When Cassian opened his eyes again, the ceiling had stopped spinning and the world had the decency to stay still. Bathsheda wasn’t beside him anymore.

Instead, three boys stood at the foot of his bed, frozen like someone had told them he’d died five minutes ago and they were waiting for the ghost to introduce itself.

He blinked at them. “Why do you look like you’re planning a memorial?”

All three jolted, practically tripping over themselves.

“Professor!” Harry blurted.

Neville’s fist was balled so tight his knuckles had gone white. He swallowed hard. “Sir, I-I wanted to thank you. For…” His voice cracked. “For my parents. If you hadn’t got to them, if you hadn’t pulled them out-” He stopped, breath stuttering. “I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

Cassian eased back against the pillows. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Neville shook his head quickly. “I do.” He blinked hard. “I never thought anyone would kidnap them from St. Mungo’s. And you-” His voice wobbled. “You saved them.”

Cassian scratched the side of his brow. “Well. I wasn’t leaving them there, was I?”

Neville let out a shaky breath and nodded, but didn’t trust himself to speak again.

Harry stepped forward awkwardly, like someone had nudged him from behind. “Er, same, actually.” His trainers squeaked on the tile. “Thank you. F-for, um… dragging me out of the maze before it got worse.”

Cassian gave him a look. “You were already in worse.”

“Right,” Harry said weakly. “Still. Thank you.”

He hesitated. Then, quieter, “Is it true? About your magic? Madam Pomfrey told Professor Babbling she couldn’t pick up any trace when they brought you in.”

Cassian huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Magic’s a state of heart, Potter.”

The three boys exchanged a look that said they had absolutely no idea what that meant.

“Don’t overthink it,” Cassian added. “I’m not keeling over in the corridor, am I?”

Cedric’s eyes were wet as he said, “I heard the Heads when they talked. If it had been me… if I’d reached the Cup first…” His voice thinned. “I wouldn’t have made it back. Voldemort wouldn’t have hesitated.”

Cassian watched him. Cedric’s hands were shaking.

“I don’t have a grandfather who can frighten a Dark Lord,” Cedric said. “I would’ve died there. Properly died. You saved my life.”

Cassian dragged a hand down his face. “Alright, Diggory, you’re not getting a monologue out of me either.”

Cedric let out a breath that sounded far too close to a laugh, then scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm.

Cassian raised a brow. “Yes, well, do me a favour and don’t make a habit of being abducted by dark rituals.”

Harry cracked a small smile. Cedric shook his head like he still couldn’t believe any of this was real.

Cassian flicked his fingers towards the door. “Go on. Off with you lot. If Poppy comes back and finds a crowd, she’ll start swinging.”

They hesitated.

Cassian sighed. “Boys. I’m not dying. I already tried that.”

Harry let out a breath. Neville nodded. Cedric looked like he wanted to hug him but valued his life too much.

They slipped out, quiet, careful, glancing back before the door shut.

Cassian shut his eyes for a moment and breathed out.

***

Cassian had told Fudge he could do whatever he liked with the truth. Deny it, bury it, wrap it in ribbon, didn’t matter. Fudge could spin himself into a pretzel for all he cared.

It made no difference.

Because by dawn, half of Magical Britain nearly choked on their porridge.

The Prophet hit every doorstep in the country with headlines large enough to give people nosebleeds.

THE DARK LORD RETURNS – RESURRECTED IN RITUAL LED BY BARTY CROUCH JR.

DEATH EATERS IN GRAVEYARD – MINISTRY SILENT.

Cassian didn’t bother printing the names he couldn’t prove. Lucius, Nott, Crabbe, the Selwyns, he’d seen them in that graveyard, yes. But he had nothing he could extract, nothing he could hand over in a Pensieve. And if he printed a list without evidence, half the Wizengamot would come after him for defamation before lunch.

He wasn’t wasting time on that.

Lucian, though?

That was fair game.

Bathsheda slipped the second edition of the morning paper onto his bed after lunch. He stared at the front page, one eyebrow lifting.

DARK LORD LIVES – MINISTRY REQUESTS CALM

EXILED ROSIER HEIR WANTED – REWARD POSTED BY FAMILY

His lovely wanted poster sat on the centre page, right beside Barty’s and Voldemort’s. Hogwarts staff who opened their papers that morning nearly spat tea across the table. Some choked. One fainted. Cassian wasn’t sure who, but he hoped it was Snape.

It was surreal. Seeing Lucian’s face there, smirking like he was posing for a portrait. Cassian wasn’t sentimental, but he did feel something twist in his chest. Not grief exactly… Something closer to exasperation.

He tapped the picture with his finger. “Should’ve used the photo where he’s sneezing.”

Bathsheda gave him a sideways look. “It was out of focus.”

“Artistic.”

“Blurry.”

He tossed the paper onto the blanket. “Fine. Missed opportunity.”

Pomfrey stormed in, grabbed the paper, and smacked Cassian with it.

“Stop reading that rubbish,” she barked. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“It’s my paper!”

“Then you should have printed something less stressful!”

She marched off again, muttering darkly.

Cassian rubbed the side of his head. “Fair point.”

Mingyu, unhelpfully, refused to hand over his memories for inspection. Apparently the boy had rewritten the whole thing in his head the moment they got back. Told everyone that he’d stood up heroically, threatened to “snap everyone’s legs,” but couldn’t say more. Didn’t give a name at all, just vague statements.

Cassian didn’t correct a single word of it. He couldn’t care less about what the boy said.

And since Cassian’s own memories couldn’t be pulled, there was nothing they could do more.

Fine.

He’d settle for blowing the doors off the secret.

Master Ji visited him that evening.

He sat by the bed with a flask of something dark and steaming. Cassian raised a brow at the smell.

“Medicinal?”

“Technically,” Ji said.

Cassian drank it anyway. It burned like someone had distilled fire. Ji looked vaguely pleased.

Ekwensi stopped by not long after. She didn’t stay long, handed him a folded letter from the Head Healer at Uagadou and mutter something about planting better wards around Cup-bound artefacts. Then she clapped a hand to his shoulder hard enough to rattle bone before leaving.

Maxime followed.

She brought pastries. Cassian wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but a massive cream puff was not it. Gabrielle helped pass them out. Fleur hovered a bit longer.

“We’ll come back this summer,” she said. “Grandpa and Grandma asked us to say they’ll visit you.”

“It’ll be a party.”

Maxime gave a half-snort and said Durmstrang would need escorting back since Karkaroff had vanished. “Coward,” she said simply, brushing crumbs off her front.

“Expected nothing less,” Cassian muttered.

Gabrielle left behind a tiny bunch of wildflowers, tied with a blue ribbon. No one said anything sentimental, which he appreciated.

After that, the students started showing up. Waves of them.

Hufflepuffs brought chocolates. Gryffindors brought sweets. Ravenclaws brought books they thought he might like. Slytherins brought flowers, some clearly nicked from the greenhouses. One even tried to gift him a hallucinogenic mushroom. Cassian confiscated it before Pomfrey could see.

He thanked them all. Kindly. Graciously.

Then handed out summer homework.

“Sixty feet on pre-Carthaginian ritual anchoring. Bonus points if it includes the implications of leyline saturation.”

The groans echoed through the hallways.

“Next time you lot feel like treating me like a dying man, remember I have a grading pen and zero conscience.”

***

The end-of-year feast came round. Cassian could stand by then, even walk without needing to grab the wall every ten steps, though he needed a wooden staff for that. So he dragged himself to the high table and dropped into his seat.

The Hall buzzed. Flags hung high, magic curling gently from the enchanted ceiling. It looked like spring, gold light, faint breeze, the air scrubbed clean after everything that had come before.

Dumbledore rose.

He raised a hand, and the silence dropped.

“This year, we witnessed magic that pushed us. That tested not only our courage but our trust in one another. The Tournament was never simple. Nor safe. But it was meant to unite.”

He let that sit.

“And despite everything that went wrong, it has. Five schools gathered here. Five schools worked together. The bonds formed will not be easily undone. Friendships have crossed borders. Trust has grown from competition. That is no small thing.”

A murmur of agreement passed through the hall.

Dumbledore paused again.

“And yes. The rumours are true. The Dark Lord has returned.”

Gasps. Not from everyone. But enough. A few clutched at each other.

Dumbledore didn’t flinch.

“Hogwarts will not be silent. We will not be blind. We will act. As we always have. This school stands, and will stand, in the face of darkness.”

He glanced along the high table. “Some of you owe your lives to one man this year.”

Cassian shifted.

“He stopped what would have been a tragedy. He saved the Champions. Protected them from being used in a ritual none of them understood. And in doing so, he lost what most of us rely on every day.”

The Hall stilled.

“Cassian Rosier gave up his magic.”

A stunned silence. Somewhere near the middle, someone whispered “Bloody hell. It’s true!”

“He will remain on staff,” Dumbledore went on. “And as long as he draws breath, Hogwarts remains his to defend. I trust him with my life.”

Dumbledore looked straight at him then.

Cassian raised his cup. “Cheers.”

It broke the silence.

Half the Hall laughed, the other half applauded, some cried. Some did all together.

***

Back in his room, the door clicked shut behind them with a soft finality.

Bathsheda guided Cassian gently by the hand, steering him to the edge of the bed. He sat with a quiet groan, muscles aching, ribs still sore beneath the bindings. She picked up his wooden staff and set it beside the bed within easy reach, in case he needed it. Then she turned, and looked at him.

Really looked.

Her eyes were red-rimmed, lashes damp, but her gaze was steadfast. And furious.

“You really saved a life that day, Cass,” she said quietly.

He blinked. Tried to speak, but her voice rose before he could.

“And I’m angry at you. So godsdamned angry.”

She knelt in front of him suddenly, her hands curling around his, gripping tight like they were the only thing keeping her from shaking apart.

“I hate that you throw yourself into danger like it’s your duty alone. Like it’s not going to hurt anyone if you don’t come back. Like… like I don’t exist in that calculation at all.”

He opened his mouth again, but she shook her head.

“I hate the way you disappear. The way you walk off bleeding, broken, dragging someone else out of the fire, and expect me to sit still while you do it.”

Her voice cracked.

“I hate waiting. Not knowing where you are fighting for your life. Maybe not even comi-” She swallowed the word. Couldn’t say it.

A tear slid down her cheek. Then another.

“But gods, Cassian…” she breathed. “I am so proud of you.”

Her voice trembled on the edge of breaking, but she kept going, as if it had to be said before she lost the courage to speak.

“If you weren’t here… Potter would still be in that tournament. He and Diggory, they’d win together, Cass. They’d touch the Cup together. If you hadn’t interfered, they both would’ve been Portkeyed to that graveyard.”

She paused, wiping at her cheeks, even though more tears came immediately after.

“According to Potter… Pettigrew would’ve killed Diggory the moment he landed. No warning. Just gone. He would’ve died right there, without even knowing what he was walking into.”

She looked up at him. “But you changed that. You saved his life.”

Her fingers shook in his.

“You saved Potter from being used in that ritual. From being turned into some grotesque symbol of Voldemort’s return. You saved the Longbottoms. You even saved that idiot boy.”

Her lips curled into a wet, helpless smile. “And somehow… you came back to me.”

Cassian’s breath caught.

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his, eyes squeezed shut.

“I hate what it costs you every time you do this. But I will never stop being proud of the man you are.”

He didn’t speak. Just wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in, holding her like an anchor in a storm.

Because he knew she wasn’t just talking about the graveyard.

She was talking about all of it.

And he had no idea how to tell her that everything he’d done, he’d done knowing she was the reason he came back at all.

—

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