As Cassian dropped into his seat at the Staff Table, he let out a sigh that was only halfway exaggerated. The Sorting had wrapped, food had appeared in abundance, and every student in the Hall was now chattering at full volume, as if the last few months of complete and utter chaos hadn’t happened. Which was almost sweet, in a reckless, short-term-memory sort of way.

His eyes swept the table. For the first time in decades, not a single new face. Same Professors. Same chairs. Even the tea set looked smug about it. There wasn’t a cursed position to fill anymore or a mysterious stranger in questionable robes. Sirius Black was still seated comfortably at the end, chin in one hand. Second year as Defence Professor. Nothing exploded last time, so here they were again.

A novelty, really… consistency.

Cassian stabbed a roast potato Bathsheda added to his plate, glanced down the table, and waited for the floor to cave in. Because of course it would. He’d lived through enough terms to know peace was never anything but a lull before the next howler.

Still, something about this year felt… quiet. Just… still. The wards didn’t chime the bell tolls. The ceiling looked almost calm. No Ministry memos stapled to the owl post, no unexpected dementors in the courtyard, no toads with clipboards…

Flitwick nudged him. “Enjoying the quiet?”

“I feel like I’m being lulled into something,” Cassian muttered. “Too peaceful.”

“You always say that,” Vector said from beside Bathsheda, already spooning something glowing onto her plate. “One day it’ll actually fall and you’ll look smug instead of crushed.”

Cassian raised a brow. “Are you saying I’d survive a collapsing ceiling out of spite?”

“Yes,” said Aurora. “And write a lecture while doing it.”

Charity leaned across Bathsheda, half-grinning. “You’d survive just to say ‘I told you so.'”

He dipped his bread in something unidentifiable. “I’d say ‘I told you so’ before it hit the ground.”

McGonagall gave him a look across the table, lips twitching.

“I rather liked the silence,” she said. “Feels… restful. I think I remember that rare concept from a few decades ago.”

Cassian arched a brow. “Was that a compliment or a thinly veiled complaint?”

She sipped her tea. “Would you like to guess?”

He turned to Pomona. “Help me out here. Minerva’s bullying me.”

“She’s been doing that since you stepped into the castle,” Pomona said cheerfully. “Nothing new.”

“And here I thought I was loved by you all.”

“You made an enchanted skeleton dance across my greenhouse.”

Cassian didn’t flinch. “False. I danced with an enchanted skeleton across your lovely greenhouse. It’s romantic.”

Snape made a sound that might have been a suppressed snort. Or indigestion. Hard to say.

Cassian clocked it anyway. “Oh, don’t start. I saw you levitating an entire cupboard of Wolfsbane the other day. Now that was showing off, not academic at all.”

“I was organising inventory,” Snape said, not looking at him.

“Right. You alphabetised a potion by threatening it into shape.”

Sirius barked a laugh across the table. “He does that.”

Snape glanced over with the disdain of someone considering hexing a fly.

Bathsheda hummed beside him. “At least the first-years don’t look like they’re actively plotting.”

“They’re eleven,” he said. “Give it a week.”

Aurora grinned. “That one in blue just enchanted her tie to sparkle.”

“She’s Ravenclaw,” Vector said, not even looking. “Extra sparkle’s a House trait.”

At the far end, Dumbledore stood, arms raised for silence.

The hall dimmed. Even the ghosts paused mid-drift.

“We welcome a new year,” Dumbledore said, voice steady. “And an unchanged staff, which I daresay is worth celebrating.”

Polite applause. A few students actually clapped like they meant it.

“No one’s whooping or screaming,” Sprout muttered. “Didn’t think I’d miss the twins and Jordan.”

Cassian pointed lazily across the hall, fingertip barely lifted. A shimmer passed over the Gryffindor table, and there they were… Fred, George, and Lee Jordan in all their ridiculous, grinning glory. Not real, of course. Just illusion. Fred kicked his boots up on the bench. George passed Lee something that hissed. All mid-song, mouths wide, arms thrown around each other like it was game night and they were three pints deep. Luna stood without hesitation and joined them, clapping along. Ginny gave a half-laugh and slid in beside her. Astoria leaned over from Slytherin, then shrugged and joined as well.

And just like that, they were singing the Hogwarts song. Loud, slightly off-key, each line a different tempo.

Cassian grinned. “There. That’s better.”

Dumbledore turned slowly to look at him, expression somewhere between long-suffering and mildly annoyed.

Cassian raised his hand to his mouth. “Oops.”

Sprout snorted into her napkin.

Snape didn’t so much as blink. Looked like he’d decided to dissociate.

The song reached a particularly painful note. Luna and Ginny harmonised in completely opposite keys. Lee’s illusion threw in a drum solo on the edge of the table.

McGonagall muttered something in Gaelic that might have been a prayer. Or a hex.

Vector leaned back in her chair. “Alright, I missed them too.”

Cassian gestured like he’d proven a point. The illusions kept at it, arms swinging, completely unbothered by pitch, tone, or basic rhythm.

Somewhere down the table, Sirius joined in… badly.

Cassian leaned toward Bathsheda, stealing a bite off her plate.

She slapped his fork away without looking.

He grinned, licking the sauce off his thumb, very pleased with himself.

Peaceful start, sure. But it was Hogwarts. The chaos always found a way back in.

***

Cassian and Bathsheda stepped into Dumbledore’s office just as the man placed a small locket on the table. It clicked as it landed, like it wasn’t happy being touched. Probably wasn’t.

The Grey Lady drifted in through the far wall, all floating silk and smug grin.

“You found it?”

Cassian didn’t even look at her. “Did you sniff out Tommy boy?”

She pouted, drifting closer. “I felt you were up to mischief again.”

He stuck his tongue out and crossed to the desk. The locket was humming with something foul.

He tapped it with his finger. “Yeah. That’s got Voldemort written all over it. Literally and metaphorically.”

Dumbledore was standing a pace away, brows creased.

“This one was especially difficult to carry,” he said. “It plays mind games. Gets inside your thoughts. Twists them.”

Cassian gave a lazy nod. “Makes sense. Riddle was nothing if not theatrical. Cursed soul in a gaudy family heirloom… he’d love that.”

He crouched to get a better look. It pulsed under the light, oily glint across the metal. The chain twitched slightly when he moved too close.

So far, every Horcrux had come with a different set of claws. The diary had puppeteered into opening the Chamber. The ring was nastiest… one wrong grab and it would’ve drained the years off his bones. The diadem had burnt out too quickly to get a proper read. Potter’s… well, Potter was a walking hazard warning by himself.

Bathsheda stepped in beside him, arms folded, watching the locket with mild disgust.

“Looks like it’s judging us,” she muttered.

“It is,” Cassian said. “And it doesn’t like the odds.”

Dumbledore finally sat, hands folded.

“I was worried it might try to possess someone again,” he said. “I felt it reach for me as I brought it here.”

Cassian didn’t look up. “Well, lucky for you, you’ve already got a soul full of bad decisions. Probably felt like home.”

Dumbledore’s brow twitched. He didn’t argue.

Cassian reached for a cloth and wrapped the locket. It jerked before going still.

He tied the corners and set it back on the table.

The Grey Lady hovered near the far wall now, watching him like she wanted to speak again.

He gave her a sidelong glance. “Don’t say anything ominous.”

She smiled faintly. “Then I’ll be quiet.”

He tapped the table. “Good ghost.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes. “I appreciate your help.”

Cassian scoffed. “You’re not getting gratitude. You dragged me into this. Now I’m seeing it through because I hate unfinished business.”

His fingers drummed against the cloth.

“Especially when it bites.”

“Aren’t you killing it?” Dumbledore asked.

Cassian shook his head. “Not yet. I’ve been working on something. Might kill it with that instead.”

Dumbledore’s brow twitched. “Something new?”

“Yeah.” Cassian’s tone was too casual. “If it works, I might even get Tommy out of Potter. Clean split.”

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed. “Is it safe?”

Cassian gave a small shrug. “About as safe as sending Potter to die alongside Voldemort.”

Dumbledore sighed and leaned back. “No need to jab. I was curious.”

Cassian grimaced. “Yeah. Sorry. I was a git.”

He lifted his hand.

Light leaked out, crawling across the air like fog catching moonlight. The temperature in the room shifted.

Bathsheda’s fingers tightened at her side.

…

They stared at where the spell vanished, all in shock.

Dumbledore finally spoke.

“That,” he said quietly, “that may work.”

The Grey Lady recoiled.

Not dramatically, she wasn’t that sort of ghost, but enough that the silk of her gown rippled backward as if struck by a sudden wind. Her expression had lost its smugness entirely.

“I have seen magic like that before,” she said softly. “Once.”

Cassian’s head snapped up. “No, you haven’t.”

Her eyes met his. Unblinking.

“I have,” she replied. “And it ended a war”

Dumbledore looked at her a few seconds, then turned his head slowly toward Cassian. “How did you learn to do that? Where did it come from?”

Cassian lowered his hand and straightened. “Trade secret.” He then added, “Also, we might’ve found Helga’s cup.”

Dumbledore was on his feet at once. “Where?”

Bathsheda answered from the side. “Bellatrix Lestrange’s Gringotts vault. Draco overheard her, Lucius, and Voldemort arguing about something hidden there. Voldemort was furious about something Lucius lost four years ago.”

Dumbledore went very still.

“The diary,” he said.

Cassian nodded. “Yeah.”

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. “That’ll be difficult.”

Cassian grinned, already standing. “I’ll handle it. Don’t worry.”

There was a flicker of curiosity in Dumbledore’s expression, but he didn’t ask more. He looked like he wanted to, but either thought better of it or realised there was no point. Cassian had a talent for ignoring questions he didn’t feel like answering.

Bathsheda shifted beside him. Cassian turned toward the door.

“It’s best if we find out whether he made more,” he said as they moved. “No real way of knowing, though. Lucian said the snake could read Voldemort’s intent, but I don’t know if that’s just Parseltongue or something darker. Could be a Horcrux, could be a glorified familiar. Hard to say.”

He paused at the threshold, one hand resting against the frame.

“In any case, we catch him, we ask him directly. Preferably with the kind of magic that doesn’t wait for polite answers. That said, I doubt he’ll show his face anytime soon. He’s had two goes at it now and both ended in fire.”

Dumbledore gave a nod. “I’ll await your news.”

Cassian raised a hand in a lazy salute. “Good night.”

(Check Here)

Here there be readers. Beyond this point, nothing mapped. Nothing marked. Nothing returned. We do not know what lies past the chapter. We only know no one came back to tell us.

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