Year ended, and Cassian took the train from Hogsmeade with the students, not because he had to, but because Apparating was beyond him, and calling a house-elf just to fetch him home was too much effort. Besides, he liked trains. The steady rhythm, the muted conversations leaking between compartments, the scenery flashing past… it was oddly grounding, a quiet simplicity magic never managed to replicate.

The Hogwarts Express was loud, as always. Younger students chattered excitedly about summer plans, older ones slumped in their seats, exhausted from exams. A few prefects made a half-hearted attempt to maintain order, but no one cared. The term was over, and discipline was left behind at the castle. Cassian sat with a couple of second years in his compartment, flipping through a book he borrowed from the library… one he conveniently forgotten to return before leaving. Madam Pince would probably lecture him about it later. But it wasn’t his fault, the night he was deliberating whether to return them, Mulford was cursed. 

The train pulled into King’s Cross, and Cassian stepped onto the platform, blending easily into the flow of students reuniting with their families. Lucian was waiting near the exit, looking as well put as ever with his dark robe. His younger cousin, Odette, stood beside him, hands tucked into the pockets of her cloak. Her blue eyes flicked to Cassian, unimpressed, before she turned her attention back to Lucian, as if he was the only one worth acknowledging.

Arriving at the waiting cluster of Rosiers, Cassian lifted a hand in an easy wave. “You lot go ahead. I will take public transport.”

Lucian raised a brow, unimpressed. “What, the Knight Bus? Feeling adventurous?”

Selena looked intrigued for half a second but seemed to decide against commenting. Odette, however, wrinkled her nose in that particularly disdainful way only a twelve-year-old could manage. “The elves are here, cousin. Don’t be difficult.”

Cassian snorted and reached out, ruffling her perfectly arranged platinum hair before she could dodge. “Don’t worry about me, Odette.”

She let out a sharp huff, stepping away as she smoothed her hair back into place, eyes blazing with indignation. “You are the worst.”

“Family trait,” he said with a grin, stepping past her before she could try to retaliate. Lucian shook his head, clearly considering whether Cassian was even worth engaging with, but ultimately didn’t bother.

“You will regret it,” was all he said before turning on his heel and heading towards the Apparition area, Odette following after him.

Selena lingered, studying Cassian with something between amusement and curiosity. “Public transport?”

He shrugged. “Why not? Hogwarts Express was fine. Might as well complete the experience.”

Selena smirked. “Just don’t get lost. You’ve spent most of your life being Apparated around.”

“I am sure I will manage.”

She gave him one last glance before following the rest of the family, leaving Cassian standing in the middle of King’s Cross, watching as the Rosier contingent disappeared into the crowd.

Cassian took the Underground. Partly because he could, partly because he missed watching how Muggles functioned without magic. The station bustled with the usual rush-hour chaos… businessmen in suits, tired mothers wrangling children, teenagers clumped together in loud, laughing groups. The train arrived with a screech of brakes, and he stepped inside, finding a corner to lean against as the carriage jerked forward.

After a few stops, he changed lines, slipping through the station like he done it a thousand times, because he had. The Tube map looked like chaos to most people, all crisscrossed colours and angles, but to him it made sense. Knew where to stand, where the doors opened, where the crowds bunched up.

Eventually, he arrived at the location he had in mind. Whether it existed in this world was another matter, but his target was a small, tucked-away bookshop he often visited in his past life.

Stepping outside, Cassian glanced up at the sign. Tanner’s Rare Books & Maps.

Huh. Still here.

He pushed open the door, and the familiar scent of old paper and ink hit him instantly. The place was exactly as he remembered. Dimly lit, shelves stacked haphazardly with books, the faint sound of a crackling radio playing from the back… The owner, an elderly man sat behind the counter, flipping through a ledger. He glanced up, giving Cassian a quick once-over.

“Looking for something specific?”

Cassian stepped further inside, eyes scanning the spines. “Old texts. Preferably pre-civilazation.”

The old man hummed, standing with a creak of joints. “Follow me.”

Cassian trailed after him through the narrow aisles until they reached the back, where a locked cabinet held the more valuable collections. The owner pulled out a key, unlocked it, and stepped aside.

“Help yourself. Prices aren’t negotiable.”

Cassian nearly blurted out, “I know, old man,” before catching himself. He had to remind himself that, in this life, this was his first time meeting Yohen Tanner. Still, it was a shock to see him looking just as ancient as he had a quarter of a century later in Cassian’s past life.

How old is he? Cassian wondered, but he let it go. Probably best not to question it.

He turned his attention to the books instead. The titles on the shelves were familiar, their worn covers and spines bringing back memories of long nights spent reading in another life. Seeing them here, unchanged, solidified a strange truth… history seemed to have played out the same way, despite the existence of magic. No butterfly effect, no rewritten past.

He snorted to himself. Magic must’ve decided history wasn’t worth tampering with.

Shaking his head, Cassian reached for a book. History of Ancient Magic. Not an actual magic book, of course, just a historical fiction novel about the myths and beliefs surrounding magical practices in different cultures. He read it in his past life when it had been nothing more than speculation. But here? Here, it might actually hold something real.

“Good choice,” Yohen muttered, watching him as he flipped through the pages. “That one’s been around for a while.”

Cassian glanced up. “How old is this copy?”

Yohen scratched his chin, thinking. “That edition? About eighty years.”

Cassian whistled . “Not bad.” He kept flipping through, scanning for anything that might stand out. If nothing else, it would be interesting to compare this world’s historical interpretation of magic with what he knew from before.

Yohen leaned back against the counter. “You a historian?”

Cassian smirked. “Something like that.”

“Good. Means you might actually appreciate the books rather than just collecting them for show.”

Cassian closed the book with a quiet thump. “You would be surprised how many people think owning a shelf full of old books makes them an expert.”

Yohen huffed. “More than I care to count.”

After a few more minutes of browsing, Cassian gathered a small stack and carried them to the counter. Yohen Tanner glanced up from his ledger, eyes narrowing slightly as he checked the books Cassian picked. He thumbed through the titles, giving a small grunt of approval at one or two before lighting a cigarette with a flick of his battered old lighter.

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “Smoking in a bookshop?”

Tanner exhaled a slow stream of smoke, entirely unbothered.

“Been doing it longer than you’ve been alive, lad.”

Cassian shook his head, eyeing the cigarette like it was a personal offence. “I swear, you are one stray ember away from committing a crime on par with burning the Library of Alexandria.”

The old man’s glare was one Cassian had seen before. In his past life, he argued with Yohen Tanner more times than he could count about the idiocy of smoking in a shop full of ancient books. Once, he called the man a sinner on par with those who burned the Library of Alexandria. Tanner was so livid he’d shaken for an hour.

Now, decades earlier but just as stubborn, Tanner’s face twisted with fury, his thin lips curling back like a dog about to bite. His hands, worn from years of flipping pages and counting coins, trembled as he jabbed a finger at Cassian.

“You DARE compare those book-burning, knowledge-desecrating, barbaric heathens to my SMOKING? Are you mad, boy? MAD?!” His voice cracked with sheer outrage. “You think I am some ignorant fool, setting fire to history? THINK, BOY! These books have lived longer than you, longer than your entire BLOODY lineage, and you think a little smoke is the end of them?” He slammed a palm down on the counter, rattling the books stacked beside him. “Blasphemy! Heresy! Utter intellectual sacrilege!”

Cassian, suppressing the laughter that was on verge of bursting, leaned casually on the counter like a man enjoying fine theatre. “I am just saying, sir, one stray ember and you would be a walking historical tragedy. Imagine the obituary… ‘Bookshop Owner Goes Up in Flames Alongside Priceless Literature.'”

Tanner scoffed, muttering something vicious under his breath as he grabbed a scrap of paper and scrawled out a number in quick, sharp strokes. He shoved it across the counter with a glare that could’ve rot flesh.

“That is your price. And don’t try haggling, I will throw you out.”

Cassian glanced at the number. Twenty-eight quid. A steal, really, considering the quality of the books he was walking away with. He pulled out a few notes, dropping them onto the counter. “Pleasure doing business.”

Tanner snatched up the money, tucking it away with a grumble. “Bloody historians. Smug little parasites living off the sweat of real collectors. Always think they are the clever ones.”

Getting a reaction out of the old man was always worth it. And now, knowing the stubborn bastard might still be alive in another twenty-five years, Cassian wasn’t worried about shortening his lifespan with a bit of provocation. He chuckled, waving a lazy hand over his shoulder as he stepped away.

“Say hi to Lorielle.”

The words had barely left his mouth before he realised his mistake. His blood went cold.

Shit.

Spoiler

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep