Following days went on in relative peace.

Well, ignoring Charity dropping hints about a double date every time she breathed, and Cassian batting her off like a persistent garden gnome. Since he’d mentally filed those requests under “selective amnesia,” and carried on things stayed peaceful.

Until they didn’t.

Bathsheda walked in like she wasn’t about to ruin his afternoon, settled sideways across his lap, and gave him that look, bright-eyed, too innocent.

Cassian squinted at her. “What hateful thing you going to rope me in this time?”

She just smiled wider. Dangerous.

He narrowed his eyes. “Cut the lovely act. I know you.”

She tilted her head, curls brushing his shoulder. “This weekend. Hogsmeade. Double date.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, absolutely not.”

“Yes, absolutely yes. Charity’s already booked the table.”

Cassian groaned, tipping his head back against the sofa. “She’s a menace. Why do we still let her roam free?”

Bathsheda shrugged, unbothered. “Because she brings cinnamon biscuits to staff meetings.”

He closed his eyes. “I bring me. And I don’t make people wear dress fancy robes in public.”

She patted his chest. “It’ll be fun.”

“For who?”

“For me,” she said brightly.

Cassian flailed one hand. “Why would Kingsley agree to this? He’s got better judgment.”

“He’s a decent man.”

“Which is how I know he didn’t agree. She cornered him.”

“She cornered both of you,” she corrected, and then kissed his cheek like she hadn’t just delivered a death sentence.

Cassian sighed, long and loud. “Fine. But if I have to make small talk over pudding, we are leaving.”

“You’ll live.”

“Not the point.”

She grinned, slid off his lap, and tossed a scarf at his face on the way out.

Hogsmeade awaited.

Cassian didn’t.

When the day came, the four of them walked the snow-heavy path to the village, breath clouding the air, boots crunching through ice patches. Cassian kept tugging at his scarf, hood up, shoulders hunched against the cold.

Charity and Kingsley were arm in arm, looking far too pleased with themselves. She was chattering on about something, Cassian caught the words “chemtrails” and “modified food,” while Kingsley nodded along like he actually knew what she was on about.

Bathsheda, unfortunately, was glowing.

They reached the Three Broomsticks, warmth hitting immediately. Firelight, chatter, cinnamon in the air.

Madam Rosmerta clocked them and beamed. “Table’s ready.”

They were seated near the window. Charity took the inside corner with an alarming amount of glee.

Kingsley sat next to her.

“Drinks?” Rosmerta asked, already pulling a quill.

“Mulled cider,” Bathsheda said.

“Butterbeer please,” Cassian added.

“Cider for me,” Charity chirped. “King?”

He nodded. “Same.”

Rosmerta disappeared.

Cassian tried not to laugh at King.

Technically, it was his name, but calling someone “King” in casual conversation made it sound like they were about to launch a rebellion, or start a chess match. It was affectionate, probably. Same way Bathsheda called him “Cass,” or how he called her “Bathsilla” when she was particularly smug. Love. Still, in the middle of a pub felt a bit much.

He flicked his gaze over to the other booths instead. Students were tucked into every corner of the pub. Most were too occupied with butterbeer and secretive hand-holding to care, but a few definitely clocked them.

“Joy,” he muttered. “We’re gossip material.”

Charity grinned. “You’re not. We are.”

Bathsheda didn’t even look up from her menu. “They’ve known about us for six years. The novelty’s long dead.”

Rosmerta set the mugs down, smiling teasingly, and vanished before anyone could ask for more napkins.

Cassian sipped. Yummy.

Charity leaned further into Kingsley’s space.

“People still upset with your promotion?” she asked, like it was casual dinner talk.

Kingsley’s brow pinched slightly. He glanced Cassian’s way.

Cassian waved a hand. “Go on. I know Lucian’s being an arse.”

Kingsley nodded. “A few Purebloods in the office. Think they deserve it more.”

Charity made a face. “Lucian almost caused a disaster and he thinks he deserves it more?”

Cassian shrugged. “Papers didn’t print that bit, did they? Praised him for tight defence, hailed him a bloody tactician. Only the insiders know it was Shacklebolt who actually held the line when Death Eaters came knocking.”

Kingsley coughed into his mug. “And you.”

Cassian smirked. “Only you lot know I’m the hero. Let’s keep it that way. Bit hard to skive off work if they start carving statues.”

Kingsley grunted, swirling his cider mug. “Lucian leaked my rota after that,” he added quietly.

Cassian’s smile vanished. “That’s not standard office pettiness. That’s stupid.”

Kingsley didn’t deny it.

Bathsheda leaned back in her chair. “If he escalates, he loses. He knows that.”

“I got promoted, so it doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

Bathsheda snorted. “How about the Tournament, then? Technically second one in decades.”

Kingsley gave a shrug. “No one really cares about the technical bit. What Rosier did…” he pointed his chin lazily in Cassian’s direction, “was bloody genius. We’d all accepted it. Champions chosen, names out, that was the end of it. Locked in. I was furious when Potter’s name came out. Couldn’t do a thing. Thought it was final. Memorised that rule book cover to cover, and still, nothing. But shifting the task structure?” He huffed a laugh. “That worked.”

Cassian sipped his butterbeer without blinking, like they were talking about lunch.

Kingsley narrowed his eyes. “Though, you said something odd that day. You said you’d thought about it before. What did you mean?”

Cassian paused mid-sip, then set his mug down.

“I don’t get surprised by Hogwarts much anymore,” he said. “When the Goblet came up, I made a list of everything that could go wrong. Top of that list was an underage student’s name popping out. So I told Dumbledore I wanted defensive oversight in place. Mine and Bath’s. Well, you refused.”

He didn’t say it smug. Just a fact. He knew every year + Potter meant trouble now.

Kingsley nodded slowly, brows pinched. “Makes sense now.”

They chatted a bit longer. Kingsley admitted he wasn’t that interested in Muggle traditions, at least not the kind Charity kept throwing at him like enchanted flashcards, but he was very interested in her. Charity beamed like he’d just confessed undying love. Cassian, naturally, rolled his eyes behind his mug.

The conversation wandered after that. Something about broom regulations. A bit on the weather. Standard table filler.

Then the door chimed.

Hagrid stepped in with Madame Maxime.

Cassian arched a brow. “Now that,” he murmured, “is gossip material.”

Bathsheda followed his gaze. “Bold.”

Maxime stood with perfect posture, shoulders drawn back, expression perfectly blank. Hagrid ducked through the frame, snow still dusting his shoulders.

Cassian approved. Took spine to show up like this.

Hagrid waved before settling in with Maxime, smiling wide. Cassian waved back.

Hagrid wasn’t a bumpkin, not unless the term now included Ministry-certified professors with three different licences. Still, that reputation clung to him like wet socks. Keeper of Keys. Groundsman. The bloke with a dragon dung in one hand and a crossbow in the other. People rarely saw beyond the beard. Bit too fond of hugging creatures with more teeth than sense, yes, but thanks to Cassian, he’d been formally instated. Graduation from the Ministry’s Magical Beasts Education Programme, stamped and certified. Proper teaching rights. All on the books.

So if a woman like Maxime sat across from him in public, well. That meant something. That was a choice, not pity or accident.

Good for them.

Rest of the day rolled out with a bit of walking, a bit of pretending not to be freezing. Hogsmeade had that early-winter charm, everything dusted in snow, shop windows glowing warm, and someone absolutely face-planting outside Honeydukes.

They wandered without much aim. Picked up some toffee. They ran into Mingyu and Fleur near the centre.

Mingyu fell into step beside her without a word, matching her pace exactly. After a moment, he extended a small square of chocolate between them.

“For you.”

Fleur was watching the enchanted brooms spin in lazy circles behind the glass, her reflection drifting in and out of the display. She didn’t seem to hear him.

He didn’t withdraw his hand.

They passed the next window. Mingyu angled the chocolate in front of her face. That finally pulled her back. She blinked, looked down, then up at him. A small, surprised smile touched her mouth as she took it. “Ah, thank you.”

He smiled, sighing.

Then Kenneth and Amara rounded the corner.

Kenneth saw them and bolted across the cobbles with all the grace of a startled deer.

“Professor!” he shouted, arms wide.

Cassian took one step back but couldn’t escape. Kenneth slammed into him with the full force of a joyful, overexcited student who didn’t understand boundaries or basic physics.

He clung like a barnacle.

Cassian blinked. “Did I win something?”

Kenneth pulled back, grinning. “All thanks to you!”

“…What is?”

He just nodded, like that was self-explanatory, then ran back to Amara, who gave a small, amused wave before dragging him away by the collar.

Cassian turned slightly. “Do I want to know?”

“No,” Bathsheda said, already walking. “But I’d start checking your office for thank-you sweets.”

He was still processing that when the Weasley twins strutted past, arms linked with Angelina and Alicia, like they were the crown princes of smooth.

“Professor R!” one of them shouted.

Cassian didn’t look back. He veered into the nearest alley without a word. Bathsheda followed with a laugh and a shake of her head. Kingsley and Charity looked confused.

When it was time to return, the four of them started up the path to the castle.

“We should do this again,” Charity said, cheerful as ever.

Cassian swallowed the groan clawing its way up. Kingsley didn’t look thrilled either. Man probably just wanted to see Charity without chaperones.

“Absolutely,” Bathsheda replied, as if she hadn’t just doomed them all.

Cassian tilted his head back toward the clouds. Somewhere, a part of his soul curled up and died.

(Check Here)

In the wild, the common lurker has never been directly observed. They ingest thousands of words per hour, then withdraw silently, leaving no detectable trace beyond anomalous reading statistics. Accountability is believed to be their primary predator. Despite anecdotal reports, the species remains mythical.

—

To Read up to 50 advance Chapters and support me…

patreon.com/thefanficgod1

Please drop a comment and like the chapter!

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep