Chương 46: Ch43- Troublesome Runes

Year ended, and Cassian returned to Rosier Manor the same way anyone returns to a place they can't openly loathe in the Daily Prophet... quiet, grim, and mildly suspicious of every window. Bathsheda apparated them just beyond the wards. Her coat rustled when he pulled her into a hug, arms looped tight like she might vanish if he blinked too slow. Which she very well might. A crow cawed somewhere overhead. The universe really had no sense of timing.

"I will see you in a week," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She nodded.

"Yeah." Hugging him back.

"You sure you wanna join me again?" He chuckled, arms still around her.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Bathsheda slapped his chest lightly.

"You just want to see China and get away from your family." Cassian gasped.

"No, no. I want to be with you but also see China and get away from my family." She huffed a laugh and stepped back, tugging her coat tighter.

"Hopeless."

"Tragically." He winked, then glanced over his shoulder at the silhouette of the manor.

"Go before they send my mother." She vanished with a pop. Cassian sighed, adjusted his coat, and turned to the gates. The next few days dragged. Magnus spent an entire breakfast lecturing Lucian on international policy, using phrases like "stability through control" and "familial expectations" with the same tone most men used for lawn care. Cassian stirred his porridge and tried not to hallucinate. His mother, Ophelia had developed a new habit of sighing whenever he entered the room. Not subtle sighs, either...

these were the kind that came with pinched brows and a teacup held just so. Cassian started entering rooms backwards just to hear it without seeing the face. Regulus tried to get him alone twice. Cassian dodged both with vague mutterings about "updating field notes" and "post-term evaluations." The man could wait. Or spontaneously combust. Either worked. Luckily, the Manor was a warren of corridors and preening relatives, perfect cover for a practiced dodger with no patience for father-son theatrics.

By the fourth evening, he had gone full hermit. Curtains drawn, books cracked open. He was halfway through re-translating a Byzantine hex manuscript when someone knocked. He opened the door to find Selena. Cassian grinned.

"You are not short anymore." She shrugged.

"It is called growth."

"Ah. Good choice. I tried tea once. Didn't work." She didn't smile, but her mouth twitched.

"You see me everyday in the school."

"That is school Selena. Not home Selena." He stepped aside, let her in. She moved like someone checking for traps... careful, spine straight, eyes flicking around the room like it might rearrange itself while she wasn't looking. Cassian gestured to the chair by the desk "Tea?"

"No thanks." He poured himself a cup anyway, waited. She didn't speak straight off, just stared out the window.

"Is this about school?" he asked, sipping. She nodded, arms folded.

"Last year was rather enjoyable in History of Magic classes. I know your approach is different from Binns, but still, teaching through application helps a lot." Cassian scratched the back of his neck with a little shrug.

"That is why I do it. Dead wizards aren't great conversationalists. You want them to stick, make them move." Selena rolled her eyes.

"I know what you are doing. I know Uncle wants you to sway students, pull them away from Dumbledore's version of inclusivity. And I know you are pretending to go along with it." Her gaze didn't waver.

"But deep down, you are teaching neither. You are teaching them to think for themselves." Cassian let out a chuckle, eyes narrowing as he stirred his tea.

"You were always the clever one. Not that I am hiding it. Bit obvious, isn't it?" He took a sip.

"And I am sure you won't be running to Daddy or Granddaddy to tattle." Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. She smirked, leaned back.

"How do you know that?" He opened his arms, "Because you don't care. Out of all my cousins, you are the most beautiful, most brilliant…" Selena raised a hand, not looking up.

"If this is your way of buttering up, continue. I like it. Add 'best spell-creator.'" Cassian blinked.

"Oh bloody hell. That sounded like me. Is this a Rosier defect? Born with extra ego and a craving for validation?" She laughed lightly. Cassian coughed, sat forward in the chair.

"Well, you are not a worthy Rosier either." That made her look. Not angry. Not insulted. If anything, there was a flicker of satisfaction. Like he'd just given her a badge she hadn't asked for but wouldn't return. A worthy Rosier, after all, was supposed to be half-god, half-polished boot. Traditionalist, pure-blooded, arrogant with Latin in one hand and a wand in the other. They didn't question. They didn't innovate. And they definitely didn't invent spells just to see what would happen.

"You are right," she said.

"I would rather die than spend my life quoting great-grandfather's duelling logs and reciting bloodlines like scripture." He smiled into his cup.

"Cheers to that. Though I would pay to see Magnus twitch if he heard you say it out loud."

"Magnus would twitch if the soup wasn't the right shade of aristocratic beige," she muttered.

"Very delicate constitution, that one," He nodded.

"One off-note and he looks like someone farted on the Rosier crest." Selena chuckled, shifting in her chair.

"You staying in the family line after graduation?"

"Apprenticeship first. Master Goshawk is taking me under her wing." She didn't say it like she was bragging. Just stating it.

"Of course she is. You had her wrapped around your finger back at OWLs." Selena didn't bother hiding the eye-roll.

"It wasn't like that."

"Sure it wasn't." He let out a low whistle.

"Very Rosier of you, though." She didn't deny it. Just gave a mischievous smile.

"Can't seem to shake all the family traits."

"Well done," he said, tipping his mug in salute.

"So while I was freezing my arse off in Norway, you were already charming the Ministry's deadliest librarian?" Selena nodded.

"Will do so this summer as well." He tilted his head.

"You are ahead of the curve."

"I try." She glanced sideways then, "Are you heading anywhere?" He jerked his chin east.

"Yeah. China." She blinked.

"China?"

"Yeah. Bathsheda's off for research. I am tagging along for tea, curses, and a break from the ancestral ghost club." Selena gave a nod, filing that somewhere between 'mildly mad' and 'predictably on-brand'.

"You travelling for work or trauma avoidance?"

"Both," he said, rubbing his jaw.

"Though the trauma bit is more scenic. Also I am the pack mule."

"So what is in China? Ancient scrolls? Forbidden archives? Some cursed relic you are not supposed to find but will anyway?"

"Yes," he said, far too quickly.

"And dumplings. The real kind. The ones that burn your mouth and soul in equal measure."

"Didn't think you would be travelling together again?" Cassian shrugged.

"She hasn't hexed me yet. Figured that counts as a green light."

"More like, she tolerates you."

"With enthusiasm, I will let you know." He puffed his chest.

"And I am a delight." She gave him a dry look.

"Alright, fine," he amended.

"A tolerable, warm-bodied nuisance with good taste in cursed objects and breakfast."

"What are you working on?" She looked at the spread scrolls, half a dozen open books.

"Trying to translate this lovely collection of Byzantine hexes that reads like someone spilled wine on a prophecy and tried to pass it off as academic." She reached over and nudged one of the loose scrolls.

"You do this for fun?"

"For magic," he corrected.

"Also because it stops me from plotting Magnus's slow, subtle downfall."

"You ever think about just… cutting ties?" Cassian looked over.

"From Magnus?"

"From the family." He considered that, rubbing his thumb along the side of his cup.

"Every day ending in y."

"Then why stay?"

"Because I am still useful to them," he said, matter-of-fact.

"And I am more useful to myself while they think that. Besides, someone has to make sure the next generation doesn't come out quoting blood purity pamphlets and duelling with all the grace of a stunned badger." Selena hummed again. Not agreement. Not disagreement either. She knew family secured his job, and they could take it as easily. He glanced her way.

"Why? Planning a rebellion?"

"If I were," she said, "I wouldn't tell you."

"Ouch."

"You talk."

"I do," he admitted.

"Loudly. And often with excellent effect." She stood then, brushing an invisible crease from her sleeve.

"I should go." Cassian didn't stop her. Just stood as well, stepping around the desk.

"Tell Goshawk I said hello." Selena rolled her eyes.

"No."

"Worth a try." She reached the door, hand on the handle before pausing.

"You don't fool them, by the way." Cassian raised a brow.

"Them?"

"Magnus. Regulus. They know you are playing your own game."

"Good." She glanced over her shoulder.

"Not sure if that is safe." He gave her a smile, all teeth.

"Safety is for Ministry interns." She didn't answer that. Just nodded and pulled the door open. As she slipped out into the hallway, Cassian leaned against the doorframe for a moment, listening to the soft sound of her footsteps fading into the manor's long corridors. Then he shut the door again and locked it. Back at the desk, the scroll waited like a test. He tapped it once with his wand, watched the ink glow faintly before settling back into unreadable loops. Ancient magic always had a flair for the theatrical.

"Why can't I find any of the runes, Yrsa? What are you hiding?" He didn't go back to it straight away. Instead, he turned to the side cupboard, rifled through a drawer, and pulled out a small leather-bound notebook, black, worn, corners softened by travel and time. His own notes. Not Hogwarts syllabus junk, but the real stuff. Spells that didn't exist yet. Runes too complex for the schoolbooks. Names no longer found on any register. He flipped it open to the last page and added a note. Selena Rosier.

Goshawk apprentice confirmed. Probably an ally. Maybe a liability. Too clever for her own good. Trust her? Maybe. Trust her bloodline? Never. Cassian stared at the note a beat too long. Then he tapped his wand against the parchment. The words shimmered, then faded to blank. He turned to another page and tapped his wand again. Ink spread across the parchment, lines and curves stitching themselves into place. Shapes bloomed into existence, not runes, but his own rough sketches of them. Half-finished, fragmented.

What he remembered, and what he didn't. He shut the book, slid it back in the drawer, and reached for the Byzantine scroll again. Back to work.