In the glass, he wasn’t alone.

Himself, yes, but not the same man. This Cassian stood straighter, robes sharper. The details behind him were what stopped Cassian’s breath. Rows of books stretched to the ceiling in the reflection, ancient tomes, scrolls, and artefacts that shouldn’t even exist in this century. There was no Hogwarts classroom in sight… just a vast hall, glowing softly under enchanted lanterns. And Bathsheda stood at his shoulder, smiling faintly, her fingers brushing his.

The Cassian in the glass looked content. Settled.

The real Cassian blinked.

“Well,” he said softly. “That is not creepy at all.”

He took a step closer, studying the frame. Gold leaf curled around the edges in elaborate swirls, runes stamped into the metal in a language he didn’t recognise. Futhark? No. Older. The kind of script that made historians gnash their teeth because three glyphs could mean either “prosperity” or “death by weasel.”

“Nice design. Subtle existential threat.”

His fingers itched for parchment, for a quick sketch of the glyphs, but he didn’t move to touch the glass. He wasn’t stupid.

He crouched slightly, tilting his head.

“Alright. Is it really desire? Ambition? Inner sociopathy?”

The Cassian in the mirror raised his head slightly. With a teasing smile and a wink. Standing there mockingly, as if he knew he’d been spotted and didn’t care.

“This has got to be one of Dumbledore’s pet projects,” he muttered. “No one else dumps a soul trap in a classroom and go about their business.”

The Cassian in the mirror stepped back slightly, hands sliding into his robes. Bathsheda leaned against him in the reflection.

“Subtle,” Cassian said. “Show me what I could have if I weren’t busy being suspicious every five minutes.”

The Cassian in the mirror didn’t react.

“Fine. Just… don’t gloat.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Right. Let’s not go touching it. And I’m not telling Bathsheda. She will probably admonish about walking into warded places.”

As he was about to leave, footsteps echoed faintly outside the classroom door. Cassian froze mid-step.

“Shit,” he muttered, scanning the room.

There was nothing to hide behind… No cupboards, no friendly tapestries. Just a few patches of shadow and the cursed mirror giving him its best ‘I know what you want’ look. No time to get clever. He crouched in the corner like a common thief and muttered, Disillusionment Charm. The spell rippled over his skin, his body fading into the stones. Half-working at best.

‘No one passing that ward is going to be fooled by this shoddy bit of invisibility,’ he thought grimly, the charm was temperamental at the best of times, and Cassian wasn’t exactly an Auror-level sneak. But still, he forced himself to settle. His brain didn’t seem keen on risking a run.

Calm down, he told himself. I am not a student hiding Firewhisky. I am a bloody professor. If it is a staff patrol, I will bluff. If it is Filch, he will scuttle off muttering. If it is Dumbledore…

He stopped that thought before it spiralled.

The footsteps were light.

A student?

An elf?

No… elves moved like whispers. You never heard them coming unless they wanted you to.

He squinted, mind running through possibilities, when the door handle clicked.

Cassian’s breath caught.

The door was opened slightly.

Then…

And then, nothing.

The door shut again with a faint click.

Cassian tilted his head, trying to listen past the pounding in his ears. Faint breathing, barely there. The barest scuff of a shoe on stone. Someone was in here.

‘Alright,’ he murmured under his breath, wand inching higher. ‘Either a ghost that cannot be seen, or Hogwarts has invented stealthier children. No, not a ghost. Ghosts don’t breathe.’

Raising his wand, Cassian mouthed a silent “Apertis Oculus.” But nothing happened. That alone gave him pause.

This charm could tear down glamours, dissolve invisibility, strip Disillusionment charms bare. If anything was lurking in this room, he should see it.

Then, the air ahead rippled, faint as a mirage and a boy stepped out of thin air.

Cassian stiffened.

Potter.

The skinny first-year stood awkwardly in the centre of the room, hair sticking up even worse than usual. He looked over his shoulder nervously, clutching something in his hand. A silvery cloak fluttered at his side.

Cassian’s mouth went dry.

‘Invisibility Cloak,’ he thought to himself. ‘Bloody hell.’

Potter didn’t see him.

Didn’t even pause.

The boy stepped towards the mirror.

Cassian gritted his teeth. If Potter caught even a hint of him crouched, he might just die of sheer embarrassment on the spot.

Harry, oblivious to the man flattened into the corner, crept toward the mirror. Cassian couldn’t see what Potter was seeing… only the slight tremor in the boy’s shoulders, the way his knuckles whitened around the cloak. Whatever it was, it hit him square, and then…

The boy’s shoulders shook.

Ah. Crying.

Cassian let his head fall lightly against the stone behind him. Brilliant. Now he was spying on a crying child. He would have to add that to his running list of moral failings. Right under “threatened to hex Percy Weasley over Christmas pudding.”

Harry stood frozen for a few moments more before bolting. The boy spun on his heel and ran. Cassian stayed still, breathing through his nose. Waited. Counted to ten. Twenty. Nothing.

Finally, he let out a long, quiet breath and slumped onto the cold stone floor properly. His knees cracked in protest.

“Sweet donkey that beds a dragon,” he muttered under his breath. “What in the name of cursed chamber pots was that?”

Cassian got up, brushing dust off his trousers, and edged closer again. The Cassian in the glass hadn’t budged. Still standing in that impossibly grand library, still flanked by stacks of priceless magical texts and Bathsheda at his side. The bastard even looked like he slept well and owned pressed shirts.

“Enough. I’m done with you.” Cassian whispered.

As he stared, a thought itched at the back of his skull. Was this what Harry saw? Family? Something lost? Cassian wasn’t exactly a master of child psychology, but he wasn’t thick either. The kid’s parents had been taken out by Voldemort. If this thing was showing desire… well, the poor sod probably saw them alive and well, smiling back.

Cassian rubbed at his face with both hands, groaning. He didn’t have the energy for an ethical crisis at, he glanced at the window, whatever ungodly hour this was.

“Right,” he whispered, backing toward the door. “I am not touching you. I am not talking about you. Bye bye.”

Just as his fingers brushed the door handle… he heard footsteps again.

‘Not again, damn it!’ 

He darted back into the corner, Disillusionment charm, crouched again.

The door creaked open.

Two figures this time.

Ron Weasley tumbled in first, muttering under his breath about cold floors and bossy friends. Harry followed, Invisibility Cloak draped haphazardly over one arm.

“You sure they are here?” Ron whispered, peering around like the room might bite.

“Yes,” Harry hissed. “Saw it earlier. Just… be quiet, alright?”

Cassian pressed himself harder against the wall. This is becoming a bloody trend.

The two boys stepped closer to the mirror. Ron stopped dead in his tracks.

“Blimey,” he breathed. “That thing is massive.”

Harry didn’t answer. He was staring again, eyes wide. Whatever he saw this time, it seemed to hit just as hard as before.

Ron tilted his head, squinting. “What are you looking at? All I see is us.”

“Don’t you see them?” Harry whispered, eyes darting back and forth between Ron and the mirror.

“I can’t see anything.” Ron looked at Mirror, then his friend, wondering if he had gone mad.

“Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am.”

Harry stepped aside reluctantly, scuffing his heel on the cold stone floor. The moment Ron moved in front of the mirror, Harry’s view of his family vanished entirely, replaced with Ron in his too-short paisley pyjamas. Ron, on the other hand, was stock-still, staring at his reflection like he’d been Petrified.

“Look at me!” Ron breathed.

“Can you see my family standing around you?” Harry asked, almost a whisper, but packed with hope.

“No…” Ron said slowly, almost dazed. “I am alone. But I am different… I look older. I am Head Boy!”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“I am… look! I am wearing the badge like Bill used to… and I am holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup. I am Quidditch captain too!”

Cassian clenched his jaw. He could almost hear Dumbledore’s voice in his head, all airy wisdom and lemon drops, “Oh, they will be fine, Professor Rosier. Nothing dangerous in Hogwarts at all…”

“Do you think this mirror shows the future?” Ron asked breathlessly, tearing his eyes away from his reflection for the first time to look at Harry.

“How can it? All my family are dead… let me have another look,” Harry stepped forward eagerly.

“You had it to yourself all night,” Ron protested, blocking him. “Give me a bit more time.”

“You are only holding the Quidditch Cup, what is interesting about that? I want to see my parents.”

“Don’t push me…”

Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose, very tempted to drop the charm and march them straight to McGonagall. He didn’t, though. Partly because he didn’t fancy explaining to the Deputy Head how he ended up lurking in the corner of a locked classroom. And partly because watching them squabble was… morbidly fascinating.

“Don’t push me,” Ron snapped, stepping closer to the glass.

“You are being selfish,” Harry hissed, shoving at his friend’s shoulder.

“You had all night!” Ron shot back.

“Yeah? And you’ve had ages now. Move over…”

The pair of them were shoving now, Harry trying to wriggle in front while Ron held his ground.

‘Oh for Merlin’s sake,’ Cassian muttered under his breath.

Well. Finally.

They heard something outside. A faint shuffle, the sort of sound that made students freeze mid-argument and remember they weren’t supposed to lurk in the dead of the night. Both boys stopped shoving each other, heads snapped to the door.

Harry grabbed Ron’s sleeve, yanking him back. “Quick!” he hissed.

The two of them ducked under the cloak in a tangle of elbows and feet, nearly tripping over each other as they bolted for the door. It swung shut behind them, their muffled footsteps vanishing down the hall.

Cassian stayed crouched for another breath, just to be sure they were gone. His knees were killing him. He sighed through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face. Then he pushed off the wall.

“That cloak is insane,” he muttered under his breath. “I want one.”

He slipped out into the corridor, shutting the door quietly behind him. As he passed through the Confounding Ward, something itched at the back of his skull.

‘How the hell did Potter get through this?’ he murmured. The corridor, unsurprisingly, didn’t offer a reply. ‘Was he keyed into the ward? No tug, no turn, just straight through?’

There was also Weasley. The boy had followed Harry in without issue. Probably hadn’t even noticed the magic brushing against him. Cassian pictured Potter dragging Weasley along by the sleeve, all righteous Gryffindor stubbornness. Or maybe the ward didn’t bother with students at all. Kept staff out, let the kids run riot.

A more daring idea slipped through his thoughts. Cloak… Could it even stop wards from seeing whoever was under it?

Cassian glanced back down the hallway he came from, brow furrowing. The idea made his teeth itch. If that thing really did let Potter stroll straight through a ward designed to bat away staff, he was going to start questioning the entire foundation of Hogwarts security. Not that he hadn’t already.

‘Can it really be?’ he muttered to no one in particular. ‘So either the kid is keyed into Dumbledore’s little web of protection spells, or that bit of silk’s worth more than every Gringotts vault combined.’

He didn’t like the second possibility. If that cloak was as rare as it looked, Potter probably didn’t even know what he was dragging around like a discarded scarf. Cassian had read about them, of course… Invisibility Cloaks proper, not the half-arsed Disillusionment Charms they taught Aurors. True ones were rarer than phoenix feathers, the old ones even more so. And rumour had it the ancient ones weren’t just good at hiding you from eyes, they could make you slip right past death.

Spoiler

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Author Rant ↓ 

Spoiler

Every great rebellion begins with fire. Every great dream about rebellion begins with dream. Sleep on.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep