Cassian didn’t bother showing up to the following Tournament meetings. He’d cleared Potter out of the tournament, that was the bit that mattered. Everything else, Ministry pageantry, gold trim on nothing, he couldn’t be arsed with.

He would’ve liked to help Cedric, sure. He liked the boy. But the Goblet had bound staff hands tighter than a Gringotts vault. No “assistance,” no “guidance,” not even a raised eyebrow unless you wanted the enchantments to throw a fit.

So when word slipped in that Karkaroff and Maxime had whispered hints to their own champions, Cassian didn’t even bother looking surprised. Just sighed. Of course they had. There were always loopholes.

Ji, Ekwensi, and Dumbledore hadn’t done the same. Morality, honour, that whole crowd. Admirable, but unhelpful. At this point, a nudge would be evening the pitch not cheating.

So, naturally, the next Duelling Club meeting came with guests. And Cassian gave a very serious talk about a “completely unrelated spell” that just could come handy pretty soon. Then he gave a talk about a “completely hypothetical scenario” involving directional control against volatile magical forces, “stability while footing is compromised,” and “how to stop your wand arm shaking when a living storm tries to punt you across a field.”

Totally random. Nothing to do with an air strong enough to tear up a lawn. Or a fire that could melt stone. Pure coincidence.

A few days later, when the Wand Weighing rolled around, he and Bathsheda were sent invitations. He sent regrets.

Bathsheda went, for appearances. Cassian stayed behind and did nothing. Absolutely nothing.

***

Bathsheda stood near Ekwensi. The two were deep in conversation about one thing or another, weather, goblet theory, Cassian. Ever since the summer, they’d just clicked. Ekwensi had that easy charm, always asking, never assuming, and Bathsheda found herself drawn into her easy wisdom. Even now, mid-event, they were still comparing thoughts.

“It is time,” Dumbledore called from the front.

Bathsheda gave Ekwensi a nod and stepped aside. Judges lined up. The champions stood in front of their respective Heads. Cedric with Dumbledore, Mingyu with Ji, Amara beside Ekwensi, Fleur standing proud for Beauxbatons with Maxime, and Krum looming next to Karkaroff.

Ollivander had already taken his seat, hands twitching like they wanted to weigh every wand in the room twice.

Rita Skeeter hovered nearby, trying to look as if she wasn’t eavesdropping. She was. She leaned in, “Professor Babbling. What a line-up, don’t you think? Where’s Professor Rosier hiding?”

Bathsheda didn’t answer. Just smiled, the sort of smile you wore when someone was chewing with their mouth open and calling it conversation.

Rita adjusted her glasses, the quill already scratching something onto the notepad hovering at her shoulder. “Rumour’s he’s been keeping Potter on a very short leash. Is it true the boy’s name came out of the Goblet too? And then, poof, removed?” Her eyes glittered behind those awful spectacles. “Strange magic, that. Hard to undo a binding enchantment, unless you’re very clever… or very reckless.”

Bathsheda’s smile widened a fraction.

Skeeter clicked her tongue. “And the threats? I heard Karkaroff had to be physically restrained. Is it true Rosier told him he’d cause a scandal? I mean, Merlin, ‘international scandal’ was the phrase, wasn’t it?”

Silence.

Skeeter leaned in closer, clearly thinking she was onto something. “Come on, Professor. Off the record.”

Bathsheda’s gaze slid sideways.

Skeeter’s voice thinned. “Is there… anything you can comment on?”

Bathsheda gave a quiet breath through her nose, almost a laugh. “No.”

The quill paused mid-stroke.

She smiled. “It’s fine. Silence often is the answer.”

Bathsheda smiled back. Not bothered at all. Rita blinked, caught off guard.

Then Bathsheda leaned in a touch. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

Rita froze for a blink. Then the grin kicked in. “Didn’t know you’d already picked up Rosier arrogance, my dear Bathsheda.”

Bathsheda’s expression didn’t shift. “Oh, Rita. This has nothing to do with Rosiers. I’m your boss. That simple.”

Rita actually stepped back. “You?”

Bathsheda laughed softly. “It was a worthy investment. But looks like I’ll need to do some cleanup.”

Rita opened her mouth, then shut it. Her eyes ticked to the side.

Bathsheda didn’t press. She just glanced toward the rest of the hall like she was already moving on to more important things.

Rita cleared her throat. “I wasn’t aware you’d taken over the Prophet’s board.”

“You weren’t meant to be aware. That’s sort of the point.” Bathsheda adjusted her sleeve. “I don’t mind your flair, but twist another quote out of context, and you’ll be writing obituaries for broomstick brands.”

Rita’s smile had stiffened. Her quill dropped slightly.

“Good,” Bathsheda said. “We understand each other.”

Behind them, Bagman let out a laugh a bit too loud for no reason. The Wand Weighing went smoothly enough. Ollivander fussed, of course, stroking wand handles, humming to himself, muttering about grain and core alignment, flirting with every piece of wood on the table. But in the end, he cleared all five champions without any theatrics.

Bathsheda didn’t linger. The second the event wrapped, she slipped out with Ekwensi in tow. Rita’s quill kept on writing somewhere behind them, but Bathsheda ignored all of it.

Her room was warm when they stepped in. Aurora was spread out on armchair, one leg over the other, flipping through a thick book. Septima had claimed the corner sofa with a pile of parchment she definitely wasn’t marking. Charity was perched on the windowsill, sipping tea.

All three looked up as the door shut.

Aurora grinned. “About time.”

Charity held up a biscuit tin. “We waited to open these. That’s devotion.”

Ekwensi had only met the group properly a few weeks back, but this was the first time she’d been waved into a girls’ night.

Charity leaned over with the tin. “Shortbread?”

Ekwensi accepted one, careful not to drop crumbs on her robes. The chatter flowed easily, lesson mishaps, Aurora threatening to hex her heating charms if the Astronomy Tower froze over again, Septima complaining about numbers. The usual.

Then Ekwensi turned to Bathsheda. “I’ve been meaning to ask… your familiar. You mentioned it last summer, yes? I’d love to meet her.”

Aurora perked up immediately. “Ash! We haven’t seen her in ages.”

Charity clapped lightly. “She’ll be bigger now, won’t she?”

Septima nodded. “Bring her out.”

Bathsheda reached for her arm, halfway through the motion she’d done a thousand times, then she stopped. Brows creased, she waved her hand.

A small black beetle dropped into her palm as if plucked from mid-air.

She held it up between two fingers. Tiny legs flailed, and the others leaned forward as one.

Bathsheda squeezed, thumb and forefinger firm but not crushing. The beetle froze.

“What is that?” Charity asked, already edging behind Septima. She hated insects and wasn’t subtle about it.

“A visitor,” Bathsheda said lightly. She tilted her hand so the others could see. “Nice try. Though after last year, Cassian and I added Animagus detection runes to the castle.”

Aurora let out a sharp breath. “An Animagus?”

Bathsheda nodded, clocking the telltale signs of an Animagus. “Mm. And we’ve both been wondering where Rita Skeeter gets her news.”

Ekwensi’s brows drew together. Septima stared. Charity looked horrified.

Bathsheda kept her eyes on the beetle. “You followed me into my room. Bold.” She tapped the insect gently with her thumb. “And stupid.”

Aurora leaned in, peering at it like she expected it to explode. “That’s Rita?”

“Most likely.” Bathsheda lifted her free hand and pulled a slim glass vial from her sleeve. She uncorked it with her teeth, then dropped the beetle inside. The creature clattered against the glass, wings buzzing in panic.

“Bath…” Charity squeaked. “You’re bottling her?”

“She came in,” Bathsheda said, corking the vial, “so she can stay in.”

Septima folded her arms. “Why would she sneak into your room?”

Bathsheda set the vial on the table. The beetle threw itself at the glass again. “Ask her when she’s human. She tried to get something out of me earlier. Couldn’t manage it, so she tried this instead.”

Ekwensi glanced at the vial, then back at Bathsheda. “What will you do with her?”

Bathsheda shrugged. “Haven’t decided. Depends how apologetic she is.”

Charity made a tiny, horrified noise. “You’re not going to… step on her, are you?”

Aurora snorted. “Please. Rita’s too annoying to kill.”

Bathsheda waved her wand and the glass shimmered. Just a soft bend of space inside the vial. The beetle still rattled against the sides, but the glass neither cracked nor strained. Plenty of room in there now.

Good.

She flicked her wand again and cancelled the Animagus form.

Rita snapped back into herself, miniature from outside, cramped, and immediately furious.

“Release me!” she barked, fists pressed against the glass.

Bathsheda’s smile sharpened. “Not very apologetic then?”

Rita’s eyes flicked from her to Ekwensi, who stepped closer. Her expression had gone cold.

“You spy on foreign delegates and Hogwarts staff?” Ekwensi asked. “Unregistered Animagus? Do you know how many charges we can plaster on you?”

Rita’s breath stuttered. She looked between them and clearly didn’t like what she saw.

Bathsheda lowered herself a little, elbows on her knees so she could look Rita in the eye. “What was your purpose? Find dirt on us?”

Ekwensi lifted a hand. A soft sweep of magic brushed the air, and Rita’s eyes clouded, glassy, her mouth going slack.

“I hate Babbling and Rosier!” Rita burst out, voice shrill. “I wanted to find dirt on them then go private. They don’t know my artistic talent!”

Aurora let out a whistle. Charity backed up another step. Septima only pinched the bridge of her nose.

Bathsheda blinked. “Artistic talent,” she repeated. “Right.”

Rita stood stiff inside her glass prison, frozen mid‑rant.

Ekwensi folded her arms. “She says it like it’s a virtue.”

Charity whispered, “She really came in here to snoop on you?”

Aurora leaned in, smirking. “Cassian’s going to lose his mind when he hears.”

“Oh, he’ll be thrilled,” Bathsheda said with a chuckle.

Bathsheda straightened and glanced at Ekwensi. “You can end it.”

Ekwensi nodded, and the haze in Rita’s eyes faded. Confusion snapped back in, then panic, then rage.

“You can’t keep me here!” Rita shouted. “I’ll…”

Bathsheda tapped the glass with a finger. The sound cut Rita off like someone had shut a door. “Be grateful this is all that’s happening.”

Septima clicked her tongue. “Imagine risking your career for eavesdropping on a biscuit night.”

Charity shuddered, eyeing the vial. “I still can’t believe she followed you in.”

“We’ve had our suspicions,” Bathsheda said. She picked up the vial, turning it slowly so Rita tumbled around in the created space like a very angry snow globe ornament. “Cassian wanted to trace her weeks ago.”

Ekwensi smirked. “He’ll be disappointed he missed this.”

Bathsheda looked at Rita, who had stopped shouting and was now gripping the invisible wall inside the vial, breathing hard.

“We’ll deal with you properly later,” she said. “Right now, you’re staying here. Quietly.”

Rita’s glare could’ve cut glass, if she were normal-sized and not stuck in a magically enlarged jar.

Bathsheda set the vial on the table beside the biscuits, as if Rita were nothing more than a centrepiece.

Aurora nudged Charity. “Do we… put a blanket over it?”

Ekwensi flicked her hand and the glass went pitch‑black in an instant.

Bathsheda reached out, gave the tattoo on her arm a light squeeze.

The air shifted. Then a burst of heat cut through the room as a crimson-golden blur shot out across the floor.

Ash landed with all the weight of a very excited, very overgrown magical lizard.

She was bigger now, longer, sleeker, black-bronze scales catching every light in the room. Her tail whipped, and the girls barely had time to brace before she bounced onto the sofa, chirping like an overeager puppy trapped in a dragon’s body. Aurora barely had time to shriek before the dragon was in her lap, tail curled around one leg, licking her chin.

Ekwensi just stared. “You… actually did it?”

Bathsheda smiled. “Well, Cassian found the rune and did the binding. I just… took over once we understood it.”

“Woah. What on earth are you feeding her?” Aurora said, ducking a tail to the face.

Ekwensi crouched beside the dragon, reaching out. “She chose you?”

Bathsheda nodded. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Ash gave another warble and nosed at her sleeve. Bathsheda stroked her jaw absently.

“She’s clever,” Ekwensi said, watching the creature.

“She’s a nightmare,” Septima muttered, flipping over a parchment. “I once caught her chewing on a compass. Still points wrong.”

Bathsheda leaned back against the armrest. “She gets bored easy. Follows Cassian like a shadow when he lets her.”

“She’s attached to him?” Ekwensi asked, eyes still tracking Ash.

“Mm. Imprinted on me, but she leans his way when he’s pacing or muttering about ‘idiot aristocrats.'”

Ash let out a small huff and curled up at Bathsheda’s feet.

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