Back at their flat, the late sun threw amber light across the floorboards. Cassian barely got past the editorial, some overly excited drivel about international cooperation and the Cup, when soft slipper-steps padded in from the hall.

Bathsheda didn’t stop walking. She climbed straight onto the sofa, flopped across his legs like a cat who’d claimed the warmest spot in the flat, and announced, “New Defence professor’s decided.”

Cassian didn’t look up. “Mmm?” he said around a yawn. “Who is it?”

She grinned into his shirt. “Remus Lupin.”

The paper hit the floor.

“Seriously?”

She snorted, rolling onto her back so she could see his face. “Siriusly.”

He groaned. “That was appalling.”

“You walked into it.”

He deadpanned, let his head thunk back. “Why does it feel like it’s going to be a bloody reunion?”

Bathsheda grinned against his chest. “Oh, it will be. I wonder what Snape will do.”

Cassian tipped his head back with a sigh. “Throw a tantrum. Brew something acidic. Maybe glare Lupin into a coma.”

She tilted her head like she was picturing it. “He’ll probably try to get him sacked by Hallowe’en. Quicker if he finds out they’ve put him on the same floor.”

Cassian snorted. “They haven’t.”

“They have,” She grinned.

Cassian sighed. “Dumbledore likes chaos more than most warlords.”

She rolled off him, snatching the discarded newspaper. “Merlin. Is Lupin even up for it? Last I heard, he was living out of a suitcase and tutoring to get by.”

“Better than Lockhart,” Cassian said. “Though so’s a dead turnip.”

Bathsheda skimmed the article, then tossed it back onto the floor. “Out of all four, I liked Lupin best. Thoughtful. Quiet. Didn’t try to impress anyone.”

Cassian scratched his jaw, not bothering to hide the yawn behind it. “True. Potter was a dick. Black was dicker. Pettigrew… haven’t got much of an opinion.”

He squinted slightly, like the name had a tail that hadn’t quite finished wagging.

“Why does that sound familiar?” he muttered. “Pettigrew… there’s no other famous one, right?”

Bathsheda shook her head, still flicking through the paper without looking up. “Not that I know of.”

She shifted against him after a silence, nose tucked into his ribs. “You think Sirius will come for Potter?”

He shook his head. “Family thinks it’s something else.” His fingers twitched against the back of the sofa. “But you know I can’t speak about it.”

She didn’t press. Just nodded.

There were limits to what he could say. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he literally couldn’t. The Rosier Manor had rules. Wards that didn’t just protect from intrusion but locked certain knowledge in. Anything discussed within its walls was sealed to the speaker unless given permission or standing. It was how the family kept secrets so tightly. Why Regulus and the others didn’t hold back when he was in the room. They knew he couldn’t repeat it. Not even if he tried.

It didn’t block all information though. Regulus could decide what could and could not slip out of wards.

***

Cassian nudged the door open with his elbow and stepped into the staff room, one brow already half-raised.

“Did Warren finally quit, or has he just melted into that chair for good?” he asked, eyes landing on an unfamiliar witch tucked in beside Sprout.

Bathsheda didn’t answer, she was already making a beeline for Aurora and Septima, her mug in one hand and something suspiciously biscuit-shaped in the other.

“Cassian!” Hagrid waved him over, beaming bright. “Look! I’m a Professor!”

Cassian dropped into the chair beside him with a smirk. “Well then. Congrats are in order, Professor Hagrid.”

Hagrid flushed pink right up to the tips of his ears, trying to hide the grin down his beard, failing.

McGonagall looked up from her notes with all the weariness of someone who’d been preparing for this exact chaos since sunrise. “Everyone, meet Professor Charity Burbage. She’ll be taking Muggle Studies this year.”

Cassian raised a hand in greeting. The new witch, blonde, pleasant-looking, nodded back with a small smile.

“Cassian Rosier,” he said, gesturing at himself. “History of Magic.”

“Lovely to meet you.”

McGonagall cleared her throat, already moving on before anyone had time to derail the conversation. “The new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Remus Lupin, will be arriving with the Hogwarts Express.”

Snape made a noise that sounded halfway between a scoff and a cough, very loud.

Cassian didn’t bother turning. “Bless you, Severus.”

Snape glared, sitting back in his chair like he’d swallowed something unpleasant and was letting the world suffer with him.

“As you’re all aware,” McGonagall continued, “Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban. The Ministry has decided to place Dementors to patrol the school grounds and Hogsmeade for the safety of the students.”

Flitwick shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Pomona frowned. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. “The Ministry believes the threat justifies their presence.”

Snape smirked, one corner of his mouth lifting, he’d thought something unpleasant and wanted to share. “And we have a Professor who cannot even cast a Patronus. Very assuring.”

Cassian didn’t look up from the biscuit he was breaking in half. “Finally lost the last scrap of happiness, Severus? Should I send condolences to your shampoo?”

A few quiet snickers bubbled around the room, Aurora covered hers with a cough, and even Sybil looked mildly pleased.

Snape squinted at him. “I simply think, with Dementors on the grounds, someone who can’t defend himself is hardly qualified to protect others.”

Cassian didn’t rise to it. He just shrugged, popped the biscuit in his mouth, and chewed with the slow smugness of someone entirely unbothered. “I’ll be fine. Got a strong girlfriend. She does the defending. I supervise.”

That earned him an eyeroll from Bathsheda, who didn’t bother looking up from her tea.

Snape narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you ashamed?”

Cassian shrugged. “Not in the slightest. She’s the muscle, I’m the left brain, and together we pass for one whole adult. Works brilliantly.”

Charity gave a soft laugh under her breath.

Septima muttered, “Honestly, better than most marriages.”

Snape didn’t respond. But his look spoke a lot. Mostly curses.

McGonagall tapped the folder in front of her. “Enough bickering. If you’re quite finished arguing over who’s doomed and who’s dating someone competent, we do have lesson plans to finalise.”

Cassian raised a hand. “I’ll have mine in by Friday.”

“Your letter said that last week.”

“I meant this Friday.”

***

That night, when the students filtered into the Great Hall for the welcome feast, the mood was grim.

They walked slower. Talked less. Even the ones who usually treated Sorting like a spectator sport looked half-ready to turn back to the train.

Up at the staff table, Cassian scanned the crowd with his chin resting on one hand, eyes flicking from face to face.

A man in a patched cloak stepped in from the side door and made his way up to the table. He slid into the empty seat beside Flitwick.

“Hello everyone,” he said with a polite smile.

Flitwick looked over and lit up. “Remus! Glad to see you again. Did something happen to the train?”

Remus nodded, tired.

“Dementors stopped it. Tried to search the train.”

He glanced down the table, then across the hall.

“They attacked Potter.”

Several heads turned. Minerva stiffened.

Cassian’s brow crept up. “Brilliant start to the year.”

Snape let out a short breath through his nose, might’ve been a scoff, might’ve been a laugh he strangled before it escaped.

Minerva leaned forward. “He’s unharmed?”

“He’s fine,” Remus said. “Passed out. Recovered before we reached Hogsmeade.”

Bathsheda set down her fork. “They’re already overstepping.”

McGonagall left not long after. First years trickled in a few minutes later, herding behind her in various states of terror. He caught a few names as they were called out. Another Greengrass.

Dumbledore stood once the last kid had scampered off the stool. Usual beginning-of-year spiel followed, welcome back, tuck in, don’t die in the forest, Filch has added something new to the list of forbidden items, probably happiness.

Then came the new bit.

“Due to recent events, Dementors will be stationed at the entrances to the school and surrounding areas for the foreseeable future.”

That silenced the chatter like someone had jammed a silencing ward over the tables.

Every single student turned to stare at Harry.

Cassian didn’t blame them. The boy looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and vanish entirely. Shoulders hunched, neck disappearing into his collar. He looked absolutely knackered. Not that passing out on the Hogwarts Express made for a heroic first-day anecdote.

He scanned the Hall again. Three tables over, Malfoy was already at it, sniggering behind his hand, elbowing Crabbe, nudging Goyle. Cassian caught at least three separate jabs about Harry needing nappies or smelling a Dementor and fainting like a damsel in a horror serial.

He sighed into his goblet.

Why did that boy get louder every year? It was like someone had cursed his volume control.

Bathsheda leaned in slightly. “You’re grimacing.”

“Only on the inside,” Cassian said. “Outside I’m a picture of patience.”

She didn’t reply, just slid the bowl of roast potatoes closer to him.

“Potatoes!” Cassian lit up. He then turned to her. “Do you think it’s too late to declare a sabbatical?”

“Yes,” she said. “And also no one would believe you.”

Fair point.

After the feast, the castle settled, benches scraped, candles guttered, the noise of a thousand students mixed into an ugly symphony. Cassian slipped out a side door to get air and walked until the chatter fell away.

He felt them before he saw them. For a second, his instincts flared, thinking a Crawler followed him but feeling was… weaker. A lot weaker. Not the same but still felt similar. Two hooded shapes at the gate.

“Lovely,” he said to no one. “Welcome committee.”

Footsteps behind, Bathsheda arrived, finally. She slipped a warm hand into his sleeve, warding off some of the cold.

“Tea,” she said, passing already.

“Always.”

(Check Here) (Contains mild profanity)

Your enthusiasm has a stealth mode. It’s permanent.

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