Chương 296: Ch286- Rage

Cassian was three essays deep into his evening self-punishment when he pulled the next scroll toward him, took a slow sip of tea, and closed his eyes like a man praying for divine mercy. Of course it was Luna. Bright yellow ink on the label. Tiny doodle of a bird carrying a heart. She even enchanted the heart to blink. He stared at it. The heart blinked back.

"Brilliant," he muttered, unfolding it. Lovebird-to-Love-Note: The True History of Magical Courtship. He sighed, long, theatrical, then began reading. The introduction hit him like a thrown shoe.

"Most people believe Lovebird-to-Love-Note was invented by a lonely wizard who couldn't talk to girls. This is incorrect. Birds do not respect loneliness. They respect strategy." He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"The Karelian Enclaves were frozen and unhappy in 1030. Wars often make people cold and unreasonable. When two city-states began hexing each other's owl routes out of spite, someone very sensible decided to stop using owls." Cassian snorted despite himself. He flipped the page. Her diagrams were... something. A very round lovebird carrying a suspiciously large scroll. A second lovebird wearing what appeared to be a helmet. Luna had drawn arrows explaining its "heroic trajectory." Underneath...

"Lovebirds were chosen because they are small, fast, and statistically uninteresting. No one suspects a bird that looks like it wants a cuddle." He underlined it.

"That's... not entirely wrong." Then came the war bit.

"The message was wrapped in runes and transfigured into a lovebird. If the bird was intercepted, it either exploded (rare) or sang a coded tune (common). Song-codes were based on Karelian harvest chants, which the enemy found deeply annoying." Cassian scratched a note in the margin. Correct that. Eight percent fatal detonation rate. No singing. Stop encouraging them. He read on. Luna's favourite section was very obviously the early-1900s example...

"My favourite version is the wizard who escaped a Muggle prison by writing his message in blood, folding the spell, and turning it into a mouse. All good things come in mouse form. Except when they're named Scabbers and they're really a sick wizard and not a real mouse. The mouse escaped through a drain and carried his heartfelt message ('HELP') for three miles." Cassian paused. She'd attached a sketch of the mouse too. He held it up. The mouse had enormous eyelashes and a heroic pose. He kept reading.

"The Ministry banned Lovebird-to-Love-Note because it made Ministers itchy. People were passing messages without permission, and sometimes a Minister would give a speech only for a bird to land on his face. Democracy has never recovered." Cassian put his pen down and dragged a hand over his mouth.

"History weeps," he said softly. He flipped to the final page, her "practical application."

"If we adapt the spell for classwork, it doesn't have to be a bird. In fact, it probably shouldn't be a bird. Birds get distracted. Instead, I propose using spoons. Lovebirds to Lovegoods." He blinked.

"A spoon can carry small written instructions. A spoon can hide under a napkin. And if intercepted, a spoon can simply pretend to be a spoon. This is ideal." She had drawn four spoons marching in single file across the page. One had a tiny flag. Cassian leaned back in his chair. He wrote in the margin... Good historical scaffolding. Fix dates. Remove explosions. Spoons acceptable but reconsider infantry formation. Add real examples of runic layering.

See me after class, you've accidentally produced a decent courier framework. He set the scroll atop the Luna pile. His tea had gone cold. He took another breath and muttered to the empty office...

"Right. One Lovebird essay down. Fifteen more students to disillusion." He reached for the next pile. Vincent Crabbe Thinks Accio Is Good He sighed through his teeth, and wondered whether the universe actively enjoyed bullying him. The knock at the door saved him. He didn't pretend he wasn't grateful.

"Enter," he called. Neville stepped in, shoulders hunched, eyes darting. Cassian set the essay down.

"Longbottom. Thank Gods. What's wrong?" Neville swallowed.

"Harry's... not alright." Cassian sat up properly.

"Define 'not alright.'" Neville rubbed the back of his neck.

"Professor Black told him it was Professor Snape who... who told Voldemort about the prophecy. That it's why his parents died." Cassian's pen slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the desk. He stared at Neville.

"What did he say?"

"I- I'm not sure. I only caught the end of it. Harry stormed in. He's in his dorm throwing things at the wall. Ron tried to calm him down but he nearly got hit by a lamp." Cassian was already on his feet.

"Brilliant." Neville stepped back to give him room.

"I didn't know who else to get."

"You picked correctly." Cassian grabbed his coat off the chair and strode for the door, then stopped. Neville was still standing there, pale and stiff, like he'd only remembered how to breathe because Cassian had moved. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Cassian's eyes narrowed slightly.

"And you?" Neville blinked.

"Sir?" He stepped back and gave Neville a brief pat on the shoulder.

"How did you take the news?" Neville looked up at him, like he hadn't expected the question.

"I-" He swallowed.

"I don't know." Cassian watched him for a moment. Neville looked down.

"It's just a bit of a shock, sir." A bit of a shock. Cassian let that miserable understatement be.

"Mm," he said quietly. Neville took a breath and stood taller, as if annoyed with himself for wavering.

"Harry's worse."

"I know," Cassian said. His hand squeezed Neville's shoulder then dropped away.

"But I asked about you." Neville's face shifted at that.

"I'm alright enough." Cassian gave a nod.

"That'll do for now. We'll speak later." He pulled the door open.

"Come on." Neville hurried after him.

"What're we doing?" Cassian didn't slow.

"Stopping Potter from redecorating Gryffindor Tower with emotional shrapnel." And under his breath, "Black, you absolute idiot." When they reached the portrait, Cassian stepped aside.

"Password, Longbottom. Open sesame, please." Neville muttered the password. The Fat Lady swung forward, giving Cassian a wink.

"Professors don't need passwords, dear."

"I'll keep that in mind." He gave her a weak thumbs-up and walked in. As he entered the common room, the Creeveys waved at him so violently he thought one might dislocate a shoulder. He waved back and carried on toward the boys' staircase. Halfway up, the noise hit him. Harry was upstairs in full meltdown, furniture scraping, something clattering, and the boy swearing like someone who'd finally run out of softer words. Cassian paused on the landing.

"I swear to Gods, this castle'll be the end of me." A thud. Something else toppled.

"... all of them. All bloody liars..." Cassian pinched his nose and looked at Neville.

"Alright. He's in the 'breaks objects then the world' phase. Fun." He climbed the last few steps and pushed open the dormitory door. As the door swung open, something shot at his face. A boot, full velocity, full teenage fury. It froze mid-air inches from his nose, held there like a bug in amber. Cassian flicked a finger. The boot drifted aside, regained its momentum, and rocketed past him into the corridor. He stepped inside. Harry sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, hands buried in his hair.

His shoulders shook with every breath. Ron hovered uselessly a few feet away. Hermione stood stiff, eyes darting between Harry and Cassian like she was braced for an explosion. Neville lingered by the door.

"Can you leave us alone?" Cassian turned to Ron and Hermione, then to Neville.

"All of you. Let him breathe." Ron jolted on his feet. Hermione hesitated, but one look from Cassian sent her moving. Neville left last, closing the door behind him. Cassian walked forward and stopped in front of Harry. The boy didn't look up.

"You want to throw something at me too?" Cassian asked. Harry's breath hitched.

"Did you know?" Cassian didn't answer right away. He lowered himself onto the trunk opposite the bed.

"Know what, Potter."

"That Snape's a Death Eater," Harry spat, head still bowed.

"That he was one of them. That he-" Harry's voice cracked. He lifted his face, eyes red and wet and furious.

"That he's the reason my parents died." Cassian's expression didn't change.

"No," he said.

"I didn't know the last one." Harry blinked hard. That answer took some of the air out of him. Not much, but enough that he wasn't vibrating with rage anymore.

"At least you're not lying to me," Harry muttered.

"Everyone else bloody is." He dragged both hands down his face.

"Snape. Sirius. Dumbledore. They've all been standing there, keeping things from me, like I'm some child they can hide the world from." Cassian let him get it out. Then leaned forward.

"You remember what I told you about prophecies?" Harry nodded.

"They're riddles," Cassian said.

"Bent and vague and easy to misunderstand. Sirius said Snape heard part of it, right?" Harry's mouth twisted.

"Sirius said he didn't care." His voice sharpened again.

"And he hated my dad. Hated him. He said so. Said he always did."

"Sirius is angry," Cassian replied.

"And impulsive. And occasionally a twit." Harry looked up a little at that. Cassian went on.

"Snape didn't know the prophecy was about your parents. He didn't even know it was you. He only knew something about a person being marked. That's what he took back." Harry stared emptily at the wall.

"What difference does it make?" he said again.

"He still... he still went to him. He still chose him." Cassian watched him for a long beat.

"If Snape had known your parents were the ones in danger," Cassian said, "he wouldn't have done a damn thing to hurt them." Harry's head snapped up.

"How do you know that? How could you possibly-" Cassian let out a breath.

"Potter," he said quietly, "Snape wasn't just some boy who hated your dad. He grew up with your mum. They were friends. Proper friends. Before Hogwarts. Before this damned school split them onto opposite sides of a war neither had chosen. Before all of it." Harry stilled, caught between confusion and disbelief. Cassian nodded.

"He cared for her. More than he ever let on. More than he understood how to handle. It was messy and it was painful and it ended badly, but it was real. He'd never have signed her death warrant knowingly." Harry swallowed hard.

"Sirius didn't say that."

"Sirius's a git," Cassian said plainly.

"And before you get defensive, he knows it." Harry's jaw twitched, but he didn't look away.

"I'm not here to polish Severus into a saint," Cassian went on.

"Gods know I couldn't stand him when we were your age. Your dad and Sirius couldn't either. And here's where you need to listen, really listen, because the story gets uglier before it gets clearer." Harry's fingers tightened on the blanket.

"Remember what you asked me in second year?" Cassian said.

"About your dad? About what he was like?" Harry gave a small nod.

"At the time, I didn't want to shove you into the deep end. You were twelve. But you're not twelve anymore. So here it is without the sugar-coating." Cassian sat back slightly, watching Harry's face.

"Your father and Sirius were popular. Loud. Confident. Kings of the bloody corridors. And Severus was a half-blood in Slytherin with a chip on his shoulder the size of a small county. Do you see where that naturally ends up?" Harry's eyes widened.

"They were... bullies?"

"Sometimes, yeah. And sometimes Snape gave as good as he got. It wasn't one villain and one victim. It was two boys who hated each other and kept finding new ways to prove it." Harry hung his head down.

"That doesn't excuse either of them," Cassian said.

"But it explains why Sirius is useless at speaking about it. He still sees Severus through that old grudge, and he's not mature enough to admit the picture's bigger." Harry swallowed.

"Sirius made it sound like Snape... chose Voldemort over my mum." Cassian shook his head.

"No. He chose survival. Badly. Stupidly. Selfishly. But never over her." Harry looked up, startled by how certain he sounded.

"Your mum and Severus fell out when your dad and she got close, and when Severus let bitterness run his mouth off a cliff. But that connection didn't vanish. He loved her. In that quiet, tangled way boys do when they don't know what to do with their own bloody feelings." Harry blinked hard.

"Your father settled once he had her," Cassian said.

"He grew up. She grounded him. Snape lost her. Both of them changed after that. But even then Severus would have torn his own spine out before he let harm touch her. If he'd known the prophecy pointed to her family? He wouldn't have moved. Not an inch." Harry's voice was small.

"But he still joined Voldemort." Cassian leaned back, rubbing his neck.

"And I told you once that if I hadn't been a useless little arrogant student, I'd probably have done the same. When you're young, angry, shut out, and someone powerful offers you a place?" He shrugged.

"Plenty of people make catastrophic choices because they don't see a way out." Harry stared at the floorboards.

"Snape signed up because he thought being with the winning side would keep him alive in a world that didn't give a toss about him. Then he realised what that choice actually meant. And he regretted it fast. Fast enough to go to the Headmaster and hand Dumbledore the exact knife he'd just put in your parents' backs." Harry's breath hitched, like that image cut deeper than he expected.

"He became a spy," Cassian said.

"Not because he wanted glory. Not because he wanted forgiveness. Because he couldn't undo what he'd done, and he refused to let it happen twice." Harry sat very still, breath easing, eyes softening.

"Sirius shouldn't have told you the way he did," Cassian added.

"He weaponised the truth because he was angry. That wasn't fair on you, and it sure as hell wasn't fair on Severus." Harry's eyes were glassy, furious, confused, lost.

"You deserved the full story," Cassian said.

"Not a shard meant to cut you." Harry opened his mouth, then shut it again. Finally, quietly, not looking up, he whispered, "So what am I supposed to do with that?" Cassian stood, knees cracked but he chose to ignore, and gave Harry's shoulder a strong pat.

"I don't know, Potter," he said.

"Sorry, I really don't. I'm not going to hand you a neat answer tied up with a ribbon. People aren't tidy like that." Harry stared at the blankets, jaw clenched.

"All I can do," Cassian went on, "is remind you of something you already know." He tilted his head.

"You remember my Patronus classes?" Harry looked up.

"Yeah."

"Good." Cassian slipped his hands into his pockets.

"You remember what I told you about Patronuses changing? Doesn't happen often. Takes something big. Proper shift in who you are. Shakes the whole foundation." Cassian moved toward the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle.

"Snape's Patronus is a doe," Cassian said. Harry's breathing stopped.

"Like... Like my mum's?" Cassian glanced back.

"Exactly like your mum's." He opened the door.

"You can decide what that means."