On June first, exams began.

The castle turned into a hive of quills and parchment, students running on tea, nerves, and sheer panic. Even the portraits looked more stressed than usual.

Cassian strolled into the Great Hall that morning, hands jammed in his pockets, gloating over the distressed faces of students. One of the perks of being a teacher, after all, and he intended to make the best of it.

Flitwick spotted him first. The Charms professor gave a cheerful wave from his seat. Cassian waved back, slipping into the empty chair at the staff table.

“Early as ever, Cassian,” Flitwick chirped.

Cassian smirked. “Or perhaps everyone else is simply late.”

Flitwick’s eyes twinkled. “That’s one way to win the argument.”

McGonagall swept in a moment later. She didn’t so much as glance at him. Probably still sore about his little shouting match last month.

Cassian leaned over to Flitwick. “How long before one of them cries during the written portion?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Flitwick said cheerfully.

“Generous,” Cassian muttered.

The first-years filed in, clutching their notes like lifelines. Hermione Granger was already muttering to herself. Potter looked like he hadn’t slept in three days. Weasley had ink on his chin.

He caught sight of Malfoy sneering at Neville, but before the boy could say anything, Cassian’s eyes flicked to him. Malfoy stiffened and turned to his parchment.

“Good lad,” Cassian murmured.

By midmorning the Hall had emptied into exam rooms, Cassian had buried himself in papers when the door to his study banged open. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stumbled in, out of breath like they’d run from the other side of the castle.

“Professor R,” Harry panted.

Cassian nudged a parchment aside. “What’s the rush? Have you finally overthrown Filch?”

Hermione darted forward and shut the door behind her. She glanced around, as if checking whether any ghost was listening in.

Cassian raised an eyebrow.

She leaned over his desk, voice dropping. “Professor, do you remember what we asked you two months ago?”

Cassian tilted his head, gave her a look. “Miss Granger, you ask twenty questions a day. Sometimes before breakfast. You’ll have to narrow it down.”

Ron gave a short laugh. Hermione elbowed him without looking.

“About Nicolas Flamel,” she said quickly. “We found him. We know what is hidden behind the third-floor corridor.”

Cassian straightened just slightly. “Do tell.”

Harry stepped up, serious now. “It’s real. The Philosopher’s Stone. It’s hidden in the school.”

“And Snape’s going to steal it,” Ron added, eyes wide.

Cassian blinked. “Well. That escalated.”

Hermione nodded, curls bouncing. “We’ve been to the third-floor corridor. There’s a Cerberus guarding something. And on the night of the troll attack, Snape’s leg was injured. Bitten. He was trying to get past it.”

“Right. So let’s play along. You believe Severus Snape is going to storm past the castle, and swipe the Philosopher’s Stone. Just for fun?”

They stilled.

Hermione clenched her fists on the edge of the desk. “Please listen to us, Professor. You’re the only one who won’t dismiss us just because we’re eleven.”

Harry nodded. “You’ve helped us before.”

Ron chimed in, “Yeah. Yeah.”

Cassian sighed slowly. “Look, I find Snape about as charming as a boggart, but I highly doubt he’d risk his entire greasy career plotting under Dumbledore’s nose.”

‘Unless someone worse is steering him,’ he added in his mind, not loving the thought.

Hermione didn’t blink. “We have evidence.”

He tilted his head. “That’s a bold claim.”

“It was Snape who tried to knock Harry off his broom,” she pressed. “He muttered something. I saw it. Then, then Harry’s broom went mad.”

Ron grinned, a bit too proud of himself. “Luckily, a wild fire broke his concentration.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes at him. “That luck had very bushy hair.”

Hermione’s face went pink. Ron and Harry froze.

Cassian waved a hand lazily. “Relax. Your secret’s safe with me. Though if you’re planning another sneaky curse in future, I’d recommend a hat. Something less… identifying.”

Hermione muttered something into her robe.

She rallied fast. “Then you saw it too. It was Snape. He tried to kill Harry. And Harry saw him threatening Quirrell in the forest.”

Cassian raised a brow at Harry, who gave a small nod, suddenly uncomfortable.

“You see,” Hermione pushed on, “We’ve been watching him. He’s been acting suspicious all year, and now… now he’s pushing Quirrell, and he knows how to get past the traps. He’s been asking questions.”

Ron leaned forward. “We think he put that pumpkin on his head to have an excuse during the Halloween chaos. It was all a diversion.”

“Right.” Cassian looked between them, face unreadable. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You three, first-years, snuck into a forbidden corridor, found a three-headed dog, and now think Snape is staging elaborate seasonal-themed misdirection so he can nick an object tied to immortality.”

Harry started to open his mouth, but Cassian held up a hand.

“Don’t answer. My brain stopped at ‘pumpkin conspiracy.'”

Ron’s ears were red.

Hermione sat up straighter. “We’re not lying. And we’re not imagining it. He’s dangerous.”

Cassian hummed. “I believe that something’s going on. I’ve had my own suspicions. But you lot barrelling headfirst into it like you’re a pack of underfed Aurors is exactly how you get turned into something small and flammable.”

Harry looked down at his shoes. Ron glanced at the fireplace. Hermione kept her chin up.

“So what should we do?” she asked.

Cassian set his palms flat on the desk. “For starters? You let the adults handle it.”

That didn’t go over well.

“You’re not just an adult,” Ron said quickly. “You’re you.”

Cassian tried not to laugh. “Is that a compliment or a cry for help?”

“A bit of both,” Harry muttered.

Cassian rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Here’s what we’re going to do. You three will not attempt another midnight expedition. No more eavesdropping on suspicious teachers. No more cursed pumpkin theories. And definitely no throwing fire at professors unless you absolutely have to.”

Hermione opened her mouth.

“Don’t say but,” he cut in. “I’m serious. If I catch any of you sniffing around that corridor again, I’ll charm your eyebrows to spell ‘bad decision’ in Latin so every time someone reads it, it will change colour.”

Harry looked mildly alarmed. Ron looked intrigued. Hermione folded her arms.

“And you,” Cassian added, pointing at her, “are too smart to get flattened by something that’s lived on a dragon-sized diet.”

Hermione flinched, but nodded.

Cassian looked at all three of them. “I’ll keep an eye on things. Quietly. But if you want to survive the year with all your limbs and zero expulsion letters, stay out of it.”

They exchanged glances. Reluctant. Worried. But they nodded.

He watched them file out, faces defiant, shoulders tense. Once the door clicked shut, Cassian dropped his head back, looking at the ceiling.

He muttered under his breath, “Flamel. Stone. Three-headed dog. Brilliant.”

The Quirrell part was interesting. He’d had his suspicions for a while. Something was off about the man, beyond the stammer and nervous sweating, but the students’ story added a new layer.

The confrontation with Snape had been the tipping point.

Cassian wasn’t naive. He knew exactly where Snape had stood during the war. The Rosier name came with a full tour of Voldemort’s greatest hits, and Severus had featured heavily in the darker chapters. Why Dumbledore trusted him? That was still a mystery. A big one.

But was it possible Snape was after the Stone?

For Voldemort?

He absently tapped a rhythm on the desk. He’d seen what was left of the Dark Lord in the forest. Weak. Desperate. Leeching life from unicorns like some cursed parasite.

That wasn’t a man plotting a comeback. That was something clinging to the edge.

Still, desperation could make anyone bold.

Cassian had no doubt now. One of them, maybe both, were involved. The problem was, Hogwarts was a labyrinth wrapped in Dumbledore’s riddles and red tape. Getting answers meant unpicking half a century of secrets and dodging hexes meant for other people.

He’d add his own layer of protection tonight. What came after, he’d decide when he got there.

***

That night, he was walking side by side with Flitwick toward the third-floor corridor, hands shoved into his robes to keep them from wandering to his wand. The older professor’s small frame practically bounced with every step.

“Your illusion will be the fourth line of defence,” Flitwick said cheerfully.

Cassian’s brow arched. “Fourth?”

“Oh yes.” Flitwick’s eyes twinkled, he looked infuriatingly chipper for someone booby-trapping a school.

Cassian muttered, “Nothing screams ‘safe for children’ like four lines of bloody defence. What is next? Will they install a basilisk just to keep things tidy.”

Flitwick didn’t dignify that with a reply. He waved his wand, and the door creaked open with a groan. Warm, musky air rolled out.

The growl hit first. Low, deep, vibrating in Cassian’s chest like distant thunder.

Then came the snort.

Cassian’s boots scuffed against the stones as he instinctively stepped back. Three enormous heads turned in their direction, each one the size of a wardrobe, eyes glinting in the faint light.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed.

Flitwick chuckled softly. “Meet Fluffy.”

Cassian shook his head, not really surprised. “Hagrid.”

“Yes,” Flitwick said simply, still watching the Cerberus with a mild sort of admiration.

The middle head huffed, and a hot gust of dog breath rolled over them. Cassian pulled a face. “Brilliant. Three mouths to chew my leg off instead of one.”

“Can you get us past?” Flitwick asked, his voice almost light, as if they weren’t standing in front of a three-headed death machine.

Spoiler

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Author Rant ↓ 

Spoiler

Fine. I’ll create an army of roosters to crow at me.

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