“Fawkes, get your feathery arse here.”

Soon enough, he heard wings flapping from somewhere above.

A warm breeze ruffled Cassian’s hair. He looked up to see Fawkes.

The phoenix swooped down from the darkness above, light shimmering from his golden-red feathers. He landed lightly on Harry’s chest, tilting his head as though studying the wound.

Cassian huffed. “Took your time, didn’t you?”

Fawkes ignored him, leaning down and pressing his beak to the wound. One shining tear slid down, then another, sizzling faintly as they touched the venom-tainted skin.

Harry gasped, the tension in his body easing. The purplish streaks receded, leaving only new pink skin and dried blood.

Cassian let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He sat back on his heels, raking his hair back.

The diary still lay where Harry had dropped it. Cassian stared at it, lips pressed thin. He would sort that puzzle later.

“Think you can stand, Potter?” he asked.

Harry nodded weakly. Cassian slipped an arm under his shoulders, hauling him up with more care than his tone suggested. He held the Diary and the Diadem in his other hand while Harry dragged the sword.

“Good lad. Let’s get out of this hole before anything else decides to wake up.”

Just as they were about to leave, Cassian caught movement from the corner of his eye. His stomach tightened. Lockhart was on his feet, staring straight at them.

A chill crept across the back of his neck. “Impossible,” he muttered.

Lockhart’s lips curved into a smile, not that twisted, hollow grin Riddle had worn, but his own daft, overly rehearsed one. “What’s impossible, Rosier?”

Cassian let out a long breath, some of the tension bleeding off. “Oh, it’s just you.”

The smile dropped. “What do you mean it’s just me?” Lockhart’s voice sharpened, something brittle cracking underneath. “You know I’ve always hated you, Cassian!”

Cassian’s brows shot up. He hadn’t expected that one to slip out so easily. “Yeah? And why’s that, Gilderoy? Because you made my second year hell, and I made the rest of your years pay for it?”

Lockhart’s teeth clenched, his wand twitching in his grip. “You ruined everything. You turned Slytherins on me. They beat me senseless in front of half the school… stripped me bare and tossed me in the Great Lake! Just because someone else did the same to you!”

Cassian huffed out a laugh that wasn’t even close to amused. “It—”

“You know what? I don’t even care.” Lockhart’s knuckles whitened on his wand. “I don’t care what your reasons were. Down here… I can take my revenge. No witnesses. No Headmaster to pull you out of the fire. Just you, me, and one good spell.”

Cassian’s eyes flicked down to his wand, but Lockhart’s sudden snarl froze him in place.

“Don’t,” the man hissed. “Or I swear it’ll hurt.”

Cassian clicked his tongue. “You’re really going to try it, aren’t you?”

Lockhart straightened slightly, the tip of his wand trembling but still aimed dead at Cassian. “Do you know what’s the only charm I’ve ever mastered, Rosier?”

Cassian arched a brow, fingers flexing faintly at his side. “Enlighten me.”

“Memory Charm,” Lockhart said flatly.

That actually made Cassian pause. His eyes narrowed.

“Memory Charm,” he echoed.

Lockhart’s smile stretched tight again. “Oh, yes. And I’m very good at it. Good enough to take your history, your clever little curses, your precious spells… and wipe them clean out of your skull.”

Cassian stared, his brow furrowing. “What would you want to erase my memory for? What’s in it for you?”

Lockhart let out a sharp laugh, tossing his hair back like he was posing for a bloody portrait. “What do I gain? Fame, fortune, glory… what else?” His grin stretched wide, manic at the edges. “I saved Potter, didn’t I? Saved you too! Found the Chamber of Secrets, bested the Basilisk, destroyed Voldemort’s little remnant soul.” His brow creased faintly. “Oh no, he was calling them something else. What was it again…?”

“You’ve lost it,” Cassian said, looking around for a leverage. “You are standing in snake guts, talking about polishing your bloody reputation like it is a trophy.”

Lockhart’s wand shook slightly. “I will be a hero. That’s the truth people will know. I will walk out of this chamber, Potter over my shoulder, you stumbling after me, both of you too grateful to breathe a word. The world will hear my name… again.”

Cassian raised a brow, tilting his head slightly. “Again?”

Lockhart blinked.

“Oh, I see,” Cassian went on lightly. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you? Pinched a few victories. Snatched some glory. Wiped a few memories clean so the truth couldn’t crawl out of the woodwork. I knew stories didn’t make sense, but thought they were utter rubbish. Not stolen from others.”

The wand in Lockhart’s hand steadied. His mouth twisted into something between a sneer and a smirk.

“I am good at it, Rosier,” Lockhart said. “Better than anyone else. Why do you think they print my face on every book in Flourish and Blotts? Because I earned it.”

“Earned it?” Cassian’s voice cracked sharp across the stone walls. “You’ve been stealing from better witches and wizards for years, haven’t you? Wiping their minds and scribbling their stories under your name.”

Lockhart’s lip curled. “So what if I did? People don’t care who swung the wand… they care about the story. I gave them stories.”

Cassian’s grip on the diary tightened. “You are pathetic.”

The man’s eye twitched. “Careful, Rosier. I’ve got the advantage here. One flick, and you won’t remember a thing… not your name, not Hogwarts, not even how to hold your beloved Bathsheda.”

Cassian squinted. Now he’d done it. He let out a short, dry laugh. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you? Gilderoy Lockhart, slayer of serpents, defeater of Dark magic, beloved by all.”

“Exactly,” Lockhart hissed.

“You are forgetting one thing though.”

“And what’s that?”

Cassian smirked faintly. “You’re holding the wrong wand.”

Lockhart blinked, looking down at his hand.

Cassian moved fast. He hurled the diary straight at Lockhart’s face, the book smacking him square in the nose with a wet thump. Before the man could flinch properly, Cassian’s hand flicked open and a wandless Lumos flared. The sudden beam of light blasted into Lockhart’s eyes, and he staggered back with a hiss, one hand clamping over his face.

Cassian didn’t waste the moment. He let Potter drop like a sack of spuds and launched himself forward, boots slamming into the stone. His shoulder caught Lockhart in the chest, knocking the air clean out of him. They hit the ground hard.

Cassian’s fist was already swinging.

“You fell for it, didn’t you?” he barked, his knuckles cracking against Lockhart’s cheek. “Gilderoy, you couldn’t resist, could you? Why? What did Voldemort offer to make you stoop this low?”

Lockhart laughed through the blood running from his nose. A low, ugly sound. “Power,” he spat, turning his head with a sneer. “I wanted power, Rosier. Power… to put you on your knees in front of them! You destroyed my name in two months! Embarrass me in my DUELLING CLUB!”

Cassian’s hand caught him by the collar and hauled him halfway off the floor before slamming him back down again. “So you what… just handed your skull over to a diary like an idiot?”

“Diary only made it easier.” Lockhart coughed, wheezing through the impact. “Grey Lady, Ravenclaw’s ghost came to me.” His eyes darted wildly. “Said she could give me everything. And she did. The Diadem, Rosier. You know what that bloody thing can do? It unlocked my mind. Made me see.”

“See what? Your own stupidity?” Cassian’s knee drove into his ribs, earning a sharp grunt. “You really let a ghost in the castle sweet-talk you into this?”

“She was no ordinary ghost,” Lockhart shot back, his voice cracking. “She is Rowena Ravenclaw’s daug- She gave me the Diadem. Then I took the diary from your room. It was so easy with the Diadem.” His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “That is when it happened. I thought I was in control. I wasn’t. But then…”

Cassian’s fist crashed down again, cutting him off mid-sentence. Lockhart’s head snapped to the side, a fresh line of blood trickling down his chin.

“You’re not getting anything,” Cassian snarled. He planted one boot squarely on Lockhart’s chest, pinning him to the floor.

Lockhart’s hand shot out blindly, scrabbling along the stone until his fingers brushed the wand that had fallen earlier. He grabbed it and flicked it up fast, the tip barely a foot from Cassian’s face.

“Obliviate!”

The blast hit Cassian point-blank.

Then it bounced.

The spell sparked like it’d hit glass and ricocheted off, harmless as a breeze. Cassian didn’t even blink. He looked down at Lockhart with a flat stare, as if the man had just sneezed on him.

Even Nicholas Flamel hadn’t managed to scrub his memories… what little hope did Lockhart have? He glanced down, ready to plant another jab in the man’s ribs… except Lockhart wasn’t even moving. He was staring up at Cassian like a stunned toad, wand still clutched loosely in his hand.

“Damn it,” Cassian muttered under his breath. “Did it bounce back on him?”

The question didn’t really need an answer. Lockhart’s wide-eyed stare and slack mouth said enough. Whatever plan the idiot had cooked up had clearly gone sideways… and now his own brain had been turned into porridge.

Cassian crouched, snapping his fingers in front of the man’s face. “Oi. Still in there, Lockhart?”

Nothing.

“Well, brilliant,” Cassian said, dragging a hand over his face. “He’s scrambled his own head.”

Harry dragged himself forward, staring at the two of them. “What happened?”

Cassian let out a slow breath, pressing his palm to his knee as he straightened. “He is gone.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, his face still pale. “Gone? But…”

“Not dead, if that is what you are asking.” Cassian shook his head. “Not alive either. He tried to wipe my memory, it bounced back. Be a miracle if he remembers how to wipe his arse.”

Harry stared, wide-eyed, still clutching the sword in a blood-streaked grip. His lips parted like he wanted to argue, but no words came. Probably for the best. Cassian didn’t fancy explaining brain-melting curses to a boy with basilisk venom still drying on his sleeve.

“Let’s go.” Cassian gave Lockhart’s vacant expression one last look and let out a sharp breath through his nose. “Stay down, Gilderoy. You’ve done enough damage for one lifetime.”

He shifted, slipping an arm under Harry’s shoulders and hauling him up with a grunt. The boy wasn’t light, and Cassian’s back already felt like it was lodging a complaint with every step. “Sword down. I don’t trust you not to drop it on your foot.” He didn’t want to throw the boy with a sword in hand… Not that he was planning to but still.

Harry blinked, dazed, but handed it over without protest. Cassian took it and was about to sling it over his shoulder when it glowed and vanished, like the air had swallowed it whole.

Cassian stared at the empty space where the blade had been and hummed. “Now that is interesting.”

*There’ll be side-chapters about the Grey Lady soon

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