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CASS35- Staff Meeting
🕑 Added 2025-07-21 19:26:36 +0000 UTCThey had to get up eventually. Lunch didn't wait, and neither did the timetable. A quick rinse, half a sandwich, and one insulted tea later, Cassian was back in the classroom.
This time, it was Ravenclaw and Slytherin second-years... same lesson, new flavours of headache. Ravenclaws, to no one's surprise, were better at thinking sideways. Not perfect, but they at least poked the edges of things before throwing themselves into the centre. One of them had actually asked if the age line was physical or illusory.
Slytherins, on the other hand, didn't just detest the lack of wandwork... they looked personally insulted. As though anything that didn't sparkle or require a Latin incantation was beneath them. The idea that a spell could be circumvented by physics? Blasphemy.
Cassian watched them glare at the challenge like it had insulted their lineage. One of them muttered about 'Muggle tricks.' He didn't say anything. Just gave them a long, slow look until the room remembered how silence could be weaponized.
They tried everything else, of course. Tried overcasting detection charms. Tried siphoning the boundary with mirrored spells. One even asked, dead serious, if the answer involved using a cursed dagger.
It didn't.
One Ravenclaw girl, Callahan, with hair like an abandoned nest and a habit of tapping her teeth when she thought, just stood back and threw her slip of paper with a little flick.
The parchment floated down, landed in the cup, and stayed.
Half the room froze.
Cassian cheered with two fists in the air. "Great thinking! Twenty points."
The Slytherins were glaring daggers at Callahan, their collective dignity crumpling faster than her parchment had. One boy looked like he might start drafting an official complaint to Salazar's portrait. The Ravenclaws, meanwhile, began exchanging rapid-fire whispers, already plotting six more ways to break the age line.
This was the fun bit, not the spellwork but the moment when one idea cracked the dam. The moment they realised magic wasn't the only tool they had.
All in all, it was better.
Cassian stuck to the strategy that worked last year... teach them history, slip in an old spell they already knew, and let their own brains do the heavy lifting. Simple. Efficient. A good way to sneak mastery under the radar. Most of them didn't notice they were getting better at the basics until they were doing it sideways, blindfolded, and probably mid-duel.
Increasing his mastery the more they learned, since the interface rewarded him with teaching. He reckoned an ancient variation was close by. Should be, with the way the stats were nudging up every time someone had a halfway decent idea.
The problem was, he would start seeing visions again. And those were never pleasant. Always damp, usually underground, and full of screaming. Sometimes his, okay mostly his, which was rude.
Still, couldn't argue with results. Every spell they tested, every workaround they stumbled into, even by accident, by his teachings, sharpened his own magic.
The first month ticked by before Cassian even noticed, mostly because he spent the bulk of it trying to keep teenagers from setting their desks on fire in the name of academic curiosity. Somehow, the second-years had collectively decided that the correct way to test ancient spells was to throw furniture at them. He was beginning to suspect the twins had started it, but no solid proof... yet.
By the end of September, he settled into a rhythm. Older years were a harder nut, slower to break habit, but they were getting there. But they were used to his style, easier to corru- guide into thinking outside of the box.
Then came the summons.
He was halfway through stealing one of Bathsheda's shortbread biscuits when the parchment dropped on his desk, folded sharp with McGonagall's handwriting on top.
"Staff meeting?" he said, glancing at the time. "That is new."
Bathsheda looked up from her essay pile, quill still in hand. "We had them occasionally. Aurora mentioned Dumbledore might revive the habit."
"Thrilling." He pocketed the biscuit and followed her out.
He held the door open for her at the staffroom, eyebrows raised. "Place your bets... actual meeting or secret intervention for Sybill?"
"Five Sickles on Kettleburn requesting leave again," she muttered.
Cassian stepped in after her.
Most of the staff were already there. McGonagall stood near the long table, parchment in hand, brows furrowed, meaning someone had irritated her before breakfast. Probably Snape.
Flitwick waved cheerfully from his seat near the end as Cassian's eyes landed on one of the new faces. Arif Sikander, the new Muggle Studies professor, in for Quirrell, who apparently ran off to "research" somewhere in Europe, and was also, conveniently, Sabbath’ing. Cassian had doubts about that. Still, Sikander smiled when he saw them.
Cassian gave him a two-fingered salute and dropped into the empty chair beside him.
"Settling in?" he asked
"So far," Sikander said. "Though one student did ask if the internet was a type of magical net that detects intruders."
Cassian snorted. "Tell them it is worse. It knows what shoes you want before you do."
He then blinked.
Did the government start tracking people through it? Probably not yet. It was the age of floppy disks and questionable moustaches. The internet was still humming along like a drunk librarian... loud, unpredictable, and only slightly useful.
Much like Quirrell, Cassian got on well with Arif as well. The Muggle Studies professors were the closest thing to sanity this castle offered. Or at least the only ones who didn't look at electricity like it might bite.
Cassian nudged his chair back to stretch his legs a bit. "So, who won? You or the second-years' theory that microwaves are just small wands?"
Sikander smirked. "Lost that round. They are convinced telly is dark magic."
"Hard to argue with that. I seen EastEnders."
McGonagall cleared her throat.
Right. Meeting.
Cassian straightened, smiling sheepishly at her. She glanced over the rim of her glasses, gave him the kind of look that could turn oak to mulch, and went back to the parchment in her hand.
"Now that we are all here," she said, "I will make this brief. Headmaster requested an early term review. We will be receiving visitors from the Board next week..."
A faint groan from Kettleburn. Not subtle. Cassian spotted Hooch elbowing him under the table.
McGonagall continued without missing a beat. "...which means your classrooms, materials, and lesson logs should be in order. That includes proper safety protocols. No exceptions."
Snape didn't move, but the way his mouth twitched was practically a monologue.
McGonagall turned her head. "Professor Snape, if you have something to add?"
"No," he said, dry as 'always.' "Only that I find the Board's timing… consistent."
Cassian tilted his head. "Consistently awful?"
Aurora and Flicwick chuckled, few hid their snicker.
"Consistently inconvenient," Snape replied, eyes flicking sideways.
Sikander leaned closer. "Does this happen often?"
"Once a year," Cassian muttered. "Twice, if someone's kid turns into a turnip during a lesson."
McGonagall gave him another look. Cassian smiled back like he didn't notice.
She rolled on. "There's also been a formal complaint. From a parent."
That quieted the room a bit.
"Not naming names," she went on, "but suffice it to say, if you are assigning spells that result in levitating livestock, perhaps reconsider your methods."
Kettleburn looked up. "Oh, come on. It was a Niffler."
"No one believed that," Flitwick piped in, flipping a page. "It mooed."
Cassian sipped his tea to hide the grin.
McGonagall pushed on. "Lastly, a reminder to review your curriculum if you've introduced significant deviation from standard N.E.W.T. preparation."
Cassian didn't rise to that.
He just slowly reached over and stole Sikander's biscuit.
Bathsheda, across the table, arched a brow.
McGonagall noticed. Of course she did.
"Professor Rosier."
Cassian looked up. "Yes?"
"I trust your materials align with the new Ministry guidelines?"
He gave her his most innocent face. "Of course, Deputy Headmistress. They are all proper and enlightening, but not enough to turn them against-"
Bathsheda kicked his shin under the table.
Cassian paused mid-sentence, winced slightly, then cleared his throat and gave McGonagall a freshly polished smile.
She did not return it. Just turned her attention back to her notes.
"Good," she said crisply. "Then I trust there will be no further issues." She gave one last glance over her glasses before moving on to Flitwick's section of the table. "Professor Flitwick, I believe you had something to report regarding the Charms curriculum?"
Cassian slouched a bit lower in his seat, casually nudging Bathsheda's boot with the side of his own in retaliation. She didn't look over, just reached for her quill like she hadn't just committed shin-based assault. Cold.
The meeting went on. Flitwick launched into some new safety measures for summoning spells... apparently a fifth-year had nearly pulled a chandelier down while aiming for a teacup. Kettleburn snored, loudly, then pretended he sneezed.
Cassian zoned out for a bit. Not out of boredom, exactly... he was more preoccupied trying to remember whether he left that experimental rune map in the drawer or on the windowsill. If the Board caught a glimpse, he would be writing apology letters until summer.
Beside him, Sikander was doodling in the margin of his notepad. It looked like a stick figure being zapped by a toaster.
Eventually, McGonagall wrapped it all up with her usual steel-spined efficiency. "Lesson logs are to be submitted by Friday. Please ensure any significant deviations from Ministry guidelines are clearly annotated and justified. That includes you, Professor Rosier."
Cassian gave her a two-fingered salute. "Would I ever leave you hanging?"
"Yes," she said, without looking up.
Meeting adjourned.
The staff scattered like students after a surprise quiz, leaving Cassian, Bathsheda, Sikander, Trelawney, Septima, Sinistra, and Snape lingering.
Snape, naturally, pretended he wasn't part of the room. He had a stack of third-year essays out, quill held like a weapon, eyes locked on parchment that looked suspiciously blank from Cassian's angle. He didn't blink. Definitely wasn't reading anything.
Cassian slouched further into his chair, "I think he is waiting for the ink to rearrange itself into better answers."
Bathsheda didn't look up from her cup. "Be nice."
"I am. That was admiration.”
Trelawney, from the far corner where the lighting was two notches too dramatic, swirled her teacup and muttered something about 'energies shifting.' No one asked which ones.
Comments
BraveHeart
Interesting to see the ministry response
