About why they did not just kill the Death Eaters, Voldemort and all his followers… Dumbledore is canonically very much against taking lives. He believes in the sacredness of life, even when that life stands against him. He carries Ariana’s death for the rest of his life.

He forbade the Order of the Phoenix from using the Unforgivable Curses during the war. The Ministry under Barty Crouch Sr authorized Aurors to use Unforgivables and to kill if necessary. Moody was among those who fought with lethal force. Dumbledore opposed Crouch’s policies because he believed that once you justify those methods, you become too close to what you are fighting.

So yeah, he and Bathsheda didn’t fight with the intent to kill but restrain instead.

—

Harry knocked on his favourite Professor’s door. He rocked back on his heels, waiting. He shouldn’t say Cassian was his favourite Professor. Not out loud, anyway. Not since Sirius took over Defence. Since the man had developed a personal vendetta against anything remotely Rosier-adjacent.

Sirius had tried to be subtle at first. Failed miserably. Asked Harry why he’d picked Cassian to teach him Patronus.

“You do realise that’s how you ended up with a snake, right?” he’d said, a few months after the third year, voice thick with disdain. “A bloody snake, Harry.”

He’d practically spat the word, like it was a betrayal to everything they collectively believed in. As if the animal had slithered out of Voldemort’s dressing room instead of Harry’s wand.

Harry didn’t even try to correct him.

“You could’ve ended up with a lion. Or a wolf. Or a flaming badger. Something noble. But no, we’ve got the symbol of evil sliding about in your soul now.”

Then came the passive-aggressive detour through Animagus theory. Then the “random” Duelling Club pop-ins. Then the “accidental” late-night fire chats that always ended with something like, “Back in my day, we didn’t need cryptic professors with ten-foot sticks.”

Harry sighed and knocked again.

The door swung open.

“Come in unless you’ve got an essay titled ‘How to Make My Professor Cry,'” Cassian called from inside.

Harry stepped in, grinning. “Wanted to ask if you had any plans for Christmas, sir.”

Cassian got up and wandered over to the kettle, poured himself a tea. “Want some?”

“Thank you.”

Cassian deadpanned him over the rim of his cup. “Thank you yes or thank you no?”

Harry blinked. “Oh, yes. Please.”

Cassian poured him a mug and shoved it across the table. “My last batch of good tea. Need to convince Master Ji to send some more.”

Harry took it and sat. “Can’t you buy some? Aren’t you rich?”

Cassian gave him a look. “Tea tastes best when it’s a gift.” He nodded, all-knowing, like he’d just handed down a sacred truth from the top of a mountain.

Harry didn’t argue. Just sipped.

Then, after a beat, “While we’re at it, why don’t we charm our cups to keep the tea warm? No one likes cold tea.”

Cassian shook his head, solemn. “Because what makes tea good is that it doesn’t last.” He leaned back, cup in hand. “Warmth fades. Flavour shifts. You appreciate it more when you know it’s leaving.”

Harry blinked at him.

Cassian shrugged. “Like life. Or weekends. Or quiet students. Transience is the point.”

Harry stared into his mug.

“…That’s really bleak for a drink, sir.”

Cassian raised his cup. “You’ll realise one day.”

He dropped back into his chair, stretched his legs out under the desk. “So. Christmas plans. You trying to dodge yours or ruin mine?”

“Bit of both.”

“Good. We’re off to a strong start.”

Harry took another sip. “Sirius and I decided to throw a party. Celebrate his freedom. Becoming a Professor and all. Remus’ll be there. Hermione. Neville. Ginny. Luna. Twins.”

Cassian shivered dramatically. “You didn’t need to count past ‘Sirius.’ Every name after that was just you bullying me.”

Harry grinned. “Whole crowd. They’d really be happy to see you too.”

Cassian made a face. “Might as well let Privet Drive eat me.”

Harry chuckled into his cup. “He’d really like you to be there. He’s stubborn, sure, but he’s thankful.”

Cassian sighed, slow and long. “Thanks. But I’ve got other plans.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t ask what. Just drained the last of his tea, stood, and gave a short smile. “Thanks. For the tea. And everything.”

Cassian waved him off. “It’s my job.”

Harry lingered a second at the door. Then he left.

It wasn’t until he was halfway down the hall that it hit him, Cassian knew his address. Privet Drive. But then again, he was a Professor, of course he knew. Not that difficult, was it?

Harry shrugged it off.

Ever since Hagrid had looked him in the eye and said, “You’re a wizard, Harry,” his life had been chaos on tap.

The first year, he’d stuck his nose where it didn’t belong, came face to face with a noseless maniac. His fault.

Second, there was a bloody snake no one else could hear.

Third, Sirius showed up and everyone thought he was there to kill him.

Fourth year, his name popped out of the Goblet. Would’ve gone straight to hell from there if Cassian hadn’t stepped in and yanked it out.

Thinking about it now, Cassian always had been there.

Muttering about grading. Threatening the ceiling. Blowing holes in the curriculum and fixing them with wards nobody else could read.

When he walked into the Gryffindor common room, the whole lot turned on him.

“Is he coming?” Fred asked.

Harry shook his head. “He said he had things to do.”

George sat bolt upright. “Did you tell him we’re coming too? That would’ve worked.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “That made it worse.”

George clutched his chest, full scandal. “How dare ye.”

Luna was perched on a footstool, nibbling something green and slightly worrying. “He’s avoiding Christmas Yokes. Very wise.”

Hermione didn’t even look up. “What are those, and how did you get in here again?”

Luna smiled, utterly unbothered. “The Christmas Yokes told me the password.”

Ron reached for whatever she was eating and thought better of it halfway through.

Ginny wandered in from the girls’ staircase, hair still damp from a shower. “So he’s skipping out?”

“He said he’s got plans,” Harry said, dropping into the seat beside her.

Fred groaned. “We are the plan.”

“Clearly not,” Hermione muttered.

“Oi!” George threw a cushion at her. “We’re delightful.”

Neville slid in with a plate of biscuits. “Professor R.’s probably hiding in the archives this year it seems.”

“Or rebuilding the projector,” Ginny added. “Lee said it blew up twice last week.”

Harry smiled faintly.

Truth was, he hadn’t expected him to come, but he couldn’t not be invited.

***

Draco leaned on the edge of the Astronomy Tower, chin tilted to the stars. Cold wind tugged at his collar, but he didn’t seem to care. Theo stood a few feet away, arms crossed, gaze somewhere near Orion’s belt.

“Clear night,” Draco said, breaking the silence.

Theo hummed. “Haven’t had many lately.”

Draco didn’t argue. He shifted, fingers grazing the stone. “I heard about your father.”

Theo didn’t flinch, but he did go still.

“Dragon incident, wasn’t it?” Draco said. “Plants going feral, too. Whole estate nearly swallowed.”

Theo didn’t look away from the sky. “That’s what the Prophet said.”

Draco’s eyes flicked to him. “It wasn’t Professor Rosier, was it?”

“No.”

“It’s alright if it was,” Draco said. “I was the one who told him about Barty. Last year.”

Theo finally turned his head. He squinted at Draco, like he was trying to spot the catch. The tone, the smirk, the twist at the end of it all. But Draco wasn’t playing.

He just offered a small smile. Then something flicked behind his eyes. He opened his mind. “You can take a look.”

Theo blinked. Jaw tightened. “You want to prove it?”

Draco lifted his chin. “Go on.”

Theo stared. Then shook his head. “I believe you. I saw the changes in you,” he said. “Back then I thought you were scared. But you weren’t. You were choosing.”

Draco opened his eyes slowly. Didn’t speak.

Theo’s lips curled slightly. “It’s not that I didn’t want to say anything. I just didn’t know how.”

He leaned his back against the wall. “Last summer, when I went home… my father tried to force me to bow.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “To him?”

“To the Dark Lord.”

Draco went still.

Theo’s voice stayed flat. “He said it was time. Said I’d embarrassed him long enough. He’d tolerated my studies, my distance, my attitude, because he thought I’d come round eventually. When I didn’t… he had me chained in the basement.”

Draco’s breath caught.

“Hadn’t eaten for weeks. Hadn’t seen light for days. Just pain. Every few hours he’d come down with a spell I hadn’t seen before. Said it was for my own good.”

Theo looked out over the grounds, eyes following nothing in particular. “Lucius came to help.”

Draco flinched like someone had kicked him.

“Didn’t say much,” Theo went on. “Just watched. Struck a few of his own from time to time.”

He sighed slowly. “I found a way out. One morning, the chain on my wrist slipped loose when he was away. I had a few minutes. I ran. Found my old school things, filled a parchment quickly. Then sent an owl.”

Draco was staring at him now.

“To Professor Rosier,” Theo said. “Didn’t know if he’d get it. But he’d said, if we ever needed anything, anytime…”

He trailed off.

“Thirty minutes later,” Theo said, “the wards cracked like thunder. Whole house shook. My father screamed like a pig. That was it.”

Theo looked over. “When I walked out, the front door was gone. Half the garden had swallowed itself. All the vines were lashing, everything except me.”

Draco didn’t ask anything else.

Theo didn’t offer more.

They stood like that.

Draco looked back up at the stars. “We’re really in it now, aren’t we?”

Theo nodded.

“Yeah.”

He then smiled, “But we chose where to stand.”

Draco smiled too. “That we did.”

***

Snape knocked, didn’t wait, and pushed the door open.

Dumbledore didn’t look up from his desk. His quill scratched on.

“Enter.”

The office was dim, fire flickering under the portraits. He closed the door behind him.

“Tea’s gone cold,” Dumbledore said. “Your timing’s slipped.”

Snape gave him a look. “You’re alive, so I assume the day went entirely to plan.”

Dumbledore finally set his pen down.

“No,” he said. “No, it did not. Voldemort appeared.”

Snape stilled after the Headmaster told the whole story.

He leaned back slightly. “Was it a message?”

“I think it was a test. To see who came. I expect Tom assumed Cassian would take the bait.”

Snape didn’t answer for a while. His eyes scanned the books stacked near the desk.

“How are the boy’s Occlumency lessons progressing?” Dumbledore asked after a silence. “I’ve been told his defences are stable.”

Snape gave a nod. “He has talent. Rosier’s classes helped. The shielding work was already there.”

Dumbledore folded his hands. “Harry still sees things. Slips. Feelings, mostly. Sometimes places.”

Snape’s jaw tensed. “Then he’s being allowed to see.”

“You think it’s intentional.”

“I know it is.” Snape’s tone was flat. “The Dark Lord was a master of mind arts. He’s too careful. If the boy is seeing his anger, it’s because he wants to be seen.”

Dumbledore nodded. “That was my thought as well.”

Snape said nothing.

Dumbledore leaned forward. “If you had doubts about the boy-“

“I don’t,” Snape said. “He’s not subtle, but he’s not stupid. And Potter has no talent for masking malice. If he were compromised, we’d know.”

Dumbledore sat back. “Good.”

Snape shifted his gaze to the window. “The elf?”

“She’s recovering in the hospital wing. Dobby’s helping.”

Snape’s eyebrow lifted slightly. “And Rosier?”

Dumbledore paused. He hesitated.

Snape’s expression didn’t shift.

Dumbledore smiled faintly. “He’s not what we expected.”

“No,” Snape said. “Last summer proved he was part of it, didn’t it?”

Dumbledore let out a tired sigh.

Snape leaned back. “Will you tell him?”

Dumbledore looked out the window. The light had dulled, clouds dragging across the towers. “Eventually.”

Snape huffed. “You mean when it explodes in your face.”

Dumbledore didn’t deny it.

(Check Here)

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