After exams wrapped, Hogwarts drifted into that strange post-season mood, half relief, half nerves. Waiting for the last entertainment of the year. The champions were about to get chucked into a maze designed by five headmasters who apparently thought “lethal” was a charming level of difficulty. Magical creatures had been chosen carefully to keep things fair, or at least equally miserable. No one wanted an unfair advantage, at least, not publicly. France and Britain shared more than geography, so their students knew what to expect from each other. But for Durmstrang, Fenghuang, and Uagadou, the creature curriculum took a sharp left. Different continents, different threats. What passed for a common garden pest in Uganda could probably eat a sixth-year whole in China.

The stands were full. Flags, scarves, a few enchanted noisemakers already banned twice. Hogwarts had cleared one side of the maze field for staff and students, a raised platform with floating screens showing the champions’ backs. Five images… Cedric, Amara, Fleur, Mingyu, Krum.

Cassian sat at the edge of the professor’s row, one leg crossed, arms folded. Bathsheda was next to him, chewing on a liquorice wand. On Cassian’s other side were students, packed in tight. Neville. Hermione. Ginny. Luna. The Weasley twins, naturally. Daphne and Tracey sat a bit further back, close enough to hear. Susan and Hannah chatted behind them. Someone had brought sweets. Probably Luna. She was passing out something purple and fizzing.

Cassian squinted at the screens. “All right, place your bets. Which one gets eaten first?”

“Professor,” Hermione hissed.

He raised a hand. “Not eaten eaten. Just a light mauling.”

Fred leaned forward. “My galleon’s on Krum. Bloke walks like he’s already been hit by three Bludgers.”

“Krum’s strong,” Ron said. “He won’t go down that easy.”

“Fleur will outlast him,” Ginny said. “She’s got better control.”

“Amara’s got the best balance,” Neville added. “She moves like a cat. A deadly one.”

Cassian nodded. “Observation, Longbottom. Ten points.”

Neville chuckled.

On the screens, the champions stood at the edge of the maze, backs turned, waiting for the whistle. Cedric had his wand gripped tight. Fleur’s braid was pulled back, her eyes already scanning the shadows. Amara was still as stone. Krum cracked his neck.

Cassian leaned toward Bathsheda. “What did they settle on for the middle?”

“A manticore, probably,” she murmured. “Or that thing from Morocco that spits fire and sings.”

He perked up. “I liked that one.”

“It tried to incinerate you.”

“I needed to pet that dawg.”

She rolled her eyes.

Bagman was on the pitch, voice bouncing off every enchanted wall in range. The crowd shifted, noise dimming as the Champions lined up.

Cedric and Amara were first, tied for top marks. So, they’d go in together. Bagman made a show of it, dragging the explanation out longer than necessary.

Then Fleur. One deep breath. Straight through the arch.

Krum followed. Good posture for a maze full of teeth.

Mingyu’s name didn’t get called. He just went when Bagman threw him a look.

Kenneth shifted beside the twins. He leaned forward, eyes fixed on the maze.

“Amara will win, right, sir?”

Cassian glanced at him, then gave a simple nod. “Sure she will.”

The boy beamed like it was set in stone now. Settled back with the kind of trust only kids managed.

The last champion stepped up. And the crowd erupted.

“Where is Potter?” Cassian asked, looking his left. Only then did he notice the boy wasn’t anywhere nearby.

Ron rolled his eyes. “With his new best friend.”

Cassian looked at him.

Hermione huffed. “He was with Cedric before the task began. Helping him go over creature patterns. He said he’d be back before they opened the maze.”

“Any minute now,” Neville added.

Cassian grunted and looked back to the screens.

Inside the maze, the task had started properly now. The paths shifted, hedges groaning as they slid into new shapes. Cedric moved fast, clean lines, already reading the turns. He paused at a fork, tested the air with a charm, then took the left without hesitation.

Amara didn’t rush. She crouched at one bend, fingers brushing the ground, eyes tracking something only she could see. A blast of sparks flared ahead of her path. She skirted wide and kept going.

Fleur ran straight into trouble. A ghoul burst from a flooded trench, shrieking. She didn’t stop. A flash of silver, a sharp pivot, and the thing slammed into the hedge hard enough to shake leaves loose.

Krum took the brute route. Something large lunged at him from the dark. He answered with a blasting spell. He stepped over whatever he’d flattened and carried on.

Cassian nodded. “All right. They’re alive.”

A body shoved past knees and robes.

“Sir.”

Cassian turned.

Draco Malfoy stood there, breathing a bit too fast, hair slicked back like he’d run his fingers through it one time too many. He’d forced his way down from higher rows, ignoring complaints and elbows.

“I was able to overcome the last hurdle,” Draco said.

Cassian gave him a brief smile. “Good job.”

Draco didn’t relax. He shifted, eyes darting to the sides, then back. “Sir. Can you please check it.”

Cassian’s brow creased. “This isn’t the moment.”

Draco swallowed. His fingers curled into his sleeve. “Sir, please. Just… take a look.”

Bathsheda’s hand closed around Cassian’s arm.

A few students had turned. Tracey and Daphne frowned at Draco. Zabini leaned forward, pretending not to care. Luna frowned hard. Either because she couldn’t see the maze or something else. The Weasley twins elbowed each other, caught between curiosity and wanting Cassian to make a joke.

Bathsheda’s voice was urgent.

“Cass,” she said. “Not here. It can wait.”

“I don’t think we’ve got time,” he murmured back, still watching Draco.

Something about the boy’s silence made everything too loud.

Still, he hesitated.

They were sitting in the open. Stands full. Staff clustered nearby. Parents, governors, foreign dignitaries pretending not to stare while staring anyway.

And Draco Malfoy was asking him, right here, right now, to look inside his head.

Cassian’s jaw tightened.

Using Legilimency on a student was already skating thin ice. Using it on the heir of a Most Noble and Most Ancient House? In public? That wasn’t ice, that was a drop straight into freezing water with rocks tied his feet. One accusation and he’d be dragged in front of the Wizengamot before the final whistle blew.

Even with everything behind his name. Even with all the power he held.

He flicked his gaze sideways.

Karkaroff lounged on the judges’ table, legs stretched out, expression lazy. Watching everything. Always watching. Snape sat further along, stiff-backed, eyes sharp.

Cassian’s mind ran through it whether he wanted it to or not.

Legilimency on a student. Abuse of authority. Coercion. Improper use of mind magic on a minor. Add “Malfoy” to the mix and it wouldn’t matter why. The act alone would be enough.

And Draco knew that.

Didn’t he?

Cassian looked back at the boy.

Draco’s breathing was off. Too shallow. One hand was clenched tight inside his sleeve, knuckles white through the fabric. His eyes weren’t darting around like someone scheming. They were fixed on Cassian, wide and desperate, like he’d finally found the right door and was terrified it would slam shut.

That urgency wasn’t theatre.

Cassian had seen Draco lie. He’d seen him posture, sneer, perform. This wasn’t any of those things. There was no angle here. No smugness. No attempt to control the situation.

Just fear. An unfiltered dread of the consequences that would follow otherwise. Fear that had crawled up his spine and refused to move.

He’d used Legilimency on Draco before. Many times. But those had been lessons. Closed rooms. Wards up. With no one to testify against him around to see.

This was different.

This was a boy dragging him into the open and begging him to look.

Was this really a trap? No, this was too loud. Too stupid. And Draco wasn’t stupid like that.

Cassian’s eyes darted to the maze screens, then back to the boy. Light washed the crowd in shifting green.

“What do you want me to see?” he asked quietly.

Draco swallowed. “I-I can’t say it. You know I can’t.”

Cassian’s shoulders eased a fraction, not because the risk was gone, but because the answer lined up with everything else. This wasn’t a setup.

Bathsheda’s hand tightened around his arm.

“Cassian,” she murmured.

He turned his head to meet her eyes.

“I know,” he said.

She shook her head. “Here?”

Cassian looked back at Draco.

The boy’s mouth opened, then closed again. His voice came out rough. “Sir, please.”

Around him, crowd cheered because Cedric ducked something.

Cassian ignored it. Something strong enough to scare the boy into rushing down three rows of students and throwing himself in front of half the bloody school.

Something big enough that Draco Malfoy had decided the fallout of public Legilimency was worth it.

Cassian made the decision the same way he always did.

He picked the worst option and owned it.

He lifted his wand.

Bathsheda caught his wrist again, firmer this time. “Cass.”

He leaned closer without looking at her. “If I’m wrong,” he said under his breath, “I’ll take it.”

Then, quiet, “Legilimency.”

Draco felt Cassian’s presence in his mind. He didn’t want to remember. Not the voice. Not the face. Especially not the eyes. He didn’t even want to think about remembering. What if the trap was triggered? What if Lucius realized what they were doing? But he had to.

The memory pushed forward anyway.

A man’s face flashed.

And just like that, the spell cracked.

The mindscape buckled. Cassian stumbled back two steps and caught himself against Bathsheda who was already supporting him.

The sound was awful. It rang inside his skull. “Cassy, Cassy.” His wand hand was shaking, only slightly, but he clenched his fist until the tremor stopped.

A ripple went through the stands. Voices rose in confusion, then fell into murmurs as Snape stood up hastily from his seat.

Cassian’s eyes locked on Draco, but he barely saw the boy. The image was still etched behind his eyes. The coat, the voice, that unmistakable sneer.

Not dead. Not in Azkaban.

Draco blinked hard. Everything spun for a second.

Cassian was staring at him like someone had thrown a body at his feet.

His mouth moved once, twice. Then, finally, “It can’t be.”

Draco’s throat tightened.

Cassian pointed, but not like he was accusing, more like he was trying to line up the shape in his head. “How do you know that man?”

Draco’s first step back was pure instinct.

Cassian caught him by the arms. “How do you know him?”

“I can’t speak,” Draco said quickly. His voice broke.

Cassian froze.

Draco looked away, heart pounding. That should’ve been the end of it. Cassian was good at boundaries, usually. He’d stop.

He didn’t.

Cassian’s grip tightened. “He’s alive? He is, isn’t he? Barty Crouch Jr.”

He turned toward the professors’ seat, then looked up at the floating screens. “ASH!” he called, the roar quieting everyone in the field.

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