Hello everyone. I’m feeling better than yesterday! Thank you all so much for your good wishes!

Since I was feeling better, I decided to publish the chapter. I’m generally the kind of person who either goes all in or not at all, and keeping this fic on a “no missed days” streak actually gives me the strength to show up and publish again the next day. Based on my other habits, I know that if I skipped even one day without a legitimate reason, it would quickly turn into two, three… and more. You could say my laziness follows its own Dao, one lazy day begets two, two begets three, and before I know it I’ve ascended into the God of Laziness and stopped doing everything. So, consistency it is.

Right, you deserve a little teasing. lol. Today’s chapter is the quiet before the storm. Things will really pick up starting next chapter, and they’ll be juicy.

So yeah. Anyway… I’m feeling better!

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Following weeks were quieter. Which was enough to scare Cassian. Just a bit.

One evening, during Duelling Club, Cassian strolled into the club room, arms wide, as if he was there to deliver exciting news. Well, news would knock someone off their feet. Students were half-stretched, some already yawning, a few trading lazy jinxes across the floor.

He raised his voice. “Right, you lot. New spell today. Fun one.”

The room quieted, eyes shining.

“Tempestas Verto. Bit flashier than your standard Knockback. Think cyclone.”

A few eyebrows went up.

Cassian stepped onto the marked duelling mat. “You sping the target instead of just pushing backward. Briefly. Then launch. Whole thing’s over in a blink, but the motion throws their centre off. Unbalanced target, easier follow-up. Good for objects, better for people. Even better when they’re standing too close.”

He gestured to Seamus. “You’re up.”

Seamus blinked. “Me?”

Cassian flicked his wand. “Tempestas Verto.”

A tight spiral of air burst out from the tip, caught Seamus by the arms, spun him halfway before flinging him backwards into a cushioned wall. He slid down it like a dropped coat.

Dean let out a low whistle. Someone from Ravenclaw muttered, “Wicked.”

Cassian pointed his wand down. “See? Controlled spin. You don’t want your opponent flying off into a tree. Unless that’s the plan. Then… by all means.”

Seamus groaned from the mat. “That was mental.”

“Thank you for your service,” Cassian replied. “You’ll feel that in your spleen later.”

He explained the spell, the wand movement, the incantation, intent, mental image. Much like his History classes, he helped them understand the spell so they could cast it more easily. “Right. Pairs.”

Students scrambled to find each other. Wands flicked. A few tried immediately and got nothing but wind. Others produced tiny spirals that spun a quill or a shoe.

Fleur’s spell caught a training dummy and tossed it sideways. The impact cracked its wooden shoulder. She looked pleased. Draco’s version managed a light puff of air. He scowled and reset his stance.

Cassian walked the floor, watching how they adjusted. “Too much push, not enough turn. It’s not Depulso with a headache. Think twist. Wind-up toy meets spellcraft.”

Amara cast again, and her target, a stray sandbag, flipped twice before slamming into the edge of the mat. She gave a content huff.

“Good,” Cassian said. “Keep the spiral tight.”

Padma’s spell fizzled. Parvati nudged her. “You’re visualising the wrong direction again.”

Cassian nodded at them. “She’s right. Think spiralling outward, not circular. Twist first, then fling. Don’t mix the order unless you want to be the one spinning.”

As more spells flared through the air, the hall filled with sharp bursts of wind, thuds, and the occasional yelp. Someone launched a dummy into the Slytherin bench. Crabbe and Goyle looked briefly interested before going back to arguing over who got to try next.

Cassian stepped back onto the centre mat. “This is the point. You train a spell like this so that in a real mess, you don’t have to think. Want them disarmed? Fine. But if they’re charging you, flinging them halfway across the field works better than a polite nudge.”

A few students grinned. One of the Durmstrang girls barked out a sharp, clean version of the spell, sending a crate skidding in a wide arc. Cassian gave her a nod.

Then, a tight spiral ripped across the mat, loud enough to make everyone flinch. A stack of practice shields went up, spun and exploded outward. Wood clattered. Sandbags skidded. One chair tipped over and slammed into the wall.

The room went quiet.

Every head turned to Seamus.

He stared at his hands in disblief, then looked up at Cassian. “I… I didn’t mean-“

Cassian broke into a grin. “There it is.”

Seamus blinked.

“Advantage of being hit by the spell,” Cassian said. “You know exactly what it feels like. Consider it a reward for being thrown.”

Seamus looked torn between crying and hugging him. “That was brilliant,” he breathed.

Cassian lifted a hand. “Let’s not get carried away. I didn’t want you summoning a Blazing Tornado.”

Laughter rolled through the room.

Cassian stepped closer to the wreckage, nudged a broken shield with his boot. “Right. Everyone clock what just happened?”

Hermione’s hand went up straight away. “He didn’t push harder. He tightened the rotation.”

Cassian pointed at her. “Yes. The force didn’t increase. The control did.”

He turned to Seamus. “Go on. Tell your friends what you pictured and why.”

Seamus rubbed the back of his neck. “Er… it’s stupid, but… I imagined one of those toy tops, you know? The kind you twist, then let go, and it wobbles before it flings off.”

Cassian’s eyes lit up. “Exactly that. Motion before momentum. Twist before launch.”

He looked out across the room. “Magic doesn’t care what image you use. Doesn’t have to be elegant. It has to work. If your brain links ‘cyclone force’ to a spinning top or a storm in a jar or your little cousin throwing up on a merry-go-round, and the spell answers that? Great.”

Padma raised her hand. “So… I shouldn’t be imagining wind?”

“No. Wind’s the result,” Cassian said. “The spell’s about displacement not air. You make a spiral that throws things wide.”

Parvati gave it another try. Her wand jerked left before finishing the motion, and the spell wheezed out tragically.

Cassian tapped the side of his arm. “That’s a stall-out. You flinched halfway through the turn. Keep the spiral clean. Pull the twist inwards, then kick it out. Don’t choke it halfway.”

She tried again. This time, a dummy spun and flopped backwards.

Colin stood a little further back, clearly hesitating. His wand was up, but his shoulders hunched like he expected it to explode.

Cassian wandered over, quiet enough to startle him.

“Alright, Creevey. What’s stopping you?”

Colin blinked. “I… I think I’m doing it wrong.”

“Obviously. You haven’t cast it yet.”

A couple nearby students snorted.

Cassian continued, “Imagine a twist at your centre. Like wringing out a towel. Small pull. Sharp flick. Release.”

Colin hesitated, then tried.

The wind sputtered out and nudged a helmet sideways.

Cassian looked at the helmet. Then at Colin. “Alright. So we’re at ‘mild draft’. Still better than what Weasley did earlier, and he’ll pretend he didn’t hear that.”

Ron, across the mat, narrowed his eyes but didn’t respond.

He turned back to the room. “Half of you are still pushing like it’s Depulso. Let me repeat, this is not a push. This is a spin. The spell needs a wind-up. It’s why it throws heavier stuff better than lighter ones. Disorientation beats distance.”

Anthony Goldstein muttered, “Feels more like transfiguration than charms.”

Cassian raised a brow. “Because you’re shaping force, not flinging it. It’s closer to kinetic manipulation than a knockback.”

He flicked his wand again. A dummy at the far end of the room rose slightly, twisted, then flung into a padded wall.

“Watch that again,” he said. “The initial twist gathers tension. The flick releases it. Your spell rides the edge of that coil. Fling too early? You lose force. Fling too late? You’ve already snapped the rhythm.”

From the back, someone asked, “Could you use this to scatter a group?”

He turned. “That’s the point. Especially useful when you’re surrounded. Centre-blast, edge knockback. But only if you anchor the spell properly. Otherwise, you’ll throw yourself with it, which is also a strategy.”

“Has that happened?” Ernie asked, looking far too hopeful.

Cassian shrugged. “Yes. To me.”

A few burst into laughter, some snickered, picturing it.

He stepped back toward the centre. “Alright. Five-minute free cast. You’ve seen the right angle, now get your wrists to match your heads.”

Wands flicked up. Cyclones whipped through the room, some sharp and narrow, others wild and sputtering. A few sparks hit the walls. Cassian kept moving between groups, adjusting stances, muttering corrections, occasionally ducking flying debris.

Lavender’s next attempt threw a pillow straight into Blaise Zabini’s knee. He looked personally offended.

“Sorry!” She called.

Blaise didn’t respond. Just picked up the pillow and flung it back with no spell at all.

“Real advanced,” Cassian muttered, walking past. “Ten points for Neanderthal technique.”

By the time the curfew bell rang, the room looked like it had hosted a polite brawl. Crates on their sides. Pillows torn. One dummy missing an arm.

Cassian stood in the middle, hands on hips. “Not bad. Chaos with a purpose.”

He raised his voice. “Homework-“

Groans.

“Pick an object. Cast Tempestas Verto ten times in a row. Track what changes. Distance. Angle. Weight. Then write which part of the cast you adjusted. If your object ends up in your fireplace, don’t write that.”

Harry raised a hand. “What if we don’t have anything safe to spin?”

“Use the club. Or use your bag. Or ask the twins to give you something that isn’t sentient.”

He waved them toward the doors. “Off you go. Try not to spin yourselves into the Black Lake.”

As students shuffled out, still talking about the spell, Cassian stayed where he was. Watching them. Mind ticking.

“Let’s see if I get another spell or another dreadful memory.”

***

Entering his room, he found Bathsheda already parked on his bed, legs tucked under, a book on her knee.

Cassian sighed and collapsed face-first into her lap.

She didn’t kick him off. Just opened her arms like she’d been expecting this.

He groaned into her robes. “You’re softening.”

“I’m tired,” she said. “Don’t read too much into it.”

“I’m choosing to take this as affection.”

She muttered something unprintable and kept reading.

“How did it go?” she asked, fingers ghosting through his hair.

He sighed. “Need another week. Maybe two.”

She arched a brow. “That’s fast.”

He nodded. “Normal spells take a year. More, if they’re twitchy. But when I teach Ancient Variants, it’s different.”

Bathsheda nudged the book aside. “Because it’s your spell?”

He shifted onto his side, cheek pressed against her thigh. “Because I teach every part of it. Not just the casting. All of it. Every layer, every origin. So when they get better, it comes back to me.”

She hummed. “So the more credit you take for their improvement, the faster it feeds back.”

He gave a tired nod. “Exactly.”

“Spell itself matters too?”

“Oh, definitely. Higher tier, more effort. Lumos handed me two variants in one go. Like a bonus round.”

She smirked. “Your first two.”

He groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’m starting to think those were the free trial.”

Her smile curled. “And now it’s making you earn them.”

“Rude, frankly.” He shifted again, hand draped over his eyes. “Next one’s close, though. I can feel it.”

She tapped his temple lightly. “Then stop talking and rest. Before you spiral yourself into another seven-hour theory rant.”

He grunted. “It was five. And it was relevant.”

“You used a chalkboard.”

He cracked one eye open. “And you said it was hot.”

“I was delirious.”

“Still counts. I was very hot.”

She rolled her eyes and didn’t argue further.

Cassian stood just there. Her lap made the best pillow. He could feel the memory stirring somewhere deep. Close. Really close.

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