After the Christmas break, things picked up. The snow hadn’t melted yet, but nobody cared, classrooms buzzed, students shuffled through hallways with scarves half-dragging, and whatever post-Yuletide glow Hogwarts had managed to gather faded the second someone mentioned mock exams.

Cassian kicked the Duelling Club back into shape the first Saturday back. He walked in fifteen minutes early, found someone had charmed the floor to hum the opening notes of Celestina Warbeck’s winter album, and took exactly one second to vanish the sound. No christmas spirit on his watch.

“You lot,” he said, as soon as the last student stumbled in and the door clicked shut behind them, “are going to learn how not to die. Again. But this time, with variations.”

Someone groaned. He pointed at her. “Don’t whinge, you survived Moonspit.”

Astoria raised her hand. “Is this still Patronus training?”

“Patronus-adjacent,” Cassian said. “We’re building from Moonspit to stronger forms. You’ve had two weeks to rest your brains and recharge your positivity, or what little of it exists. So now you’ll channel that into something that actually works.”

They kept at it for the rest of the session. Failures piled up quick. So did half-formed results. But enough of them sparked, flared, or flickered to show the shape of something working.

When the clock struck, Cassian clapped. “Wrap it. You’re not trying for perfection yet. You’re trying for the feel. If you end up with something vaguely abstract and glowing, you’re on the right track.”

Chairs scraped. Bags shuffled.

He raised his voice over the noise. “Next week is stabilisation patterns. Bring yourself, not excuses.”

Pansy paused at the door. “You’re not going to teach us how to weaponise it, are you?”

Cassian grinned. “Absolutely not.”

Her look said she didn’t believe him.

Neither did he.

He spent the evening reviewing notes by the fire in his office, feet kicked up, one sock sliding off his ankle. Bathsheda sat nearby, quill in hand, going through rune transcriptions with a look that said half of them offended her professionally.

“You’ll need to revise the third variation,” she said without looking up.

He didn’t glance over. “Already did.”

“Page six?”

“Seven.”

“Hm.”

He reached for his mug, realised it was empty, and groaned.

She finally looked up. “I’m not making you another.”

“Wasn’t going to ask. Just wanted to complain where someone would hear it.”

She smirked, tucked her quill behind her ear, and turned the page.

He reached down to scratch at a rune sketched across his ankle, part of an ongoing experiment with stabilising ambient energy through bodily inscriptions. Still itchy. Still hadn’t exploded. Probably fine.

He let out a slow breath.

“You really not making more tea?”

“No.”

“Cruel.”

She smirked again. Didn’t stop reading.

***

Cassian walked in with a half-lidded grin, mug in one hand, clipboard in the other, and not a single trace of regret about being there. He looked over the gathered sixth-years, a few seventh-year stragglers who missed their shot last year, and nodded like he was about to host a garden party.

They stared.

Cassian stopped in front of the classroom’s rune-chalked floor and turned, arms loose at his sides. “Surprise.”

“Where’s Wilkins?” asked Michael Corner.

Cassian sipped his tea. “On a beach in Mallorca. Or dead. Honestly, I stopped tracking after the third letter about him resigning.”

A few students glanced at each other. Someone in the back murmured, “He’s not actually dead, is he?”

Cassian tilted his head. “You never know with Apparition instructors. They get twitchy.”

“Why are you here?” Ron asked, already frowning.

“I volunteer as tribute,” Cassian said, raising the clipboard. “Also, I rewrote the syllabus.”

Hermione straightened. “You rewrote Ministry-sanctioned Apparition curriculum?”

“Yep.” He tapped the edge of the board. “They asked for one instructor who’d make sure you didn’t leave your eyebrows on the ceiling. They got me instead. Congratulations.”

Ron groaned.

Cassian pointed at him. “Too late to drop out. I spent all the money.”

The board behind him shifted as he flicked his wand. A diagram appeared, basic anchor-point sketch, legs planted wide, arms in motion. Nothing fancy.

He walked past the front row. “Let’s get one thing straight. Apparition isn’t hard because it’s complicated. It’s hard because it’s stupid.”

A few heads tilted.

He kept going. “Someone, somewhere, thought it was a good idea to invent magical teleportation and base it on ‘spinning really hard while screaming internally.’ It’s nonsense. But it works. Just barely.”

He turned back to the front, set his mug down, and pointed at the diagram. “Three steps. Destination. Determination. Deliberation. Or as I call them… Where, Why, and Bloody Try Not To Die.”

He raised his wand, and an illusion appeared in the air. A wide tank of water flickered into view, floating over the classroom floor, light glinting off the illusion’s surface like someone had suspended a pond in the air.

“Right,” Cassian said, “this is not a history class, so I’ll skip the part where I give you a lecture about whos and whys. Today, you’re going to learn space, volume, and teleportation.”

Seamus blinked. “Aren’t we learning Apparition?”

Cassian gave him a look. “That is Apparition. You lot keep treating it like it’s this sacred art that only works if you chant three times and cross your fingers. No. It’s volume. It’s space. It’s basic maths in disguise.”

He flicked the tip of his wand, and the tank rippled.

A glowing ball appeared inside the tank. It sat mid-centre, perfectly suspended.

“Here’s you,” he said, pointing at it. “Tiny, confused, slightly overconfident.”

A few snorts scattered across the room. Padma raised her hand.

“Why’s it a ball?”

“Because I can’t be bothered animating a perfect model of Seamus’ sulky face,” Cassian replied, then jerked his wand again. “Watch.”

A second ball appeared outside the tank, identical. The first vanished with a sharp blink, and the water shifted slightly.

“That,” Cassian said, “is perfect displacement.”

He pointed at the tank.

“You are here. You want to be there. The only thing that matters is whether the space you’re moving into can fit your entire mass, magical signature, and volume.”

Hermione frowned. “But space doesn’t just… hold us.”

Cassian cut in. “It does if you’re magical. Apparition works by collapsing your position, and then reasserting it in another fixed point. The magic checks your intended coordinates, scans the space for compatibility, and if it matches, slaps you back together.”

“Lovely,” muttered Wayne Hopkins.

Cassian pointed at the illusion again. “Now look.”

A third ball appeared. Bigger than the others.

“This is you after too many Honeydukes trips. Notice how the water shifts.”

The water rippled outward. A wave sloshed to one side.

“You take up more volume, the space has to move. If the space can’t adjust?”

He snapped his fingers. The ball flickered, jammed against the edge of the tank, and burst like a squeezed grape.

Susan made a horrified noise.

“That’s a splinch,” Cassian said, very matter-of-fact. “You don’t go through because your body couldn’t agree on what bits to bring.”

Anthony raised a hand. “So we have to measure ourselves?”

“No, Goldstein, we’re not taking your weight before every jump. Just know thyself as thou art. Magic calculates your volume automatically. That’s why focus is critical. “

The illusion cleared. A new one already appearing, Archimedes, standing in a glowing tub. Water sloshed over the edge.

“This is Archimedes. Ancient, loud, and mostly naked.”

Neville frowned. “Is he a Wizard?”

Cassian tilted his head. “You can say that. Specialised in water-based spells, hydro-dynamics, and streaking through cities yelling about displacement.”

The room blinked at him.

“True story,” he added.

He waved the wand again. The water shifted each time Archimedes moved.

“This is his principle. When you enter a new space, you displace what was already there. The magic measures if that space can accommodate your entire form. If it can’t, it cancels. Or worse, it tries anyway, and you end up dripping blood in someone’s chimney.”

Seamus looked faintly green.

“You want safe Apparition?” Cassian asked. “You learn to picture space.”

He turned to the chalkboard. “This is why all that intent and mental picturing I’ve been drilling into you since first year matters.”

He drew three boxes in chalk. The first, empty. The second, filled with scribbles. The third, with lines passing through.

“This is you trying to Apparate into an occupied space. First box is clear. Second? Trouble. Third?” He circled it. “If someone’s got anti-Apparition jinxes running or ambient wards tied to spatial consistency, that’s the one you explode in.”

Lavender raised her hand. “So we just imagine the space?”

“You picture how big it is and how you’d stand inside it.”

He walked over to the centre of the room and stopped on a white chalk ring.

“Apparition doesn’t move you. It convinces your magic you were always meant to be somewhere else. You’re asserting yourself across the space.”

Cassian waved the chalk again, and a new illusion appeared, three dots in a triangle.

“This is the basic structure. Point A, point B, and the spell core.”

“Which is what?” Daphne asked.

“You. The spell doesn’t cast you across space. You are the spell.”

He clapped.

“Right, onto the practical.”

A dozen white circles lit up on the floor.

“You’re going to stand in one of these. I’ll mark your destination point five feet away. You’ll picture the space. You’ll push your intent through your magic, and if you’ve done it right, you’ll vanish and reappear without losing a limb.”

Seeing all of them take a collective step back, a few actually rubbing their arms as if splinching were contagious, he sighed.

“This is not a real Apparition. These are runes created by Professor Babbling and I, will simulate space displacement. It’ll test your mental picturing, intent and result. It’s not the real thing, but it’s good enough.”

Seamus blinked. “So we’re not actually disappearing.”

“You are,” Cassian said. “Just badly. And locally.”

That did not help Seamus.

Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose.

Draco folded his arms. “What’s the catch?”

Cassian looked at him. “You fail, the circle rejects you. You’ll feel it.”

“Feel what?”

“Like trying to walk through a door that doesn’t like your face.”

Millicent made a face.

Cassian strode to the centre of the room and stood inside one of the rings. The runes flared up around his boots, then dimmed.

“Watch.”

He pointed at the matching circle a few feet away. “That’s my destination. Five feet. Same room. Same air. Nothing in the way.”

He closed his eyes.

The air inside the ring tightened. A faint shimmer rose up from the floor. For half a second, his outline blurred, as if someone had dragged him sideways through wet paint.

He snapped into the second circle with a crack.

Several students jumped.

Cassian looked down at himself, brushed imaginary dust off his sleeve. “See? Still handsome.”

Ron muttered, “Debatable.”

Cassian shot him a look. “Your turn, Weasley.”

Ron recoiled. “Aww.”

He gestured at the nearest circle. “In.”

Ron trudged over, stepped into the ring, and glanced down as the runes flickered around his shoes.

Cassian moved opposite him. “Right. First rule. Stand properly.”

Ron shifted.

“Feet planted. Shoulder-width. You’re asserting mass. If you look like you’re about to fall over, magic believes you.”

Ron straightened.

“Good. Now look at your destination circle. Don’t stare at it like it’s judging you. Measure it.”

Ron squinted. “It’s five feet.”

“It’s not about distance. It’s about space. Picture yourself standing there. Your height. Your shoulders. The way your coat hangs.”

Ron hesitated.

“Close your eyes if that helps.”

Ron did.

Cassian watched his expression change. Jaw tightening. Brow furrowing.

“What’s in the space?” Cassian asked.

“Air.”

“Be specific.”

Ron huffed. “Cold air.”

“Good. Feel it.”

The rune circle brightened slightly.

“Now push.”

Ron’s body twitched.

Nothing happened.

He opened one eye. “Push what?”

“Your intent,” Cassian said. “You’re not jumping. You’re insisting on being somewhere else.”

Ron swallowed. Closed his eyes again.

The air hummed. For a split second, his outline flickered, like a reflection disturbed by wind. Then the ring beneath him flared red.

Ron stumbled forward as if someone had shoved him in the chest.

He stayed exactly where he was.

A ripple of laughter passed through the room.

Cassian held up a hand, looking at Ron. “What happened?”

Ron rubbed his sternum. “It felt… wrong. Like I was trying to force it.”

“Because you were.” Cassian tapped the edge of the ring with his feet. “You thought about moving. You didn’t think about existing elsewhere.”

Ron scowled. “That’s the same thing.”

“It isn’t.”

Hermione raised her hand. “He visualised the action, not the state.”

Cassian pointed at her. “Exactly. Nicely put.”

Ron glared at her.

Cassian stepped closer to the circle. “Try again. This time, don’t imagine yourself walking. Imagine you’re already there. As if you’ve always been standing in that second ring.”

Ron sighed slowly.

The runes beneath his boots dimmed. He closed his eyes again. Silence settled over the class. Even Seamus stopped fidgeting. Ron’s shoulders eased. His breathing slowed.

The shimmer rose again, stronger this time. His outline blurred…

Crack.

He reappeared in the second ring, knees bent, eyes flying open.

For a second he looked shocked.

Then he looked at his hands. “I did it.”

Cassian gave him a nod. “You did.”

The class erupted in noise.

“Alright,” Cassian said over the chatter. “That’s the easy distance. Five feet. Controlled environment. No one trying to hex you mid-jump.”

He looked around. “Pair up. I want one observing, one attempting. You’re watching posture, hesitation, the moment of push.”

They shuffled into position. Hermione and Harry took a ring near the window. Draco and Theo chose one near the back. Pansy stood with Tracey, arms folded until Tracey nudged her into the circle. Seamus dragged Dean into place. Neville hovered near the edge until Daphne waved him over.

Cassian walked between the rings as the first attempts began. Lavender’s first try fizzled immediately, the circle flashing dull orange before fading.

“You’re thinking about what could go wrong,” Cassian said as he passed.

She bristled. “I’m not.”

“You’re. Your shoulders’re up near your ears.”

She forced them down.

“Again.”

Across the room, a sharp crack sounded. Hermione appeared cleanly in her second circle, barely a flicker.

Michael let out a whistle. “Show off.”

She ignored him.

Cassian paused near Draco and Theo.

Draco stood inside the ring, eyes half-lidded, expression tight. Theo watched him, head slightly tilted.

“Picture it,” Theo murmured.

Draco shot him a look. “I know how.”

“Then stop fighting it.”

Cassian smirked faintly but said nothing.

Draco closed his eyes. The ring brightened. He snapped into the second circle with a louder crack than Ron’s.

His hair was slightly out of place. He smoothed it immediately.

Theo stepped into the ring next. Cassian stayed to watch. Theo didn’t close his eyes. He stared at the destination circle as if it had personally offended him.

“Overthinking,” Cassian said.

Theo’s mouth twitched. “Probably.”

“Define the space. Then stop adding commentary.”

Theo inhaled. The runes glowed pale blue. His form blurred and he vanished entirely. Several students gasped. A split second later he reappeared, half a foot off centre, boot hanging over the edge of the ring.

He staggered, catching himself.

Cassian lifted a brow. “Close. Your internal map was off.”

Theo glanced down at his foot. “I misjudged the diameter.”

“You assumed the ring was bigger than it is.”

Theo nodded, thoughtful.

“Adjust.”

(Check Here)

Legal notice: Presence in the comments section does not constitute participation.

—

To Read up to 50 advance Chapters and support me…

patreon.com/thefanficgod1

Please drop a comment and like the chapter!

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep