Bathsheda and Cassian strolled hand in hand down Diagon Alley, weaving through the late summer crowds. It was busy, but not suffocatingly so. 

Halfway past Flourish and Blotts, Bathsheda tugged on his hand. “What’s going on there?”

Cassian followed her gaze. A sizeable crowd had gathered outside the bookshop, pressing against the windows.

“Free coupons for the ladies, maybe?” he said lazily.

She pointed to a floating banner flapping above the door. “Looks like Lockhart is signing books.”

Cassian squinted up at it. GILDEROY LOCKHART – Magical Me Launch Event! The man’s smiling face winked down from the poster like he discovered a way to bottle charm and sell it wholesale.

He frowned faintly, memory slotting into place. Lockhart. Of course. Beautiful boy, perfect teeth, hair that didn’t move even in the Scottish wind. Cassian’s Hogwarts days came back in a sharp flash. Lockhart had been in his third year when Cassian started, Bathsheda would’ve been fifth then. Both were in Ravenclaw, she’d have known him a little.

The insufferable git.

“He was slick even when he was eleven,” Bathsheda said with a faint smile, watching the crowd shuffle around the door.

Cassian muttered under his breath. “Of course he was.” God, he hated Lockhart. Always had. Wait… that was old Cassian. He blinked. No, still hated him.

Bathsheda glanced at him sideways. “What is that?”

“Nothing,” Cassian said lightly. “Just remembering how his hair never moved an inch. That can’t be natural. I suspect a pact with some poor pixie.”

Bathsheda’s mouth twitched. “Envious, are we?”

“God, no. I would rather have my hair catch fire than look like him.” Cassian leaned an elbow against the shop window, peering in at the gaggle of witches swooning over Lockhart’s sparkling robes. “Look at him. Bet you a Galleon he is using a Charm to make his teeth glow.”

Cassian picked up a copy of Magical Me from the precarious pile, thumbing through it with the kind of expression usually reserved for spotting something unspeakable at the bottom of a teacup. The more he read, the harder his brow furrowed. Then he stopped dead on a particularly lurid chapter title and barked a laugh.

“This can’t be true.”

Bathsheda chuckled softly. “Why not?”

He closed the book with a snap, eyes flicking to her like she’d asked if pigs could fly. “You don’t know him well enough. This git barely scraped through his O.W.L.s. I watched him charm and beg half the old witches in the staffroom not to fail him at N.E.W.T.s. And you think he did half of these things?” He waved the book for emphasis, as if the sheer weight of its lies might knock her into sense.

Bathsheda smiled, unbothered. “You’ve changed too, no?”

Cassian stared. For a second his mouth actually hung open, words stuck in his throat like they’d refused to cooperate. He shut it with a faint click. Fair point, if a little brutal.

True, old Cassian had been worse than Lockhart. Daddy Regulus threw enough Galleons at Hogwarts to get him out with a diploma and a pat on the head, but it wasn’t the same. He was different!

Cassian opened his mouth to continue his rant, but a wave of red filled his vision before he could get the words out.

The Weasley clan was arriving like a cheery horde, Hermione Granger trailing just behind, and Harry Potter somewhere in between, looking curious.

“Professor R!” one of the twins yelled.

Fred bounded over first, his grin wide enough to split his face.

“Ah, my favorite Weasleys,” Cassian said dryly as they skidded to a stop. “What’s this? Have I won some kind of prize?”

“You wish.” George poked him in the arm. “Didn’t think we would find you in Diagon. Figured you would be off in some dusty library, hunting curses and ancient curses on top of those curses.”

“You make me sound far more interesting than I am,” Cassian said. “But carry on. I am enjoying the image.”

The other twin grinned. “Oh, we will. You are famous in our house, you know.”

“That’s worrying,” Cassian muttered.

Before he could escape, Mrs Weasley closed in, Arthur in tow. Both were smiling warmly, though their gazes carried that polite uncertainty of meeting someone new.

“Hello there,” Molly said kindly. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Arthur and Molly Weasley.”

“Cassian Rosier,” he replied with a nod. “Professor, part-time rune wrangler, full-time babysitter to troublemakers like those two.” He tipped his head at the twins.

Arthur chuckled, his eyes brightening with interest. “Rosier, eh? Related to…?”

“Probably.” Cassian cut him off lightly. “If you follow the family tree far enough, we are all cousins with Merlin in one branch or another. Best not think too hard about it.”

The twins laughed at that, but Percy, stiff as always, stepped forward, his expression cool.

“Professor Rosier,” he said, his chin lifting as though trying to stand a little taller. Then his eyes flicked to Bathsheda, and his tone shifting into respect. “Professor Babbling.”

Molly and Arthur greeted Bathsheda warmly, Molly’s hand brushing hers.

Meanwhile, Hermione, Harry, Ron, and the twins started chatting to Cassian. Well, mostly the twins, who seemed to have decided he was their honorary older brother whether he liked it or not. Hermione’s attention flickered between Cassian and Lockhart’s enormous poster every few seconds, her expression half admiration, half doubt.

“You’re looking tanned, Professor. Did some curse tie you to a rock under the sun?” Fred said with a wide grin.

“No,” Cassian drawled. “I’ve been scouring high and low for a remedy to deal with a pair of incorrigible troublemakers… and still came up empty-handed.”

George elbowed Fred. “This changes everything. I thought you were practically nocturnal.”

“Sharp instincts,” Fred shot back, “for someone who spends half his life in tombs and libraries.”

Cassian gave them a lazy look. “You lot know a shocking amount about my schedule for two children banned from the Restricted Section last year.”

“Unfairly banned,” George said solemnly. “All we wanted was to see if Wards and You really had the screaming face on page seventy-two.”

“Newsflash… it does,” Fred added. “Scared the knickers off Filch.”

“Marvellous. I am sure Hogwarts is safer with you two as its protectors.” Cassian tilted his head. “Though I would feel better if you weren’t using explosive sweets as a first line of defence.”

Harry tried to speak, but Hermione’s voice cut across him. “Professor Rosier, have you read Magical Me yet?”

Cassian glanced at her, then at the poster overhead, Lockhart’s teeth sparkling so hard they could blind a basilisk. “I skimmed it,” he said. “Got a bit dizzy somewhere between ‘Singlehandedly Saved an Entire Village’ and ‘Hero of My Own Dreams.'”

Hermione frowned, hugging her book tighter to her chest. “But he’s done so much… hasn’t he? I… I mean, there are some inconsistencies, but…”

Cassian almost shed a tear. The girl who once worshipped ink and paper without question now, at least, could hesitate, could frown at the gaps, notice the seams in Lockhart’s shining tales. She wasn’t blind anymore, just reluctant to let go of the safety of print. That was enough for now. If she could doubt the books she held so dear, then one day she could doubt the man who wrote them. With that thought, he turned instead to the small redhead hovering behind Ron.

“And who’s this, then? Let me guess… a Weasley?”

Fred and George darted past like overexcited spaniels, grinning wide.

“Ten points to Professor R!” Fred crowed. “That’s our sister, Ginny. Your next victim, if you’re lucky.”

“Treat her gently,” George added with mock solemnity. “She’s fragile.”

The girl’s cheeks turned scarlet as she shrank back behind Ron’s shoulder, clutching his arm using the poor boy as a shield. Cassian’s gaze sharpened slightly.

“What lie did you tell her?”

Fred and George tried their best innocent faces, eyes wide, lips pressed tight, but Ron ruined it before they could even open their mouths.

“They said you’ve got a dungeon in your house where you keep jars of children’s teeth.”

Cassian raised his brows, glancing between the twins. “Brilliant. Terrify your baby sister and slander me in the same breath. You’re on fire today.”

George smirked faintly. “Better than telling her you’re harmless.”

“Mm.” Cassian crouched slightly, resting an elbow on his knee so he was level with Ginny. “For the record, no dungeons. No teeth. Just a terrible habit of collecting books on dead languages and occasionally hexing idiots who deserve it.”

Ginny blinked at him, then peeked up at her brothers with suspicion.

“See?” Cassian said, straightening again. “Completely harmless.”

Fred grinned. “That is what he wants you to think.”

Cassian pointed a finger at him. “You, shut it, or I will start a rumour about the pair of you marrying trolls.”

Fred opened his mouth to retort, but Ginny suddenly let out a laugh.

Before they could continue, a pair of platinum blond heads drifted into view. Cassian clicked his tongue. Of course. Father and Son Malfoy.

“I was wondering what the commotion was,” Lucius drawled, his cane tapping lightly against the cobblestones. “Are they handing out free books, Arthur?”

Arthur’s jaw tensed, but he kept his voice polite. “Lucius. Always a pleasure.”

Draco stood slightly behind his father, chin lifted smugly.

Cassian straightened, hands in his coat pockets. “Well, well. If it isn’t the Malfoy charm offensive. Let me guess, Uncle Lucius, you couldn’t resist a chance to sneer in public? Or was the manor running low on smugness?”

Lucius’s pale eyes flicked over Cassian and Bathsheda like they were two dusty portraits he’d found in a backroom at Borgin and Burkes. “Dear Nephew,” he said smoothly. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Slumming it with Gryffindors now? Well, I suppose that’s to be expected. I heard your family pulled out of the French market.” His lips curved, all teeth and poison. “If you can’t afford books, do let me know. I am practically your uncle.”

Cassian gave a chuckle, shaking his head as if Lucius had just told him a bad joke. “That is very generous, Uncle Lucius,” he said. “But don’t forget what your grandmother wrote into her will. Technically, I practically own Malfoy Manor. Might start charging you rent.”

The smirk slipped. Lucius’s fingers tightened slightly on the silver snake-head of his cane.

Draco’s jaw went tight, his eyes darting from his father to Cassian like he wasn’t sure if he should step in.

Lucius’s smile tightened, all teeth and no warmth. “You always were an amusing boy.”

He stepped closer to Bathsheda and, without asking, plucked a book from her straw bag. He thumbed through it, with a faint wrinkle of disgust. “Almost crumbled,” he murmured, eyes flicking over her robes with casual disdain. “Seems dating a Rosier isn’t enough. You really ought to up your game.”

The book landed back in her bag with a careless flick.

Before the words had even settled, Lucius’s head snapped back with a sharp crack. He staggered, hand flying to his face. Cassian’s fist still hovered in the air for a fraction of a second before he grabbed Malfoy by the collar, dragging him forward like a misbehaving dog.

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