Cassian was slouching on his desk, sipping a tea that had gone cold, wondering why, when the knock came.

“Come in,” he called, not looking up, already bracing for a Weasley twin, or Luna with a new conspiracy, or Hermione trying to schedule another law rewrite before breakfast.

Instead, when the door creaked open, it was Fleur and Gabrielle.

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “Miss and Miss Delacour. What a surprise. What can I do for you?”

Gabrielle bounced in first, all sunbeam and charm. Fleur followed behind with more grace.

“We brought greetings from home,” Fleur said.

Gabrielle beamed, hands clasped behind her back. “Uncle and Auntie said we must visit you and say hi. And if we need anything, we can visit you.”

Cassian blinked. “Uncle and Auntie?”

Then it clicked. “Ah. The Flamels?”

Fleur nodded. “Yes.”

“Well then. That explains a few things,” he said, setting the pen aside. He waved his hand to set the kettle on. “How are they?”

“Very well. They were wondering if you are planning anything this summer.” Fleur said as they settled in.

Cassian raised his cup, glanced into the cold tea, and sighed. “No. I will rest. Preferably somewhere where I won’t need my wand.”

Gabrielle looked at him, worry creasing between her brows as she leaned in. “Are you ill?” she asked softly.

Before he could answer, Fleur bumped her sharply with an elbow. “He means normal rest,” she said with an exaggerated eye-roll. “Repos normal, pas repos au lit.”

Gabrielle blinked, the tension melting off her face. “Ahh.” She nodded, then her mouth curled into a sly grin. “So you’re just lazy.”

Cassian gave her a look. His expression stayed flat, unimpressed, utterly unbothered. “No.” Snorting through his nose. “I prefer ‘strategically conserving energy.'”

Gabrielle blinked, unpersuaded.

“Lazy,” she repeated.

Fleur bit her lip, fighting a smile.

Cassian tapped the desk. “One day, when you’re older and wiser, you’ll understand the ancient art of doing absolutely nothing.”

“I already understand it,” Gabrielle said proudly. “I just do it better.”

Cassian grumbled, she was too sharp-tongued for her own good.

She giggled, adding. “Mama said you are a troublemaker.”

Fleur’s hand flew up, trying, and failing, to smother the little devil’s laugh. Cassian’s eye twitched.

“Did she now?”

Gabrielle nodded far too innocently. “She said you make people nervous when you smile.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair, eyebrows up. “And what did she say about your Bathsheda?”

“She said she’s the clever one.”

Cassian sighed theatrically. “Your mother has excellent judgement.”

Gabrielle swung her legs a little under the chair. “Daddy wanted to meet you too, but he was busy.”

Cassian gave a hum, setting two mugs of hot chocolate on the desk between them.

“What does he do?”

Gabrielle puffed up a little, like she’d just been asked to explain why the sun was important. “He’s Head of the DMLE.”

“Well, that’s mildly terrifying.”

Fleur smiled faintly into her drink. “He’s very good at his job.”

“I should hope so. Otherwise I’ve been dodging French lawmen without knowing it.”

Gabrielle giggled. “He said if you ever come to Paris, he wants to see what kind of wizard Mama keeps praising so much.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” He eyed them both. “So, the Flamels sent you to say hello, your father wants to shake my hand, and your mother thinks I make people nervous when I smile. What are you lot planning, exactly?”

Fleur’s gaze didn’t shift. “Nothing… official.”

“That doesn’t seem like nothing,” Cassian said. “You say it like someone who’s very good at meaning something else.”

Gabrielle grinned. “They just said you helped. A lot. And that if we needed anything, we could trust you.”

Cassian rubbed his temples. “Wonderful. That means trouble’s coming, and I’m going to have to put on a nicer robe. Alright then. Tell your parents I’m not running any summer programmes, don’t plan on cursing any libraries, and I absolutely haven’t stolen any Ministry artefacts in at least a month.”

Fleur looked over the rim of her cup. “Should I lie, or redact?”

“Pick whichever sounds less likely to cause an international summit.”

***

When Bathsheda stepped through the door, a slim black vial swinging between her fingers, the Delacour sisters were already gathering their cloaks.

Fleur turned at once. “Professor Babbling.”

Gabrielle beamed. “We were just leaving.”

“Nonsense.” She said, inviting them back in. They chatted for another hour. Gabrielle told a dramatic tale about a cursed violinist in Marseille. Fleur tried to explain the politics of Beauxbatons’ new Potion Guild.

Candles had burned low by the time the sisters finally stood to go.

Cassian watched the door shut behind them, then flopped sideways across Bathsheda’s leg.

“Where were you?”

She said nothing. Just lifted the vial.

Cassian squinted. The glass shimmered, colour pulling back. Inside, curled like a stray, was miniature Rita Skeeter, fast asleep.

He blinked. “Is that-?”

“Mm,” Bathsheda said. “She’s an Animagus. Beetle. Thought she’d spy on me and the girls.”

Cassian squinted at the vial. “You don’t say.”

“She got bold. Followed me all the way into my room. The nerve.”

She set the vial on the table. Rita stirred, legs twitching faintly in her sleep.

“I caught her before the biscuits. Thought about stepping on her, but Charity might’ve cried.”

“She would’ve,” Cassian agreed. “Also, it’s a bit public.”

“What do you want to do with her?”

Cassian tilted his head, considering. “So many things. Beetle fights. Trap her with a mouse. Release her into the Owlery?”

Bathsheda smacked his shoulder. “Be serious.”

“I am,” he said, deadpan. “Educational value. Live exhibit, invasive species and their natural consequences.”

She gave him a look.

He sighed. “Fine. Magical contract. We get her to sign it, tie it to her magic, and let her crawl back to whatever hole she came from.”

“She’ll squeal about it.”

“Let her.” He lifted the vial, peered through the shimmered glass. “Everyone already thinks she’s a snake. We’re only adding horns.”

She reached for her bag and started rifling through parchment. “I’ll draft the first version. You can add the paranoid clauses.”

Cassian lifted his mug. “Finally. My moment.”

Rita stirred in the vial again. Cassian tapped the glass. “You hear that? Contract or owl food.”

The twitching paused.

“Good girl,” he muttered.

She slid a half-filled parchment across the table. “Here. Add your bits.”

He glanced down. Read the first few lines, then reached for a quill. “Let’s make it idiot-proof.”

“She’s persistent, not clever.”

“She’s both. The worst kind. If she weren’t such a gossip gremlin, she’d probably be running a department.”

She huffed. “She is running a department. It’s called ‘Problem.'”

“Ah. The Ministry’s fastest-growing sector.”

Cassian leaned back when the page filled. He gave it a once-over, blew on the ink, then popped the vial open and tipped it low to the ground like he was shaking sugar from a packet.

Rita hit the floor with a yelp, expanded mid-fall, and skidded straight into the bookshelf at the far wall.

“How dare you?!” she snapped, untangling her robes.

Cassian raised one eyebrow.

She faltered. “R-Rosier.”

He snorted. “Come here and sign this. Then you can get lost.”

Rita pushed herself upright and stalked over. She leaned in to read.

Her lips moved silently as she skimmed. Her eyes narrowed halfway through, then narrowed more.

Gasping, she pointed at the clauses. “…no false statements unless approved by the Contract Holders… no misquoting, no unsourced speculation in any publication domestic or international, magical or otherwise…” Her eyes darted further down. “No Animagus form for covert observation unless specifically ordered by-” She stopped. Her gaze shot up to Cassian.

She looked up, horrified. “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly,” Cassian said with a raised brow.

Rita’s fingers twitched. “This is a violation of free press.”

Cassian gestured lazily towards the paper. “Not press. You. It’s very targeted. It even says so in paragraph six.”

She skimmed lower. “No contact with Hogwarts students under the age of seventeen without a chaperone-“

“Oh, that one’s for me,” Bathsheda added, flipping her own page. “I don’t like your face near children.”

Cassian set his quill down and leaned forward. “You’re welcome to decline. I’ll just inform the Board you were an unregistered Animagus stalking underage students and foreign diplomats in a school setting.”

Rita paled. “You’d never.”

“Do I look like someone bluffing?” He tilted his head.

Rita hesitated, staring down at the last lines. Her shoulders stiffened.

Cassian glanced at Bathsheda. “What was the last clause?”

She tapped it with her quill. “‘Any breach results in forfeit of magic and will.'”

“Right. We like that one.” Cassian looked at Rita. “Means if you cross us, your days are over. For good.”

“I-” Rita opened her mouth, then shut it again. Her jaw clicked. “This is extortion.”

“No,” Bathsheda said mildly. “This is paperwork. We’re being very civil, all things considered.”

“You bottled me,” she snapped.

“Alone. Pray that it wasn’t me. I would have put a spider in there too,” Cassian said.

Rita glared.

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Thank you,” he said dryly. He passed her a quill. “Either sign, or leave. I’m told your old editor’s brother works in records. He’d be thrilled to find out how long you’ve been skittering around under the radar.”

She snatched the quill.

The moment the tip hit the parchment, a thin band of gold lit across the page. The signature settled, burned faintly into the contract with a sound like a lock sliding shut.

Cassian took the paper back, gave it a look-over, and passed it to Bathsheda. “Do your magic, love.”

She tapped the page. The gold line flared, then sank.

Rita stepped back, fuming.

“Well done,” Cassian said. “You’re now officially housebroken.”

“You two think you’re clever,” Rita snapped.

“No,” Bathsheda replied. “We know we are. Now get lost.”

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Here lies a chapter. Born from fire, crafted with care, devoured in silence.

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