Bathsheda’s eyes flicked to him. “Then what is it? A horcrux?”*

Cassian frowned faintly. “A what?”

She waved a hand. “Dark magic. Splitting a soul, locking it in an object. Just a theory.”

Cassian’s brow tightened as if the word itself left a bad taste in his mouth. Bathsheda reached over, slipping her hand into his. “Do you know anything about them?”

Cassian shook his head slowly, eyes distant. “I don’t… but the word is familiar.”

That familiarity wasn’t from Hogwarts, or any dusty text he flipped through in this life. No, it was older. Something carried over.

He rubbed his temple, the pieces refusing to slot together neatly. ‘Probably from Earth,’ he thought grimly. Back when Harry Potter was just a series of books his mates wouldn’t shut up about. He didn’t know where else it could’ve come from.

“Why does it sound like something I should remember?” he muttered, half to himself.

Bathsheda’s thumb brushed over his knuckles. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, then sighed through his nose. “I will need to dig around. It is nagging at me.”

She frowned at that but didn’t press.

Cassian leaned back against the sofa cushions, staring up at the cracked ceiling beam.

He tried to remember.

Ever since he had started learning Occlumency, he had worked to hammer his mind into order. Branches, roots, hollowed knots, every part of his thoughts pressed into ordered growth. He could catalogue this life easily enough, conversations he’d half ignored, the sting of a dueling hex, the creak of the Rosier library’s floorboards. All of it, crisp and accessible.

But not the other memories.

Not the ones from Earth.

Those sat like smudges at the edge of his vision, refusing to sharpen no matter how tightly he pressed his will against them. Faces he had known, lectures he’d half-listened to, scraps of writing, the droning of professors, snippets of a life gone. He tried to line them up, order them as he could his memories here, but they broke apart like ash scattered in the wind.

It was worse with the awakened memories. Runes half-glimpsed in visions, inscriptions glowing in a storm. Occlumency was useless there. Instead of clarity, the walls of his mind only pressed those images further away, like fog recoiling from light.

Cassian shut his eyes and huffed hard through his nose. ‘What’s the point of mastery,’ he thought, ‘if the one thing I need stays beyond reach?’

Horcrux… split soul… locked away in an object. The fragments of memory weren’t clear, more like half-forgotten trivia overheard in a pub. Didn’t know why the diary felt so wrong. But his gut told him this wasn’t some ordinary curse. It wasn’t some mythological term or an obscure bit of history from Earth, that, he was certain.

And if his gut was right, they’d both stepped in it. Deep.

He let go of her hand and stood abruptly, pacing in front of the cold hearth. “It seems, love, the diary is something worse than we thought.”

Bathsheda pushed herself up, crossing her arms. “If it is as bad as you think.. why the hell would Malfoy risk slipping that into my bag?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Cassian’s tone sharpened. “If it is as dangerous as it feels, then he is either a bigger fool than I thought or he had no clue what he was carrying. Both options are equally likely.”

Bathsheda’s gaze hardened. “Or maybe someone wanted it to end up in Hogwarts.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened. “That is worse.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “All right. One thing at a time. We get confirmation on what we are dealing with. Then we move.”

***

Sadly, two days later, a student turned up Petrified… Colin Creevey. Poor kid was carted off like a stiff statue, his camera and the terror frozen on his face.

The next day, Lucius Malfoy arrived at the castle, his cane tapping against the stone as though the floor wasn’t good enough for him. He came with a few other members of the Board of Governors in tow, their feigned concern and thinly veiled smugness sickened Cassian. They called an emergency meeting to discuss the suspension of not just Albus Dumbledore… but Cassian Rosier too. The reasoning? Apparently hanging Malfoy’s precious heir in front of the entire student body wasn’t “proper conduct” for a Hogwarts professor.

Now Cassian stood shoulder to shoulder with Dumbledore in the staff room, facing down a semi-circle of self-important governors. His expression somewhere between boredom and irritation as Lucius spoke.

“…It is the opinion of this Board that the situation has grown untenable,” Lucius said smoothly. “Two attacks, two staff members named on the walls, and yet… no resolution. It is clear that changes must be made for the safety of the students.”

Cassian arched a brow. “So your solution is to toss out the one bloke holding this circus together and the one teacher who actually gives a toss about these kids? That’s bold.”

Lucius didn’t even flinch. “Bold, perhaps. But necessary. My son wrote home terrified his first month, Professor Rosier. You assaulted him in public view.”

Cassian smirked faintly. “Terrified? That is rich. Your boy has a mouth on him that would make a sailor blush. I merely lifted him high enough for the words to stop flowing so freely.”

A few of the governors shifted uncomfortably, but Lucius pressed on. “Regardless, such behaviour is unbecoming of a Hogwarts professor. And as for Dumbledore…”

Dumbledore’s hands were clasped casually behind his back. “Do go on, Lucius.”

“The Headmaster has failed to protect his students. A student has been attacked under your watch. The parents are concerned. As are we.”

Cassian let out a scoff. “Parents concerned? Or Malfoys concerned? There’s a difference, and I think we all know which side’s louder in your little tea parties.”

Lucius’s lips curled faintly. “Professor Rosier, perhaps you should remember your place.”

“Oh, I know my place,” Cassian said lightly, flicking his wand in a lazy arc. “I, Professor Cassian R. Rosier, invoke Article Twelve of the Hogwarts Staff Code, Subsection Disciplinary, blah blah, you know the one, summoning the Sorting Hat to adjudicate the punishment of one Draco L. Malfoy under Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry governance.”

The tip of his wand glowed briefly. Somewhere above them, a faintly irritated grumble echoed down the corridor, followed by the unmistakable voice of the Sorting Hat.

“Merlin’s frayed trousers, Rosier… couldn’t this wait until after supper? You know I don’t work for biscuits.”

Lucius’s lips thinned, but before he could fire back, Cassian grinned. “Oh, come on, old boy. You’ve been hanging about collecting dust for decades. Consider this community service.”

The Hat let out a sigh that sounded suspiciously like someone being dragged out of bed too early. “Fine, fine. What is the infraction this time?”

Cassian’s voice sharpened. “Draco Malfoy. Second year. Verbally inciting hatred in a crime scene. Blood status slur included.”

The Hat tutted loudly. “Charming. And you are asking me because?”

“Because his head of house seems to think this is perfectly acceptable behaviour,” Cassian replied, shooting Snape a flat look. “And the Board of Governors apparently care more about their pocket square arrangements than about bigotry in the corridors.”

Snape’s nostrils flared, but before he could respond, the Hat spoke again. “Right, let’s make this quick. Draco L. Malfoy, son of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy…”

Draco stiffened as the Sorting Hat’s voice rolled.

“…you’ve been raised in a house that values lineage over decency, privilege over humility, and pride over sense. Slytherin House might value ambition, but not stupidity. One-Hundred-Fifty points deducted, and detention for two months, real detention, mind you, not polishing silver with house-elves hovering over your shoulder.”

The Hat’s tone dropped into a growl. “And if I hear your voice utter that word again, you will be back in front of me for re-sorting. I hear Hufflepuff has room. Third time, and you are out.”

Gasps rippled around the room. Draco flushed scarlet, his pale face blotched with fury and embarrassment.

“You can’t do this!” Lucius snapped.

Cassian leaned casually against the table, arching a brow. “Oh, I think you’ll find the Hat can. Read the school charter, page sixty-two. It has final say on matters of sorting and house discipline. You didn’t think those dusty bylaws were just there for show, did you?”

Lucius’s cane thumped hard against the stone floor. “This is outrageous!”

“Outrageous would be me letting your boy run about shouting blood-purity slogans like he’s auditioning for a Death Eater revival.” Cassian’s tone stayed light, but his eyes had hardened. “This? This is just justice with a talking hat.”

The Sorting Hat gave a dry laugh. “Well said. Now, if that’s all, I’ll be off. Wake me for the next brat with too much mouth and too little brain.”

Silence stretched across the room.

Dumbledore, still seated calmly behind his desk, steepled his fingers. “Thank you, Professor Rosier, for the… expedient solution. And thank you, Sorting Hat, for your contribution.”

“Mm. Always happy to clean up your messes, Albus,” the Hat muttered faintly before fading from earshot.

Cassian straightened his robes. “Now, where were we? Ah yes, Lucius, you were explaining how tossing the Headmaster and me out on our arses was the most logical course of action for school safety.”

Cassian then turned to the rest of the Board, his hands clasped lightly behind his back, his chuckle had a bite that made a few of them shift in their seats.

“I am guessing Lucius roped you lot in without mentioning that I was also on his little hit list. If that is the case, you still got time to change your minds. If not…” his mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, “…well, I will applaud your courage when you cast your vote.”

He let the words hang for a moment, then leaned forward on the edge of the table, his tone lighter now. “So go on, let’s not drag this out. Who is voting to suspend me, Professor Cassian R. Rosier?”

Not a Spoiler, Just an image! ↓

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Author Rant ↓ 

Spoiler

There’s a moment, right before applause should happen, where hope lives. I rent space there.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep