Since Dumbledore refused to station the last of the roosters inside the castle Cassian gave up on asking nicely after asking a second time.

“I’m not putting the safety of children in the hands of politics,” he snapped one day. Bathsheda didn’t argue. Just handed him her hand and pulled the books open to the chapter on illusion constructs.

With Bathsheda’s help they’d created a full battalion of illusory roosters. Not just static charms, either. These bastards strutted, fluffed, pecked at dust that wasn’t there, and crowed every thirty-seven seconds on the dot. He’d even taught a few to tilt their heads dramatically whenever someone walked past.

For the rest of Christmas hols, the castle echoed with the crowing. Cassian had stationed them on every floor, their beady little eyes glowing faintly and their caws bouncing off the ancient stone. Nothing happened, not a scaly tail, not even a hiss, but he wasn’t about to drop the wards just because the place had gone quiet.

He was fairly sure whoever stole the diary had gone home for the break. Still, Hogwarts had a way of turning smug confidence into an obituary. He wasn’t taking chances.

When the students returned, obviously the first thing they noticed was the roosters… the first few days were full of shrieks, some jumped out of their skins, others laughed. Within a week, most decided it was just another of Professor Rosier’s eccentricities. It wouldn’t be the first time. He had, after all, spent half the year sitting with students in the Great Hall rather than keeping to the staff table like a proper professor.

And then… nothing. Weeks passed. No new attacks. The castle settled back into its rhythm, though every so often Cassian caught himself waiting for the other shoe to drop. He wasn’t sure if this lull was a trick to make him drop his guard, or if the cursed diary had truly gone quiet.

He wasn’t the only one piecing things together.

One afternoon, Hermione Granger came barrelling down the corridor like she was late for an exam, dragging Harry, Ron, and Neville behind her. She stopped dead in front of Cassian, cheeks flushed, curls bouncing wildly as she caught her breath.

“It’s a basilisk, isn’t it?” she said.

Cassian raised a brow from where he sat on the edge of a desk, flipping through a stack of essays. “Good afternoon, Miss Granger. Lovely weather we’re having. Now, what was that about giant murder-snakes?”

Hermione didn’t flinch. “The attacks. The petrifications. Mrs Norris, Colin Creevey, Justin Finch-Fletchley. They weren’t killed outright. They saw it indirectly… reflections, cameras, through Nearly Headless Nick. That would only happen if… it is a basilisk!”

Neville shivered. “Hang on… so there really is a giant snake crawling through the school?”

Hermione looked over at Harry. He was staring at the floor, jaw tight, but she was practically drilling holes into the side of his head with that urgent, pointed look. The kind that said, Go on. Say it. Now.

Cassian squinted at them. His brow furrowed.

“You’ve got that look,” he said. “The one that says you are holding back something that is going to make my day infinitely worse. Out with it.”

Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot, his shoulders hunched like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“You heard it, didn’t you?” Cassian pressed, narrowing his eyes.

Harry’s head dipped, and his fingers tightened on the hem of his jumper. “I didn’t know what it was, not until Hermione told me her theory. I’ve been hearing things… voices. From the walls. For months.”

Cassian’s hand dragged down his face. “Oh for—” He cut himself off, massaging his temple, very much fighting off a headache. “And at no point did it occur to you to mention this to me? Or, I don’t know, any adult in the castle?”

Harry winced. “I thought… maybe I was imagining it.”

Cassian pushed himself upright. Swallowing all the nasty things coming to the tip of his tongue.

Hermione flinched slightly at his gaze but didn’t speak. Ron kept his mouth shut too, which was probably the smartest thing he’d done all week.

Cassian stopped and turned on Harry, jabbing a finger at him. “You said months. Define months. Since when?”

“Since… November,” Harry said, voice small.

Cassian closed his eyes for a moment, dragging in a long breath through his nose. “Right. Let’s start there. I am not angry.” His voice was sharper than he wanted it to be, so he softened slightly. “Look, you don’t have to keep things like that to yourselves. You hear voices in the walls? That’s the sort of thing you bring straight to me. No debates, no hiding it because you think I will lose my temper. Got it?”

Harry nodded quickly. Hermione looked like she wanted to apologise for him, but Cassian raised a hand that stopped her in her tracks.

“I mean it,” he said. “If it happens again, I expect you sprinting straight to my door. I don’t care if it is three in the morning and you’re in your pyjamas. You run to me. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled.

“Good.” Cassian blew out a breath, “This explains a few things, at least. The snake’s not strolling through the halls waving at portraits, it’s moving in the pipes.”

Harry shifted on his feet, shooting a quick glance at Hermione. “Could it be anywhere in the castle?”

“Could be, but probably not.” Cassian tapped his knuckles against the edge of the desk, eyes narrowing as he thought. “Slytherin wasn’t going to dump his pet death machine just anywhere. If he built a Chamber, it’ll be tucked deep into the foundations. There’ll be an access point somewhere, and I’d wager it isn’t far from where you’ve been hearing that charming voice.”

Ron spoke up for the first time since they arrived. “So… if Harry’s been hearing it, does that mean he is near it?”

“Or it is near him,” Cassian said flatly. He rubbed at his neck. “Either way, we are not letting you wander off alone, Potter. You’re a walking basilisk beacon at this point.”

Hermione’s hands twisted in her sleeves. “Professor… Do you have any idea?”

Cassian nodded, scratching at the edge of his jaw. “We will figure it out.” His gaze slid over to Neville, who’d been quiet as a mouse through the entire exchange. “Why the long face, Longbottom? You hiding anything as well, or just planning to keel over from nerves?”

Neville startled like he’d been caught nicking biscuits. “N-no, sir,” he stammered. “I mean… nothing like Harry. I haven’t heard any voices or anything.”

Cassian raised a brow, tilting his head. “That a fact? You look like someone’s been feeding you a steady diet of bad dreams for weeks.”

Neville’s hands twisted around each other, knuckles going white. “I… I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt. My gran says Hogwarts used to be the safest place for people like us. Doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

There it was. The way he said people like us had that heaviness to it, pure-blood or not, Neville had seen enough sneers from Slytherins to know where he stood. Cassian felt a small pang deep in his chest but smothered it fast.

“Yeah, well, your gran isn’t wrong,” Cassian said, voice lighter now. “This place should be safe. And it will be again once we sort out the slithering problem in the pipes.”

Ron spoke up, his voice tight. “So you really think it is a basilisk, sir? I mean… that’s mental. Aren’t those things huge?”

Cassian shot him a look. “Good question, Mr Weasley. That’s the bit we are still working out.”

***

Next morning, Cassian was standing on a chair in the Great Hall, one boot planted on the seat like he was about to lead a mutiny. He clapped his hands twice to grab attention, sharp and loud enough to silence most of the chatter.

“Everyone! Eyes this way, thank you,” he called.

Students twisted in their seats, half of them mid-mouthful of porridge.

“Right. From now on, everyone in this castle is to wear these.” Cassian held up a pair of odd-looking spectacles and gave them a little wave. “Mandated. No arguments. You wear them all the time. Preferably even when you’re in bed.”

Fred and George Weasley craned their necks from the Gryffindor table.

“What are they, sir?” Fred asked, grinning.

“They look daft,” George added helpfully.

Cassian gave them a flat look. “They’re special glasses. That’s all you need to know. Put them on your face and stop whining.”

A ripple of confused muttering spread through the students.

“They don’t look very special,” muttered Seamus Finnigan.

Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, already regretting this entire exercise. “Oh, they’re special, all right. Magical lenses, developed by Professor Babbling and yours truly. Do they shoot lasers? No. Will they make you look like a prat? Possibly. Will you still wear them? Absolutely.”

Hermione Granger raised her hand cautiously. “Sir, what do they do?”

Cassian’s eyes flicked to her. “They do their job. That’s what matters.”

He didn’t explain that the “special glasses” weren’t really glasses at all. The lenses were thin mirrored charms, enchanted to behave like a camera lens… clear to the wearer but reflective from the outside. He had no idea if ordinary glass would block the Basilisk’s deadly gaze, so he wasn’t about to risk finding out.

“Sir, they are ugly,” said Pansy Parkinson, wrinkling her nose.

“You pull that off just fine Ms Parkinson,” Cassian shot back.

A few students let out nervous laughs.

“Do we really have to sleep in them?” asked Ernie Macmillan.

“Yes. Wear them, eat with them, shower with them if you must. These glasses don’t come off unless you want detention so long you’ll be polishing cauldrons into retirement.”

He jumped down from the chair and dusted his hands off. “That’s it. Don’t test me on this. If I catch one of you wandering about without them, I will glue them to your face myself.”

Fred muttered to George, “Do you reckon he’s serious?”

Cassian didn’t even look back. “Try me, Weasley. See how fast you end up looking like an owl.”

The twins shut up, though George’s grin didn’t falter.

Bathsheda huffed softly. “You could’ve explained it properly.”

“And ruin the mystery?” Cassian murmured under his breath. “Never.”

“This is going to cause an uproar, you know.”

He smirked faintly. “If they’re busy complaining about the glasses, maybe they will stop trying to catch sight of whatever’s stalking the halls.”

She didn’t argue.

Not a Spoiler, Just an image! ↓

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Author Rant ↓ 

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Sometimes I think you’’re waiting for the perfect moment to speak. History’s full of people who waited too long… Probably…

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