Ji slid close to Cassian, his eyes on the students.

“It’s coming,” he said.

Cassian sighed. “Yeah and I don’t think we can stop it.”

Ji’s shoulders dropped a little. Someone had started singing near the Hufflepuff table, a loose, slightly off-key carol that three Ravenclaws were trying to correct and one Gryffindor was actively ruining. Ji watched them for a moment.

“I’m responsible,” he said quietly. “He was my teacher.”

“Don’t.” Cassian shook his head. “You did everything you could. The bastard just doesn’t stay dead.”

Ji let out a huff, somewhere between a laugh and a resignation.

They stood in silence for a bit. Someone’s levitating snowflakes, dropping them in Percy Weasley’s hair. Percy hadn’t noticed yet. The twins had, and were waiting.

Then Ji asked, “If his plan is to release whatever’s lying under that cursed temple and destroy the world … what does he actually want from that?”

Cassian glanced at him.

“I could still believe it,” Ji continued, “if he wanted to control it. He was always obsessed with phoenixes. Nirvana. Rebirth. That would make sense.” He paused. “But if he just wants to tear it open and let it loose… what’s the goal? What does he get from that?”

Cassian didn’t answer.

That was the question he and Bathsheda kept circling. Control made sense. A man obsessed with all that crap could motivate himself to rebuild the world after it was burnt to ashes, that was what he actually said to Bathael too. If he wanted to reach into the Veil and pull something out on a leash, that fit the man they knew.

But the other possibility didn’t make sense at all. It was hard to reason around.

If Marauder didn’t want control, if he really wanted the thing released without constraint, then the question wasn’t what he stood to gain. It was whether gain was even part of it.

“I don’t know,” Cassian said.

Ji looked at him. He hadn’t expected an answer, but the weight in his chest still seemed to settle heavier.

“I’ve been going back and forth on it,” Cassian said with a sigh. “But there’s another version of it.”

“Which is?”

“That he’s been alive too long,” Cassian said. “That something in him broke somewhere along the way, and what’s left isn’t interested in building anything. Some people get to a point where they don’t want power over what comes next. They just want the next thing to come.”

Ji was quiet for a moment.

“You think he’s given up?”

“Not given up.” Cassian frowned. “More like… tipped over. There’s a version of obsession that starts as hunger and ends as something else entirely. He’s been chasing this for centuries. If the answer kept slipping through his hands long enough, the chase might’ve become the point.” He paused. “Or the destruction might’ve become the point.”

Ji’s jaw tightened. “That’s worse.”

“Yeah.”

“Because you can negotiate with someone who wants something,” Ji said. “You can’t negotiate with someone who just wants to watch it end.”

Cassian didn’t disagree. Some people just wanted the world to burn, and you couldn’t reason with those sorts of people.

The carol had gotten worse. Neville had somehow been pulled into it. He looked mortified but was still singing, which Cassian respected enormously.

“We’re missing something,” Cassian said. “There’s a piece of this we haven’t found yet. His history, what actually happened to him, where the phoenix fixation started. Something in there explains which version this is.”

Ji nodded slowly. “Grindelwald mentioned the Valley?”

“He did.” Cassian crossed his arms. “And Marauder’s been circling it for decades, failing to find the entrance. He’s after the Valley.”

“So maybe control after all?”

“Maybe.” Cassian exhaled. “Or maybe he’s waiting until there’s nothing left worth protecting.”

Ji looked at him. “That’s a grim read.”

“I’m a historian,” Cassian said. “We’re professionally grim.”

The carol ended in a dramatic finish. Several students applauded. One first-year started another one immediately. McGonagall put her glass down and looked at the ceiling.

Ji watched them, expression unreadable.

“Whatever his reason,” Ji said finally, “we’ll be at the centre of it.”

Cassian smiled without much warmth. “We usually are.”

Ji rubbed the back of his neck, then he shook his head.

“I believe his obsession is the Valley. It has to be,” he said. “That place stayed hidden for millennia. Most scholars treated it like a story people told each other when they ran out of better explanations. The Dark King somehow found the entrance centuries ago and dragged Bathael out of it… and after that it went quiet again. Disappeared.”

He glanced at Cassian.

“Marauder has spent decades chasing things tied to rebirth, ancient magic, and sealed horrors. A place like that would sit in his mind like a splinter. I think he’s hunting it.”

Cassian hummed thoughtfully.

“You think the Valley shows itself if the creature shows up?” he asked.

Ji’s mouth tightened.

“It was split once before,” he said. “Sealed apart. Body from soul. Whatever ritual did that… it wasn’t ordinary magic. Something with authority over it. Something older.”

He paused.

“I doubt any force short of the Valley itself could manage a separation like that.”

Cassian shifted his weight against the pillar, eyes narrowing slightly as he turned that over.

“Right,” he said after a moment. “So picture the sequence. Creature wakes. Valley stirs. Door opens. Marauder strolls in smiling like he’s been invited.”

Ji pressed his lips.

“Something like that.”

Percy Weasley finally noticed the snowflakes in his hair, which by now had turned the red almost white. The twins burst into applause before he even looked up. Percy glared at them, which only encouraged them more.

Cassian glanced that way and shook his head faintly.

“Perfect timing,” he muttered. Then he looked back at Ji.

“So you say if that Valley is the origin point people claim it is,” Cassian said, “the birthplace of magic and all that dramatic nonsense… and whatever sealed that thing away the first time probably came from there too.”

Ji nodded.

“Exactly that.”

Cassian scratched his jaw.

“Joy.”

***

People drifted up from the feast in small clusters, guided quietly by McGonagall and Flitwick.

Teachers took the seats nearest the desk out of habit. The Order gathered near the windows and mantel. A few of the visiting masters remained standing.

Hagrid squeezed into one at the back, knees almost level with his chest. Arthur and Molly sat near the door, speaking in low voices. Kingsley stayed on his feet by the fireplace, watching the room.

Dumbledore remained behind his desk, waiting for the room to settle.

When the last chair scraped into place and the door clicked shut, Cassian grinned. “If someone drops a curse in here the world loses three centuries of magical expertise in one go.”

Nicolas and several others rolled their eyes. Bathsheda jabbed him. Cassian chuckled, “I’m behaving.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your evening.” Dumbledore began.

That earned a few polite nods. Nobody believed the apology.

“Something is coming,” he said.

Arthur Weasley leaned forward slightly. “Coming… how?”

Dumbledore folded his hands together. “I wish I had a simpler answer.”

Molly’s expression tightened.

Hagrid grumbled. “We talking about trouble, Professor?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said.

Sirius huffed. “Right. That clears things up.”

Aurora nudged him lightly with an elbow.

Dumbledore continued before the room could spiral into speculation.

“There are matters moving beyond this castle. Ancient ones. We’ve seen signs of them for some time.”

“Is this about the Dark Lord?” McGonagall asked.

Dumbledore took a deep breath.

“I’m afraid this goes beyond Voldemort.”

A few people shifted when he said the name. Old habit. For some it still carried a sting. For others, those who had fought him, studied him, outlived him, it felt almost small.

Dumbledore continued.

“This concerns something far larger. I would not say this lightly. Even Grindelwald never held power on this scale.”

The room went quiet.

“You’re zaying worse than him?” Maxime asked.

“Yes.”

Dumbledore rested both hands on the desk.

“In the coming days, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps months from now, perhaps even a year, something will happen that will affect every corner of this planet.”

He glanced around the room, studying the faces gathered there. Old friends. Companions. Scholars, fighters, teachers, students.

“This war will not be against a single Dark Lord.”

That earned a murmur.

“I cannot ask any of you to fight in what may come,” he said. “The danger sits well beyond anything I’ve faced before.”

Flitwick’s brows rose at that.

“Because I also know we may not have another choice.”

Silence again.

Sprout, near the fireplace, cleared her throat.

“You’re asking people to stand against a threat you can’t even describe?” she said.

Dumbledore let out a breath. “Yes.”

Hagrid scratched his beard. “Well… what are we meant to do about something like that?”

Nicolas Flamel shifted slightly in his chair. “We prepare,” he said.

Several heads turned toward him. Nicolas Flamel had lived long enough that when he spoke about storms, it meant it’d rain. Perenelle rested a hand over his wrist.

“Preparation is all anyone can do when the shape of the storm remains hidden.”

Maxime leaned back in her chair. “If you believe the threat is global,” she said, “then secrecy will not hold long.”

Dumbledore nodded grimly. “I expect it will not.”

He pushed his chair back and rose slowly, drawing every eye in the room.

“I would prefer every one of you somewhere quiet and well out of harm’s reach,” he said. “A cottage by the sea would suit me nicely. Unfortunately, I suspect none of us will be granted that luxury.”

A few quiet chuckles moved through the room.

“This evening was meant to celebrate,” Dumbledore said. “To gather people who rarely stand in the same room anymore.”

He rested his hands on the desk.

“For tonight, the world remains unchanged. Hogwarts stands. Our friends are here. Food is still warm in the Great Hall, and someone is almost certainly setting Percy Weasley on fire with festive enthusiasm.”

Cassian snorted under his breath.

“So I suggest we take advantage of that,” Dumbledore continued. “Eat well. Speak with one another. Enjoy the company gathered under this roof. Whatever tomorrow brings, we will face it together.”

He glanced toward Nicolas and Perenelle.

“Moments like this rarely come twice.”

Nicolas nodded with a smile.

Perenelle squeezed his arm.

Dumbledore stepped away from the desk.

“That is all for now.”

—

Hello everyone.

I wanted to give a heads up and let you know that in the next couple of chapters we will be tying up the remaining loose ends at Hogwarts. After that, the final arc of the story will begin.

The fic will conclude at chapter 333. After that, there will be a couple of epilogues.

As you know, the final arc is not related to the original plot. It was something I had been embedding into the story since the very beginning. The ending itself was planned before I even started writing the first chapter. For me, it’s always about reaching that point I imagine at the start of the stories, and honestly, that gives me the strength to keep going lol.

So yes, the final arc will be completely original, but I’m sure you will enjoy it. Most of you have probably already started to piece together the mysteries surrounding Cassian and Bathsheda by now. Still, you trusted the process, and here we are, standing right at the point where everything will finally be revealed.

And I also want to say thank you. Really. The support this story has received over such a long time has meant a great deal to me. Your comments, feedback, theories, and encouragement have kept me motivated more times than I can count. I’m very grateful that so many of you have stayed with this story for so long and taken the time to share your thoughts along the way.

(Check Here)

Feel deeply. Say little. Leave the author guessing.

—

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