A sharp knock at the door dragged him back to reality.

“Enter,” he called, stretching his legs out.

The door swung open, and a familiar, unwelcome face strolled in.

“Professor Rosier,” Severus Snape said, voice dripping with something between mild disdain and professional disinterest.

Cassian took his time responding, giving the man a once-over. Snape looked exactly as he remembered… tall, sallow-skinned, perpetually pissed off at existence.

Professor Snape.

Cassian gave a mock shiver, then grinned wide. Old Cassian had despised Snape, and the feeling had been very much mutual. But now? Now, they were colleagues. Equals. If that wasn’t the funniest thing to happen all year, he didn’t know what was.

How money could change things.

He, the absolute failure of his generation, who had bribed classmates to do his homework, paid off exam boards, and spent a small fortune making sure his O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s weren’t a complete disaster, was now a professor at Hogwarts. Cassian Rosier, the student who barely scraped by, was now expected to teach the next generation about history.

Fucking hilarious.

Snape, of course, wasn’t amused. He stood in the doorway, black robes hanging like a funeral shroud, arms crossed, looking at Cassian like he was an unpleasant stain on his floor.

“Professor Snape,” Cassian returned, throwing himself back into his chair, arms draped over the armrests like he owned the place, wait he did.. “What an absolute pleasure. I was just thinking, ‘What is missing from my day?’ and then… poof! Here you are.”

Snape didn’t react. Didn’t frown, didn’t sneer… just looked at him, the way someone might look at a particularly unremarkable insect. “I see Hogwarts has lowered its standards.”

Cassian barked out a laugh. “Oh, Severus, don’t be so dramatic. We both know standards were never the issue. Just connections.” He stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “You and I both know I didn’t get this job because of my, ah, academic brilliance.”

Snape’s lip curled ever so slightly. “No, I suspect not.”

Cassian smirked. “Good to see we understand each other.”

Snape stepped further into the room. “Regardless of how you obtained this position, you are expected to behave as a professor. That means no gambling, no drinking in the Great Hall, and no corrupting the students.”

Cassian placed a hand over his chest, looking scandalised. “Severus, please, I would never.” He let his hand drop and smirked. “Besides, let’s not pretend you haven’t benefited from a bit of nepotism yourself. Last I checked, you were quite close to the Dark Lord. And now, head of Slytherin. It is almost like connections matter, isn’t it?”

Snape’s expression didn’t change, but Cassian didn’t miss the sharp flicker of irritation in his dark eyes. Old Cassian had known, of course. His father made sure the family was well aware of Snape’s place in the hierarchy… how he had been favoured, how every Rosier was expected to keep on his good side.

Not that Cassian particularly cared about the man’s past allegiances. He just enjoyed being a pain in the arse.

Snape folded his arms, unimpressed. “Whatever advantages I have, I earned through skill, not family favours.”

Cassian hummed. “Sure, sure. And I am here purely on merit. Let’s both pretend, shall we?” He have an exaggerated wink. “Now, since I doubt you came here just to welcome me with open arms, what do you actually want?”

Snape exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly regretting stepping into the room at all. “I came to remind you that while you may have fooled the Headmaster into believing you are competent, you will not disrupt my House with whatever nonsense you think passes for teaching.”

Cassian grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. I have no interest in corrupting your precious Slytherins. Unless, of course, they ask nicely.”

Snape’s lip curled. “Just stay out of my way, Rosier.” He turned on his heel, black robes billowing dramatically as he made for the door.

Cassian couldn’t resist. “Severus?”

Snape paused, shoulders stiff.

Cassian tilted his head, all fake innocence. “Did you practise that robe thing in the mirror, or does it come naturally?”

Snape left without another word, but Cassian swore he saw his fingers twitch, like he was resisting the urge to hex him on the spot.

Once the door shut, Cassian let out a slow breath. Right. That was one reunion down. A whole castle full to go.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Teaching at Hogwarts. It still didn’t feel real. The last time he was here, he was the least promising Rosier in generations. A near-Squib. A failure. And now, somehow, he was supposed to stand at the front of a classroom and act like he knew what he was doing.

It would’ve been a joke, except he wasn’t actually bad at teaching. Not in his last life, and not at the festival, apparently. The lecture on Lumos worked. Too well, if the strange spell list in his head was anything to go by.

He closed his eyes and focused.

Lumos – First Year Spell – [Maximum Mastery]

Still there. Still maxed out. And those two variations, the ones that came from nowhere. He didn’t dare test Lumos Noctis yet. Whatever that spell was, it didn’t come from a friendly place. But Lumos Spectaculum… that one had possibilities.

Cassian tapped his fingers against the armrest. If the interface, or whatever it was, really did boost his mastery every time he taught a spell, then that meant he had a way to improve. A way to actually become competent at magic. He just had to keep teaching.

A slow grin spread across his face.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

In the evening, a house-elf appeared and informed Cassian that the students were arriving. He was expected at the Staff Table.

Cassian let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face. Right. Time to go play professor. He set aside the book he had been flipping through and stood, stretching out the stiffness in his shoulders. The start-of-term feast. A grand Hogwarts tradition. He had vague memories of it from his own school days, mostly of being bored out of his mind while Dumbledore rambled and students cheered over floating candles and magically refilling goblets.

The corridors were already bustling by the time he made his way toward the Great Hall. Ghosts drifted through the walls, chattering about the new batch of first-years. A few older students passed him, shooting curious glances his way. Most of them didn’t recognise him, though some of the Slytherins whispered his name under their breath. Probably recalling his surname rather than his actual existence. The Rosiers were well-known. Cassian, less so, and if he was remembered, it was for all the wrong reasons.

The doors to the Great Hall were open, light spilling into the corridor. Inside, the long house tables stretched beneath the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored the twilight sky. The buzz of conversation filled the space, students settling into their seats while staff were already gathered at the high table. Cassian slipped in, ignoring the way a few heads turned his way.

He dropped into his assigned seat, which, because of course it was, was right between Severus Snape and Professor Bathsheda Babbling. Snape barely acknowledged his existence, which suited Cassian just fine. Babbling gave him a polite nod before returning to her conversation with Professor Vector and Sinistra. Cassian remembered all three from his student days. 

Dumbledore sat at the centre, surveying the hall like some ancient deity overseeing a feast. Beside him, McGonagall’s seat was empty, probably out preparing students for the Sorting to begin.

Cassian watchd as the doors opened once more. The first-years trickled in, looking appropriately overwhelmed. Their gazes darted between the floating candles, the house banners, the vast enchanted ceiling. The Sorting Hat sat at the front, waiting.

McGonagall stepped forward, scroll in hand. “When I call your name, you will come forward, place the Sorting Hat upon your head, and be sorted into your house.”

The process began. One by one, names were called, and the nervous eleven-year-olds shuffled forward. The hat announced their fates, and each house erupted into cheers accordingly.

“Angelina Johnson!”

“Gryffindor!”

“Adrian Pucey!”

“Slytherin!”

“Cedric Diggory!”

“Hufflepuff!”

Cassian watched, only half-interested, until the last student was sorted. The hat was removed, McGonagall returned to her seat, and Dumbledore rose to give his traditional welcome speech.

“Welcome, welcome! To our returning students, I say, welcome back. To our new students, welcome to Hogwarts! The start of term is always a time of great excitement, and this year shall be no exception.”

Cassian tuned most of it out. The usual nonsense about house unity, the importance of learning, the ‘do-not-enter-the-Forbidden-Forest’ warning that was, without fail, ignored by at least a dozen students each year.

Dumbledore gestured toward his right, where a woman sat with a composed air, her robes an elegant deep green. “Unfortunately, Professor Patricia Rakepick has resigned from the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts. In her place, we welcome Professor Helena Mulford.”

Cassian glanced over. Mulford had sharp, angular features, the kind that made her look like she was always on the verge of disapproval. Her hair was pinned back neatly.

Mulford raised her head slightly, lips pressed thin. She had the look of someone who would duel a student for sloppy wandwork and then mark their hospital stay as “a valuable learning experience.”

Dumbledore’s sharp blue gaze flicked toward him, and Cassian felt the faint prickle of every eye in the room following. Here it comes… “And now, a new addition to our staff. Taking up the position of History of Magic, please welcome Professor Cassian Rosier.”

Spoiler

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep