Hello everyone! Hope you all are okay!

I just wanted to thank you all and have a little chat, with some good news and some bad news.

Let’s start with the good news. The climax of the year is very close. I didn’t drag this year out too long. As I mentioned before, I don’t want to drag this fic. On top of that, the last year of the fic, the final arc, already began on P-Page.

So yeah… we’re getting close to the finish as well.

Now for the bad news. I thought I had food poisoning yesterday and was convinced I was going to die. I had some nasty nausea, vomiting, and cramps. It’s probably just stomach irritation. I prepared this chapter and scheduled it with a warning that if I didn’t appear the next day, oopsie, but nothing happened. So yeah. I finished this chapter before lying down, just in case lol.

Anyway, please stay safe. I hope you’re all doing well. And to any of my readers who are in areas that are dangerous right now, please take extra care. I really hate wars.

Love you all.

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As the O.W.L.s crept closer, Cassian’s door started swinging open more than usual. Same as every year, students panicking, dreaming up careers they weren’t remotely qualified for, or trying to avoid whatever their parents had already picked out for them. Official guidance came from the Heads of House, of course. But most of the fifth-years treated Cassian as their second opinion.

He didn’t mind. Gave them advices, a book or two, maybe a sarcastic push in the right direction. A few wanted applause. He gave none of those, but they kept coming anyway.

Crabbe and Goyle walked in together.

Then he nearly started drinking before lunch.

“Alright,” he said, setting his pen down. “Which one of you is dying, and how much paperwork am I expected to fill out?”

They blinked at him.

Crabbe scratched his arm. Goyle sniffed.

Then Goyle blurted, “We want to be Aurors.”

Cassian blinked. “Pardon?”

Crabbe nodded, more enthusiastic than was safe. “Yeah. Aurors.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair. “You do know that requires five N.E.W.T.s in the toughest subjects Hogwarts offers, right?”

They nodded. Not in sync. Not confidently. Just… nodded.

Cassian rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Right. I’ll just ask the important question, why aren’t you having this conversation with Snape?”

Crabbe shifted. “He called us dunderheads.”

Goyle frowned. “He said if he saw us again before NEWTs he’d turn us into flobberworms.”

Cassian gave them a flat look. “Hard to argue with his methodology.”

Crabbe scratched his neck. “My dad wants me to be a Death Eater.”

Goyle smacked his arm. “You’re not supposed to say that.”

Crabbe looked confused. “Why not?”

“Because it’s a secret, idiot! I told you before we came. We’re here because Lucius doesn’t want us to become Death Eaters ’cause we’re too thick”

“Fool.” Crabbe turned smacking him back. “That’s a secret too.”

Goyle shoved him. “You just said Lucius is one!”

“You did first!”

Cassian held up a hand. “Alright, that’s enough mutual incrimination for one day. Sit. Still.”

They froze.

He stood up, walked to the shelf, grabbed a thick file marked “Realistic Careers,” and dropped it on the desk.

“I’m not saying you can’t be Aurors,” he said. “I’m saying you’ll need to work harder than you’ve ever worked in your lives. You’ll need top marks. In subjects you’re currently failing. And you’ll need to pass interviews. Background checks. Physical trials. Psychological screening.”

Crabbe looked uncertain. “Psychological?”

“They make you talk about feelings,” Cassian said, deadpan.

Goyle paled.

Cassian sighed. “So. You’ve got two options. You can either go full tilt and try to prove everyone wrong. Or you can aim for something where you won’t end up getting yourself or someone else cursed into a fern.”

They didn’t answer.

He pushed the folder toward them. “Read. Pick something. Come back when you’ve got an idea that doesn’t end with me drinking myself through the paperwork.”

Crabbe looked down. “So you’re not gonna tell anyone what we said?”

Cassian shrugged. “Not unless you write it on a banner and fly it off the Astronomy Tower. But maybe don’t start shouting it around others until you’re sure.”

Goyle shifted. “We don’t want to be Death Eaters.”

“I gathered, and I am glad,” Cassian said. “Unfortunately, neither do half the people your families expect to be. Doesn’t mean the pressure stops.”

They looked at him.

“I believe in you, boys. Grow to strip yourselves from paths you haven’t chosen. You’ve still got time,” he said. “Use it better than your dads did.”

Crabbe nodded. Slowly. Goyle didn’t speak.

They shuffled out a minute later, muttering about maybe picking up Herbology again.

Cassian sat back, cracked his neck, and reached for the emergency biscuit tin.

He wished that was all, but it wasn’t.

At least Crabbe and Goyle had a goal, however doomed it was. That put them ahead of a fair few. Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott, for instance, were sat across from him now, fidgeting with their sleeves, frowns plastered to their faces.

“I don’t want to follow my aunt’s footsteps,” Susan said. “I want to be a person of my own.”

Hannah nodded, not adding anything.

He gave an encouraging hum.

“That’s commendable,” he said. “You two have creativity. I made you my right and left hands in Duelling Club for a reason.”

That earned matching blinks.

“You bring life to dull things,” he added, “which, in this castle, is practically a superpower.”

Both lit up. Sat straighter. Smiled like he’d just handed them a crown.

“So what should we do?” they asked.

Cassian leaned back in his chair, glanced up at the ceiling expecting it to offer divine guidance. It didn’t. Probably for the best, he didn’t trust anything in this school that answered back.

“I wish I had a magical crystal ball that could tell you,” he said. “Actually, no, I don’t. That would be terrifying.”

Susan bit her lip. Hannah kicked her shoe against the leg of the chair.

He tapped a pen against the desk to match her rhythm. “Alright. Forget jobs for a second. What makes you forget time when you’re doing it?”

They exchanged a look. Too many answers and none of them felt grown-up enough to say out loud.

“You don’t have to impress me,” Cassian said. “I’ve already seen the two of you hex dummies into playing out a drama. Go on.”

Susan looked up. “I like planning things. Sorting chaos. Making something work better.”

Hannah nodded. “Same. But I prefer people. Helping them get through things.”

Cassian grinned. “So one of you is a schemer, the other’s a therapist. Fantastic.”

They blinked.

“Look,” he said, “you don’t have to pick a forever-job right now. You’re fifteen. Most people your age barely know how they take their tea.”

Susan raised a hand. “Milk, no sugar.”

Cassian gave her a solemn nod. “You’re one step ahead of your peers.”

He pulled a book off the shelf behind him, flipped through a few pages, then shoved it across the table. “Have a look at this when you’ve got time. Careers that aren’t Ministry-based, aren’t family expectations, and don’t end in slow magical burnout. Just… see what clicks.”

They nodded, serious again.

“And Bones,” he said, voice dipping just enough to cut through, “you’re not your aunt. You’re not expected to be her. You’ve got her fire, sure, but it burns a different way.”

Susan’s throat bobbed.

Hannah looked at her. Then reached out and nudged her shoulder gently.

Cassian watched them both for a beat.

“Take your time,” he said. “Anyone tries to rush you, hand them your Duelling badge and tell them I said to duck.”

That got a laugh as they stood, thanked him, and left.

Cassian waited until the door clicked shut.

Then he sighed and dragged the next folder off the pile.

Fourth appointments of the day.

God help him.

The next few days ran like clockwork, if the clock was fuelled by stress, sugar, and seventeen versions of the same question.

Bathsheda dropped in now and then, dragging popcorn from Merlin knew where and eating it like she was front-row at a play. Didn’t lift a finger to help. Just sat in the corner enjoying the carnage, barely hiding her grin.

That day featured Neville, flanked by Harry and Ron, all three hovering just outside the door like they’d stumbled into the wrong office but refused to admit it.

Hermione wasn’t with them. Of course not. She probably had her next hundred years sorted by now, colour-coded and bookmarked.

Neville shuffled in first. Walked right past the others and placed a chair over beside Bathsheda.

“They dragged me,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not with them. I’ve got a few ideas already.”

Harry and Ron turned on him like he’d stabbed them with a quill. Ron looked properly betrayed.

Cassian chuckled. “Throwing your mates under the Knight Bus in the first breath. You’ve grown.”

Bathsheda covered her mouth. Popcorn crackled.

Neville said nothing, nicking a few.

Ron stepped forward as if it was his turn at the gallows. “We, uh… haven’t really decided anything.”

Cassian tilted his head. “Shocking. I had you down for a Ministry desk job and Potter for interpretive wand dancing.”

Harry sat without speaking.

Ron scratched the back of his neck. “I was thinking… maybe Hit-Wizard?”

Cassian nodded. “Good. That’s only marginally less suicidal than Dragon Handling. Got the reflexes for it?”

“Er… probably.”

Cassian gave him a look. “That confidence is exactly why they hand you a badge.”

Harry finally spoke. “What about Cursebreaking?”

“You’re not bad at puzzles,” Cassian said. “But it is equal-opportunity reckless. If you don’t die in the first month, you’re in.”

Ron looked at Harry. “We could do that together.”

“You could,” Cassian agreed, “or one of you could end up flattened by a collapsing tomb while the other lives long enough to file the report.”

Harry nodded, unfazed.

Cassian gave Harry a once-over. “Honestly surprised you’re not chasing Quidditch.”

Harry scratched his nose. “Thought about it. But I want to do something that matters. Like Dad and Sirius.”

Cassian nodded. “Not a bad reason. You’d be good at it too.”

He sipped his tea, gave Harry a look over the rim. “How’s Potions?”

Harry deflated slightly. “Not bad.”

Cassian made a noise. “Not bad’s not enough. Severus doesn’t take anyone under E.E. He sees an A and starts shopping for poisons.”

Ron groaned under his breath about high expectations and bat wings.

Cassian raised a hand. “If you’re serious about Auror work, then get serious. British Ministry wants those N.E.W.T.s for a reason. Not to be annoying, well, partly that, but mostly because in that job, you’ll use that knowledge. Every week. Sometimes every day.”

Ron made a face. “Still don’t get why Potions matters. Aurors don’t brew.”

Cassian gave him a flat look. “Don’t they?”

Ron shrugged. “Do they?”

“You get cursed in the field, who’s brewing the counter?” Cassian asked. “You? Your partner? The ghost of Christmas Past?”

Ron tried again. “Yeah, but they’ve got kits for that, right? Pre-brewed stuff.”

“Some,” Cassian said. “And when those run out? Or get swapped? Or spoiled in a rainstorm?”

Ron didn’t answer.

“You think being an Auror’s all explosions and witty one-liners? Most fieldwork is fixing your own mess before it eats you.”

Harry leaned forward slightly. “You think I could do it?”

“Yeah,” Cassian said, without pause. “But only if you decide you’re not half-doing anything. Same for you, Weasley. You’ve both got decent instincts. But instinct only gets you to the hospital wing. The rest is work.”

Cassian stood and crossed to the bookshelf, thumbing out a slim grey folder. “Take this,” he said, tossing it to Ron. “Career paths that don’t start with ‘punch it’ and end with ‘hope for the best.’ You might find something else that suits. Doesn’t have to be shiny to be worthwhile.”

Ron caught it. Flipped it open. “There’s a job called… Lichen Analyst?”

Cassian pointed at the door. “That’s your punishment for doubting Potions.”

Bathsheda laughed softly from her seat.

Harry sat back, staring at the folder in Ron’s hand. Still thinking.

Cassian clapped. “Right. That’s your lot. Next time, bring snacks.”

They shuffled out.

Neville stayed just long enough to take one last piece of popcorn. Bathsheda shooed him away.

Cassian got up with a groan and a stretch. “Gods, that’s tiring.”

Bathsheda didn’t even glance up from the tin. “You enjoy it.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Do not.”

“You can lie to yourself, not to me. You like that they come to you for life-changing decisions.”

All tiredness vanished from his face as he perked right up. “I do love it! Sue me.”

She lobbed a popcorn at him without looking. He caught it mid-air with a smug grin.

She dropped onto his leg as he sat next to her. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet somehow, beloved.”

She shoved another popcorn between his lips to shut him up.

“Mmph.” He chewed dramatically, made it last to the point of cruelty. Swallowed slow. “Alright. What’s the actual problem?”

“Umbridge is scheming something.”

His face didn’t change, but the chewing stopped.

“What?”

“Charity saw her near the Great Hall. Some setup. Didn’t say what.”

He hummed, head leaning back on the sofa. “You reckon it’s educational sabotage or Ministry propaganda?”

“Could be both.”

“Bless her range.”

Another popcorn landed in his mouth.

She leaned back against him. “You’re not going to do the thing where you sneak in early and change all the ink to something rude?”

He raised a brow. “Would I?”

She smacked his arm lightly.

Cassian started playing with her hair, fingers tracing lazy loops down her neck. “Bathsilla…” he murmured.

She didn’t answer.

He blew a short puff of air at her ear.

She smacked the side of his chest without looking.

Undeterred, his fingers dipped lower. “My lovely Bath Water.”

“That name’s banned.”

“Fine. My sweet, scalding tub.”

She elbowed him.

He shifted behind her, nuzzling closer. “Let’s get a bit irresponsible.”

She stood up. “Dinner time.”

He groaned into the sofa. “Knew you didn’t love me.”

“You’ll live,” she said, tugging her jumper into place and heading for the door.

He trailed behind her, arms stretched above his head, mumbling killjoy and blue popcorns.

Halfway down the hall, he sidled up beside her, whispering. “If we skip dinner, I’ll make you tea. Real tea. Ji-grade.”

She didn’t even blink. “Tempting. Still no.”

He bumped her shoulder. “I’ll throw in foot rubs. Full ten minutes. Zero groping.”

“Liar.”

“Well, partial groping.”

They turned the corner just as the Great Hall doors came into view… and froze.

Right at the entrance, flanked by two perfectly-aligned Ministry banners in a shade of pink that should’ve been illegal, stood a folding table. On it, stacks of parchment, Ministry pamphlets, and a sign that read “CAREERS IN MAGIC – PLAN YOUR PERFECT FUTURE TODAY!” in cheerful, glittering letters.

Behind it stood Dolores Umbridge, smiling like she’d just kicked a puppy and gotten a raise for it.

Cassian’s head tilted. “Oh, marvellous. The parasite’s set up a recruitment stall.”

Bathsheda let out a long breath through her nose. “She’s handing out career templates.”

“As in, ‘pick your box, colour it in, and we’ll stamp a number on your soul.'”

“I’d say don’t be dramatic, but…”

“No, no. Let me guess. Top three options… ‘Ministry Apprentice,’ ‘Ministry Junior Apprentice,’ and ‘Loyal Ministry Pet.'”

Bathsheda was already moving again.

Cassian followed, eyes flicking across the little signs Umbridge had clipped to the front of each pamphlet. ‘The Ministry: A Future You Can Trust.’ ‘Your Path Starts With Order.’

“Gods,” he said, “it’s like propaganda and a funeral got married.”

A few fifth-years were already gathered around the table, most of them looking like they’d wandered into the wrong corridor and were too polite to escape. Seamus held a pamphlet upside-down. Parvati and Padma stood a little back, not speaking.

Umbridge caught sight of Cassian just as they reached the end of the corridor. Her smile widened. Too wide. She lifted a hand in greeting, fingers wagging.

Cassian raised his brows. Gave her the sort of polite nod you’d give a cursed doorknob.

Bathsheda grabbed his sleeve. “Let’s eat before you say something that makes her speak.”

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if she starts reading from the pamphlet, I’m setting the ceiling on fire.”

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