“Who is voting to suspend me, Professor Cassian R. Rosier?”

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Chairs creaked faintly, a cough echoed from the back, and a few of the older governors suddenly found great interest in their shoes.

The Greengrass Patriarch cleared his throat. “Professor Rosier is correct,” he said, fingers drumming lightly against the arch of his cane. “He is a fair teacher. Last summer, my granddaughter came home and wouldn’t shut up about him. Said he was firm but just, and his classes were some of the best she had. In this instance, the Malfoy Heir’s punishment was warranted as the Sorting Had declared. Young Malfoy used a racial slur in front of the entire school during what was already a traumatic event.”

Lucius’s expression didn’t crack, but one could hear teeth grinding.

Another governor, a heavyset man with thinning hair, nodded slowly. “Greengrass has a point. This isn’t a question of professionalism… it is about setting boundaries for students. That word…” he trailed off with a grimace.

Cassian stayed silent, arms folded, watching the room shift.

Lucius cleared his throat. “With respect, this is not about my son’s behaviour. This is about the Headmaster’s failure to maintain order, and Professor Rosier’s unprofessional conduct…”

“Oh, do shut it, Malfoy,” Cassian said without any care. “You’ve been banging on about safety when it is your own spawn spitting out poison in the middle of a bloody crime scene. I don’t want to summon the Hat again, but school rules are clear. Professors can use extreme force to protect the student body from a perceived threat under extreme conditions.”

“Chamber of Secrets took a life fifty years ago, and the moment it was opened again, your boy starts threatening Muggle-born students in front of me.” Cassian’s mouth twitched faintly in warning. “You’d better pray I’ve got better judgement than he does. Because I knew he was just running his little mouth. If I thought for a second he meant it, I wouldn’t have stopped at hanging him up by his collar. I would have broken his legs.”

A few of the governors shifted in their seats. One of them coughed into his hand, his gaze flicking from Cassian to Lucius as if he wasn’t sure which man was more dangerous at the moment.

Lucius’s knuckles whitened on his cane. “This is exactly the temperament I was referring to, Headmaster. Violent. Reckless. Clearly unfit for the post.”

Cassian snorted, tipping his chair back on two legs. “Violent? That’s rich coming from a man who weaponised a diary and tossed it into a school full of children. And don’t bother feigning ignorance, Lucius, we both know what you did.”

A ripple went through the room. Even Snape’s head turned, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” Lucius said, his voice silky but with a sharp edge.

“Oh, I am not insinuating,” Cassian replied lightly. “You’ve got no idea what you’re playing with, Malfoy. But I promise, you’re going to regret it.”

He let the words hang for a moment, then straightened and brushed down his sleeves. “Right then. You can vote and send me an owl with the result. I will be in my quarters, packing or laughing… depends how this goes.”

Lucius’s jaw tightened. “You can’t just…”

Cassian cut him off with a flick of his fingers. “Oh, I absolutely can. Unlike some people here, I don’t need to cling to a seat to prove I matter.”

He nodded to Dumbledore and strode towards the door without waiting for dismissal. The governors watched as he passed, though one or two looked like they wanted to applaud but didn’t dare.

Bathsheda fell into step beside him the moment he left the room. “How did it go? You couldn’t resist, could you?”

Cassian gave her a sideways glance. “Resist what? Watching Lucius choke on his own smugness? That was the only decent part of the whole bloody meeting.”

She snorted under her breath. “You are impossible.”

He raised a brow. “No, impossible would’ve been keeping my mouth shut while that pompous prat tried to have me tossed out. If I have to sit there and listen to him hold court about school safety, I am at least going to enjoy wiping that smirk off his face.”

Her eyes flicked over him. “So they’re not suspending you?”

“Not unless Malfoy pulls a rabbit out of his hat,” Cassian said, hands sliding into his pockets. “Greengrass swung the room. Lucius didn’t see that coming… he is probably having palpitations about now.”

“You keep poking him, and he is going to bite.”

Cassian tilted his head with a faint grin. “Then let him. I will snap his cane in half and send him packing.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t push the point.

“You realise this makes us even bigger targets,” she murmured.

“Mm.” Cassian’s smile faded, though the spark didn’t leave his eyes. “Names splashed across the walls in blood, students petrified, Malfoy sharpening his knives… I would say we’ve already been promoted to top of the list.”

Bathsheda’s jaw tightened. “And you are still cracking jokes.”

He gave a low chuckle, but there wasn’t much humour in it. “If I stop, I will have to start taking this place seriously. And I’ve survived this long by not doing that.”

***

Well, turned out Lucius had shot himself in the foot. Dragging Cassian’s name into the suspension talk had rattled the Board of Governors so much they voted no… even on Dumbledore. It wasn’t that they were scared of Cassian exactly, but the Rosier name carried weight, and no one was eager to test how far that weight stretched. After all, Lucius had felt the sharp end of Daddy Regulus’s temper last year. Nobody wanted a repeat.

As Cassian pushed open the classroom door, he saw a group of Ravenclaws clustered near the front, stringing together beads and scraps of parchment. A faint shimmer hung around their necks.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What are those?” he asked, his voice tired from spending all night keeping Hogwarts from falling apart.

Cho Chang looked up nervously. “Protection charms, sir.”

Cassian stared at her for a moment, then let his bag slide onto the desk with a thump. “Protection from what, exactly? My bad mood?”

Eddie Carmichael shifted awkwardly. “From the Heir of Slytherin, Professor. Mum sent it by owl.”

Cassian rubbed the back of his neck. “God save me from overexcited parents and cheap ward kits. That thing’s about as protective as a wet tea towel.”

There were a few nervous titters, though most of the students avoided his eyes.

“Right,” Cassian said, straightening up. “Here’s the deal. You want to fiddle about with glitter and beads, be my guest. But don’t think for a second it’s going to stop whatever’s prowling the halls. You want real protection?” He tapped the side of his head. “Use this. Don’t wander off alone, and for the love of all things magical, don’t go scribbling your life story into stray notebooks. Clear?”

A few students nodded quickly.

“Good.”

As he was about to start the class, Cassian noticed a familiar platinum-blonde head tucked low at the back. Odette. His cousin looked like she hadn’t slept in days… eyes shadowed, posture tight, fingers twisting at her quill.

“Odette Rosier,” he called, leaning on the edge of his desk, mug in hand. “What is wrong with you?”

She flinched, her shoulders jerking, but didn’t lift her head. It was her friend, Eddetta Combstone, who spoke up from the next seat.

“It is the writing on the wall, sir,” she said quickly. “It said ‘Rosier.’ She thinks… she is afraid.”

Cassian set his mug down. “Oh for the…” He straightened, sweeping his gaze over the class. “Target is me, not you. Let’s clear that up before anyone else gets clever ideas. The wall said Rosier and Babbling. That is clearly two faculty members, not students.”

A few heads turned towards Odette, some curious, others whispering. Cassian waved his wand and the classroom dimmed, torches flickering down to soft embers as illusions bloomed in the air above them… floating runes, twisting strands of light, and faint echoes of ancient chanting rolling like distant thunder.

“Right. Where were we?” he said, his voice cutting through the lingering murmurs.

The students stilled, eyes drawn to the shifting shapes overhead as Cassian stepped lightly across the front of the room.

“Last week we touched on the origins of the Full Body-Bind Curse,” Cassian said. “Most people assume it popped up during some medieval wizard duel, but that’s wrong. It actually goes back to tenth-century Byzantium. Originally, it wasn’t even meant for duelling, it was designed as a battlefield tactic.”

A few Ravenclaws perked up, quills scratching as they jotted notes.

“Picture it,” he went on, gesturing with his mug. “You are a Byzantine battlemage, surrounded by armoured soldiers. What’s the quickest way to stop a man swinging a sword at your head? You freeze every muscle in his body. Clean. Effective. Doesn’t spill a drop of blood. The empire loved it so much they started training squads to immobilise entire units before their own soldiers charged in.”

He grinned. “Of course the Kievan Rus’ didn’t like that.” Cassian leaned back on the edge of the desk, crossing one ankle over the other. “Their army was built for charging headlong into fights. Horses, axes, enough mead to make a dragon weep. But when every bloke with a sword suddenly locks up like a frozen chess piece? Well, that is a quick way to ruin a good raid.”

A few students snorted quietly, but most were scribbling furiously.

Cassian sipped his tea, watching the floating lights overhead flicker and shift into the shape of two duelling figures… one swinging a sword, the other flicking a wand. At the exact moment the blade should’ve hit, the swordsman’s limbs stiffened and the image froze.

“Thing is, it wasn’t just a charm for combat. By the time it made its way west, medieval witch hunters started calling it ‘The Devil’s Stillness.’ They thought it was possession. Said witches froze men solid to steal their souls while they couldn’t move.”

Marcus raised a hand halfway before speaking. “Sir… did they really believe that?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Cassian gave a crooked smile. “This is the same lot that thought a sneeze was the soul trying to escape. Perspective wasn’t their strong suit.” He pushed off the desk and started pacing slowly in front of the blackboard. “But history isn’t about whether they were right or wrong. It is about understanding why they thought the way they did. If you can do that, you’re halfway to cracking the logic behind most spells.”

“You lot spend most of your time thinking magic’s about wands and words,” he said, stopping near the window, “but the stuff’s stitched into history. Every war, every treaty, every daft little feud between two blokes over sheep… it is all been shaped by it. And every spell you learn came from someone who wasn’t as clever as they thought they were.”

Eddie frowned, his quill paused mid-word. “Sir, didn’t you say last week that most battlefield spells got banned?”

“No. I said war spells got banned. You can use a kitchen knife on a battlefield, doesn’t make it a war weapon. Get the difference? Even Lumos saw action on battlefields, and I don’t see anyone banning that.”

“Point is, a spell is just a tool. What matters is how you use it. The Full Body-Bind, Petrificus Totalus, isn’t inherently dark. Immobilising a bloke trying to take your head off? Reasonable. Using it on your little sister for stealing the last biscuit? Less so. Not illegal though, just makes you an arse.”

Marcus gave a small, nervous laugh and ducked back to his notes.

“Now, war magic, the proper stuff, that is where the ministries started drawing lines. Bloodfire hexes, bone-splinter curses, anything designed to maim or kill en masse. Those are war spells, and most were outlawed after the Goblin Rebellions. For good reason. Wizards weren’t exactly subtle back then. When in doubt, they would burn down half the valley just to make sure their enemy was properly incinerated.”

“The truth is,” Cassian went on, “the ministries didn’t trust anyone, least of all themselves. And honestly? Fair enough. Power makes idiots out of clever people. Give a man a charm that can wipe out a battalion, and sooner or later he’ll convince himself it is the only reasonable solution to a dispute over turnips.”

A few Slytherins exchanged amused glances. Cassian took a slow sip of tea before continuing. “Anyway. The Body-Bind freezes a person solid. That is it. Doesn’t snap bones, doesn’t leave them coughing up their lungs. It is clean.”

Marietta raised her hand hesitantly. “Sir, did anyone ever… modify it? To make it more dangerous?”

Cassian gave her an approving look. “Good question. Yes, some clever bloke always tries to improve on perfection. In seventeenth-century France, duellists developed a variant that not only froze you but also compressed your ribcage so you couldn’t breathe. Effective. Also very illegal. They called it L’Étreinte du Diable. The Devil’s Embrace. Banned soon after.”

“So.” Cassian straightened, setting his mug down. “Lesson for today, magic reflects the people who use it. The spells you learn aren’t good or bad on their own. They are history. They are stories. Understand the story, and you are halfway to understanding the spell.”

Cho Chang raised her hand. “Sir, would a Full Body-Bind work on… a dragon?”

Cassian’s lips twitched. “If you want to try freezing a ten-metre monster that can kill you with a snort, Chang, be my guest. But I will be standing far enough back to enjoy the show.”

A few of the students laughed nervously.

“Right then. Quick summary before I lose you all to your own doodles. Petrificus Totalus, created tenth century, used extensively in Byzantium, still legal today. Practical, clean, reversible. Not for pranks, unless you enjoy being hexed into next week by your victim’s mum.”

Eddie raised his hand again. “Sir… what about Mrs Norris? Could this spell have done that to her?”

Cassian paused mid-step. The room seemed to tighten around him.

Not a Spoiler, Just an image! ↓

Spoiler

[collapse]

Author Rant ↓ 

Spoiler

I’ve learned to treat confusion like participation. It helps morale.

[collapse]

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep