As the date for the second task crept closer, Hogwarts turned into a loud, chaotic bazaar of advice-giving and bad guesses.

Last year, Cassian had let students set up little shopfronts in the Duelling Club to sell anything mildly useful or questionably legal. They’d started building stalls by the first week. Tables stacked with potion jars, hand-painted banners, magical pastry stands.

Tracey had trays of hand-pies balanced on an old trophy stand, lemon twists and apple pies vanishing faster than she could restock them. Hannah had set up a broom-polishing stall next to her, and you could spot a few Fourth Years dragging in Cleansweeps looking embarrassed but desperate. Neville’s table had potted shrubs behaving suspiciously, with a hand-written sign that read “Exam-Enhancing Aromatics” and something underneath scratched out.

The twins had brought chaos in its purest form. Their table was a fortress of joke items, loud, slightly illegal, and rigged with a prank security charm that had already exploded in three colours.

Cassian and Bathsheda sat watching it all from a pair of conjured armchairs near the fire, paper plates on their laps.

“Tracey’s gotten better,” Bathsheda said, eating around a chunk of apple pie.

“She’s moved from ‘accidental combustion’ to ‘actually edible,’ yes,” Cassian agreed, sipping from the delicate little cup Mingyu had handed him.

Mingyu had decided he rather liked Hogwarts and opened a tea stand in his free time. No banner, just a line of teapots and a handwritten note: Fortune-telling only on Thursdays. You bring your own leaves. Word was, he met with Fleur over a tea too.

Cassian took another sip. “Is this the flower one that smells like rain?”

“Yes.” Bathsheda took his cup, drank half, and passed it back.

Cassian sipped. “Still don’t understand how this tastes like bloody clarity.”

Bathsheda raised an eyebrow. “Because you drink sludge the rest of the time.”

Footsteps clicked down the stone steps, shiny boots, dark robes, a heavy accent. A boy walked straight to Hermione’s desk where her candle flickered beside a word carved onto parchment: Knowledge. Just knowledge. Apparently, that was enough. And she was offering it freely.

The boy stopped in front of it and placed a slim book on the table. French title, crisp spine.

“I look for methods of breathing underwater,” he said, “I enjoy underwater… sightseeing.”

Hermione blinked at him. “You’re… sightseeing the lake?”

“I like squid,” he said. Then added, with a very slight shrug, “And other things.”

She glanced down at the book. “That’s not a bribe, is it?”

“Donation,” he said, entirely too smooth.

Hermione closed her eyes. She didn’t need long. Her memory already bordered on terrifying, and after Occlumency training, it had turned razor-sharp. Eidetic, by her own claim. She hummed softly.

“I know three ways to breathe underwater. First, Bubble-Head Charm. It’s straightforward. Keeps a pocket of air around your head. But if you lose focus or get hit mid-spell, it can turn dangerous very easily.”

The boy nodded slowly.

“Second, partial Transfiguration. But it’s extremely risky. You need precision, and it’s painful if you botch it. Very painful.”

He gulped at that.

“Third, plants. Some allow underwater breathing. I’ve read about them, but I’ve never used any myself.” She glanced to the side. “Longbottom might know more.”

Neville looked up from his table, blinking.

Hermione pointed at him.

“Ask him.”

The boy raised his head politely. “Thank you. Appreciate the help. That book is about rural French spells. They’re not widely used. You might find them useful.”

Hermione lit up. “Thank you.”

He gave her a quick nod and headed for Neville. “You are expert with aquatic plants?”

Neville looked up from his table, smiling wide. “Yeah. Sort of.”

Before he could say more, two girls from Uagadou appeared behind the French boy. One had a scroll tucked under her arm.

“We’re interested too,” she said.

They glanced at Hermione. “Sorry, we overheard. Here’s our donation.”

Hermione blinked as they held out the scroll. “You don’t have to…”

The other girl smiled, pressing it into her hands. “Basic earth-sensing spells. From home.”

Hermione looked like someone had handed her the secret to life. “This is… incredible. Thank you.”

Neville cleared his throat, lifting a pot with a familiar, thick-stemmed plant inside. “I’ve got Gillyweed. It’s what most people use underwater.”

The French boy tilted his head.

“You eat it just before you dive. It lets you breathe water, gives you gills, your hands and feet web for better aquatic maneuver. It’s weird, but it works. Doesn’t last long, though. Maybe an hour. Depends on the batch.”

He set the pot back down. “I sell small portions, but it’s best used fresh. I’d recommend ordering three days before you need it. When will you use it?”

The boy raised a brow. Hesitated.

One of the Uagadou girls leaned in a bit, clearly not thrilled about sharing. “About four weeks.”

Neville nodded. “That’s plenty of time. But if you haven’t used it before, you should practise. Feels… wrong, the first time. Like you’re choking. Your body panics. Takes getting used to.”

Cassian grinned into his teacup. “Look at him, selling like a pro.”

Bathsheda gave a soft hum of agreement. “And actually knows what he’s talking about.”

They both knew exactly what this was. These were Champions friends, runners sent to gather what their schools couldn’t ask outright.

And judging by the growing trickle of foreign students lingering near Hermione’s desk or drifting toward Neville’s stand, word was getting around.

Cassian leaned back in his chair. “Think I should start charging booth fees?”

Bathsheda sipped his tea. “Only if you want a riot.”

Hearing the conversation, the twins perked up at once.

“Here!” one of them called, both springing to their feet behind a stall that looked half-legal. “We’ve got underwater breathing tools! Also got extendable ears, perfect for eavesdropping! And loads of other things that may or may not explode!”

The French boy scratched his nose, barely glancing their way. “Sorry. Tools won’t work.”

Fred and George slumped, deflated at once.

Ginny stepped forward from behind, brushing off her hands. “Still have plenty of other items. Come have a look. No obligations, except to fun.”

Luna trailed after, holding a box full of glittery pins that had absolutely no advertised function in one hand, a stack of The Quibbler in the other. “We have newspapers too!”

Fleur stood beside Mingyu, arms crossed as she watched the interaction with a faint curl to her lips. Mingyu leaned against a post, sipping something floral from his own teacup. She offered Fleur another, “Drink more, babe.”

Fleur was too busy listening to the conversation, so Mingyu pushed the cup further, “Babe. Drink more.”

She smiled, taking the cup, “Thank you.”

Cedric appeared with Harry at some point, both walking side by side to a booth still being cleared. Cassian squinted toward them. “Oh.”

He leaned forward slightly, interest piqued. Didn’t realise those two got on.

Cedric set down a thick folder and propped up a small banner. Neat handwriting spelled out: Homework from Year 1 to 5 – Organised, Marked, Vetted.

Harry slouched next to him, hands in pockets, not doing much of the advertising.

Bathsheda sighed into her cup. “Are they selling homeworks?”

Cassian gave a one-shouldered shrug. “For reference, maybe. Educational enlightenment through recycled effort.”

Ginny caught sight of the banner and squinted. “That’s cheating, isn’t it?”

“No,” Cassian called lightly. “It’s collaborative learning. Just poorly disguised.”

Bathsheda raised an eyebrow at him.

He sipped his tea. “They’ll learn something eventually. If not academically, then economically.”

Across the room, a second-year was already creeping toward the stall, head ducked like he was casing a black-market deal.

Fred popped up behind the booth, clearly inspecting the setup. “Oi, you charging in galleons or secrets?”

Cedric didn’t look up. “Standard coin. And no, I’m not giving you a discount.”

George emerged beside him. “What if we pay in riddles?”

“You’ll get a riddle back,” Harry muttered.

Cassian smirked. “That’s the spirit, Potter. Just make sure none of it’s in your handwriting.”

Harry gave a vague thumbs up, clearly resigned.

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “How’d you two end up as partners?”

Cedric gave a shrug. “Professor Moody asked if I could help Harry with his homework.”

Harry nodded. “Then he joked Cedric’s handwriting was so neat, he could sell the lot. So we… did.”

Cassian frowned. “Odd pairing. You two barely talked before.”

Cedric glanced at Harry. “It started with that, and continued with Quidditch. Potter is a great Seeker.”

Harry smiled. “He’s alright. Doesn’t treat me like I’ve got a bomb under my bed.”

“High bar,” Cassian muttered. Then waved a hand. “Right. Carry on with your capitalism.”

He dropped into the chair beside Bathsheda again. She watched him, brows drawn slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

Cassian opened his mouth, about to answer, “Blueberry muffins!” Pansy declared, cutting in as she set down a small plate with the flourish of a potion reveal. “Tracey’s new experiment. She said if you don’t die, she can start selling them.”

Cassian gave the muffin a look. “Did she specify how long I need to survive for it to count?”

Pansy shrugged. “I think an hour? She was vague.” Then she skipped off, already hawking a tray of ginger scones to a pack of Ravenclaws.

Bathsheda nudged the plate closer. “Could be worse. At least it’s not her beetroot cupcakes again.”

Cassian broke off a piece, gave it a sniff. Looked normal. Which, frankly, was suspicious. He ate it anyway.

“Alright?” Bathsheda asked.

He chewed. Swallowed. “I’ve had worse. Still not entirely convinced it’s not cursed.”

She took one for herself, broke it in half. “So?”

“It’s the Diggory thing,” he said in a whisper. “Him and Potter.”

Bathsheda raised a brow, muffin forgotten. “Maybe Moody is playing matchmaker because he’s bored,” she offered.

“Moody doesn’t get bored.” Cassian sighed through his nose. “Or maybe it’s nothing, and I’ve officially gone round the bend.”

Bathsheda leaned in, smirking faintly. “You passed that bend months ago.”

He took another bite. “Fair.”

Neville had begun explaining Gillyweed’s digestive properties to a very concerned Beauxbatons student. Cassian watched them, half-listening, hand resting absently near the teacup.

Something about the way things lined up lately, it scratched at the back of his skull. He didn’t like it.

The muffin, however, was growing on him.

(Check Here)

Patient claims they “read everything” and “loved it.”

When asked if they responded in any way, patient laughed for six straight minutes.

Diagnosis: Chronic Lurkosis.

—

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