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CASS72- Memory
🕑 Added 2025-08-15 17:17:28 +0000 UTCCassian didn't bother going back to the mirror. For one, he wasn't on patrol for the next few nights. For another, he would far rather spend that time tangled in Bathsheda's sheets than staring at some enchanted glass whispering about his supposed desires. Why waste a second watching a reflection of her when the real thing was warm in his arms, hair a mess against his chest, skin carrying the faint scent of ink and sleep? He didn't need to watch a reflection of her smiling at him in some idealised library. They were already finding ancient texts together. They were already piecing through runes and arguing over syntax in her cramped office. Going back to that mirror would've been like watching smut while his wife sat in the next room with her jumper sliding off her shoulder, waiting for him with tea and warm hands. Cheap. A bit pathetic, really.
Besides, he had better ways to fill his time.
Bathsheda had brought him a bundle of scrolls from her last library trip... runic fragments copied out in a spidery hand, each one promising either thrilling discovery or an inevitable headache. They spent hours cross-legged on her bed, parchment spread like a battlefield, arguing over glyph placements and translation quirks until their voices turned hoarse. It was bliss. No wards. No trolls. No flaming brooms or dodgy mirrors. Just them, ancient text, and the occasional heated debate about whether a particular rune meant "bind" or "consume."
The Christmas break didn't last. Soon enough, trunks clattered up staircases again, owls swooped through the rafters with last-minute sweets orders, and Hogwarts filled back up with chattering children in scarves too long for their own good. Cassian watched them shuffle past on the first morning of the term, perched on the edge of the staff table, mug of coffee in hand.
"Remind me," he muttered to Bathsheda, "why we let them back in?"
"Because the alternative is an empty school with you wandering the halls like a haunted librarian," she murmured, not looking up from the parchment she was annotating.
"One can only dream."
Minerva swept in, her tartan shawl flaring behind her, and barked something at a group of third-years who were apparently debating whether a Dungbomb would work underwater. Cassian watched them scatter. He sipped his coffee and hummed.
"January resolutions, Rosier?" Aurora asked.
"Mm. Same as last year. Keep all students alive, preferably un-singed. And confiscate any experimental charms involving pineapple."
"You are still bitter about the fruit incident." Bathsheda smiled innocently.
"I am bitter about the pineapple singing an aria outside my quarters for three hours straight."
She laughed faintly and returned to her parchment.
He slowly turned his head to her, his nose pressed against her temple, "I know it was you."
She turned without flinching, now nose-to-nose with him. "You cannot prove anything."
Cassian's eyes narrowed. In the way a man does when he knows he's been played and isn't sure whether to admire it or plot immediate revenge.
"Well," he said finally, straightening up and brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve, "classes start soon. I suppose you can hide behind your syllabus."
She smirked, turning back to her scroll. "I don't need to hide. You are just bitter."
He gestured vaguely toward her. "Bitter? Me? No, I am already drafting your medal for 'Most Smug Woman in Scotland.'"
Well, classes started, and Hogwarts settled back into its usual rhythm. Students shuffled between lessons, scarves trailing, boots squeaking against wet stone from the winter melt. The chatter echoed through the corridors as if the Christmas break had never happened.
In one of the fifth-year lessons, Cassian was at the front of the classroom, wand in one hand and a piece of chalk dangling lazily from the other. The board behind him already had Memory Modification: First Principles scrawled across it in a looping script.
"Well," Cassian began, flicking the chalk toward the board where it neatly scribbled Mnemone Radford under the title, "history credits Mnemone Radford as the witch who first developed Memory-Modifying Charms. Clever, gifted, and probably entirely insufferable at dinner parties. She also became the first Ministry Obliviator because, surprise, surprise, the Ministry noticed her knack for making people forget things and thought, 'yes, let's weaponise that.'"
A few Gryffindors snickered. Penelope Clearwater had her quill at hand, already scribbling notes. Percy Weasley was sitting upright, watching Cassian with that calm, thoughtful expression that made him look ten years older than his classmates.
Cassian tilted his head, eyes sweeping across the room. "Now, in any neat and sanitised, Ministry-approved text, you’ll find this charming little story, but the ‘facts’ will be a little different. The Ministry loves to present their history like a polished teapot... everything gleaming, not a smudge of scandal."
He pushed off the desk and started pacing slowly, wand tapping against his palm. "But as ever, question what you read in Ministry-printed books. Do we really think Radford woke up one day and decided, out of pure altruism, to scrub memories from people's heads? Or is it more likely someone somewhere thought, 'this will be handy for hiding my catastrophic mistakes?'"
Felicia Spinnet raised her hand hesitantly. "Professor, are you saying the Ministry lies in the textbooks?
Cassian spun on his heel, grinning faintly. "Miss Spinnet, I am saying the Ministry edits history with all the subtlety of a Bludger in a teacup shop. They are curating. Like a picky librarian who tosses out every book that makes their favourite author look bad. The records of memory modification charms appear in plenty of ancient writings. Sumerian tablets, for example... long before Radford strutted onto the scene in her Ministry robes. The incantations weren't in Latin, of course. Not every magical community used Latin. I've already lectured you lot on why wizards here cling to it like a safety blanket, so we'll skip that bit before you all groan."
He flicked his wand lazily, and chalk scrawled "Sumerian: KU-DU (Bind the Mind)" on the board.
"In those tablets, there's mention of rituals to 'soften memories as clay before the kiln.' Charming imagery, isn't it? Makes Radford look less like a pioneer and more like someone reinventing the wheel because no one told her wheels existed."
Cassian let the chalk hover, giving the point a moment to land.
Percy looked personally offended. "How would that even work?"
Cassian chuckled under his breath. "I'm glad you asked."
He strolled to his desk and started rummaging through his enchanted bag like a man pulling out half his worldly possessions to find a lost sock. Quills went flying. A cracked stone tablet nearly clipped his shin. He muttered something about organisation being a myth as he leaned in further. Soon, half his body was swallowed by the small leather bag, legs sticking out comically.
There was a muffled, triumphant, "Aha!"
Cassian emerged, hair sticking up slightly, holding a strange, slender object between his fingers. He held it aloft like a victorious archaeologist. "Does anyone know what this is?"
The class shook their heads in unison.
Cassian nodded as if they'd just validated his entire teaching career. "Excellent. That means this lesson isn't a complete waste." He turned the tool in his hands, letting the light catch on its long, slightly curved end. "This, my fine young inmates, is an Egyptian kohl applicator. About 3,000 years old, give or take. Used by men and women alike to line their eyes with kohl. Not just for beauty either... kohl had protective properties. Kept sand out, reduced glare in the sun, and some even believed it warded off evil spirits."
A few students leaned forward, curious now. Even Percy's arms had uncrossed slightly.
Cassian twirled the applicator like a conductor's baton. "Now, what if I shaved a few millennia off its age, gave it a shinier handle, changed the name to 'Rosier's All-Purpose Eye Wand' and marketed it as mine? You lot would think I'd invented the thing last week. Perhaps I couldd even slap an unnecessary charm on it and sell it for ten Galleons apiece to some gullible Ministry wives."
He grinned faintly. "Point is... Radford didn't invent Memory Charms. She refined them, codified them, gave them Ministry approval. There's a difference. History is full of these little thefts dressed up as 'discovery.' Someone finds an ancient trick, polishes it, and suddenly they're hailed as a genius while the original gets buried under centuries of bureaucracy."
Penelope Clearwater raised her hand. "So what you are saying is… nothing is new?"
"Not nothing," Cassian said, placing the kohl applicator gently on his desk as if it might bite him. It might not, but Batsheda could. "Most ideas have ancestors. Magic, especially. Every clever bit of wandwork you know was probably done first by someone barefoot in a mud hut, with a stick, hoping the gods didn't smite them mid-chant."
A ripple of laughter spread through the room.
Cassian leaned back on the edge of his desk, arms folded. "This is why history matters. It is not just dusty names and boring dates. It teaches you to question. When someone says, 'I invented this,' you ask, did you? Or did you nick it off some long-dead wizard, wrap it in gold, and convince the rest of us it was shiny and new?"
Before anyone else could raise a hand and ruin the flow, Cassian lifted his own. "And, just to be clear, Radford didn't try to pass Memory Charms off as her invention. In the first edition of her book... Magical Mindwork: A Theoretical Approach, the charm appeared under the 'Translated' section. But the Ministry…" He flicked his fingers like he was swatting away an irritating fly. "They are good at turning footnotes into fireworks. They painted her up as a pioneer, a beacon of British magical innovation. Good PR. Shame about the accuracy."
Percy Weasley sat bolt upright, as others snickered, his face stuck halfway between suspicion and moral outrage, quill hovering midair like it couldn't decide whether to keep taking notes or stab Cassian for treason.
Comments
TheFanficGOD
Thank you! 🫀🫀
BraveHeart
Don't listen to this guy below me Lord fanfic. This shit is for and your spitting bars. Keep it up cause this is gold
TheFanficGOD
They are bad. I am mostly drawing from real historical evidence and how the real world operates. Any and all ruling systems are inherently corrupt, if not outright evil, and one of the subliminal threads in this fic is soft political satire. Now, as for why I have to bash the Ministry, the official Wikia says the Memory Charm was invented in the 16th century. That leaves me with two options, either the Ministry is actively evil (my default stance) or it is grossly incompetent, shouldn't rule this out. Or we could even say that they were Obliviated into forgetting the Memory Charm existed at all. For history classes to actually be interesting, and for Cassian to be able to teach other civilizations, I have to lean into one of those options. Hope that clears it up!
Flippu
Its kinda getting annoying how often he injects the 'ministry bad' and 'trust no one, think for yourselves' dance. And half the 'history' lesson is him dunking on kids his brand of humor, its standup history at this point. Maybe tone it down a bit? Anyone feeling the same?
