Cassian stood, brushing crumbs off his coat, then cupped a hand around his mouth. “Draco Malfoy! Come back here.”

Malfoy froze mid-step, back rigid. He turned like someone had cast Petrificus Totalus.

“This isn’t your class,” he called, aiming for smug, cracking halfway through.

Cassian gave him a nod. “Right. Except Madam Hooch left me in charge. Which makes me your favourite professor for the next… what, twenty minutes?” He motioned him over. “I said come here.”

The boy hesitated, weighing defiance against consequences, then stalked back, sneering as if to dare Cassian run his mouth again.

Cassian pointed to the space in front of him. “Closer. I don’t want to shout. You are not worth the effort.”

Malfoy trudged forward, jaw clenched.

Cassian stepped around him, hands behind his back. “Explain why you stole a classmate’s keepsake, threatened to stash it where he couldn’t reach it, dared another to chase you mid-air, then decided to throw said keepsake from a height that could’ve killed him.” He leaned forward. “Be careful, Draco. Your answers might put Daddy in trouble.”

That did it. Draco’s face went taut, eyes flashing.

Draco didn’t meet his eyes. “It was just a joke, ‘Professor.'”

“A joke,” Cassian repeated, slow, as if tasting it. “Right. I missed the punchline. Was it when Longbottom fell, or when Potter nearly brained himself?”

“I didn’t mean for him to fall,” Draco said quickly.

Cassian tilted his head. “No? So throwing something while suspended in mid-air with no guarantee he could catch it or survive the fall… that was what, a bonding exercise?”

Malfoy breathed hard from his nose. “I didn’t think he’d actually go after it.”

Cassian’s smile thinned. “So you were trying to destroy the Longbottom heir’s heirloom?”

Draco’s shoulders twitched, mouth working. “I didn’t mean to… “

“Didn’t mean to what? Hurl it with enough force to dent a roof tile?” Cassian took a step closer, “That is odd. Because it looked a lot like you wanted it broken, or lost, or picked up in pieces with Longbottom crying over it.”

Draco’s mouth snapped shut. “It was a—”

“You said it already,” Cassian stared at him. “But let me entertain it. A classic Slytherin joke. Theft, mid-air endangerment, and emotional sabotage. Hilarious.” He glanced over his shoulder at Harry and back again. “Must have them rolling in the common room.”

Draco didn’t reply.

Cassian chuckled. “Well, that is thirty points from Slytherin. And one week detention.”

Malfoy snapped his head around. “You can’t do that. My Father will hear about it.”

Cassian smiled wider. “Two weeks. Dare me more.”

A voice cut through the field. “What is going on in here?”

McGonagall’s cloak flared behind her as she marched across the grass. Her eyes bounced from Malfoy to Harry to the scattered class and then fixed, of course, on Cassian.

“Professor Rosier,” McGonagall said, in the tone people reserved for murderers and late paperwork. “No. Professor Babbling, please. I am not in the mood to decode Professor Rosier.”

Cassian pulled out a cookie from his pocket. He waved it like it was legal tender. “Oh, don’t let me interrupt. This is thrilling. Shall I narrate?”

Bathsheda looked far too calm for someone caught in a Malfoy-initiated chaos storm. “Longbottom went up too early. Cassian caught him. No bones broken.” Then went on, explaining the rest of the story.

Cassian gestured grandly to the sky. “He flew. Briefly. Like a very round, very confused pigeon.”

McGonagall turned to Harry, who was still holding the Remembrall tight. “Mr Potter. Did you chase Mr Malfoy into the air?”

Harry opened his mouth, probably to lie, but Cassian cut in.

“He absolutely did,” he said. “And it was brilliant.”

“Professor Rosier,” she snapped.

“What? I am not rewarding it. I am just acknowledging that if the boy doesn’t end up on a broom professionally, we’ve all wasted a prodigy. Actually, I am rewarding him. 10 points to Gryffindor.”

Harry turned faintly pink.

Malfoy, meanwhile, tried to speak, but McGonagall held up a hand.

“Not now.”

Cassian took another bite of the cookie, “For what it is worth, I did issue a punishment. Two weeks detention. And thirty points from Slytherin.”

McGonagall blinked. “You what?”

Cassian tilted his head. “Did I stutter?”

She gave a small breath through her nose. “You are not authorised to assign detentions to students not in your class.”

“I was in charge,” he said. “Temporarily. That makes me acting authority.”

McGonagall squinted, probably deciding whether to go with it or argue. “Fine. Mr Potter, come with me.”

Hermione made a sound like she was winding up for a defence, but Cassian waved her off before she could load the speech.

“He is not in trouble.” He looked at Harry, then back at McGonagall. “I may not look like it, but I am still a professor. I told him to fly. If anything happens, it will be on me.”

Bathsheda took a bite of tart, unbothered. “So you do admit you don’t dress like a Professor.”

Cassian pouted. “I meant I am young and charming.”

“You are neither,” she said, flat as stone, just skippable.

Harry trailed after McGonagall. The rest of the class stood frozen, half expecting a lightning strike or sudden suspension.

Cassian turned to them and clapped twice. “Show is over.”

Lavender raised a hand. “Professor, do we still fly?”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “Mocking me, are you, Miss Brown? Told you, don’t know how to fly. Let’s all lie down and stare at the sky. Pretend we got talent.”

A few of them laughed… half-relieved, half-still waiting to see if another broom might take off on its own and chew someone’s leg off. The brooms stayed grounded. The students didn’t. Lavender dropped with the kind of theatrical sigh that begged attention, Seamus followed like he meant to nap, and Hermione sat so stiffly it looked like the grass might contaminate her trousers.

Cassian flopped back with a grunt. The sky stretched wide above them, clouds drifting lazy and fat across a blue too bright to be trusted. A lone hawk wheeled overhead.

“Imagine you are flying,” he said. “Real flying. Wind in your eyes, teeth frozen, every part of you clenched because the broom is wobbling and someone’s mum is already writing your eulogy.”

“Sounds awful,” Parvati muttered.

“Exactly,” he said.

***

Dumbledore’s office looked unusually sharp that night, like it caught wind of the argument before it started. McGonagall stood near the hearth again, arms crossed, lips thinner than usual. Snape was pacing. Cassian barely stepped inside before it began.

Snape didn’t even wait for him to sit.

“You are shielding him,” he snapped at McGonagall. “Potter broke a direct order.”

Cassian shut the door with his boot and made a vague waving motion. “Evening. I am fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.”

Snape ignored him. “Rules apply to everyone. Or is that only true when it is not Gryffindor?”

McGonagall sighed. First one. “Severus.”

“No. No, you don’t get to dismiss it.” He turned on her. “He disobeyed an explicit instruction. Left the ground. Stole a broom.”

“Chased a thief,” Cassian cut in, wandering to a chair. “Bit of context never hurt anyone.”

Snape’s eyes flashed. “You encouraged him.”

“I observed. Like a responsible adult with no aerial expertise and a treacle-tart hangover.”

McGonagall sighed again. Two. She rubbed the bridge of her nose.

Dumbledore hadn’t spoken yet. He sat behind the desk, fingers folded, gaze neutral.

Snape turned to him now. “He should be punished. He went flying and endangered himself and another student.”

Cassian cocked a brow. “If we are playing that game, then surely we are also punishing the kid who lobbed a keepsake?”

Snape whirled to him. “You had no right to issue detention. It wasn’t your class.”

Cassian leaned back. “Frankly, I had the patience of a saint, considering the brat nearly turned the pitch into a drop test.”

“That does not—”

McGonagall cut in. “Professor Rosier acted in the capacity he was assigned. Madam Hooch left him responsible for the class. That grants him disciplinary rights.”

Snape turned sharply. “That doesn’t extend—”

“I didn’t send the boy to Azkaban,” Cassian said, legs crossed, arms lazily draped over the armrest. “I gave him two weeks of wiping cauldron scum. Might build some character.”

“It is not your place to assign punishments to students who aren’t under your purview,” Snape snapped.

“Oh, I see. So if a student lights another on fire during Herbology, the professor’s job is to take notes and politely wait for the child’s Head of House to show up?” Cassian’s brow lifted. “That is mental.”

Dumbledore shifted. He looked over his hands. “It is not about your authority in that moment. It is about precedent.”

“Ah,” Cassian said, drawing out the word. “The real villain of the hour.”

“Professor Rosier,” McGonagall warned, though it was more out of habit than heat.

“No, go on,” Cassian said. “Let’s set a precedent. That if someone breaks rules mid-flight, we will wait and draft a committee response. Or better yet, let them off because it is a weekday and the paperwork is a pain.”

Snape turned on his heel. “You show no regard for structure…”

“Structure,” Cassian repeated, tapping his chin. “Interesting. Because what I saw was a boy commit theft, incite a chase, and nearly kill another kid over a prank.”

“You are exaggerating—”

“I am quoting!” Cassian cut him off, pushing himself to his feet. “Malfoy launched that Remembrall with all the grace of a trebuchet. Potter caught it in freefall. If he missed, we would be discussing his hospital wing stay. Or funeral options.”

McGonagall’s eyes flicked between them. Snape looked ready to throttle someone.

“I understand the stakes,” Snape hissed. “But you escalated it.”

“No, I finished it.” Cassian didn’t move. “Would you have preferred I let Malfoy prance off with a pat on the head? ‘There, there, try not to endanger classmates tomorrow’? Or wait for you to show up with a scroll and a frown?”

Snape stepped closer. “You think everything is a stage for your commentary.”

Cassian smiled. “Only the interesting bits.”

“That boy is not your toy, Rosier.”

“No, he is your problem. And I am happy to leave him in your capable hands next time. I will even write you a note. ‘Dear Severus, Malfoy’s tried to commit light manslaughter. Yours sincerely, the Muggle pen guy.'”

Dumbledore finally stood.

“Enough.”

He glanced at Snape, then McGonagall. “We will revisit the discipline process. For now, the punishment stands.”

Snape looked like he’d bitten into something rotten. “He undermines—”

“He acted in the moment,” Dumbledore said, eyes fixed. “Let’s not pretend we wouldn’t do the same.”

McGonagall gave a tiny nod.

Snape turned back to Cassian, eyes shapr. “This isn’t about that boy. It is about you. You walk in here, smirking, smug, acting as if the school’s rules are guidelines.”

Cassian blinked. “They are.”

Snape’s jaw worked.

“You want obedience?” Cassian said. “Get better rules.”

McGonagall looked like she was seconds from removing her glasses and tossing them at someone. “Professor Rosier, that will do.”

Cassian waved a hand, tone too casual to be anything but pointed. “Fine, fine. So long as he is punished for two weeks, let the disciplinary committee sort the rest. I doubt anything will come of it. Hard to find guilt when Daddy’s gold funds half the school’s plumbing, but eh. Good enough.”

Snape’s mouth curled into a smile like he found rot under a fresh apple. “I remember another family decommissioning Professor Binns with gold as well.”

Cassian laughed coldly, “And that professor proved himself. Over and over. Even Master Ji sent letters asking the Headmaster if he would let me go.”

He turned, fixing Dumbledore with a look that was too calm to be harmless. “And what was your response, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore leaned back. Eyes met Cassian’s. “I told him you were not mine to send. You had unfinished work.”

Cassian clicked his tongue. “You said no.”

“I said you were needed here.”

Cassian gave a nod, like he was filing it under ‘Sentimental but Admissible.’ “That is the one.”

Snape huffed off in a swirl of robes. McGonagall swallowed the third sigh, instead turned and followed without a word.

Cassian stayed put. Hands in his pockets, coat slightly askew from all the gesturing, he stood before Dumbledore’s desk.

“I decided what to do about the third-floor corridor,” he said, flicking a folded bit of parchment from his pocket. “My part of the trial, I mean.”

Spoiler

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Author Rant ↓ 

Spoiler

I give you fire, light, lost runes, history bleeding into the present… and you give me the energy of a house elf avoiding eye contact. Fair trade, I suppose.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep