Yohen Tanner didn’t have a grown granddaughter helping him around the shop yet. Lorielle was probably a toddler right now… maybe not even walking. Cassian shouldn’t have known that name. Worse, he shouldn’t have said it.

Cassian’s stomach dropped as his mind raced. Lorielle Tanner was twenty-five in his past life. That meant… he did some quick calculations, she wasn’t even born yet. Phew.

Tanner’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Who the hell is Lorielle?”

Cassian laughed. “Haha, sorry. I was singing in my head… gotta see the rainy day, follow the dream to skies so pale, drift with the winds that set the sail…” He grinned. “Say hi to Lorielle.”

Yohen Tanner narrowed his eyes. “What?”

Cassian shrugged, still smirking. “Just a tune. You know how it is… sometimes a line gets stuck in your head, and it comes out before you think.”

Tanner didn’t look convinced. His gaze lingered on Cassian a little too long, the kind of look an old man gives when deciding if someone iss bullshitting him. Then, finally, he huffed, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Bloody historians. Always talking in riddles.”

Cassian chuckled and stepped out of the bookshop, the day already setting. Tanner’s grumbling faded behind him, though he didn’t doubt the old man would still be muttering insults long after he was gone. He slung the bag now carrying his books over his shoulder and made his way to the Underground.

The journey back was quiet, the late hour thinning out the usual crowds. By the time he reached Rosier Manor, the sky had settled into deep black, the estate looming ahead like some relic from a  dark fantasy.

Inside, the usual scent of expensive food and something faintly floral… probably whatever enchantment his mother insisted on having refreshed daily. He barely had time to set his bag down before a house-elf appeared at his elbow, bowing stiffly.

“Dinner is served, Master Cassian,” the elf said, bowing deeply..

Cassian crouched, eyeing the small, hunched figure in front of him. “How are you doing, Towel? It’s been a while.”

The house-elf flinched at being addressed, his large, bat-like ears twitching as he kept his gaze firmly on the floor. Cassian sighed. The old Cassian had terrorised the poor creature so much that a simple smile or kind word was met with wariness, as if a kick might follow at any moment.

Cassian held out the bag he was carrying. “Put these on my desk.”

Towel took them quickly, his thin fingers curling around the strap as he scurried away without a word. Cassian watched him go. He shook it off and walked towards the dining table. Another elf appeared at his side, silently helping him clean his hands with magic before he sat down.

The entire Rosier family was gathered tonight, as expected for the first meal after the school term ended. The long dining table stretched before him, lined with polished silverware and pristine plates. Cassian slid into his seat, taking a look around.

His grandfather, Magnus, sat at the head of the table, his sharp blue eyes scanning the room like a man still used to holding power, despite his retirement. His grandmother, Catherine, perched beside him, thin-lipped and stiff, always radiating omni-disapproval.

His father, Regulus, was in a hushed conversation with Lucian, likely discussing some Ministry business Cassian couldn’t be bothered to care about. His mother, Ophelia, sat across from him, elegant as ever, though her attention was fixed on her plate, as if even looking at Cassian might be a waste of time.

The rest of the family filled the seats in their usual places. Uncles, aunts, cousins… each one with their own ambitions, each one knowing exactly where they ranked in the unspoken hierarchy of the Rosiers. Cassian, as always, was at the bottom.

Dinner began, the house-elves moving seamlessly through the room. Cassian ate without rush, half-listening to the murmured conversations around him.

Armand, his stocky, broad-shouldered uncle, broke the relative quiet. “Lucian, I hear you handled the Selwyn incident well. Didn’t even leave a trace.” 

Lucian lifted his head, his usual self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “The Aurors never even got a whiff of it.”

Armand chuckled. “Good. The last thing we need is more Ministry oversight.”

Cassian speared a piece of roasted pheasant, taking his time chewing before he spoke. “Shame. I was hoping for a thrilling scandal to read about in the Prophet.”

Lucian lightly scoffed, unimpressed. “It is a family matter, Cassian. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

Cassian smirked. “You are right. I can’t say I have much experience in covering up whatever it is you lot get up to these days.”

“Spare us your ignorance,” Viola, his aunt, cut in, sharp eyes locking onto him like a predator finding weak prey. “You’ve been playing professor for a year now, haven’t you? Tell me, how does it feel to be surrounded by children who probably surpass you in magical ability?”

Cassian swirled his tea lazily. “Not as humiliating as watching you desperately cling to relevance in a family that’s already moved on from you.”

A faint snort came from somewhere down the table, possibly Selena, though she covered it well by taking a sip of her drink.

Viola’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she turned to Magnus. “It is a wonder you still allow him to waste the family name like this, Father.”

Magnus silenced Viola with a sharp glance before turning to Cassian. “His placement at Hogwarts was decided by Regulus and me. And from what I hear, he’s done well… teaching students to question the so-called friendship between wizards and Muggles. That alone makes his presence there worthwhile.”

Cassian kept his expression neutral, taking a slow sip of tea. He had no doubt Magnus had sources feeding him reports, but it was amusing how the man had twisted his approach. Teaching history properly, without whitewashing, without simplifying, wasn’t the same as pushing pureblood superiority.

This was his task to begin with. Regulus and Magnus had placed him at Hogwarts with a clear expectation, subtly reinforce the Rosier worldview. From the outside, it looked like he was doing exactly that. He taught history with all its uncomfortable truths, questioning the so-called harmony between wizards and Muggles. But what he was actually doing was pushing them to think for themselves. To question everything.

It wasn’t about feeding them a new ideology, it was about making them realise there wasn’t just one.

Cassian basked in Viola’s face, and let Magnus believe whatever he wanted.

“A necessary perspective,” his grandfather continued, nodding slightly. “The younger generation is too quick to accept revisionist history. They need to be reminded of the past as it truly was.”

Viola forced a smile. “Then at least he is serving some purpose.”

Cassian turned his head lazily towards her. “That is right. You should be thrilled. For the first time in my life, I am actually useful.”

Regulus ended the conversation before anyone else could comment on it. “Your position at Hogwarts is valuable, Cassian. You did well.”

Cassian smiled faintly, lifting his glass in mock salute. For now, he played along, letting them think he was exactly where they wanted him… guiding young minds in the ‘right’ direction, reinforcing the Rosier worldview. If they wanted to believe he was moulding little Rosier foot soldiers for the next generation, let them. The truth was far less convenient. It was going to be a rude awakening.

But not yet.

He would wait. The longer he stayed, the more entrenched he became, the harder it would be to remove him. And when the time came… when he had enough credibility, enough standing that not even Magnus or Regulus could make Dumbledore cast him out, he would cut ties for good.

The conversation moved on, shifting to Ministry affairs and business dealings, none of which interested Cassian in the slightest. Armand and Alistair discussed recent policy changes that could impact their less-than-legal ventures, while Damien offered insights on Wizengamot politics. 

***

The following week passed without much incident. Cassian did his best to avoid the worst of his relatives, keeping his head down and making himself as uninteresting as possible, something he had perfected in the past year. The Rosiers were too busy with their own affairs to pay him much mind beyond the occasional dig about his “teaching hobby,” which he let roll off his back.

By the time he was ready to leave, he had to go through the usual performance of asking for permission, which was mostly for show. Magnus barely acknowledged it beyond a vague nod, and Regulus only cared enough to remind him to “represent the family properly.” Cassian assured them he would, though they probably wouldn’t be thrilled with his actual plans.

With that, he left Rosier Manor behind, making his way to meet up with Bathsheda.

They met at the Portkey station near the Ministry, where she was already waiting with her luggage and a bundle of documents tucked under her arm. Cassian eyed the stack.

“Are you planning to read ancient runes mid-portkey?” he asked.

Bathsheda smiled. “If I get bored enough.”

Spoiler

[collapse]

Cassian hands you a parchment. It is blank.

“Thought I’d let you write your own apology.

Since I’ve written everything else.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep