The Son of the Dog Star

The hallway outside the Great Hall was dim and mostly empty, the echoes of clinking cutlery and soft chatter fading behind the heavy doors. Cassian walked beside Blaise, both wearing small, private smiles—the kind that came from a job well done, quiet satisfaction rather than arrogance.

That calm broke the moment Harry Potter stepped into their path.

Cassian stopped, expression shifting to guarded indifference.

"Got something to say, Potter?" he asked coolly.

Harry's face was tight, jaw clenched, eyes sharp.

Blaise cast a glance at Cassian, then took a step to the side, folding his arms.

"You've really changed," Harry said. "I remember when you used to have a conscience."

Cassian gave a dry laugh. "I remember when you used to think before talking."

Harry's fists curled. "I know it was you."

Cassian met his gaze, unflinching. "Prove it."

"I don't need to. I recognize your style," Harry said, voice low but steady. "The mirror, the robes—those pranks have your mark all over them."

Cassian's lips twitched in a small smile, neither smug nor boastful.

"You're proud?!" Harry exclaimed in disbelief, "You make a girl run away in tears, humiliated, and you're proud of that?!"

Cassian's voice turned sharper. "She deserved worse."

"She didn't deserve anything," Harry snapped. "She's—she's a good person—"

"She's a cruel person," Cassian bit out. "You just never looked closely enough. Or maybe you didn't want to."

Harry's mouth opened—then closed, unsure. He shifted, frustrated, angry, confused.

"You don't get to make yourself judge and jury."

"No," Cassian said coldly. "But I can make sure she doesn't keep hurting people who don't deserve it."

"You humiliated her. In front of everyone."

"She made Luna feel smaller than nothing for months."

"You could've been the better person. Let a prefect know."

Cassian scoffed in disbelief, "This coming from Mister 'Let's go rescue the damsel in the Chamber of Secrets!'"

"That was different," Harry stated, confused, "Ginny was in danger, she would have died! You know that."

"And so was Luna!" Cassian roared back.

Harry stumbled back in shock at the Slytherin losing his cool as he continued:

"She was put in the hospital! She's got bruises all over, they even mess with her grades! Who are you to pick and choose who's deserving of saving?"

Harry inhaled sharply, a response building in defense—but it was something else that came out instead.

"Sirius would be ashamed of you."

The words hit like a curse.

Cassian didn't move for a second. Then, slowly, his expression changed—controlled fury settling over his face like a gathering storm.

His voice dropped an octave. "Don't talk about him."

"You think this is what he'd want you to be?" Harry pressed. "Bitter and cruel?"

Cassian's voice cracked like a whip. "He doesn't want anything from me. Because I don't exist to him."

Harry faltered.

Cassian stepped closer. "You get owls. I get silence. You get godson. I get… nothing. So don't stand there and tell me what he'd feel."

Before Harry could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"Well, this looks cozy," Ron Weasley said as he rounded the corner, arms crossed and expression sour. "Harry, you alright mate?"

Cassian's jaw tightened. Blaise, beside him, stepped forward casually, though his dark eyes glittered.

"I suggest you keep walking, Weasley."

Ron scoffed. "And let you two slimy Slytherins skulk around threating my friend? Nah, I think I'll stay."

Blaise's voice dropped to a silky menace. "You're not in the position to start something you can't finish."

"Oh, I'll finish it—"

"Ron," Harry snapped, stepping between them. "Not here."

Cassian drew his wand. "Let your attack dog off the leash, Potter, and see what happens."

Blaise's lips curled. "I'd love to see how long it takes him to cry."

"Cassian," Harry said, sharp this time. "Enough."

Silence stretched like a taut wire.

"Save your lectures for the sheep who hang on your every heroic word."

Cassian turned on his heel and walked off down the hall. Blaise gave Ron one last look—something between amusement and contempt—before following.

Harry exhaled sharply, tension bleeding from his shoulders.

Ron muttered, "What's his problem?"

Harry didn't answer.

He wasn't sure anymore.

The Slytherin dormitory was dim and cool, shadows curling along the stone walls from the green torchlight. The low sound of the Black Lake pressed faintly against the windows like distant thunder.

Cassian slammed the door behind him and threw his bag down, pacing immediately.

"Disappointed in me," he muttered. "He actually said that."

Blaise leaned against the stone frame, arms crossed. "He really doesn't know when to shut up."

Cassian stopped pacing long enough to run a hand through his hair. "He doesn't know anything. Sirius doesn't even write me, doesn't speak to me, doesn't see me, doesn't even know me! How would he know what to think about me?"

"Potter's always been wrapped up in his own perspective," Blaise said calmly. "You know that."

Cassian sat down heavily on the edge of his bed. "He thinks I'm some cruel bastard because I went after Cho. Like I didn't have a reason."

"You did," Blaise said firmly. "You're not the one who cornered and humiliated a girl for months."

Cassian exhaled through his nose, silent a beat.

Then, quieter: "Luna won't even stick up for herself. Just takes it—like it doesn't matter that they are hurting her and no one does anything about it."

"You did something," Blaise offered, with a small nod.

A beat of quiet passed.

Cassian finally kicked off his shoes and flopped back against the pillows. "Remind me not to lose my temper around Potter again. I came way too close to hexing him."

"I'll put it on the calendar," Blaise said dryly. "I'll slot it somewhere between, 'resist punching the Weasel' and 'look devastatingly handsome.' Tight day."

Cassian snorted. "Shut up."

Blaise smirked and pulled the curtain around his bed. "Night, mate."

"Yeah," Cassian muttered. "Night."

The green torchlight dimmed. Outside the window, something brushed past the glass, scattering faint ripples of light. And the room faded to silence.

Breakfast in the Great Hall had taken on a different air since the night before. Whispers still drifted around the house tables like a low fog, eyes flicking toward Ravenclaw more than once as Mira Sun kept tugging at her hat, Marietta Edgecombe avoided every reflective surface, and Daila Fletcher's robes looked like they'd been dragged through a swamp. Thankfully, Cho Chang seems to have decided to take breakfast in her room.

Cassian and Blaise ate quietly, Luna sitting beside them picking bits of toast apart absently.

A sudden flapping noise drew everyone's attention. The enchanted ceiling above filled with a swirl of parchment carried by dozens of school owls. Notices began dropping onto plates, into cups, and and down the backs of shirts with unsettling precision.

One fluttered down onto Cassian's lap like a cursed bit of parchment. He picked it up and read it silently, jaw tightening.

EDUCATIONAL DECREE NUMBER TWENTY-TWO

"In the event of the current Headmaster's inability to secure Ministry-approved educational standards, a new post of High Inquisitor shall be appointed to evaluate and supervise the teaching staff."

In the corner of the decree, a small moving portrait of Dolores Umbridge beamed up at him, blinking smugly, her wide smile stretching like treacle across her froglike face.

Across the table, Blaise raised a brow, not even bothering to unroll his copy. "Oh, good. She's upgraded herself to dictator-in-pink."

"High Inquisitor," Cassian muttered, voice dripping with disdain. "The Ministry's little mole just dug herself a throne."

"She's scared," Blaise said with a smirk. "They don't throw around titles like this unless someone upstairs is sweating."

Next to them, Luna tilted her head, reading her decree upside down like it made more sense that way. "She's not just here to supervise," she said softly. "She's here to rewrite everything to fit Ministry standards."

Cassian glanced at her, brow raised. "Always so dramatic in the mornings."

"I'm being quite literal," Luna replied. "This gives her power over the professors. She can fire them. Change lessons. Decide what's worth learning."

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "So it begins."

Blaise tapped his fork against his plate. "You think she'll start with Trelawney or Hagrid?"

Cassian's lips curled into a half-smile. "Depends who smells easier to push around."

"Or who she thinks the students care least about," Luna added, her voice surprisingly sharp. "She'll start where people won't protest. That's how control works."

Cassian nodded at that, before folding the decree and sliding it into his robe pocket, his appetite gone. "This isn't about the professors. It's about setting the board for a longer game."

Blaise leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. "Let her play. The higher they climb, the funnier the fall."