The invitation arrived via a charmed paper aeroplane that swooped gracefully onto Hermione's desk at the Ministry. It unfolded itself to reveal Ginny's messy, energetic script.
You and your brooding curse-breaker. Dinner. Friday. 7 PM. Grimmauld Place. No excuses. We're dying of curiosity. — G&H
Hermione stared at it, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. A dinner party. With Harry and Ginny. And Ron and Padma. It was the most normal, domestic thing imaginable, and the thought of subjecting whatever was happening with Cassian to that kind of scrutiny felt terrifying.
She mentioned it to him that evening in the chamber, trying to sound casual. "My friends… they've invited us to dinner. On Friday. At Harry and Ginny's."
Cassian, who had been examining a new runic sequence, went very still. He didn't look at her. "Us?"
"Well, yes. They know we're… working together closely."
He finally turned, his expression unreadable. "I see."
"You don't have to come," she said quickly, her heart sinking. "I can make an excuse. Tell them you're busy with… Unspeakable things."
He was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere over her shoulder. "Do you want me to come?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
The question hung in the air. This was it. The first test. Was he a secret, a part of her life confined to dungeon chambers and private dining rooms? Or was he someone she could bring into the warm, chaotic, loving world of her found family?
"Yes," she said, her voice firm despite her nerves. "I do."
He met her eyes then, and she saw the same flicker of uncertainty she felt. He, who was so confident in a room with a millennia-old magical phenomenon, was nervous about a dinner party.
"Alright," he said, a slow breath escaping him. "Then I'll be there."
---
Friday evening found Hermione pacing in her sitting room, nervously straightening her robes for the third time. When the Floo flared, she jumped.
He stepped out, and her anxiety momentarily vanished, replaced by a wave of sheer appreciation. He was wearing dark, tailored robes she'd never seen before, and he looked… devastatingly handsome. And incredibly tense.
"You look…" She gestured vaguely, lost for words.
"Like I'm walking to my own execution?" he offered dryly, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
She walked over to him, placing a hand on his arm. "It's just dinner. With my friends. They're going to love you."
He gave her a look of pure skepticism. "Weasley already wants to hex me."
"Ron's all bark," she assured him, though she wasn't entirely sure. "Just… be yourself."
"That," he said, "is what I'm afraid of."
They Floo'd together, emerging into the cozy chaos of Grimmauld Place. The smell of roast chicken and Ginny's perfume filled the air. Laughter came from the kitchen.
"Hermione! You're here!" Ginny emerged, wiping her hands on a towel. Her eyes immediately landed on Cassian, and her smile widened, sharp and assessing. "And you must be the famous Cassian Thorne."
"Headmistress," he said, giving a polite, formal nod. "Thank you for having me."
"Oh, call me Ginny. 'Headmistress' makes me feel about a hundred years old." She turned her gaze to Hermione, a silent, gleeful message passing between them: So this is him.
Harry came out next, offering a warm, if slightly guarded, smile. "Thorne. Good to see you again."
"Potter."
Then came the moment Hermione had been dreading. Ron and Padma came in from the sitting room. Ron's eyes locked onto Cassian, and his easy smile faltered. Padma, ever poised, placed a calming hand on his arm.
"Ron, Padma, you remember Cassian," Hermione said, her voice a little too bright.
"Yeah," Ron said, his tone flat. "We remember."
The dinner was… awkward. The conversation was polite, skimming the surface. Quidditch. Ministry gossip. The weather. Cassian was quiet, answering direct questions with precise, minimal answers. He wasn't being rude, just reserved. The contrast with the easy, loud familiarity of the rest of the table was stark.
Hermione felt a pang of disappointment. This wasn't working. He was a fortress, and her friends were on the outside.
It was Padma who, surprisingly, broke the ice. She turned to Cassian, her intelligent eyes curious. "Hermione tells us you have a fascinating theory about the Aethelred Vault. That it might be pre-human in origin."
Cassian looked at Padma, then at Hermione, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He seemed to reassess the room.
"It's a hypothesis," he said cautiously. "Based on the qualitative nature of the empathic resonance. The grief lacks the… personal, biographical texture of human sorrow. It feels more… geological."
Ron looked bewildered. "Geological? Like… rocks?"
"In a sense," Cassian said, and for the first time, a hint of his professional passion crept into his voice. "Think of the sorrow of a mountain range worn down to dust over eons. Or a forest that has witnessed the extinction of every species that lived within it. That is the scale of what we're sensing."
The table was quiet, captivated despite themselves.
"Blimey," Ron muttered, his hostility momentarily forgotten in the face of the concept.
Harry leaned forward. "So it's not a person in there? It's… a memory of a place?"
"A consciousness," Cassian corrected gently. "A sentient magic that was intrinsically tied to a reality that no longer exists. The Vault is its cairn. Its memorial."
The conversation took off after that. They asked questions, and Cassian, once on familiar ground, began to open up. He was still precise, still intellectual, but he was engaging with them. He and Padma had a brief, intense discussion about the arithmantic probability of parallel magical dimensions. Harry asked insightful questions about the nature of sentient magic. Even Ron listened, a frown of concentration on his face.
Hermione watched it happen, her heart swelling with relief and pride. He was winning them over not by changing who he was, but by sharing the brilliant, passionate core of himself.
As dessert was served, Ginny caught Hermione's eye from across the table and gave her a small, deliberate wink and a nod. The message was clear: Okay. He's good.
Later, as they were saying their goodbyes, Ron clapped Cassian on the shoulder, a little awkwardly. "Look, mate… you make Hermione happy. And that… that theory stuff was actually pretty interesting. So… you're alright."
It was the most ringing endorsement Ron Weasley was capable of.
Cassian looked genuinely startled, then gave a slow, respectful nod. "Thank you, Weasley."
Walking back through the cool night towards the Apparition point, Cassian was quiet. When they stopped, he turned to her.
"That was… not what I expected," he admitted.
"I told you they'd love you," she said, smiling up at him.
He shook his head, a look of wonder on his face. "They love you. They were… assessing the man in your life. It was… a novel experience." He cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. "Thank you. For inviting me into your world."
He kissed her then, softly, under the lamplight, and as Hermione kissed him back, she knew they had passed another test. The dinner party was over, and the fortress had, just a little, begun to open its gates.