Sikander kicked his chair round to face Cassian more fully. “Alright, tell me… what is the deal with you and the second-years?”

Cassian shrugged. “I gave them a cup and a boundary line. Told them to get their names in.”

“And?”

“They immediately tried to commit identity fraud or commit potions-based self-harm.”

Bathsheda leaned forward a little. “He is annoyed they didn’t throw anything.”

Snape’s quill stilled mid-air.

Sikander blinked. “Throw?”

“Paper,” Cassian said. “Float it in. Gravity does the rest. The spell never said they couldn’t.”

Trelawney sniffed. “A cup that accepts offerings… the imagery is potent.”

Sinistra smirked. “Please tell me someone tried to crawl through.”

“Oh, absolutely. One Slytherin genuinely asked if stabbing the line might weaken it. Like wards bleed.”

Sikander laughed. “Inventive.”

“Concerning,” Cassian said. “But I will take the initiative.”

Snape finally moved. “So you mocked their attempts and praised the one who used a Muggle workaround.”

Cassian tilted his head. “You say that like I should feel bad.”

“You should feel accurate. Your exercise wasn’t about magical theory. It was about tricking children into looking stupid.”

Cassian smiled. “No trickery involved. I asked them to solve a problem. They assumed the answer had to be dramatic and magical. That is on their training.”

Snape squinted. “Your teaching methods are unorthodox.”

“Good. I seen the orthodox ones. Half the class can’t name three founders without picturing Chocolate Frog cards.”

Snape’s expression fixed somewhere between vague disdain and active offence. “So you are teaching them to ignore magic to fix that?”

Cassian shrugged. “I am teaching them to use their brain before their wand. If that is a crime, lock me up.”

“You made your stance clear. But Hogwarts has a curriculum for a reason.”

“Yeah. And it hasn’t changed since dragonhide robes were in fashion.”

Snape’s mouth twitched. Possibly a sneer. Possibly just his face reacting to the word fashion.

“You were always this arrogant.”

Cassian didn’t even flinch. “Doubt you would know me well enough. I was a first-year when you were off brooding in seventh.”

Snape’s expression flattened. “Even in your first year, you walked like you were the Prince of Slytherin.”

Cassian shrugged. “I was young, spoiled, and very impressed by how I sounded. It happens. I’ve changed. You, meanwhile, have maintained your commitment to being a major git.”

A snort came from the other end of the room, Sinistra, barely muffled. Snape ignored it.

“Your games will catch up to you.”

“Oh, probably,” Cassian said. “But I am charming, so they will take longer.”

Snape turned back to his papers like he was done. Not defeated. Just bored of the flavour.

Cassian let it drop. He wasn’t here to win points, and he didn’t particularly fancy digging up whatever festering opinion Snape still held over teenage Cassian. He hated Old Cassian more than Snape did anyway.

Bathsheda nudged his foot again under the table, not looking up. More of a ‘don’t start’ than a ‘nice one.’

Septima glanced up from her book, bringing subject back to second years. “Did they really think the ward could be intimidated?”

Cassian raised a finger. “No, no. That was just Nott. He claimed there were faint whispers arguing when he stood near it.”

Sikander raised a brow. “Were there?”

“I might’ve added a bit of pizzazz to the light illusion. Just a little bit to make the cup shimmer if someone got too close.”

Bathsheda sipped her tea with a look suggesting she was weighing whether she should bother finishing it or chuck the cup at his head. “You will traumatise them.”

Cassian gasped. “I would not do such a thing. My intentions are so pure, unicorns would feel ashamed.”

She stared at him.

He stared back, unrepentant.

“If you weren’t a professor, you would be a problem.”

“I am both,” he said, grinning. “Multitalented.”

She muttered something into her teacup that sounded very unprofessional. Probably accurate, though.

Cassian turned back to Sikander. “Anyway, the whole point was to see how they would handle a problem without being spoon-fed a solution. Guess what they did?”

“Drew blood and wept?”

“Close. They tried every spell in the book and then some not in the book. One of them actually wanted to bring out a charm designed to bypass dragon wards. For a cup.”

Bathsheda cut in. “What he is not saying is that the Ravenclaws solved it.”

“Hey,” Cassian said. “Only one did and she was a Muggle-born, thank you very much. The rest were halfway through writing to their great-aunt to borrow cursed heirlooms.”

Cassian lowered his voice slightly. “The worst part? They looked insulted it didn’t need a wand.”

“Probably felt cheated,” Sikander said.

Cassian scoffed. “Good. That is the first step towards recovery.”

***

Next day, Cassian was visited by a student he liked to tease a lot.

He looked up from his grading stack… half-marked essays and a very artistic attempt at drawing Helga Hufflepuff as a badger, just in time to catch a flash of wild hair and a scowl that could scare thunderclouds.

“Nymphadora! What a pleasant surprise, how may I help you?”

She stopped in the doorway like she was bracing for impact. Her fists clenched.

“Professor R, can you not call me that. PLEASE.”

He tapped his pen against his chin. “Depends on why you are here. If it is interesting, I may stop calling you that… for a week”

She looked like she might bite him. “It is Tonks. Everyone calls me Tonks.”

“Yes, yes,” he waved a hand. “And some people call jam ‘conserve’, but we can’t stop society from collapsing.”

“Professor,” she said, with a warning tone that had all the weight of a kitten threatening a kneazle.

“Fine. Tonks. There. That cost me a sliver of my soul.”

She marched forward, pulled out the nearest chair, and dropped into it. Her eyes, always the giveaway, were darting. Restless and fiery purple.

“You are clever, right?” Tonks said, fingers laced. “I mean, you teach us to think outside the box. I saw how it helped others. And me too. I got better at a bunch of spells thanks to that.”

Cassian raised a hand, “If this is you buttering me up, continue. I like it. Bonus points if you add how devastatingly handsome I am.”

She groaned, slumping forward till her forehead thudded against the edge of his desk. “It wasn’t.”

“Pity.” He nudged a parchment aside with the tip of his pen, pulling another one “Go on, then. What is the actual request?”

She didn’t look up right away. Just sighed into the table. Then, quietly said, “I was wondering if you could help me with… you know. With my condition.”

Cassian froze mid-scribble.

He set the pen down and gave her a look.

“Metamorphmagus,” he asked. “That condition?”

She nodded. “Yeah. That one.”

He crossed one leg over the other. “Tonks… you are one of about two people on this continent who can bend their face like toffee and still moan about homework. What is the problem?”

She sat up, “That is just it. I can do faces, hair, height… whatever. That stuff is easy. But it is all… reflex. I don’t control it. Not really. Half the time it is just mood swings.”

“And the other half?”

“Guesswork. Stressy days? I grow a beard. Sad? I go grey. Angry? I turn into my mum. And that is not a therapy session I am ready for.”

Cassian blinked. “Sounds like an identity crisis with bonus features.”

She huffed. “It is a bloody nuisance, what is. Professor Vector caught me yesterday mid-argument with my nose turning into a hooked monstrosity.”

He coughed into his fist.

“I am serious,” she snapped. “Everyone thinks it is hilarious, or cool, or like, I dunno… some kind of party trick. But I can’t sit still in my own skin. I keep changing even when I don’t mean to. I thought maybe, with how you teach… maybe you would know how to help.”

He studied her. She was sitting dead still, jaw clenching, fingers curled together like if she moved too much she might turn into something she would regret.

“Have you talked to Madam Pomfrey?” he asked.

She shrugged. “She gave me grounding charms and a breathing exercise. Helped for about five minutes. I nearly turned blue in Potions trying to calm down.”

Cassian tapped the edge of the desk, thinking. “Alright. Not a Healer. But you are not asking for potions, are you?”

“No,” she said. “I need… structure. Like what you gave the others.”

He considered it. Not impossible. Just tricky. This wasn’t a spell to tweak or a rune to draw. This was identity. And Tonks wasn’t wrong… most people did treat her ability like a parlour trick. Entertaining, but shallow. No one had probably ever taught her how to master it.

“Right,” Cassian said, standing up. He circled around the desk. “I am not an expert in magical transformations. But…” He gave her a look, one brow raised. “I got a few ideas rattling about. Give me a bit to think.”

Tonks looked up, hopeful but stiff, like she didn’t want to get her expectations up for nothing.

“You won’t tell anyone?”

“Only if you turn into McGonagall and catch me off-guard. Then I reserve the right to scream and point.”

She snorted, pushing herself upright. “I would pay to see that.”

Cassian tapped the side of his head. “Careful. I might invoice you for emotional damage.” He stepped past her, grabbed a spare scroll off the side table and started scribbling something down. Notes, thoughts, nonsense… it would sort itself later.

He handed it over without looking up. “Start tracking it. Times, changes, what set it off. Think like a cursebreaker for your own face. Patterns matter.”

She took the scroll, brow creased. “Isn’t that… I dunno, too simple?”

“If it works, it works. Doesn’t need to explode or glow.”

Spoiler

[collapse]

To you.

Devoted in secret.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep