Standing in the middle of the first Duelling Club meeting after Christmas, Cassian let his eyes sweep the room. Students in uneven lines, some fidgeting, some pretending not to. Glasses were actually on their faces, miracle of miracles.

He gave a nod. “Good.”

Lockhart, after the embarrassment of opening night, withdrew from the club entirely. In fact, Cassian hadn’t seen so much as a flutter of his robes near a single session, not even to watch.

Shrugging, he turned to the gathered children. “Today, we’re focusing on the practical use of Flipendo. The Knockback Jinx.”

“Flint,” Cassian said, “what’s the Knockback Jinx for?”

Flint grinned. “To knock back someone.”

Cassian looked incredibly impressed for exactly half a second. “Shallow,” he said, clicking his tongue. He began to pace. “I’ve been drilling this into you since you could lift a wand without hitting yourself, spells are only as clever as you are.”

He stopped. “Anyone else? Other uses for Flipendo? Impress me.”

A few heads turned, hopeful that someone else might offer themselves up as bait.

Marcus Belby tentatively raised a hand. “You could use it to knock something down. Not just people. Shelves. Doors. Anything in the way.”

Cassian pointed at him. “Better. Basic mechanics. Still boring.”

He turned back toward the rest. “Anyone thinking outside the wand yet?”

Silence. A few blinks. Somewhere near the front, Seamus Finnigan sneezed and nearly dropped his wand. Cassian made a note, mentally, to keep him away from flammable materials.

Padma Patil offered, “I used it to push back a potion that exploded. Sort of shielded with the impact.”

“Good,” he said. “Useful. Quick thinking.”

Dean muttered something about “tripping a friend during a race,” and Cassian pretended not to hear.

He instead raised his wand and aimed at the floor.

“Flipendo.”

The spell hit the ground with a short thump, and dust shot up in a wave, swallowing half the room in a fine, chalky fog. A few students coughed. Someone sneezed.

From the centre of the haze, Cassian said, “Using it on sand, dust, anything loose enough to fly. Creates a curtain. Enough to stall a hex, break line of sight, cover your wand movement.”

He gave a sharp flick, and the dust blew out to the walls.

“Looks messy, works better than it looks. Especially if you’re not the sort who enjoys catching jinxes with your face.”

He stepped back to the front. “This is the part where I remind you that duelling isn’t about looking pretty or shouting Latin louder. It’s control, creativity, and knowing what makes your opponent trip before they do.”

“There’s a reason Knockback Jinx is one of the favourites in duelling circles,” Cassian said. “It’s easy to cast, works mid-movement, doesn’t drain much focus, and, this part’s important, if you cock it up, it doesn’t usually end in an explosion.”

“Now, some of you are thinking, ‘That’s boring, sir. It just knocks people back.’ Congratulations. You’ve described the surface of a very shallow puddle.”

He turned on the spot. “What if your opponent’s standing near stairs? Or on a slope? What if they’re shielding and you need to break that rhythm? What if they’re casting and you want to kill the line of sight? This thing’s a tool. It’s your pocket wrench. If you’ve only used it to send your brother into a pond, you’ve wasted it.”

Fred and George exchanged grins behind a few second-years. Cassian didn’t bother naming them.

“I’ve seen Knockback used to send spells off course. Flick a hand at the wand arm just as they cast, spell veers, target misses. They blink, you follow up. And if they’re cocky enough to duel with both feet planted? Easy work.”

A few nods from the Ravenclaw side.

He clapped his hands. “Right. Pair up.”

They quickly shuffled. Daphne and Tracey moved together. Harry and Ron wandered vaguely towards each other. Dean was mid-sprint to Seamus, who looked mildly alarmed.

“No fancy moves,” Cassian said, stepping aside. “We’re not going for style points. This isn’t the Yule Ball. Just basic Flipendo exchanges. Control, power, distance. You’re not here to flatten your partner, unless it’s Miss Parkinson, in which case I’ll look the other way for five seconds.”

Pansy gave him a mock poisonous look. Theo smirked.

Cassian walked over to where Pansy stood, already paired with Millicent Bulstrode, wands at the ready.

“Met your mother at the Yule Ball, Miss Parkinson.”

Pansy gave a pleased little giggle. “I’ve heard. She said you were charming.”

He rolled his eyes. “Naturally.”

Then he stepped back and flicked a hand. “Enough chatter. Start.”

Millicent was first, her Flipendo came sharp and fast. Pansy blocked it with a neat upward sweep, then retaliated. The impact shunted Millicent’s boots half an inch across the floor. Not bad.

Cassian gave a nod and crossed to the Twins, already frowning.

“Miss Johnson. Miss Spinnet. Pair with these two troublemakers, if you’d be so kind. If they misbehave, you have my blessing to punish them. Lightly.”

Angelina grinned. “Right away, sir.”

Alicia cracked her knuckles. “Been waiting all term.”

Fred and George looked absolutely betrayed. “Professor R… how could you?” Fred clutched at his chest. “After everything we’ve been through?”

Cassian ignored them and moved down the row to where Neville stood with Hermione. The boy’s stance had changed, shoulders square. For once, he wasn’t blinking clueless, he didn’t flinch from his own wand. Hermione was fending off his spells with more effort than she’d like to admit.

“Great work, Longbottom.”

Neville’s whole face lit up. “Thank you, sir.”

Cassian nodded, then turned to Hermione. “Miss Granger. Ditch the textbook posture.”

She blinked.

“You’re duelling, not posing for an illustration. Feet quick, wand where it needs to be. Whatever makes you faster, that’s the right stance.”

Hermione gave a brisk nod, adjusted, and braced again. Less tidy, but far better.

Cassian kept moving. Terry Boot had just sent a jittery Flipendo toward Anthony Goldstein, who batted it off-course with a clumsy deflection. Not elegant, but it worked.

He paused near Padma and Parvati, both focused, neither saying much. Good rhythm. Parvati flicked her wand, and Padma staggered a step but blocked with a backhand cast. Clean.

“Better,” Cassian said, eyes still watching their exchange. “Don’t wait for them to act. Make them react.”

Cassian stopped behind Harry and Ron. Weasley looked like he was trying to will the spell into existence. Harry wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

“Mr Weasley,” Cassian said, “stop trying to out-muscle the magic. Relax your grip. Wand’s not a sword.”

Ron adjusted. The next Flipendo had more flow to it. Didn’t hit, but at least it didn’t backfire.

Harry looked over, waiting.

“You,” Cassian said. “Try holding back, Potter. Teach him something.”

Harry smirked faintly. “I am.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow, then moved on.

Behind him, someone hit the floor with a loud thud and a groan. “Finnigan,” Cassian called without turning, “if I see smoke, I’m sending you to Mr Filch.”

“I’m fine!” Seamus called. “Mostly!”

“He nearly took my knee off!” Dean muttered.

“Knees are overrated,” Cassian replied.

He stopped at the far wall, arms folded, letting them continue. Hexes, blocks, laughter, the occasional yelp. Wandlight sparked in every direction. Some groups were nearly ready for real matches. Others… well, he’d keep the first-aid kit nearby.

He watched as Theo Nott sidestepped Blaise’s spell, cast back low and fast, nearly swept him feet out.

Smart.

Somewhere near the middle, Fred yelped.

“ANGELINA, THAT WAS UNCALLED FOR!”

“That was a warning shot,” she said sweetly.

“We’re being oppressed.” George dodged a spell, crying.

Cassian raised his voice. “And it’s a pleasure to watch.”

The class didn’t stop, but a few laughed. The duelling pairs shifted, traded spells again.

He nodded to himself.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was getting there.

***

After the club meeting, he and Harry sat in his room. The boy had already pulled a book from his bag, flipping it open with that half-distracted eagerness he always carried after a lesson went right.

“Thanks again for the book and er… lessons, sir.”

Cassian waved a hand. “How’s it going?”

Harry perked up. “Much better. As you put it, some spells are stronger when cast in Parseltongue.”

Cassian nodded. “Show me.”

Harry glanced at the page, then closed his eyes probably sketching the spell out in his head. When he spoke, the words curled out in that hissing, sibilant string, unnatural, a bit too sharp. He cast, and the result was stronger than it had any right to be. The flame flared fast and clean, hovering a beat longer than it should’ve before vanishing.

Cassian leaned back. “Well then.”

Harry shrugged, a little smug. “Sort of improvised. Took the structure of a push-charm, rewrote the cadence.”

Cassian crossed his arms. “Look at you, reinventing spellcraft before puberty’s done with you.”

Harry grinned. “It’s weird… in Latin, it takes more effort. Feels like dragging the spell. But in Parseltongue, it—”

“Snaps,” Cassian finished for him. “Language of intent. Less clutter. Older than Latin, maybe older than half the nonsense the Ministry still uses.”

Harry looked down at the book again. “Could I use it for all spells?”

“Maybe,” Cassian said. “Though it’d raise eyebrows if you start hissing Lumos in the library. Keep it to spells that matter. Ones that need bite.”

Harry gave a small nod.

Cassian tilted his head. “What’s it feel like when you cast in it?”

The boy thought for a second. “Like… like the spell knows what I want before I finish saying it.”

“Interesting.”

Cassian watched him a moment longer, then stood. “I’ll send more texts your way. Try the older words first. Easier to twist.”

Harry nodded, eyes still on the runes.

Cassian paused at the window. “If anyone asks, this is advanced independent study.”

Harry looked up. “What if they ask what kind?”

“Say ‘very’ and walk away.”

Harry spoke again, voice quieter now. “Sir?”

Cassian didn’t turn. “Mm?”

“Why are you helping me with this?”

The question hung there a moment.

Cassian grinned. “Everyone’s got selfish reasons for doing things, Potter. Never forget that. You’ll rarely meet anyone helping out of the goodness of their heart, and if you’re sure they are, hold on tight.”

Harry frowned. “Do you need something from me?”

Cassian shook his head. “Let’s go.”

He saw Potter back to Gryffindor, wandering the halls through a flock of illusion roosters that strutted ahead marching in formation. A few glared at Harry, but none moved to peck. Favouritism, clearly.

Halfway to his own room, Casian frowned, stopping.

Not a Spoiler, Just an image! ↓

Spoiler

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Author Rant ↓ 

Spoiler

There’s a fine line between composure and despair. I use it as a bookmark.

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