Hello everyone! I put it to a vote on Patreon on whether to write a full quadruple date chapter or go with a brief summary, since I felt it might end up being somewhat similar to the “Double Date” I’ve written previously. I really didn’t want to disappoint anyone, and since the results were almost a perfect 50/50, I decided to go ahead and write both options anyway.

In this chapter, you’ll get a brief summary of the date before we move on to something else. I’ll be posting a separate chapter with the complete version in about an hour or so. The first part of this chapter also briefly covers the date and some of the student pairings. The second part is unique to this chapter, so make sure to read it either way!

As always, thank you so much for your continued support.

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Cassian hit the couch face first and groaned into the cushions.

“I hate all of you,” he said, voice muffled.

Bathsheda shut the door behind them, walking to the mirror, smiling far too brightly for someone who’d just survived the same evening. “You were charming.”

He rolled onto his side and squinted at her. “At what point? The bit where Sirius set the tablecloth on fire or when Kingsley tried to arrest the waiter?”

She walked over, slipped off her shoes, and sat at the other end of the sofa. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I am not. The man flashed his badge because the soup was cold.”

“It was a valid reason. The soup looked like it was tempered with.”

“Well he was right, so I’ll let that one slide.”

She laughed, still glowing with whatever wicked satisfaction Aurora and the others had wrung out of the night.

The whole thing had started in Hogsmeade, a private room above the Three Broomsticks. Candles. Floating hearts. Someone had charmed the cutlery to hum softly whenever two people touched hands across the table.

Cassian deadpanned at the enchantment.

“Subtle,” he’d muttered, eyeing the fork vibrating faintly between Aurora and Sirius.

Sirius, grinning like a man who’d either missed every warning sign or enjoyed ignoring them, leaned back in his chair.

“Evening,” Kingsley said, probably too proud to be the second most senior at the table.

“This way King,” Charity told him, tugging his sleeve.

Septima came in last with Remus Lupin at her side.

Cassian froze mid-sip.

He looked at Remus.

Remus looked at him.

There was an awkward silence.

“You said Kingsley’s friend,” Cassian said slowly.

Septima kept her chin up. “He is.”

Kingsley coughed into his hand.

Sirius stared at the ceiling.

Remus gave a small, polite wave. “Good evening.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes at the entire table. “You liars.”

“Well. You would’ve guessed if we said Sirius’s friend.”

Remus chuckled. “Good to see you again, Rosier.”

Cassian looked from Septima to Kingsley, then to Sirius.

“Evening, Lupin.”

Remus stepped forward and offered his hand. Cassian eyed it for half a second, then took it.

“Didn’t realise you’d joined the social ambush committee.”

“I was told there’d be wine,” Remus said. “And that it’d be fun to watch you suffer.”

Aurora clapped. “Right. Now that the surprise’s out, can we sit?”

They did.

Back in the room, Cassian looked up as Bathsheda reached behind her ear and unclipped one of her earrings.

“What was that with trying to outdrink me?” he asked. “Sirius would take a sip whenever I did.”

Bathsheda laughed, sliding the second earring free. “Ah yeah, he did that.”

Cassian pushed himself up on one elbow. “Every time I touched the glass, he mirrored me. Like we were in some tragic duel.”

She set the earrings down and loosened her hair. “He thought you were challenging him.”

“I was hydrating.”

She shook her head. “It was fun. And you were very civil. So thank you.”

Cassian let out a long, dramatic sigh and dropped back against the cushions. She always did that. Took the wind out of him with a soft word and a look that made it hard to keep sharpening knives.

“Civil,” he muttered. “That’s the bar now. I don’t punch anyone and I get a medal.”

“You didn’t even argue.”

“I argued internally.”

“That doesn’t count.”

He dragged a hand over his face. “This was worse than that double date two years ago. At least then it was only Kingsley being unbearable. Tonight we had Sirius in full peacock mode.”

She laughed under her breath.

“He was flat out insufferable,” Cassian went on. “Bragging about detentions. Bragging about sneaking out past curfew. Bragging about hexing teachers.”

“He was showing off.”

“To whom? Me?”

“To everyone.”

When Sirius drifted into stories about school, it was clear he remembered it as a golden age. Detentions turned into legends. Pranks polished into heroics. James’s name came up often.

Cassian remembered the same years differently. Though Bathsheda’s hand on his under the table calmed him.

But when Sirius leaned back at dinner and relived it all with a grin, it wasn’t nostalgia Cassian heard. It was really asking for it. Remus listening with laughs and smiles only sharpened it.

Then Sirius raised his glass and toasted James and Lily as the best couple that walked out of the castle, looking straight at Cassian and Bathsheda as he did it.

His hand tightened slightly on his glass. Bathsheda patted his leg under the table. He let the moment pass. Raised his own glass. Drank. Git.

After dinner, they’d stepped out into Hogsmeade as a group. Sirius had thrown an arm round Remus’s shoulders and nearly slipped on ice. Kingsley wasn’t as foolish, kept close to his date. Aurora and Septima had fallen into step beside Bathsheda, already whispering about whether the evening counted as a success.

The village was alive. Lanterns glowed warm against the dark. Shop windows were dressed in red ribbons and floating hearts. Students milled about in pairs and clusters.

Daphne and Neville walked side by side near Honeydukes, heads bent together over something wrapped in parchment. Neville was talking with his hands. Daphne was nodding, adding her piece when he stopped.

Pansy and Draco stood outside Scrivenshaft’s, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Pansy was speaking and Draco had that look he got when he was trying not to smile.

Tracey and Theo lingered near the post office. Theo had one hand in his coat pocket, the other holding Tracey’s glove while she adjusted her scarf.

Harry and Hermione crossed the street together, Hermione mid-explanation about something. Harry watched her like he was trying to keep up with the speed of her mind.

Blaise and Millicent. Ron and Lavender. There were others too. Pairs tucked into doorways. Fingers laced. Shared scarves. Awkward first dates and confident ones.

Bathsheda, after removing her dress and pulling on one of his jumpers, climbed onto the sofa and settled on his back.

“I didn’t know Granger and Potter were more than friends.”

Cassian mumbled into the fabric, “They’re not. Probably a friend date or something like that.”

Bathsheda hummed. That made sense. They were very close friends but not really compatible lovers.

She stretched out along him. One hand slid up between his shoulder blades and rested there.

He let out a dying sound. “You’re heavy.”

“I know.”

He didn’t move her off.

“Potter slows down for her,” she said after a moment.

Cassian shifted slightly under her. “He slows down for everyone. Hero complex.”

“No,” she said. “It’s different.”

He lifted his head a fraction, then let it drop again. “They’ve survived too much together. That kind of bond can twist into romance if you’re not careful.”

“And you think they won’t?”

“I think Granger likes control. Potter doesn’t want to be managed. They’d last three months before someone hexed a bookshelf.”

Bathsheda’s fingers traced idle circles against his back. “You’re very confident for someone who insists love is chaotic.”

“Love is chaotic,” he said. “Compatibility isn’t.”

She shifted, propping herself on her elbows so her chin hovered above his shoulder. “So what are they?”

“Compass and tide,” he said. “She keeps him from drifting. He keeps her from drowning in her own thoughts.”

“That sounds romantic.”

“It’s practical.”

She pressed her chin into his back.

He sighed. “Fine. It’s romantic.”

He turned his head slightly. “Longbottom and Daphne though. That one I expected.”

Bathsheda shifted, propping her chin on her hands. “They’re both from the same druid branch, right?”

Cassian huffed. “Yup. Something like that.”

Generations back, before pure-blood lines tightened into political knots, the Greengrass and Longbottom families had shared a small druidic circle.

“They’re good,” Cassian said. “Too good for their age.”

She smiled against his jumper.

“And Nott,” Bathsheda said quietly.

Cassian went still for half a beat.

“What about him.”

“He’d become very mature.”

“He did.”

Theo Nott went through a lot. When Nott Senior tried to force the Mark on his son, it was retribution from Earth that saved him but also killed his father.

Draco was a different case. He carried responsibility proudly. Since Lucius had gone to Azkaban, Draco had stepped into the seat at the head of the table and managed well. He attended Ministry hearings. Read contracts. Sat through tedious estate reviews without complaint. He’d even come to Cassian with ledgers.

Now he worked. Hard. In class. In duelling drills. In politics.

“He’ll be alright,” Cassian muttered.

He’d seen boys shaped by fathers into weapons. Seen what happened when no one interrupted the mould. Draco had interrupted it himself. He just helped him.

He turned over, forehead brushing hers.

“Don’t organise another quadruple date,” he said. “Pretty please.”

“No promises.”

He groaned.

She kissed him anyway.

“Then what are we?” She asked with a smile.

Cassian looked up.

She added, “You said Potter and Granger are Anchor and Sail. What are we?”

Cassian hummed, then grinned.

“Anchor and sight. Tether and blade.”

***

Two days later…

Cassian and Draco stepped in as the door shut behind them. Towers of broken desks greeted them. Chandeliers tangled in nets of cobweb and wire. They rose in narrow lanes, crooked corridors between mountains of discarded things.

Draco stared.

“What is this?”

“Forgotten things,” Cassian said. “Hogwarts hoards.”

Draco took a few slow steps forward, eyes flicking left and right.

“Where are we? Is this still part of the castle?”

“Doesn’t matter. Don’t overthink.”

Draco glanced at him. “I already am.”

They moved down one of the lanes.

“Tell me what he said again.”

Draco swallowed, clenching his fists.

“The Dark Lord said The Headmaster’s arrogant. Said he thinks the castle can’t be breached. He laughed about it.”

Cassian’s mouth flattened slightly. “Go on.”

“He said the school hides its own weaknesses. That there are things inside it even the Headmaster doesn’t know about.

“He said if you know where to look, the castle will open itself.” Draco gestured around them. “He mentioned a room where generations hid things.”

They moved deeper. Cassian brushed his hand against a chipped bust as they passed. This was the room Lockhart had taken the Diadem from a few years earlier, causing all that trouble for him. He had learnt of the room afterwards from the Grey Lady. He and Batsheda had checked it several times, but hadn’t found anything of worth.

They turned a corner. Half hidden behind a leaning wardrobe and a stack of broken picture frames. A tall cabinet of dark wood. Carved edges dulled with age. The door hung slightly ajar. One panel cracked down the middle.

Draco stopped walking.

“That’s it.”

Cassian stepped closer. He touched the wood lightly. Then withdrew his hand.

“Vanishing Cabinet,” Cassian said quietly.

Draco looked at him. “You know it.”

“I read about it.”

He crouched, examining the crack along the frame. Runes faint beneath the varnish.

“This one’s been damaged,” he muttered. “Severed connection.”

Draco stepped closer. “He said it can be fixed. Father said the pair is in Knockturn. At Borgin and Burkes.”

Cassian sighed slowly through his nose.

“So that’s the plan.”

Draco’s mouth tightened. “If one is here. And one is there.”

“Then anything can walk through.”

Cassian stood. He circled the cabinet, hand hovering near the frame.

“The castle wards are layered. Anti-Apparition. Anti-Portkey. Anti-summoning. Blood-keyed thresholds.” Cassian leaned closer to the crack. “It creates a bridge. Fascinating.”

Draco’s eyes flicked to the gap in the door. “So if someone stepped inside the one in Knockturn…”

“They’d step out here.”

Cassian looked back at the cabinet. He traced the edge of the crack.

A faint vibration answered.

“See that?” he said quietly.

Draco leaned in.

“The two cabinets are still aware of each other. There’s a residual tether.”

Draco’s voice dropped. “So it can be repaired.”

Cassian glanced up at him. “With enough time. Enough knowledge. And someone willing to risk being torn in half if the alignment’s off.”

Draco’s voice was quiet. “What do we do?”

Cassian snorted a laugh. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll take care of the one in Knockturn.”

Draco nodded.

“If anyone can get Borgin to sell, it’s you.”

“Oh, he’ll sell,” Cassian said, brushing dust off his sleeve. “He likes gold more than loyalty. I’ll frame it as preservation of historical artefacts. Which it is. Technically.

“I’ll move this one out as well,” he added. “Somewhere with proper containment. Castle’s old, but I’d rather not test how many backdoors it’s hiding.”

Draco glanced at the stacked junk around them. “You think he’d really try?”

“Not now.” Cassian straightened. “He’s lost his inner circle. The lot of them are locked up. And he’s terrified of Dumbledore. That hasn’t changed.”

Draco’s jaw tightened at the mention of his father.

Cassian noticed. He shifted the subject without softening it. “How’s your mother?”

Draco looked away. “She’s… adjusting.”

“That sounds grim.”

“She’s not upset about Father being in Azkaban,” Draco said after a moment. “She always knew what he was. She’s angry about the loss.”

“Loss of him?”

“Loss of standing,” Draco replied. “The invitations stopped. The old alliances went quiet. People who used to bow barely nod now.”

Cassian gave a hum. “Status is a fragile currency.”

“She built her life around it,” Draco said. “Now she hosts fewer dinners. The house feels… smaller.”

Cassian leaned back against a stack of broken desks. “Does she blame you?”

Draco’s eyes flicked up. “No.”

“That’s good.”

“She blames the world. The Ministry. Dumbledore. You.”

Cassian grinned faintly. “I’d be offended if she didn’t.”

Draco looked down. “She thinks you encouraged me,” he said. “To think differently.”

Cassian tilted his head. “Did I?”

Draco sighed.

Cassian pushed off the desks. “Listen. The old order’s cracked. Some families will shrink with it. Some will adapt. You’re doing the second one.”

Draco folded his arms. “Thanks for the trust. Mother’s trying.”

“Good. Keep her focused on rebuilding properly. Not chasing ghosts.”

He tapped the cracked wood.

“Interesting piece of magic, though. Shame it was meant for murder.”

Draco’s mouth curved faintly. “You always sound disappointed when something’s dangerous for the wrong reason.”

“History’s full of brilliant ideas used by idiots,” Cassian said. “I’d rather keep the brilliance and bin the idiots.”

He stepped back, giving the cabinet one last look.

“Come on,” he said. “We’ve seen enough.”

They walked back through the maze of abandoned things.

At the threshold, Draco paused.

“Sir.”

Cassian glanced at him.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not pretending this isn’t serious.”

Cassian patted him on the shoulder. “It is serious. That’s why we’re dealing with it before it becomes a headline.”

(Check Here)

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