Please be sure to read the Author’s Note at the end about Cassian and Bathsheda’s talk.

—

Cassian strolled through the manor, shoulders aching like he’d wrestled a mountain. Which, all things considered, wasn’t far off. It’d been a bastard of a year. Overdrawing his magic to snap Lupin mid-shift had fried something, Pettigrew was as revolting as expected, and punching Sirius had been satisfying, of course. Snape, sadly, continued to exist. That was enough on its own.

He reached the study just in time to see Lucian walk out. The door clicked softly behind him.

His brother’s face twitched.

“Brother,” Cassian said, nodding.

Lucian didn’t nod back. Just stared at him, like he was waiting for Cassian to sprout peacock feathers and start tap-dancing on the rug.

Cassian squinted. “Oh.”

Lucian’s jaw locked. “What is it? Now that you’re famous, do you want to gloat?”

He hadn’t expected Lucian to come in swinging. He did want to gloat. Obviously. But he hadn’t expected Lucian to sound that sore about it. Which meant it stung.

Was that it?

Was he feeling… threatened?

“I will,” Cassian said cheerfully.

Lucian’s little finger twitched. Barely a nudge, but Cassian saw it.

It was telltale.

Just before he drew his wand. Every bloody time.

Cassian raised a brow. “Really?”

Lucian didn’t answer. His posture had shifted by half a degree, which in Rosier terms meant someone was about to get hexed or offered a duel over brunch. He was wound tight, nostrils flaring, weight tilted to the back foot.

“You’re going to duel me,” Cassian said. Not a question. “In our own house.”

Lucian’s hand hovered near his wand. “I don’t see why not.”

Cassian shrugged. “Don’t want to.”

Lucian’s nose flared. “Then stand there.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “You really that desperate to re-establish the pecking order? What happened, Witch Weekly not rank you top ten eligible bachelors anymore now that I’m in the list? Didn’t know you subscribed.”

Lucian swung wide. “Shut up and fight, Cassy!”

Cassian squinted at the name.

The spell cracked from his wand, a red streak tearing through the room.

It passed through Cassian’s chest like smoke.

Before Lucian could wrap his head around that, a hand landed on his shoulder.

“There, you won. Can I go now?”

Lucian froze. He stared at the space in front of him, empty. His neck turned slow.

Cassian was behind him, already stepping into the study, coat slung over his shoulder.

Lucian’s grip tightened around his wand, jaw grinding like he wanted to snap the damn thing in half.

***

Cassian strolled in without knocking, hands in his pockets, like he’d just wandered in for tea. Magnus was in his usual chair, Regulus stood by the window, half-turned, clearly mid-discussion.

“Lucian handled the venue,” Regulus was saying. “World Cup starts in a week.”

Magnus didn’t look up, but his frown said everything. “That site’s too close to a Muggle settlement. Tents, crowds, fireworks… Has the boy lost whatever wits he started with?”

“I told him the same,” Regulus muttered, arms crossed. “But he claims it’s all covered. Says Victor and Damien are helping with the wardwork, notice-me-nots, boundary locks, the usual. They’ve rented the land off a Muggle couple, apparently, with Alistair and a few of the DMLE on our side smoothing it over.”

Magnus made a noise that was somewhere between sceptical and unimpressed. “Mm.”

Cassian made a sound, “Hem hem.” Then immediately chuckled. “Bloody hell. That came out as bad as it sounded in my head.”

Both Rosiers turned.

Regulus looked vaguely annoyed to be interrupted mid report, but upon seeing Cassian, his frown dropped. Magnus didn’t move much, just gave him a glance, but sat straighter.

“Am I interrupting,” Cassian asked, “or just saving you from the sound of Lucian’s logistical incompetence?”

“You tell us,” Regulus said, turning to face him fully now.

Cassian strolled in as if he owned the place, which, given the carpet was bought with Rosier gold he recently doubled, the chair he was heading for was a gift to him, wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

“Speaking of, which Muggle family are we charming this time? I heard something about venue placement, DMLE backing, Lucian being… Lucian. Just tell me he’s not planning to Obliviate any stray jogger who stumbles onto a Quidditch riot.”

Regulus scoffed. “If any Muggle wanders in, it’ll be handled. Standard protocol.”

Cassian deadpanned, “Standard protocol being, melt their brain and hope no one files a complaint?”

Regulus frowned. “It protects the Statute.”

“Yeah. Tell that to the poor sod Jeremy turned into a vegetable. You remember how well that went?”

Magnus’s mouth tightened. “Jeremy was young. It was a misjudgement.”

“My point,” Cassian said, standing up. “Doesn’t take much. One sloppy Obliviate and we’re doing apology tours with the International Confederation… again.”

Neither of them answered. Cassian had said it plain, and neither Magnus nor Regulus could shrug it off.

“We can always change the venue,” Cassian added, kicking his heel against the leg of the chair. “Don’t need to terrorise a pair of pensioners for the sake of a few fireworks.”

They knew Cassian had a point. One slip, one botched spell, and the Rosier name would be dragged through the Prophet by breakfast. The kind of scandal even their vaults wouldn’t cover.

“I’ll speak to Lucian,” Regulus said eventually.

Cassian shrugged, brushing some imaginary lint off his robes. “You do that.”

Magnus then smiled, still seemed strange to Cassian. “You did great, Cassian.”

Regulus gave a nod. “Exposed one of Dumbledore’s golden boys as a werewolf, no parent’s going to stomach that. Saved Potter and two Pureblood heirs. Cleared Sirius, even if you did out him as an unregistered Animagus in the process. Caught Pettigrew. All very neat. Makes Lucius and the rest look like amateurs for trying to sideline us and Lucian at the Cup.”

Cassian scratched his temple. “Glad to be of help.”

Magnus leaned forward slightly. “The family won’t forget it.”

Cassian waved that off, casual. “Sure, sure.”

Regulus shook his head, disappointment written plain. “Why did you punch Black?”

Cassian looked mildly troubled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Seeing his face took me right back to school. Old habits, I suppose.”

Magnus grunted but didn’t comment further.

Regulus sighed through his nose. “It wasn’t wise. We could’ve built a connection with the Black family. I was even thinking of introducing Selena to him.”

Cassian blinked. “Selena is nineteen, Father.”

“So?” Regulus said flatly.

Cassian’s hand clenched. He paused, let out the breath to calm his nerves. “Well, too late now. I hit him. Out of spite. Doubt he’ll be queuing up for business talks.”

Regulus drummed his fingers against his sleeve. “Seems that way. But not all’s lost. Sirius will never hand the Black inheritance to Lucius. The most likely candidate is Potter. I’m planning to have Odette approach the boy.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened. He nearly swore but bit it back. “I don’t think Potter’s that naive. And Dumbledore’s not blind, he’d see through that sort of move instantly. You’ll show your hand before you’ve even played it.”

Regulus rubbed his chin, considering. “Perhaps. But we need that tie re-established somehow. The Blacks’ seat in the Wizengamot carries weight.”

Cassian leaned back in the chair, eyes flicking between them. “You’ll get your alliance one way or another, I’m sure. Just maybe try it without sending a debutante to charm a traumatised godfather, hm?”

“I’ll think on it,” Regulus said at last. “Odette can start slow.”

Cassian gave him a thin smile. “Good. Because if she goes in waving family crests and batting lashes, Potter’ll bolt faster than you can say ‘inheritance clause’.”

Magnus hummed, swirling the drink in his hand. “Let’s talk about your growing fame. A tree Patronus, rare, that. Looks good on the family name. And that spell you used on the werewolf… Fudge’s office has been sending owls every other day. Can it be taught to others?”

Cassian stared. “No.”

Magnus gave a small, satisfied sound. “Better that way. A trick we keep in our pocket, then. Rosiers striking fear into beasts with magic alone. In the last war, it was the giants who tipped the balance.”

“You think Fudge’s lot will sniff around?” Cassian asked. “Try and buy it off me?”

“They’ll try,” Regulus said. “They already have. He’s asked for a demonstration.”

Cassian pulled a face. “Of the hex that nearly split my ribcage open?”

Magnus looked mildly amused. “That’s why it works. Blood price means it can’t be mass-produced. Makes it respectable. Exclusive.”

Cassian waved a hand. “Lovely. I’ll have to start offering autographs at the door.”

Magnus leaned forward slightly. “Do you know what the tree means yet?”

Cassian glanced at him, then away. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?” Regulus asked.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” Cassian said.

Regulus nodded with a smile. “The Patronus alone has put the family in a different light. Wizards are calling it a ‘Rosier signature spell.'”

Cassian groaned. “Oh, marvellous. Can’t wait to see that trademarked next to a family crest. Do we get a slogan too? ‘Grow your own magical tree, terrify your friends and neighbours?'”

Regulus ignored that. Probably already thinking how to leverage it.

“What happened to Barty?” Cassian asked, steering the conversation away before either of them could ask more about the tree.

Magnus gave a short scoff. “Sacked. He’ll stand before the Wizengamot next week.”

Cassian let out an amused snort. “Hope he rots.”

Regulus’ smile turned sharper. “Oh, he will.”

“I’m leaving soon, so don’t assign me anything.” Cassian got up, waving his hand.

Regulus didn’t ask where. Didn’t bother pretending he’d get an answer. At this point, asking was just for show.

Magnus tapped a finger against the armrest. “If it’s another history dive, take someone.”

Cassian turned to him. “That a request or a retirement plan?”

Magnus didn’t blink. “A warning. Something is brewing.”

Cassian smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

(Check Here)

And here for the Author Note

In the beginning was the Word… And at the end? Hopefully yours.

—

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