won’t get us anywhere.”

Bathsheda stopped pacing, arms folding tight around herself. Her shoulders rose and fell, sharp with tension. “We are supposed to be better than this. If even we can’t keep something like that contained, what hope do the rest of them have?”

Cassian sighed, gritting his teeth. He crossed the final step between them and laid his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Then we fix it. We confirm what it is. We find it. And when we do, we end it properly.”

His arms slipped around her waist from behind. She didn’t resist. If anything, she leaned back into him, shoulders loosening as his chin came to rest on her shoulder.

“That was Lucius’s intention. I can see it now.”

He nodded, eyes dull with thought. “He slipped the diary into your bag. Wanted it gone, sure, but mostly he wanted to stir shit between us.”

She hummed as he continued, his hand drawing slow lines along her waist.

“I doubt he’s thick enough to think you’d fall for it. More likely he just wanted one of us sacked, maybe both, if he was lucky. Peg the Rosier name down a notch while he was at it. But the aim was us. Fighting.”

She turned in his arms and pulled him into a hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then his jaw. “Would’ve been a shock to his system if we actually got on instead. Sorry to disappoint, Lucius,” she murmured.

Cassian let his forehead rest against hers. She pulled him to the sofa. He didn’t resist, just dropped down beside her, still curled around her like a shield she didn’t ask for but didn’t push away.

PS: Old Hogwarts had far harsher punishments. In many places, Filch hints at the “old methods,” wistfully mentioning chains, screams, and the like. I even considered showing some of Cassian’s past, how he himself was punished in those ways, but decided against it.

So far, Cassian has never laid a hand on his students. He isn’t from this world, and he doesn’t believe in physically punishing children. The first incident, when he took Malfoy’s voice, was because Malfoy had used one of the worst slurs in their world. Cassian wanted to prevent him from spewing more and to teach him a lesson. It wasn’t painful, Malfoy and his little entourage simply couldn’t make a sound.

In the latest case, Malfoy was levitated by the scruff of his neck (he wasn’t dangled by the neck). To be clear, this was a crime scene, and Malfoy was shouting blood slogans, slurs, and threats. Cassian was annoyed about losing the Diary. Yes, he could have handled it better, but he’s human.

Not a Spoiler, Just an image! ↓

Spoiler

[collapse]

Author Rant ↓ 

Spoiler

Your energy is exquisite, like a museum closed for renovation.

[collapse]

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep