By dinner, the whole castle knew.
The news had spread faster than the Snitch Harry caught: Potter, Fred, and George Weasley had been banned from Quidditch for life. Their brooms—confiscated. The team—crippled.
Cassian sat stiffly at the Slytherin table, toying with a piece of roast potato on his plate but not eating. Blaise lounged next to him with calculated indifference, while Luna had wandered over from Ravenclaw to perch nearby, sipping from a mug of steaming something and humming tunelessly.
"So," Blaise said without looking up, "they actually went through with it."
Cassian didn't answer immediately. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed somewhere across the hall. "'Course they did," he muttered finally. "It's exactly what she wanted."
"I thought Potter knew better," Blaise said, voice dry.
Cassian let out a short, humorless breath. "He didn't even try not to take the bait. She practically laid the trap in front of him with a ribbon on top."
Luna blinked slowly. "Fred said Malfoy talked about Harry's mum."
Cassian exhaled through his nose. "Doesn't matter what Malfoy said. That was the whole point—get Potter to snap, make it look like aggression."
Blaise leaned on one elbow. "She gets to punish the 'golden boy' and take Gryffindor's fangs out in one stroke. Neat little package."
Cassian pushed his plate away. "It's not just about Quidditch. She's testing the edges—seeing what she can get away with. And Potter's handing it to her."
Across the hall, the Gryffindor table was unusually quiet. Fred and George weren't even there. Harry sat hunched between Ron and Hermione, expression unreadable, picking at a roll he hadn't taken a bite of.
A sharp snap echoed from the Ravenclaw table.
Someone yelped. A fourth-year girl jumped to her feet, flinging her robes off in a panic. Purple slime was spreading across her back, hissing faintly and eating small holes through the fabric like acid.
A flurry of students pushed away from her as Professor Flitwick rushed over, wand already raised. With a soft fizz, the slime disappeared, but her robes were in tatters.
"That's the third one today," Blaise murmured under his breath, watching the chaos with vague interest.
"The sixth prank this week," Luna corrected dreamily, not looking away from her mug.
Cassian didn't react. His fingers tapped the table, slow and deliberate.
"I don't mind a bit of mischief," Luna said after a pause. "But this is getting mean. Whoever's doing it should stop. Before someone gets really hurt."
She stirred her drink with a spoon that didn't match her mug, then set it down carefully. "We don't all have robes to spare."
Cassian's eyes flicked to her, but she was still looking straight ahead, voice calm, tone unreadable.
Blaise gave a lazy shrug. "Ravenclaws have been walking around like they're untouchable. Maybe someone decided to correct the impression."
Luna glanced at him then, the faintest tilt to her head. "Maybe. But that someone isn't very clever if they think cruelty proves a point."
Cassian stayed silent, but he shifted slightly in his seat, as if the conversation had suddenly made the bench uncomfortable.
A beat passed. Then Luna stood, her lion hat letting out a low purr.
"Well," she said lightly. "Don't stay too long. The pudding tonight bites."
Cassian watched Luna glide back to the Ravenclaw table, her lion hat swaying gently with each step. She didn't look back.
He let out a long breath through his nose. "We should stop."
Blaise blinked, then slowly turned to face him. "Come again?"
"The pranks," Cassian muttered, stabbing a bit of roast potato like it had offended him. "We should stop. At least for now."
Blaise's mouth opened in mock horror. "Is this it? Have I finally lost you to the forces of good? Should I start writing your obituary under 'reformed and dreadfully dull'?"
Cassian scowled. "I just don't want Luna pissed at me."
"Ah." Blaise leaned back, arms crossed, clearly amused. "There it is. I was worried for a second you'd grown a conscience."
"She didn't say it directly," Cassian went on, ignoring him. "But she knows. She knows it's us."
"Of course she knows it's us. No one else in this castle has the creativity or the nerve." Blaise raised a brow. "But since when do we care if people are upset?"
"I don't," Cassian said flatly. "But she's not 'people.'"
Blaise let out a dramatic sigh. "And just like that, mischief dies in the cradle."
Cassian flicked a crumb off the table. "We've made our point. They won't forget it anytime soon."
"Mm. And here I was planning something truly spectacular involving self-replicating pudding." Blaise shook his head. "Tragic."
Cassian offered a faint smirk. "Save it for someone else who deserves it."
Blaise swirled the contents of his goblet. "I'll have you know this is the beginning of a deeply boring chapter in our lives."
"Then find someone else to be a menace with," Cassian said dryly.
"Oh, I could never replace you." Blaise shot him a look. "No, I'm afraid you're stuck with me for the long haul."
Cassian groaned with feigned reluctance before grabbing his glass of pumpkin juice.
Cassian had just taken a sip when an owl swooped low over the Slytherin table, nearly knocking over a platter of sausages. It dropped a letter beside his plate and took off without waiting for a scrap.
The envelope was thin, the parchment creased and weather-worn. No family crest, no fancy seal—just his name in looping, slightly cramped handwriting. He recognized it instantly.
Cassian turned the envelope over once, twice, then slid a finger under the flap and opened it.
---
Cassian,
I know how you feel about me writing too often, but I need to say this plainly—things are turning. The Prophet has been running stories almost daily about the new powers they've given that woman, Umbridge. Detentions. Investigations. Bans. Even the Headmaster seems to be under pressure.
I don't need to tell you to be careful, but I will anyway. You're clever, but clever doesn't always beat cruel. I know what it looks like when people with that kind of power stop pretending to play fair. I've seen it before.
Don't give them a reason to come after you. Not if you can help it. And don't think the Rookwoods will lift a finger. We both know where we stand with them.
I'm still working as much as I can, but it's been lean. Don't worry—I've put aside something for Yule, even if it's not much.
Be safe. I mean it. Write if you can.
—Mum
---
Cassian folded the letter slowly, his thumb lingering for a second on the closing line. He slipped it into his robes and sat back, quiet.
Blaise eyed him. "Something grim?"
"Just my mum," Cassian said shortly. "Worried. About Umbridge."
Blaise made a face. "She's right to be. Whole school's gone sideways since she got her claws in."
Cassian didn't answer. His gaze drifted toward the High Table, where Umbridge sat smiling daintily over her tea as if nothing in the world could touch her.
He exhaled, the weight of it settling around them. "It's time we stopped waiting. Time we started pushing back."
Blaise smirked, amused by the sudden shift in tone. "Well, about time."
Cassian gave a small, grim smile. "And I think I've found someone more deserving of our pranks than the Ravenclaws."
Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell."
Cassian's eyes gleamed. "Umbridge."