Bathsheda came to stand at the edge of the desk now, watching closely.

Tonks took the potion with visible reluctance, staring down into the sludge.

Cassian raised a brow. “Problem?”

“It smells like a damp sock,” she muttered.

“It is not a cocktail, Tonks. Bottoms up.”

She downed it in one gulp, gagging halfway as her face twisted. The sound she made belonged to someone drinking sewage. “Urgh. That is foul.”

“Yes, well, so was the man whose hair you just swallowed. Let’s see how you wear him.”

Tonks doubled over as the change hit, spine bowing forward. Her skin rippled. Shoulders broadened. Fingers stretched out longer, thicker. Her nose cracked slightly as it bent into a new shape. Whole process took ten, maybe twelve seconds… and then the chair was occupied by someone else entirely. Tall, gaunt, greying temples and narrow brown eyes.

Cassian looked her up and down. “Right then. Meet Fergus Macnair. Lovely chap. Does wand maintenance in Knockturn. Bit of a limp.”

“Why the hell would you pick him?” Tonks asked… though now, the voice came in a low, almost gravelled growl.

“Because he has very recognisable ears and bad posture. Should give you something to wrestle.”

She looked down at herself. “This is wrong. My joints feel like they are on backwards.”

Cassian clapped. “Perfect. Now try to undo it.”

Tonks scowled… or tried to. The borrowed face didn’t quite get the expression right. She closed her eyes, sat stiff for a moment, then… her nose shrank, jaw pulled in, hair flickered blonde for a second before snapping back to greying.

Nothing else moved.

Bathsheda stepped forward. “You are overcorrecting. You are trying to rewrite the entire body at once.”

Cassian nodded. “Start with one thing. Your hand, maybe. Anchor yourself to it. Don’t force it. Let it remember you.”

Tonks drew a sharp breath, focused on her right hand. For a moment, nothing. Then the fingers twitched, grew smaller, knuckles softening. The nails rounded back to her usual bitten tips. Her wrist followed, then the elbow jerked as though it didn’t quite want to go.

Cassian tilted his head. “Keep going.”

She gritted her teeth and kept her focus locked on the sensation… until the right arm was hers again, but the rest of her looked like someone halfway through a bad transfiguration.

It was clumsy. But it was working.

Cassian gave a nod. “Now hold it. Don’t lose the hand.”

Tonks took another breath, went for the face. The Macnair nose collapsed in on itself, then stretched sideways. She yelped, and her face half-shifted into what looked like her mother’s wedding portrait before snapping violently back into Macnair.

Cassian winced. “Alright, nope, stop. Pause.”

Bathsheda stepped in, a vial out.

She fed it to her and Tonks slammed back into her own skin… literally. Her whole body jolted. She fell forward, caught herself on the desk.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, hair smoking slightly at the roots. “That sucked.”

“Good,” Cassian nodded. “Means it is doing something.”

Tonks didn’t answer. Just sat there breathing heavily.

Bathsheda handed her a glass of water. “You did well. But don’t push it. Cass, maybe don’t give her Macnair next time.”

“Fine,” he said. “Next round she can be Dumbledore. She will sparkle.”

Tonks took the water and drained it in one go. Her hand still trembled. But the look she shot Cassian wasn’t scared… it was hungry.

“You think this will work?” she asked.

“Eventually. It is like any reflex. You train it enough, it stops fighting you.”

She nodded, still breathing hard, but steadier now. “Alright. Let’s do it again.”

Cassian snorted. “No. Sit. That was round one. You will get more chances, don’t worry. But unless you fancy permanently turning into Snape, we are spacing these out.”

Tonks flopped back into the chair and slumped. “You know,” she said, “when I came in here, I thought you would laugh me out.”

Cassian snickered. “Oh, I preserve the right to laugh at you. I just have too much pride not to fix it first.”

Tonks rolled her eyes and let her head flop against the back of the chair. “You are the worst.”

“Thank you.” He tossed a scrap of parchment into the bin and missed by a heroic margin. “Now drink your water before you pass out and I have to explain to Poppy why one of har wards smells like  damp socks.”

Bathsheda went back to flipping through her notebook. Occasionally, she scribbled something in the margins, but whatever she was thinking didn’t make it out loud.

Tonks rubbed her temples. “You know, I thought this would be like… some advice and a hug. Not forced potion therapy and amateur exorcism.”

Cassian reached over, plucked the empty glass from her hand. “I doubt your mum refrains from giving you hugs. I met her once. Lovely woman. Gave you such a good name too.”

Tonks scowled, though her cheeks went a shade redder than usual. “Shove off.”

He chuckled, setting the glass down. “Alright, that concludes the first session of… whatever this ends up being. Go on. Rest. You look like you’ve been steamrolled by your own bones.”

“I feel like that too.”

“And that, my little hatchling, is my reward.”

She shot him a look. It wasn’t even angry… just tired, annoyed, and faintly betrayed.

“Oh,” he added, lifting a finger, “this whole thing? Highly illegal. Even the potion. Brewed in the dark, away from nosy portraits and nosier policies.”

Tonks straightened slightly. “Wait… illegal illegal?”

“Do you know any other kind?”

“That is not…” She paused, then squinted. “You are serious?”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “No, he is your uncle. I am Cassian. Try to keep up.”

She let out a groan and buried her face in her hands. “I am going to get expelled.”

“You won’t,” he said. “Unless you brag about it in the common room, in which case… yes, and I will deny everything. Might even plant evidence that you were trying to steal my identity to smear the good name of Cassian Rosier. Then people will be shocked twice.”

“Why twice?”

“Because they will wonder why you assumed my name needed smearing in the first place.”

Bathsheda made a sound that might’ve been a laugh or a sigh, depending on how generous one was being. “Just leave, please, Ms Tonks. He is babbling when he is excited.”

Cassian leaned in towards Tonks without missing a beat. “She is trying to force me to take her last name.”

Both women rolled their eyes. Tonks didn’t even dignify it with a response, just shoved herself up from the chair and walked out, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a hex, minus the wand.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Cassian glanced at Bathsheda, eyebrows raised. “You do realise she is going to try and turn herself into me now, right? Possibly by accident. Possibly out of spite.”

“She would fail spectacularly,” Bathsheda said, flipping her notebook closed. “Your ego alone would snap her spine.”

“That is fair.”

***

They repeated the process every other day. Sometimes skipped one when Bathsheda had three essays to kill and no will to revive them. Of the three of them, she was the only adult-shaped human in the room if things went sideways, and the only one who didn’t think “healing” was synonymous with “hope for the best.”

By the end of the month, Tonks could pull herself back together mid-Polyjuice like it was second nature. Quick breath, steady hands, and bam… her face was her own again. No beard, no backward ribs, no accidental Snape nose. Thank god.

Cassian clapped after her last attempt. “Look at that. All grown up. I am proud.”

Tonks, still panting, glared off without grace.

Cassian turned, wandered to the shelf, and rattled through the vials. “Right then. You mastered panic reflex. Now let’s see if you can manage finesse.”

She groaned into her sleeves. “No more vials. Please. I am still tasting the last one.”

Bathsheda didn’t look up from her notes. “You need water. Not whining.”

“Tell her I deserve sympathy.”

“She is right. You are dehydrated and dramatic. Pick one.”

Cassian whistled, pulling out a bottle with a deep green slosh and a number seven scratched into the glass. “Next task, young grasshopper. Transform into a new face while under duress. Same rules, less mercy.”

Tonks raised a brow. “Do not call me that.”

Cassian wagged a finger in the air. “You can either ban Nymphadora or Young Grasshopper. Choose wisely. You only get one.”

Tonks narrowed her eyes. “You are lucky I haven’t learned how to hex with my eyebrows.”

“Give it a week,” Cassian muttered, reaching for a hair. “Since you are already familiar with Mrs Tonks on a deeply personal and possibly traumatic level, we will use her.”

Tonks blinked, wary. “Use her how?”

He held up the vial. “Polyjuice. You drink this, you turn into someone else… random bloke, not her. But then, while your bones are doing the tango, I want you to use your own gift to shift back. Into your mum.”

Bathsheda glanced over the rim of her notebook. “You are joking.”

“I rarely do anything else,” He puffed out his chest, unscrewing the lid with a little flourish. “But no. This is serious. Don’t.” He raised his hand, catching the spakr in her eyes. “It is one thing to morph on cue… another to claw your way back when someone else is driving.”

Tonks stared at the potion. “You are insane.”

“Probably,” he admitted with a thoughtful nod. “But if this works, it will be because you forced your own identity through the mess. The human mind is stubborn. Even when wearing someone else’s bones.”

She grugdingly accepted.

Well, it took even longer.

Two months in, and Tonks still couldn’t manage to pull herself into her mum’s face while Polyjuice was dragging her into someone else’s face. Returning to her own skin? Fine. A bit of focus, a lot of cursing, and she could snap back like a stubborn rubber band. But shifting into another specific person, especially while her biology was already hijacked, was a whole other mess. Felt like trying to balance a spinning plate on a broomstick. Blindfolded. Mid-earthquake.

Cassian didn’t push her. Not much, anyway. Bit of teasing, maybe. Bit of bait. But the training kept going.

That was the night work.

Daytime? Still had a job to do. A horde of bright-eyed little disasters to wrangle, essays to grade, and the occasional fire to stomp out, sometimes literal.

Eight weeks in, Cassian finally got what he’d been working towards. Something shifted.

It started with the usual, second-years shouting over each other, arguing about which feather belonged to which owl before someone pointed out they were still inside and that was definitely a quill.

Quickly dismissing them, and making it halfway through his room when something shifted.

It wasn’t flashy. No sparks, no thunderclaps. Just… a click.

His magic stirred.

Cassian blinked.

Text scrolled across his vision, too fast to be mistaken.

Ancient Variant Unlocked: Gravitas Ascendio

Spoiler

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You’ve made lurking into an art form.

Shame I’Ve no idea who you are.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep