After breakfast, Cassian walked into the classroom with a half-eaten apple in one hand and the other already drawing his wand.

He flicked it, the wand, not the apple, and the centre of the room darkened. Wind picked up from nowhere, rustling hair and parchment. A black castle rose in mid-air, jagged at the edges, its towers jutting like broken teeth into a smoky, churning sky. Thunder grumbled behind it. One window lit up, briefly, before going dark again.

Students leaned back instinctively. The illusion cast shadows across their desks.

Cassian stopped in front of it, took one more bite of the apple, and spoke around it.

"Today, we're talking about a group who made Dark Lords look like schoolyard bullies. You'll have heard of them, probably under the wrong name. The Ahl al-Siqaya."

He pointed his wand, and the castle twisted, reshaped into desert rock. A new illusion hovered, robed figures climbing narrow mountain passes, hoods low, blades hidden in sleeves.

"The Pourers of Water. Poetic title. Didn't mean they handed out canteens, meant they controlled the wells. The ones in charge of keeping you alive in the middle of nowhere. Don't be mistaken, it was just a clever way of saying that only those they didn't kill survived. Pure arrogance."

Someone near the back coughed. No one else spoke.

"They weren't just hired blades," Cassian said. "They were a network. Cult. Guild. Brotherhood. Choose your word, they've all been used. Operated across North Africa, through the Levant, deep into the Eastern provinces, and even touched the edges of the Parthian Empire when they got ambitious. Reached as far west as Roman territory. Magicks. Not your wand-and-wiggle sort, either."

He circled the desk, tapping the image. It broke apart into an ancient spellcast sewn into the fabric of a robe, a dagger glowing faintly blue, a map drawn in shifting silver lines.

"They used wordless magic," Cassian said, tossing the apple core into the bin. "But they specialised in only two spells. Anyone ever heard of them?"

Cedric's hand shot up. Cassian pointed at him with his wand.

"Yes, Mr Diggory."

Cedric straightened. "Aero Spicula for attack. Wind Weapons. A simple charm, can be used by students and masters. The spell's range and power increase with the caster's strength. And the second spell is Consors Umbrae, a concealment spell. Also with levels. Basic form lets you blend with your surroundings, if you stay still. Advanced casters can move under it, and the magic adapts."

Cassian gave a nod. "Twenty points to Hufflepuff. Nicely put, Mr Diggory."

Cedric beamed up like he'd just won the House Cup singlehandedly.

Cassian turned to the rest of the class, hands in his pockets. "The Ahl al-Siqaya was an assassin's guild. Their religion was gold. They'd kill anything, creature, wizard, royal, didn't matter. So long as you could pay... They struck fear into three continents with that creed."

The floating illusions twisted again. An Emperor's tent folded in on itself. A Roman mage collapsed mid-speech. Dust-strewn temples, a Mongol encampment. All flickering like half-remembered dreams.

"They didn't duel. They didn't shout spells or flash light shows. Most of their kills were done before the target knew they were being hunted."

The image of a man stepped from shadow, blade curved, eyes blank. The room had gone silent.

Cassian let it hang for a second, then shrugged. "Of course, they also made enemies faster than you can say Invisibility Cloak."

Alicia raised a hand halfway. "Were they all wizards?"

"No," Cassian said. "Plenty were Squibs. Some just... didn't need magic. Ever seen a person dislocate both shoulders to squeeze through a drainpipe, climb five storeys up a sandstone wall, and slit someone's throat with a rune-carved needle? Well, they trained not to be seen, so I don't blame you. They trained their bodies like spells."

Angelina let out a whistle.

Cassian kept pacing. "Aero Spicula isn't just wind. Not if you use it right. The masters could shape it, blades, spears, hammers of compressed air. At full strength, it could crush ribs or shatter stone. Silent. Fast. No wand light."

The floating illusion sharpened. A blur of air struck a dummy in the chest. It flew backward and splintered against a wall.

Cassian grinned. "All that from what's essentially a glorified push."

Lee let out a quiet, "Bloody hell."

"Language, Mr Jordan," Cassian said. "Consors Umbrae was trickier. Basic version works if you're stationary. Stand still, disappear. But advanced users? They could move inside it. Blend in while they stalked a mark through a crowd."

The next illusion showed just that, an outline slipping between a bustling market, vanishing every time someone looked directly at it.

"Thing is," Cassian said, "both spells were tied to breath control. Rhythmic breathing tuned with intent. Think spellwork crossed with meditation. If you cast while panicked, it backfired. Ever seen someone try to go invisible and end up glowing?"

A few snorts from the Gryffindor side. Fred coughed, "That was once."

Cassian didn't blink. "Twice. And I have both incidents recorded." He tapped his temple.

Fred folded his arms, muttering something about betrayal.

Cassian went on. "The guild was small. Never more than two hundred at a time. New initiates had to prove themselves, spend a year without casting, relying only on movement, stealth, and instinct."

He looked around. "Most of you can't survive five minutes without waving your wand at your breakfast."

Someone in the back muttered, "He's not wrong."

Cassian gestured, and the illusions all collapsed into a single symbol, an ornate spiral rune, burnt red.

"That was their crest," he said. "Marked their blades with it. Some even carved it into the soles of their boots so they'd leave the impression behind. As a message. Or a warning."

The illusion shifted. The desert collapsed into a burst of gold, then reshaped, tall marble columns, sun-drenched courtyards, a colonnade draped in red banners. Cassian nodded toward it.

"This is a Roman palace. Year 39 BC. We're in the middle of a civil war mess no one here wants me to explain."

The class barely had time to blink before the scene zoomed in to a wide corridor guarded by centurions in bronze. Opulent. Dangerous.

"An assassin from the Ahl al-Siqaya made it past three gates, twelve wards, four very stabby guards, only to get caught... alive."

He paused.

He looked around, eyebrow raised. "And if you're sitting there thinking, 'So what? Big deal,' allow me to clarify. That had never happened before. The Guild didn't do capture. Their agents bit through the poison before they were questioned. Being taken alive was... unheard of."

He saw the unbelieving looks on a few faces and let out a small laugh.

"Assassins of Ahl al-Siqaya were trained brutally. Standard gear, blade, cloak, breathwork, poison capsule in the back molars." He tapped his own jaw. "If they got caught, that was it. One bite, lights out. Death before capture. No debates, no delay. All part of the doctrine, conditioned in, not questioned."

The illusion changed, columns, guards, polished stone floors, all giving way to a shadowed corridor and the flicker of gold-plated armour.

"One of them was sent to kill the Roman Magister Militum," Cassian said. "Fancy title for a warlord too important to die easily. Assassin slipped past every line of defence. Should've been a clean job."

He raised his hand. "But it wasn't. Not this time."

The air shifted. Students leaned in. Even Fred stopped trying to sneak George a Bertie Bott's from his sleeve.

"Because the Romans did something no one else thought of. They didn't try to catch the assassin. They made a moving trap."

The illusion rippled. "Sentinel Revela. That's what they called it. New kind of ward. Not fixed to a wall or anchored to a door, it followed its caster. A living detection field."

He stopped pacing.

"Think of it like a magical pulse. Constant, subtle, and sharp. If someone entered the perimeter with hostile intent, anything keyed to violence, it flared. Highlighted threats. Outlined the assassin in glowing lines before he even got the blade out."

He let that sink in.

"Caught him mid-step. Before he even drew. And because it wasn't a fixed charm, he couldn't go around it. Couldn't wait it out."

Angelina raised a brow. "Why don't we still use that?"

Cassian smiled. "Because it was a bloody nightmare. Overstimulated the caster like standing too close to a lightning storm while juggling migraine charms. Over time, it turned your brain to soup."

Cedric shifted. "Even with breaks?"

"There were no breaks. It had to stay up. Couldn't afford a lapse or the assassin would vanish." Cassian lifted a brow. "The spell was banned a year later. Too dangerous. Most users burned out. Some exploded."

Fred coughed. "Sorry, exploded?"

"Well," Cassian said, dragging a stool over and flopping into it. "Not 'boom' in the firework sense. More 'every nerve decides it's had enough and goes on strike'."

George winced. "Think I'll pass on that one."

Cassian leaned back. "The only reason it worked that day is because the caster was a battle-mage hopped up on alchemical enhancers, hubris and unbelievable luck. Held the spell for thirteen minutes, caught the assassin just long enough to drag him in."

Lee piped up. "What happened to him? The assassin."

"Good question." Cassian smiled, no humour in it. "He caused the fall of Ahl al-Siqaya."

The room went pin-drop quiet.

"With methods I won't explain," he went on, "they got everything from him. Names. Locations. Protocols. Weak points."

He shifted on the stool, eyes scanning the class.

"And I already told you how hated they were."

"They were wiped out within two weeks. Everywhere. Coordinated strikes from three different magical factions who didn't even speak the same language. They didn't stop to ask questions. They just turned every stronghold into dust. No survivors... Officially."

Alicia went a shade paler. Lee looked impressed. Cedric was scribbling too fast to be healthy.

"The guild was centuries old. Gone in a single term."

Kenneth raised a hand. "Sir, um... are those spells still in use?"

Cassian sighed slowly. "They are. Sort of."

"Sentinel Revela was banned. Supposedly lost, buried under a hundred Ministry reports titled 'Why This Was A Bad Idea.' But some old families still have copies. Vaulted. Guarded. Used when no one's looking."

He shrugged. "Aero Spicula's still around, but it's gone soft. The modern version barely reaches the far end of a corridor. You'd be lucky to knock over a stool."

"And Consors Umbrae?" Lee asked, elbow on the desk, chin in hand.

Cassian shook his head. "That one's properly gone. Lost after the guild fell. No surviving scrolls. No usable memories. Even the reconstructed ones fizzle out mid-cast. Closest we've got are half-baked stealth charms that flicker if you breathe too hard."

Angelina leaned forward. "If it was so effective, why'd no one preserve it?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You try preserving something when every practitioner is either dead, exploded, or committed to a vow of silence so strict they'd rather choke than share a trick."

George muttered, "Sounds cheerful."

Cassian stood up, walking between the aisles. "That's history. Useful, brutal, and usually ends in everyone regretting their life choices."

"Sir?" Cedric again, still writing. "Any connection between the guild and modern Hit-Wizards?"

Cassian looked vaguely pleased. "Good question. Some. Techniques filtered down, mostly through those who defected before the collapse. A few of the movement charms, blade enchantments, stealth wards... you'll find echoes in Ministry manuals."

Fred blinked. "Wait, Hit-Wizards use assassin magic?"

"Depends on the country," Cassian said. "Or the mood of the person in charge. Same principle, get in, avoid detection, don't die."

"Got a brochure?" George asked.

Cassian smirked. "What, planning a career change?"

"Thinking ahead," Fred said. "We've got ambition."

"Terrifying," Cassian muttered.

He flicked his wand again, and the room cleared, illusions fading.

"Right. Homework."

Groans. Protests. One particularly dramatic sigh from Lee.

Cassian ignored all of it.

"Two feet on magical ethics and lost spells. Choose one, Sentinel Revela or Aero Spicula. I want a breakdown on the original function, what makes it dangerous, and one practical reason it should or shouldn't be brought back."

Cassian added, "Extra credit if you include a real-world example of when something being too powerful caused more harm than good. Preferably magical."

When students left, Cassian took a deep breath, then vanished into thin air. He left only a fading outline. "Neat."

(Check Here)

There's devotion in inertia. A kind of loyalty, really. Concerning, but flattering.

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