Cassian walked between the desks, papers stacked under one arm, flipping each onto a student’s desk, chatting up with them. Seamus grinned up at him, Cassian winked.

Behind him, Crabbe was whispering to Goyle about which quill was “the lucky one.” Hermione had already started checking the margin spacing, as if it were a holy rite.

He was halfway through the Ravenclaws when the door creaked open.

Cassian didn’t look up.

Boots. Too many. He finished the row.

Bagshot entered first. Behind her came Dolores Umbridge, powder-pink as a migraine. She was flanked by five Ministry Aurors, all in full gear and clearly hating every second of it. They spread out near the back, all standing tall. Bless them.

Cassian blinked. “Oh good. Have the escaped Death Eaters raided the school? Is Voldemort here?”

That got a sound out of a few students. Susan made a choking noise. Dean sat up straight. Tracey half-turned in her chair like she wasn’t sure if she should be ducking.

Umbridge’s face pinked immediately. “What do you mean, Professor?”

Cassian tilted his head, all mock thoughtfulness. “I mean, I see five Aurors in full kit. I was wondering what sort of threat justified that. I assumed we’d had a Voldemort sighting.”

Umbridge gave an annoying little hem hem. “The Board and the Department of Magical Education are simply… concerned. The quality of our graduates lately has slipped. The committee felt some oversight might help.”

Cassian smiled, a picture of innocence. “Ah, right. That’s a relief. I thought the Ministry had finally found the courage to go after Death Eaters. Silly me.” He gave a quick shrug. “Must’ve confused action with paperwork again.”

Bagshot brushed past him rolling her eyes. “Keep walking,” she muttered.

A few students snorted. Someone at the back coughed and tried not to laugh.

Umbridge’s smile thinned. “I expect full cooperation, Professor Rosier.”

“Oh, you’ll have it,” Cassian said. “I’ve always believed in transparency.”

“Don’t let me interrupt then,” she said sweetly. “Do continue, Professor.”

“Oh, I will,” Cassian said, brushing past her to the desk. “Gods forbid we let logic get in the way of tradition.”

He dropped the final stack of papers. “Right. You all know what this is. Twenty questions, final one being an essay. History. You may cry quietly, but if you scream, I start docking points.”

A few people laughed.

“Wands away,” Cassian said. “You’ve got one hour.”

He turned, glanced at the back row where the Aurors were already shifting uncomfortably, and added, “And if anyone starts feeling faint from the sheer terror of being in the presence of actual Ministry representatives, please remember they are legally required not to hex you unless you’re holding a wand. For now.”

He leaned against the desk, arms folded. “Begin.”

Umbridge and the Aurors watched the room like a pack of pigeons trained by snipers. Coordinated to not blinking at the same time. Eyes tracking hands, quills, posture. The closest thing to movement was Terry Boot adjusting his sleeve, and even that got a squint from the one by the window.

Cassian didn’t bother looking their way. He just dropped into his chair, boots up, and cracked the spine on an old journal.

The students were locked in. Focused. Quills moved, parchment rustled. A soft curse from Pansy as she checked her ink pot and found it half-dry. Padma was already scribbling out her second page.

Dean squinted at the fourth question and mouthed something rude.

Which regional conflict in 1392 led to the split between the Magical Mercantile Accord and the Eastern Trade Binders? What spellwork was banned as a result?

Amanda scrawled quickly with a grin. “Tzaddiq Revolt, northeast steppe line. Trade Binders were caught bribing the Accord with split loyalty hexes. Banned: echo-sigils, coded compulsion, barter-forged intent anchors.”

Ron leaned over his page, biting his lip but writing non-stop. His answer was too long. He crossed out three words and rewrote them smaller.

Translate the following runic shorthand into standard historical notation. Identify what region and century it likely references.

Three different answers in the first ten minutes alone.

Padma’s was neat. Sean’s was an enthusiastic mess. Hermione paused halfway through hers to tilt her head. Then nodded to herself and kept going.

Using no more than four sentences, explain why Grindelwald’s speech in Lviv was remembered for its magical construction, not its message. What anchoring principle was he exploiting?

Anthony Goldstein frowned, tapped the quill twice, then began writing… “Spell-layered rhetoric. Intent folded into cadence. Runic reinforcement of the fourth line activated empathic mirroring. The audience felt agreement before they knew what they agreed with.”

Ernie Macmillan’s lip curled slightly at Question 19. He didn’t like moral hypotheticals. Still, he kept writing.

Meanwhile, one of the Aurors stepped away from the wall and moved in behind Crabbe and Goyle. Crabbe paused. Stared at the question a bit harder and muttered under his breath.

The Auror circled once more, leaned a little toward Daphne Greengrass’s parchment. Daphne didn’t look up. Just kept writing.

Cassian watched all of it without lifting his head from his journal.

Umbridge never stopped since the exam started. She drifted from desk to desk. Her eyes scanned every parchment, every hand, every ink blot.

She paused at Theodore Nott. He didn’t care. Her gaze narrowed. His quill didn’t slow.

Cassian reached for a biscuit from the tin he’d brought in. Bit it clean in half.

Umbridge shot him a smile. All teeth. All hate.

He held up the other half of his biscuit and mouthed. “Want one?”

She didn’t answer. Just kept walking.

Bagshot sat in the corner. She’d brought her own cup of tea. She didn’t speak, but the hand on her cane was twitching slightly, like she was fighting the urge to curse someone. Cassian suspected she had seven hexes already loaded. He counted Umbridge then the Aurors. Who was the unlucky seventh, he wondered.

The Aurors circled again. One of them muttered something into a charm-stone. The glow didn’t flicker. No foul play.

Michael Corner sneezed.

Sue Li shushed him.

Tracey rolled her eyes, quietly circled an answer, and moved on.

Thirty more minutes.

The bearded Auror turned toward him. Gave a slight nod. All clear.

Cassian nodded back, not looking up.

Of course it was. If he cheated. He cheated clean.

When the essay portion hit, the scratching of quills got louder. You could tell which ones had picked their favourite topics. Parvati flew across the lines like she was writing a letter to her future self. Daphne went dead still except for her hand, moving rapidly without even stopping to think. Dean stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth. Hermione had already started flipping her extra sheet.

Every student was in it. Heads down, parchment filling fast, and no one so much as looked up when someone passed by.

At the back of the room, Umbridge’s face had started to discolour.

She wasn’t a Professor. Could barely spell “pedagogy” without a crib sheet. But even she could tell what was happening.

They were doing well. All of them.

Worse, confident. The lot of them writing like they knew their stuff, not like they were just hoping to scrape a pass. No signs of desperation at all. Questions were difficult. When Bagshot sent the draft, the Ministry made sure of it.

Which meant her plan was bleeding out across the room. Fudge had sent her for one thing. Undermine the Rosier name. Cut Cassian off from the school, from the students, from Dumbledore. Isolate. Discredit. Remove.

Simple enough on paper. But now she stood in a room full of fifteen-year-olds outscoring expectations, all of it under Rosier’s teaching, and she had no angle.

He must be cheating. He must be. But there was no sight at all. The invigilators hadn’t so much as twitched. She couldn’t call foul on high scores without admitting what this test had really been.

A trap.

She needed something. Anything. If they left this room and every paper came back with top marks, Rosier’s credibility would cement, opposite of the crack they’re aiming for. Worse, his loss of magic wouldn’t matter. He’d proven he could teach with or without it.

She’d failed.

Unless she fixed it.

Right now.

Her smile sharpened.

Cassian bit into another biscuit, grinning as he chewed. He caught Umbridge’s eye, held her stare, and mouthed, “Your move.” Then opened his mouth and showed her the half-chewed mess on his tongue.

The look she gave him could’ve soured cream.

One of the Aurors turned. Cassian’s mouth shut faster than a cursed book. He swallowed, wiped the corner of his mouth, and leaned back in his chair like nothing had happened.

Umbridge was about to boil.

Her smile was cracking at the edges now. Cassian leaned his head back, watching the ceiling.

Five minutes later, she turned and drifted to the front of the class, posture stiff. Her hands folded over each other, but her nails dug in.

“You may stop.”

The words rang out sharp and loud. A few quills jerked.

Cassian didn’t move.

“Quills down,” Umbridge said again, voice cracking. “NOW!”

The room froze.

That wasn’t time.

Cassian sat forward.

“Madam Undersecretary,” he said, tone light. “The students still have thirteen minutes.”

Umbridge didn’t even glance at him. “They’ve had long enough.”

Bagshot’s head lifted.

“Dolores,” she said slowly, “the examination guidelines were approved by the Department itself. Ending early would invalidate the results.”

Umbridge smiled wider. “There’s been a… change in policy.”

Cassian stood.

He wasn’t smiling now.

“Funny. Policy changes usually come with parchment. Seals. Names.” He stepped forward. “You bring any of that?”

She met his gaze, face shouting urgency and panic. “The Ministry reserves the right to-“

“Oh, there it is,” he cut in. “The Ministry. Not the school. Not the Board. Not the examiner in the room. Just you. With your five guards and your sudden authority.”

Bagshot shifted. “Dolores-“

“I’m safeguarding student welfare,” Umbridge said, with that fake-sweet tone. “This examination may be… above their level. We don’t want to discourage anyone.”

Cassian called, “Ash.”

The castle rattled. A second later, a dragon flew in, no larger than a kneazle, tail twitching.

One of the Aurors sighed in visible relief.

Then Ash expanded, heat rolling off her as her wings shadowed half the classroom. She landed on the ledge with all the grace of a thrown anvil, claws digging into the stone. Smoke curled from her nostrils as she stared down at Umbridge.

“Burn anyone who stops this exam before the clock rings.”

Ash lowered her head. Her eyes locked on Umbridge like she’d found something fun to melt.

Cassian turned to Bagshot without missing a beat. “Silence ring to the seats.”

She nodded. She waved softly, and the edges of the classroom shimmered faintly gold, cutting off outside noise.

He stepped into the ring. “Continue and finish your exams.”

The students blinked, then snapped back down to parchment.

Cassian walked back out, hands in his pockets, and looked straight at Umbridge.

“I told you before,” he said. “Hogwarts isn’t the Ministry’s backyard. This is a private institution. The Department of Magical Education regulates. It does not dictate.”

Umbridge didn’t move.

“You’re welcome to observe,” Cassian went on. “Try and shut down my exam again, you’ll be removed from the perimeter.”

He turned to the Aurors.

“Any objections?”

No one spoke. The one near the window shook his head so fast. The others stared straight ahead.

Cassian gave them a nod. “Good.”

He sat down. Picked up a biscuit.

The room carried on.

Umbridge stood perfectly still, lips pressed thin, surrounded by five fully armed Aurors and a dragon watching her breathe.

Cassian dunked his biscuit. Bit it. Chewed slowly.

No one interrupted the exam again.

(Check Here)

Mirror, mirror, on the wall… who read the fic and said nothing at all?

…

Even the mirror ghosts me.

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