Act I, Chapter 2 - pt 2
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Cassian landed with a soft crack in the middle of a grand hall that radiated dark opulence. The air was heavy with the scent of roasted meats, rich spices, and the faint metallic tang of enchanted wards humming just out of sight.
The hall was illuminated by enchanted candelabras that floated high above, their flickering flames casting long, shifting shadows. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting scenes of magical conquest—armies of wizards subjugating Muggles, magical creatures bound in servitude, and a glowing figure that Cassian assumed was Grindelwald, standing triumphant over a shattered world.
Dozens of tables were arranged in concentric circles around a raised dais, where a single empty chair sat beneath a massive tapestry bearing Grindelwald's symbol.
Cassian noted the arrangement immediately. The empty chair at the center was a silent reminder of who they served, even in his absence. It was a symbol of control, power, and inevitability.
Around him, acolytes and guests were already mingling. The acolytes were easy to spot—most carried themselves with the same carefully cultivated arrogance, their dark robes marked with subtle, identical embellishments, that one would miss if he didn't know where to look. The guests, on the other hand, were a mixed lot. Some wore finery befitting their station, while others looked slightly out of place, their expressions ranging from nervous to curious.
A house-elf appeared at Cassian's side, offering a goblet of wine on a silver tray. He accepted it with a nod, his eyes scanning the crowd.
He took a small sip. The wine was rich and spiced, leaving a pleasant warmth in his throat. He let his gaze linger on a pair of men near one of the far tables, their hushed conversation animated but wary.
Cassian moved with purpose, his expression one of faint amusement as he weaved through the crowd. He greeted a few familiar acolytes with nods and polite smiles, but his attention remained fixed on his task.
"I hope I'm not intruding, gentlemen," Cassian said smoothly, stepping closer with his goblet in hand. His tone was the perfect balance of charm and authority, just enough to make them pause and look his way. "But I couldn't help catching the tail end of your conversation. A true tragedy, what happened the other day."
He let the words hang in the air for a moment, his eyes flicking between them as though he already knew exactly what had occurred. Of course, he didn't. But their body language told him everything he needed to know: tension in their shoulders, a fleeting glance between them, the way the shorter man shifted uncomfortably.
The taller of the two, broad-shouldered and confident, raised a brow but said nothing. The slighter man, pale and wiry, offered a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
The taller man's hand tightened around the stem of his glass, a subtle movement but one Cassian didn't miss. The slighter man cleared his throat and glanced away, fingers fidgeting against his goblet. Cassian's interest sharpened. He might've just uncovered something here.
Taking a gamble, he continued, "It's rare to see people so willing to make sacrifices these days," Cassian said, his tone casual but laced with meaning. "Such courage is… inspiring, don't you think?"
The taller man relaxed slightly, giving a small nod. "Sacrifice is the cornerstone of progress," he said firmly. "The greater good demands it."
It seemed his gamble had been fruitful. He'd hit the nail square on the head.
The slighter man flinched. The movement was almost imperceptible, but Cassian caught it. His interest sharpened further.
"Even if it's your life?" the slighter man murmured. His voice was low, strained, and his grip on his goblet trembled just enough to betray him.
The taller man stiffened, his sharp gaze cutting toward his companion. "We all serve the cause in whatever capacity is required of us," he said evenly, though his tone carried a faint edge of warning.
The slighter man didn't respond. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he took a long sip of his drink instead.
Cassian tilted his head, his expression one of faint amusement—or at least, that's how it appeared. Inside, his mind was already whirring, piecing together the fragments of information they'd inadvertently given away. Sacrifice. Life. Someone had died, perhaps recently, and the slighter man didn't agree with the reasons. That much was clear.
He let the silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable before stepping in with a faint chuckle. "Forgive me—I've forgotten my manners." He extended a hand toward the taller man, his smile disarming. "Cassian Devereaux."
The man clasped his hand firmly, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "Pietro Fane," he said. "A pleasure."
Cassian turned to the other man, who hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking his hand. His grip was weaker, his palm clammy. "Elias Whitaker," he muttered.
"A pleasure," Cassian repeated smoothly, releasing Elias's hand. He gestured to the room around them, his smile widening just enough to appear warm. "It's an impressive gathering, isn't it? So many like-minded individuals, all working toward the same goal."
Pietro hummed in agreement, his gaze sweeping the hall with a faint air of pride. Elias, however, gave no such response. His lips twitched into something that might have been a grimace before he quickly schooled his expression.
Cassian took another sip of his wine, letting his gaze wander briefly before landing back on the two men. "Though gatherings like this always make me wonder," he mused, his tone light but his words carefully chosen. "What motivates each of us to serve? Is it duty? Belief? Or something else entirely?"
Pietro gave a sharp laugh. "Duty, belief, and ambition, I'd wager. Though some are more motivated by the latter than the former." He nodded toward a group of younger acolytes near the far wall, their laughter a little too loud, their postures a little too eager.
Cassian chuckled along with him, though his attention remained fixed on Elias, whose shoulders seemed to tighten with every passing moment.
"And you, Whitaker?" Cassian asked, his voice deceptively casual. "What drives you?"
Elias startled, his eyes darting to Cassian's before quickly dropping to his goblet. "The same as anyone else, I suppose," he muttered. "The greater good."
The words sounded hollow. Empty.
"Of course," Cassian said smoothly, his tone giving nothing away. He turned his attention back to Pietro, engaging him in a brief conversation about the logistics of the evening. But his peripheral vision stayed locked on Elias, who seemed to shrink further into himself with each passing moment.
After a few minutes, Pietro excused himself, muttering something about needing to speak with someone across the room. Cassian nodded amiably, offering a polite farewell. As soon as Pietro disappeared into the crowd, Cassian turned, intending to engage Elias further—only to find that the man had slipped away.
His gaze swept the room, searching. It didn't take long to spot Elias near the edge of the hall, half-hidden in the shadow of a tall tapestry. The goblet in his hand was nearly empty, his gaze unfocused, his posture slouched in a way that implied drunkenness.
Cassian approached quietly, the faint rustle of his robes the only sound as he closed the distance. "A man alone at a gathering like this," he said lightly, swirling the wine in his goblet. "I'd almost think you didn't want to be here."
Elias flinched, his head snapping up to meet Cassian's gaze. His expression flickered—fear, irritation, and something else—but it quickly smoothed into a neutral mask.
"Devereaux," Elias said stiffly. "What do you want?"
Cassian raised a brow, feigning mild surprise. "Only to talk. You seemed… preoccupied earlier." He gestured to the empty goblet in Elias's hand. "And perhaps in need of a refill."
Elias's lips twitched into a bitter smile. "Talk, is it? About what? The greater good?"
"If you like," Cassian replied easily, stepping closer. "Though I find conversations about sacrifice tend to be more… enlightening after a drink or two."
Elias let out a dark chuckle, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "You're persistent, I'll give you that."
"I prefer to think of it as curious," Cassian said with a faint smirk. "And you, Whitaker—you strike me as a man with interesting thoughts."
"Interesting thoughts," Elias echoed, his tone dry. He let out another humorless laugh. "That's one way to put it."
Cassian tilted his head, his expression open and unthreatening. "Sometimes it helps to speak them aloud."
Elias hesitated, his gaze darting to the rest of the room before settling back on Cassian. "Did you know my brother? Arthur Whitaker?"
Cassian's mind raced, quickly recalling the name from earlier conversations. He adjusted his expression into one of careful neutrality. "By reputation," he lied smoothly. "A respected man. Loyal. His loss was… unexpected."
"Unexpected," Elias repeated bitterly, his grip tightening on his goblet. "Is that what they're calling it?"
Cassian remained silent, letting the weight of Elias's words linger.
"They killed him," Elias said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not in battle. Not for the cause. They killed him to make a point."
Cassian's brow furrowed, his tone carefully measured. "A point?"
Elias drained the last of his wine, his hand trembling slightly. "A reminder of what happens when you step out of line. Even if you don't realize you've done it."
"That must be… difficult to reconcile," Cassian said softly, his words deliberate.
Elias barked a laugh, harsh and broken. "Difficult? It's madness."
"And yet, here we are," Cassian pressed gently, his tone nonchalant but probing.
"For now," Elias muttered, his gaze hardening.
Cassian's interest sharpened, but he forced himself to remain still. "For now?" he echoed.
Elias hesitated again, his mouth opening as if to say more, but he shook his head and muttered, "Forget it."
"Of course," Cassian said, his tone easy, though his mind was already racing. He offered Elias a small nod, his lips curling into a faint smile. "But if you ever need someone to listen… I'm here."
Elias gave him a long, searching look before nodding once. "I'll keep that in mind."
...
The dinner came to a natural close as the last of the food was cleared away, and most guests headed toward the Floos. Others opted for Apparition, their cloaks swirling as they disappeared into the night. The Acolytes who had arrived via Portkey with Cassian, however, lingered, waiting for further instruction.
Cassian glanced around at his comrades. A fair number of them were visibly drunk, their postures loose and their expressions unfocused—a mistake they would undoubtedly pay for. The rest, however, stood sharp and poised, their eyes glittering with determination. Each one of them clearly intended to claim the reward promised at the beginning of the night.
The tall woman from earlier stepped forward, her arrival as silent as a shadow slipping into place. Her piercing gaze swept over the group, lingering on the drunkards with a look of disdain that could have curdled milk.
"Those of you with something to say, follow me," she announced coldly. Her voice was sharp and precise, cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "The rest of you—those who are otherwise indisposed—go home. This is not mercy. Do not mistake it for such."
Her words had the intended effect. The drunk ones shuffled awkwardly, their expressions clouded with shame or dull resentment, before staggering toward the Floo.
Cassian, composed as ever, moved to follow her along with two others who appeared as sharp and determined as he was. They entered a smaller chamber reserved for private discussions.
Cassian and two others followed her into one of the smaller chambers reserved for private discussions. The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the flickering light of a few enchanted sconces mounted on the stone walls. A chill hung in the air, but Cassian barely noticed it. His thoughts were already miles ahead, piecing together the narrative he needed to present.
The woman called the others forward one at a time, each stepping up to present their findings while the rest waited in tense silence.
Cassian's smirk widened imperceptibly as he listened to the others before him. Their reports were competent—lists of names, people they had successfully convinced or brought closer to Grindelwald's fold. All valuable information, to be sure, but none of it held a candle to what Cassian had uncovered. A defector, possibly feeding information to their enemies. A spy.
That was a discovery that could shift the tides. And it would be his.
The woman commended each of the others with faint nods before finally, her sharp gaze landed on Cassian.
"Devereaux," she greeted, her voice low and steady. "You've had an interesting evening, I trust?"
Cassian inclined his head respectfully, his posture relaxed but alert. "A productive one, yes," he replied smoothly. "I've identified several individuals sympathetic to the cause, as well as… other developments that may be of interest."
The acolyte raised an eyebrow, her expression sharp and unreadable as she gestured for him to continue. She remained silent, her hands clasped behind her back, her gaze drilling into him.
Cassian began with the safer information, recounting his interactions with several of the non-acolytes at the dinner. He outlined those who had expressed subtle but undeniable support for Grindelwald's ideology, carefully framing their comments without overstating their significance. He knew better than to embellish; accuracy and control were far more valuable in this arena than theatrics.
"They are not yet ready to pledge loyalty," Cassian concluded, "but they are receptive to the idea. With time and the right persuasion, I believe they could be valuable additions to the cause."
The acolyte nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful but impenetrable. "And the rest?" she prompted, her tone carrying a faint edge of impatience.
Cassian hesitated, just long enough to appear reluctant, before stepping closer. His voice dropped slightly, as though reluctant to let the others hear. "There's another matter. A more delicate one."
The woman's gaze sharpened, her focus narrowing entirely on Cassian. "Go on."
Cassian exhaled softly, allowing the faintest trace of hesitation to color his features. "One of the acolytes—I won't name names yet—may not be as loyal as they appear."
Her eyes narrowed, and the air in the room seemed to grow colder. "That's a serious claim, Devereaux."
"I understand," Cassian said evenly, meeting her gaze without flinching. "And I wouldn't bring it to you without cause. But during the dinner, I spoke with someone who hinted—unintentionally, of course—at… disillusionment with the movement. It wasn't explicit, but the tone and context were enough to raise concerns."
The acolyte's jaw tightened, and she began to pace, her robes brushing against the cold stone floor. "Disillusionment," she murmured, as though tasting the word. "That's not uncommon in the lower ranks. Some lack the conviction to endure what's necessary."
"This didn't feel like the usual wavering," Cassian said, his voice calm but resolute. "It was more specific. I suspect outside influences may be at play."
She stopped pacing abruptly, fixing Cassian with a piercing look. "Are you suggesting a spy in our midst?"
"I'm not suggesting anything—yet," Cassian replied smoothly. "Only that the conversation warrants further observation. With your permission, I'd like to… engage with the individual in question. Gain their trust. If there's more to uncover, I'll find it."
The acolyte studied him for a long moment, her silence heavy and scrutinizing. Cassian held her gaze steadily, his expression composed but not overconfident. He knew better than to appear overeager or uncertain—she'd pounce on either.
Finally, she inclined her head, her movements deliberate. "Very well, Devereaux. But tread carefully. If there's even a hint of insubordination, I expect you to act decisively. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly," Cassian said with a measured bow of his head. "You won't be disappointed."
She regarded him for a moment longer, as if weighing his worth. "You've done well tonight," she said grudgingly, the faintest hint of approval coloring her tone. "Keep this up, and you may find yourself in higher circles soon enough."
Cassian allowed a faint smile to touch his lips, though inwardly, his thoughts were already racing. "Thank you," he said simply, his voice steady and unassuming.
The acolyte gave a sharp nod before turning on her heel and striding toward the door. She paused just before leaving, her voice low and clipped. "Keep me informed."
And then she was gone, her dark robes sweeping through the doorway as it shut behind her with a hollow echo.
Draco exhaled slowly, allowing his shoulders to relax ever so slightly. The tension in the room lingered, but he pushed it aside. His report had gone better than he'd anticipated, but there was no time to revel in it. The pieces were in motion, and now it was his task to ensure they moved exactly where he needed them to.
Straightening his robes, Draco adjusted the cuffs with precise, practiced movements. His expression hardened into one of quiet determination. There was no room for error—not now, not when he was so close.
A/N: Hey there, I wouldn't normally post today, but I wanted to sync up my posting schedule here with the one for ao3. They get chapters earlier because posting here was not originally the plan, but then I remembered this site was where my love for fanfiction started, seemed only fair it got my first fic. So expect the next chapter on Friday :)
edit: Oh and, I made a slight edit to Ch. 1, instead of Harry joining Alphard and Cygnus in their sixth year, he'll be joining them in their seventh year. Apologies, initially I was under the assumption that Fall, 1943 Tom would be in fifth year, when actually he'd be in his sixth, Harry was always supposed to be a year above.
I'd love to here any feedback!