Cassian let the murmur roll for a few seconds before cutting through it. "Alright, pack it in."
"Now, beside the plagiarism," Cassian went on, arching a brow at the twins, "the idea was novel. So, props. If mildly concerning. Cedric... great as always. Loved how you gave a new perspective on the Round Table era. Bit romanticised, but I will allow it."
Cedric pecked his head, looking like he was handed a medal.
"Alicia," Cassian continued, pointing a finger her way, "very solid defence of witches from the old era. Morgana being misunderstood was something we've been over, but you pulled in new sources. Nice touch. That bit about the royal scribes changing her titles posthumously? Very sharp."
Alicia tried to look unaffected, but her quill twitched a little faster in her hand.
"Angelina," he said, flicking to the next name on his parchment, "I liked the angle you took with magical sports history. No one ever covers the anti-Quidditch leagues during the Purist backlash. Strong citations, bonus points for not making it boring. That is a gift."
She grinned and muttered something to Alicia.
"Lee. Your essay was... ambitious."
A snort from George. Lee straightened. "How ambitious?"
Cassian held up the parchment. "Let's see. Title: 'Why Merlin Would Have Hated Ministry: A Case Study in Legislative Incompetence.'"
Fred and George applauded.
"You cited one source. Yourself. And I am fairly sure you made up the quote where Merlin said, and I quote, 'No more laws, only fire.'"
Lee grinned. "To be fair, that sounds like something he might've said."
"Possibly after a bottle of mead and one too many wand mishaps," Cassian muttered. "Still... creativity noted. Try for actual history next time."
He let the laughter settle before glancing at the last name on the list. "Kenneth."
Kenneth Towler looked up, still chewing the end of his quill.
"Yours was... well, it existed. That is a start."
Kenneth gave him a thumbs-up.
Cassian tapped his desk to draw their attention and reset the mood. "Alright, history today, magical uprisings of the 9th century. Yes, that includes blood, betrayal, and more than one wizard who thought stuffing pixies in a cannon was a war strategy."
Angelina leaned forward. "Wait, they actually did that?"
Cassian nodded. "Twice. Once in Bavaria, once in Somerset. Both times, the pixies revolted halfway through. Ever seen an entire cavalry unit taken down by laughing blue imps with bayonets?"
They watched with jaws slacking.
"You will," he added, wand already out.
He cast Lumos Spectaculum, and a ripple of magic rolled out. A whole camp. Dozens of them. Weathered canvas flapping under phantom wind. Fire pits, spell-etched stones, banners stitched with house sigils and symbols long fallen out of favour.
One banner bore a noble family crest, another had a gnarled wand twisted round a serpent. And others, sloopy ones.
"Second Uprising of Thistle March," Cassian said, pacing between the rows. "Year is 872. Somewhere near modern-day Wales. Very damp. Very loud. Very bloody. Led by someone called Hamish the Fork."
Fred raised a hand. "Was he named for the weapon?"
"No," Cassian said, "he had two front teeth like garden prongs. Very distinctive. Bit hard to take seriously when he shouted battle orders and whistled through the S."
Twins laughed too loud, others snickered. Cassian paced to the front again. The tents began moving. Illusion-people appeared, armoured magicks, wand-belts strapped to their waists, grimy, shouting across a field that looked like it hadn't seen dry sun in weeks. Mud covered everything. One wizard tripped over his own cloak.
"Now," Cassian said, "I could stand here and recite names and casualty numbers like Professor Binns did... or, I could teach you the one spell that changed how this battle was fought."
He raised his wand and cast, "Levitation Charm."
A feather floated up from the desk.
The class stared like he just insulted their collective intelligence.
"Seriously?" Fred muttered, unimpressed.
"Very," Cassian replied. "This, my tragically under-stimulated audience, is the spell that decided the Second Uprising of Thistle March."
George gave him a sceptical look. "They levitated the enemy into surrender?"
"No. They levitated mud."
Now he had their attention.
Cassian turned, flicked his wand at the board. Letters scrawled themselves across it, blocky, muddy brown script that looked appropriately awful. Battle of Dunwither Field - 872 AD.
"Right. Picture it. You are Hamish the Fork, bad teeth, worse tactical planning. You got two dozen half-trained magicks, a few angry squibs with clubs, and absolutely no clue what you are doing. Opposite you? A fully staffed battalion. Uniforms. Enchanted armour. Budget. They even brought their own field latrine. Hamish, on the other hand, had a swamp."
Angelina leaned forward. "They fought in a swamp?"
"Technically a moor. But it had rained for six days. So, yes, swamp."
He strode to the middle of the room and drew a messy oval in the air with his wand. The illusion shimmered into life... fields of grass churned to sludge, tents tilting sideways, and wizard soldiers with very expensive boots sinking ankle-deep in bogwater.
Cassian paced beside it. "Hamish realised he couldn't out-duel them. So instead of aiming at the enemy, he aimed at the ground. Started lifting sections of the swamp and lobbing them like pies."
Cedric squinted at the illusion. "That is not how we were taught to use the Levitation Charm."
"No, because the curriculum was prepared by someone who has never been chased by an army of scouts across wet ground. Professor Flitwick is capable of doing so, but probably... never mind," Cassian said. "Watch."
He flicked his wand again. A figure, the illusion of Hamish, judging by the spiked teeth, swung his wand at a patch of earth. The mud rippled, rose in a thick, wet slab, then launched across the field like a catapult.
It hit an enemy wizard mid-cast. They vanished under a splat the size of a sofa.
Laughter broke across the classroom.
"Hamish leveraged combat levitation," Cassian said, turning to the class. "Crude, sure. Inelegant. But no one expects you to weaponise the terrain. That gave his side the edge. Bought them time to retreat, regroup, and eventually broker a truce that kept their families from being arrested."
Lee raised a hand. "So the secret to surviving a magical war is... flinging mud?"
He looked at their faces and sighed, loud and long. "I've been trying to teach you lot to think outside the box since last year, but clearly, I am up against a generational curse."
Fred opened his mouth.
"No," Cassian said. "Not a compliment."
The twins leaned back like they just been told breakfast had been cancelled. Cedric looked thoughtful. Kenneth was chewing on his quill again.
"Wizards have been indoctrinated, yes, I said indoctrinated, into thinking spells are one-note. Use them as they are taught. Say the Latin, do the swish, carry on. Rinse and repeat. It is pathetic."
Cassian stepped away from the board and toward the centre of the room. The illusion of muddy soldiers flickered and vanished with a lazy wave of his wand. In their place, he placed something entirely mundane.
A plain cup.
He set it on the ground like it meant something.
"This," he said, "is a cup."
Fred nugded George. "Reckon he's finally cracked?"
"Let's wait," George said, "he might do a dance."
Cassian ignored them. "A very secret cup. Terribly magical. You all heard stories about enchanted objects, yes? One of them involved a cup and a name."
He didn't know why, but the memory stuck.
Something about a cup. His friends, old friends, Earth friends, talked about it in passing once. A tournament, maybe. Some magical event Harry Potter entered, or didn't, or wasn't supposed to. Something odd about an age line drawn around the goblet to keep out younger students. Or to keep out cheaters. Or both. It was hazy. Half a conversation buried under twenty years and a resurrection.
But the line... that part stuck.
"I drew an age line around it. You need to put your name in it. How will you do it?"
The words echoed. Not his. Someone else's. Probably a grumpy wizard with a beard and a penchant for theatrics.
The second-years stared at it.
He stared back at them.
Fred was already squinting, as if trying to see if the cup would blink first.
Cassian clapped his hands. "Entertain me, yeah. Let's pretend, for the sake of educational chaos, that this cup is magical. Hidden inside it is the secret to immortality. Or a good lasagne recipe. Take your pick."
Cedric sat a bit straighter.
Angelina narrowed her eyes.
Fred raised a hand. "Is it cursed?"
"Not yet," Cassian said. "Give it time."
He circled the cup slowly. "Now. You lot have heard of wards, yes? Magical boundaries. Barriers. Some are subtle... enchantments that nudge people away from areas they shouldn't be. Others are... louder. Traps. Explosions. Singing suits of armour."
Lee perked up. "Can we do the singing kind?"
"No," Cassian said flatly. "We are in a magical school. Not a musical."
He stopped beside the cup. "Come on, don't be shy. How will you put your name in it, when the age line keeps you out?"
He turned slightly after a long silence of frowns and squints. "What, none of you ever fancied sneaking into something you weren't old enough for? God, I taught rocks with more curiosity."
Angelina's hand twitched. "We can't just… cross it, right?"
"Very good, Miss Johnson. No, you cannot." He pointed his wand at the floor. A ring of glowing gold etched itself around the cup, humming faintly. It was just a light illusion of course. He couldn't cast an age line. "Standard age ward. Won't kill you. Just gives you a zap and a lecture."
Fred leaned forward. "What if you jump in from the side?"
"Go ahead," Cassian said, stepping back. "We will scrape what is left of your dignity off the floorboards."
Fred exchanged a look with George. "Not it."
"Coward."
"Intact coward."
(Check Here)
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Cassian marks your essay.
"Incomplete.
Much like your contribution."
-
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