That night, the feast kicked off as usual... floating candles overhead, students spilling into the Great Hall like a tide. But as they made for their house tables, a few slowed, then stopped entirely.
Because there, among the Ravenclaws, sat two professors.
Cassian Rosier and Bathsheda Babbling were perched on the benches like they'd been students all along, chatting as though nothing was amiss.
Fred and George Weasley spotted them first.
"Professor R!" Fred hollered, clapping a hand over his mouth. He elbowed his twin hard enough to make George nearly drop his hat.
The two darted across the stone floor, weaving through the crowd until they came to a halt at the Ravenclaw table, earning a few startled looks from the students already seated.
"Why are you sitting here?" George asked, wide-eyed. "You've got a throne up there with the grown-ups."
Cassian didn't so much as glance toward the staff table. Completely, utterly unbothered.
"Because," Cassian said easily, "we're reminiscing about our student days."
Bathsheda didn't bat an eye. She lifted her teacup and took a sip, calm as you like.
The twins exchanged a look, eyebrows creeping up, but neither pressed. They both shrugged and wandered back to the Gryffindor table, muttering something under their breath that probably wasn't fit for polite company.
The Great Hall hadn't settled yet. Students were still trickling in, chattering and jostling as they claimed seats. The first years were nowhere to be seen... McGonagall would still be wrangling them outside the doors, herding them into something resembling a line.
Penelope Clearwater had already cornered Bathsheda. The girl was leaning forward so hard, trying to catch her interest. "Professor, I've been meaning to ask about the correlation between Elder Futhark and..."
"Not now, Miss Clearwater," Bathsheda said gently, setting her teacup down. "Enjoy the feast first. The runes will still be there in the morning."
Penelope nodded, though she looked reluctant to stop.
Nearby, a couple of Ravenclaws were craning their necks to sneak glances at their professors sharing the bench. A few whispers floated up, nothing loud enough to carry properly, but Cassian caught the words 'odd place to sit' and 'why aren't they up there?'
"Betting pool is starting soon," Cassian said under his breath. "Three Galleons says half the hall is wondering if I've been sacked already."
Bathsheda arched an eyebrow. "Four says they think you are sulking."
He grinned. "That is a safe bet. Sulking is very in this season."
The heavy doors at the far end of the hall creaked open then, and the first years filed in behind McGonagall. They shuffled nervously, robes too big, faces pale under the floating candles. The buzz of chatter dimmed as heads turned to watch them approach.
Cassian straightened, craning to look. "Right, here we go. Ready for the song?"
Bathsheda hummed, the corners of her mouth softening as her gaze flicked to the tiny first-years trying not to trip over their own feet.
Cassian watched as Colin Creevey darted off to join the Gryffindor table, nearly tripping over his own feet in his eagerness. The boy beamed so hard Cassian was sure his face would ache by morning. Then came Harper, Cassian hadn't caught his first name, who sauntered over to the Slytherin table, his face suggesting he was expecting nothing less.
Soon a girl with pale blonde hair walked to the hat, she was looking at something noone else saw as the Sorting Hat called out Ravenclaw.
As Luna drifted towards their table, applause rippling through the hall, Cassian shifted along the bench to make space. He and Bathsheda had claimed seats at the far end so the new students could group together nearer the older students, but even so, the space was tight. He moved over again, his shoulder brushing the wood panelling, and Luna slipped neatly into the gap between him and Penelope Clearwater.
She set her hat down carefully on the table, then folded her hands neatly in her lap. For a moment she simply stared at the candles overhead, a faint smile on her face like she knew a secret no one else did.
Cassian tilted his head at her. "Comfortable there?"
"Yes," Luna said softly. She didn't glance at him, still gazing upwards. "It's a very nice view."
"That it is," Cassian replied. He reached for his cup, watching her out of the corner of his eye. "Better than the ceiling at home, I will wager."
Luna nodded once. "It moves here. That's much more interesting."
"So," Cassian said, lowering his voice slightly. "Did the Sorting Hat whisper dark prophecies in your ear, or did it keep things cheerful?"
Luna finally looked at him then. "It sang."
"Ah." Cassian's mouth twitched faintly. "Consider yourself lucky. It only ever screamed at me."
Bathsheda snorted softly, covering it with her teacup.
"Do you believe in Nargles?" Luna asked.
"Should I?" Cassian replied smoothly.
"Yes."
"Then I will consider it."
After Ginny Weasley was sorted into Gryffindor, the applause dwindled, and the hall settled again. Dumbledore stood, arms raised slightly.
"Before we begin our feast," he said, "a few announcements. First, I am pleased to introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart."
There was thunderous applause. Lockhart stood at the staff table with a dazzling smile, waving as if he'd just won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile for the tenth year running.
But then a murmur rippled down the rows of students. A few heads turned towards the Staff table.
"Where's Professor Rosier and Babbling?" someone whispered.
"Did they quit?" another asked.
Dumbledore laughed softly at the scene, then looked around. "Ah, there they are."
Cassian got to his feet and gave the room an exaggerated wave. "No need to worry, ladies and gentlemen," he called. "Professor Babbling and I have decided to test the house tables for the rest of the year. If you see us among you, don't panic... we are not spying, just broadening our horizons."
McGonagall's eyes narrowed. Cassian caught the look and raised his brows innocently. "That is envy, Deputy Headmistress. Don't pretend you wouldn't trade the high table for a decent cup of tea down here."
The corner of her mouth twitched... though whether from irritation or amusement was anyone's guess.
Next to him, Luna's wide eyes blinked slowly. "You are a professor?"
Cassian dropped back onto the bench with a faint grin. "Last I checked, yes. Does that ruin the mystery for you?"
She shook her head, solemn as a priestess. "I thought you were a pirate."
"Mm. Close enough. History professor is just a pirate with more books and fewer swords."
A few Ravenclaws were still whispering amongst themselves, darting glances at the two professors sat so casually at their table. One boy muttered something about staff fraternising with students, earning himself a sharp look from Penelope Clearwater.
Cassian caught it anyway. "Don't worry," he said lightly, "I am not here to nick your pudding. Though if someone doesn't finish that treacle tart, I am claiming it."
That earned a quiet laugh from a second-year opposite him, quickly smothered when she realised McGonagall's hawkish gaze swept the hall.
Luna tilted her head. "Do all professors sit here sometimes?"
Cassian leaned in conspiratorially. "Not really. Most of them wouldn't survive it. The benches are hard on ageing hips." He tapped the wood with two fingers. "But Babbling here and I are made of sterner stuff."
Bathsheda set her cup down. "You're going to get us moved back to the staff table if you keep this up."
Cassian zipped his mouth.
At the high table, Lockhart had finally stopped waving, noticing the missing seats. His sparkling smile faltered slightly as his gaze darted to the Ravenclaw table, then flicked back to McGonagall as if seeking permission to join students as well.
Dreadful.
***
Upon returning to her room, Bathsheda tugged Cassian towards a small shrine-like setup by the window. A single black notebook rested dead-centre, looking utterly out of place against the soft glow of the candles around it.
Cassian eyed the scene, then her. "What's this? Want me to read your school diary? Am I about to learn about your crush on Dumbledore?"
She elbowed him square in the ribs, not even pretending to be delicate about it. "That is a dark artefact, you git."
His grin faded as his eyes dropped back to the notebook. The air felt heavier now that he was paying attention, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. "Why the hell is it sitting here?"
Bathsheda took his hand, pulling him towards the couch. She settled herself sideways on his lap with an ease that suggested she'd done it a thousand times. "It appeared in my bag the day you punched Lucius."
Cassian's jaw tightened. His fingers curled into a fist before he could stop himself. "Fucking snake."
Her thumb brushed gently across his knuckles, like she could smooth out the tension by touch alone. "I've isolated the diary. It can't touch us right now."
Cassian's eyes stayed on the notebook, his voice cold. "Not sure I trust that thing to stay quiet."
"Trust me, then," Bathsheda said, her tone soft but sure.
He let out a slow breath, unclenching his hand but her thumb kept circling over his skin. "He took your book, then slid this under it. Then insulted you on purpose to stir the pot. And I, like an idiot, punched him right on cue. Played straight into his hands."
Bathsheda nodded, eyes still on the diary.
Cassian huffed softly through his nose. "Did you touch it?"
"I did." She didn't hesitate. "But I doubt anything happened. I felt a tug in my mind, but it couldn't breach my shields."
He clenched his teeth. "That tug worries me."
"It didn't get through," she said simply, but her hand lingered on his like she wasn't as calm as she sounded.
Cassian tilted his head, watching her. "It was enough to try, though."
She dropped her head against his chest with a quiet sigh. "I felt the dragon wake."
(Check Here)
Some nights I swear I hear you breathing. Turns out it's just the parchment.
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