When the Yule Ball finally rolled around, Cassian and Bathsheda took their seats at the staff table with the rest of the professors and a collection of guests. The Great Hall had been transfigured within an inch of its life, ceiling dripping with enchanted frost, chandeliers swaying under icicle charms, and enough floating candles to make a pyromaniac cry. Cassian wiped his eyes.

Everyone had scrubbed up surprisingly well. Even Snape looked vaguely pressed, though he was scowling so hard it might’ve been a wrinkle in his face, not the robes.

Cassian adjusted his charcoal dress robes. Bathsheda, naturally, looked like she’d stepped out of some Renaissance painting.

Surprisingly Fleur came with Mingyu. Cassian hummed, not really expecting them to pair up. Both looked annoyingly decent, as if conjured from a fashion scroll. Mingyu wore a robe cut sharper than most daggers, Fleur shimmered like she was being followed by her own light charm.

Cedric arrived with Cho, both glowing for school pride. Hand-in-hand, as if they weren’t the most envied couple in the Hall. At least three girls visibly deflated when they walked in.

Then Krum came in with Beatrice Haywood, one of the Hufflepuff seventh years. She was quiet most of the time. Cassian liked her. Focused girl. Kept her essays tidy and legible. Didn’t speak unless she had something to say. Made a decent partner for Krum, who could brood through a full meal without blinking.

And then, Amara.

She came in with Kenneth Fowler.

Cassian had to double-take.

Kenneth was beaming. Absolutely radiant. He looked euphoric.

Amara had his sleeve in her grip, dragging him straight through the entrance hall like she’d claimed a prize at the fair.

“What on earth,” Cassian muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Later, over punch and some suspiciously dancing canapes, he found out Kenneth had walked right up to her after the first task, of all places, and asked if she could turn him into a cat too, because, apparently, he loved cats and thought it looked fun.

Amara had laughed so hard she nearly fell off her chair.

Then he asked if she liked fish. She said yes. And that was that.

Now they were a couple.

Cassian leaned back in his seat, watching them settle.

Second shock from the boy this year.

McGonagall called the champions forward for the opening dance.

They gathered at the centre of the floor. The enchanted orchestra gave a soft trill. They spun. The music picked up. Fleur caught Mingyu in a half-twirl that had several Beauxbatons girls sighing. Cho laughed as Cedric lifted her in a small skip-step. Krum nearly collided with the edge of a table, recovered with a grunt. Kenneth grinned through all of it.

The music swelled, and the dancers flooded in. And the real chaos began.

The night ticked along without much fuss. People danced, gorged themselves on sugared nightmares, and pretended to know what they were doing with their feet. Cassian and Bathsheda, unsurprisingly, stole the floor more than once, not intentionally, but there was only so much grace one could fling around a ballroom before the spotlight just followed.

Students close enough to watch forgot to blink. Not that Cassian noticed. Alright, he noticed. But it wasn’t his fault no one else could keep tempo without stepping on a foot or bursting into flames.

Something interesting was, Charity seemed to get along with Kingsley just fine.

She’d been laughing at something he said, hand hovering over his arm. Bathsheda leaned in at some point, murmured, “He came to her a while back, asking about Muggle traditions. That turned into a few walks in the gardens. Then tonight.”

Cassian nodded, sipping his punch.

“Approved,” he said.

Kingsley was solid. Sharp, steady, and didn’t treat Muggleborn knowledge like a parlour trick. He’d have made a good professor in another life.

Then, McGonagall’s shoes lifted clean off the floor.

Cassian blinked. Dumbledore, of all people, had swooped in mid-waltz and whisked her straight across the floor. Her face didn’t change, but he could practically hear her filing a report in her head.

Bathsheda snorted. “Merlin.”

“Did not have that on the bingo card,” Cassian muttered. “Reckon she’s been kidnapped.”

The dance turned elegantly ridiculous as Dumbledore twirled her with perfect form. McGonagall managed it without blinking, though her mouth tightened on the last step.

They’d barely recovered when another scene unfolded.

Hagrid had been dancing with Maxime, not terribly, just a bit too enthusiastically. It wasn’t clear what went wrong, but whatever he said landed wrong. Maxime’s face turned from polite to thunderous. She stepped away sharply and swept off the floor.

Hagrid stood there, blinking like he didn’t understand what had hit him.

Cassian and Bathsheda locked eyes.

“Rock, parchment, scissors?” he asked.

She was already moving. “You get Hagrid. I’ll speak with her.”

Cassian sighed and made his way around the edge of the room, dodging a couple tangled in a half-hearted foxtrot. Hagrid was still planted in the same spot, shoulders slumped, staring at the floor.

“Alright there?” Cassian asked, stopping beside him.

Hagrid startled a bit, then forced a nod. “Dunno what I said wrong.”

“She said anything before she left?”

Hagrid scratched his beard, “Said, how dare I insult her.”

Cassian frowned. “Let’s go outside.”

Hagrid nodded. He looked like he was about five seconds from crying.

They stepped out through one of the side exits, cold air hitting immediately. The courtyard beyond the Great Hall was frosted over, moonlight painting everything in pale silver.

Hagrid hunched near the stone balustrade, shoulders too wide for the coat he’d definitely borrowed from himself. He looked out over the snow-covered grounds, silent.

Cassian folded his arms, waited.

“Said I was half-giant. Thought…” He winced. “Thought she’d be glad. We had summat in common, right? But, she went quiet. Then told me not to speak to her like that. Said I’d embarrassed her.”

Cassian leaned against the wall, boot nudging a chunk of frost off the ledge. “Ah.”

Hagrid scratched at the back of his neck, miserable. “Didn’t mean no harm.”

“I know that,” Cassian said. “You know that. But she’s spent her whole life pretending she isn’t. That sort of thing… it’s not easy to carry, never mind admit out loud. Especially when someone else beats you to it.”

Hagrid grunted.

“I weren’t trying to.” Hagrid’s voice dipped. “Just thought… maybe I weren’t alone.”

Cassian tilted his head. “You’re not. But you don’t start with that on a first dance. Especially not with someone who’s convinced no one else could possibly understand.”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s gonna be fine. Bathsheda went to speak to her.”

Hagrid didn’t look convinced.

Cassian shifted his weight against the railing. “Look, it’s not easy running one of the biggest magical schools in Europe. Even Dumbledore has to play chess with Malfoy and the rest of the pureblood peacocks on the regular. Now imagine doing it as a woman. Add the half-giant bit in? Yeah. She’s right to be careful.”

Hagrid’s shoulders hunched even further, which seemed impossible.

“She’s not angry because you’re wrong,” Cassian went on. “She’s angry because you’re right. Because she’s been trying to bury that truth under perfect posture and French vowels her whole life, and you…”

He snapped his fingers. “Just popped it open like a bloody biscuit tin in front of everyone.”

Hagrid rubbed at his face. “Reckon I should apologise?”

Cassian paused. “Reckon you should give her space first. Let her choose when, if, she wants to talk again.”

“Don’t worry,” He added after a moment, lighter this time. “If Bathsheda can’t charm her round, no one can. Worst case, she hexes you into a decorative shrub. Bit of festive greenery. You’ll be fine.”

Hagrid gave a weak chuckle, then sighed again.

Cassian clapped him on the arm. “Come on. Let’s head back in before your beard freezes solid.”

Rest of the night went smoother. Maxime didn’t return. The students were too busy losing their minds over the Weird Sisters, who hit the stage like a riot in velvet robes.

The music was loud, fast, and completely incompatible with any of the waltz steps they’d spent hours drilling into nervous teenagers. Didn’t matter. The moment the first beat dropped, shoes were kicked off, formal hairdos collapsed, and half the crowd turned into a blur of limbs and glitter.

Cassian felt a presence settle beside him. Master Ji, as usual, had arrived without sound or ceremony. He held a glass of something sparkling.

Ji watched the floor with a faint smile. “You are surprised by the girl and the boy.”

Cassian glanced sideways. “Bit, yeah. Kenneth is… bit innocent.”

Ji hummed, gaze following Fleur and Mingyu as they drifted past.

“Do you know them?” he asked softly.

Cassian followed his look. “She and her sister visited a while back.”

“Flamel taught her wandwork himself for a few summers. Gabrielle too, when she is ready. Fleur,” Ji cut in gently, “and her sister Gabrielle, they are like granddaughters to the Flamels. Vivienne Delacour, their grandmother, was once saved by the couple. Many decades ago. From something dark.”

Cassian blinked. “Didn’t know that.”

Ji nodded slowly. “The Delacour family swore themselves to service, in gratitude. It is a powerful bond. Apolline, Fleur’s mother, continues it… fiercely.”

Cassian gave a slow sigh. “Yeah, experienced that.”

“So that makes Mingyu…” Ji’s lips pressed into a thin line. “A complication.”

Cassian waited.

Ji finally said, “His family is ambitious.”

Cassian tilted his head. “Aren’t all wizarding families?”

“There is ambition,” Ji said, “and then there is appetite. His bloodline once attempted to supplant an entire court of diviners, for control of inheritance rites. They believe in taking what they think is due.”

“Charming.”

Ji gave the barest shrug. “Mingyu is not his grandfather. But blood is weight.” He sighed deeply, “Fleur will eventually make a difficult choice if she means to remain with him. Cut loose the family… or Mingyu.”

Cassian frowned. “Bit dramatic.”

Ji’s gaze didn’t waver. “The Delacours do not choose partners whose ambition might one day reach toward the Flamels, for power, for legacy, for immortality.”

He sipped his drink.

Cassian remembered the vision, the box, the words, the promise…

“Do you know Feng Shui Marauder?”

Ji’s calm faltered. Just a hair. The air around him, usually tranquil as still water, chilled.

He didn’t look away. “A little.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes. He wanted to snort, to snap back ‘You don’t lie well, Ji,’ but something in Ji’s expression stopped him. Instead, he waited.

Ji sighed, long and deep. “He was once my teacher. My master.”

Cassian nearly choked on his punch. “You’re joking.”

“Not this time,” Ji replied. Sorrow in his voice clear, like the ghost of an old wound reopening.

“Marauder lost his way as death crept closer. As it does to all men, eventually. But he… he feared it more than most. Feared endings. Feared insignificance.” Ji’s voice dropped to a hush. “He sought eternal power.”

Cassian didn’t know what to say, he just listened.

“He broke our laws. The oldest ones. The sacred truths of the Fenghuang. He sacrificed a Phoenix.”

Cassian’s grip on the glass tightened until it creaked.

“A dangerous ritual,” Ji continued, voice distant. “It was once etched into scrolls even the Shao monks refused to preserve. Thought lost. Marauder found it.”

“He went into Nirvana,” He continued. “The rite mimics death… total dissolution. For most, there is no return. But Marauder… he came back. Risen from the ashes, yes, but not whole.

“The fire that returned him was wrong. The flames ran through his veins, burning out restraint, eroded meaning. He began to see endings as things to conquer, seize. And the more his mind slipped, the more he believed he’d become something more.”

Cassian knew they must’ve clashed at least once, but he had no idea they had such a bond. That Ji had once called him master. That somewhere along the line, he had sat at the feet of that creature and listened.

His hands curled. “No proper teacher would do such a thing.”

Ji didn’t flinch. “No proper student should let it happen either.

“I tried to cleanse his sins,” He added softly. “As his student. As someone who once loved the man he was. I tried to bring him back. I tried to kill him.

“But no matter how deadly the wounds are,” he sighed, “he always comes back.

“I buried him in a lake. Deep in the Tibetan borderlands. Sealed with a trifold binding, anchored to three ley-cursed stones. Nothing works. They say he is dead now.” The man laughed, but unlike his usual jolly mirth, the sound came out hollow.

Cassian’s voice came low. “He’s not gone, is he?”

Ji didn’t answer, and that told him enough.

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Forgive me, Story, for I have read.

I took your climax. I took your twist.

I took your pain… and gave you nothing but silence in return.

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