Chapter 4: Sirius, Are You Teaching Me What to Do?

Following the directions given by the bald-headed wizard, Cassian Drayke walked for a while until the dark, narrow alleys of Knockturn gave way to a brighter, more bustling street. The atmosphere here was worlds apart—lighter, filled with the murmur of cheerful conversation and the excited chatter of young witches and wizards.

This, undoubtedly, was Diagon Alley.

Children, many of them Cassian's age or slightly older, wandered wide-eyed beside their parents, pointing at broomsticks in shop windows and petting creatures in cages. Most wore pointed wizarding hats and beaming smiles.

Cassian, by contrast, walked alone—hands in his pockets, silver eyes cold and observant.

He guessed these children, like himself, had also received Hogwarts acceptance letters. Though he suspected none of them had come from the same place he had. Or carried the same kind of past.

"Hey! Stop right there!"

The sharp, commanding voice belonged to a girl who stepped directly in front of him.

She was elegant and well-dressed, with cascading blonde curls and a dark green robe lined with silver thread. Her emerald-green eyes sparkled with self-assurance and pride. It didn't take Cassian long to realize she was likely the daughter of a noble pure-blood family.

He stopped, expression unreadable. "Can I help you?"

"Why did you come from Knockturn Alley?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "A kid your age has no business being in such a dangerous place. Where are your parents?"

Cassian blinked once, then shrugged. "Haven't seen them in years. Judging from the fact that I was taken by Death Eaters and forced to be their servant, I'd say they're either dead or they abandoned me."

Her eyes widened. "D-Death Eaters?"

"Yeah. Might've killed them. Or I was kidnapped. Who knows?" His voice was calm, even casual, like he was talking about the weather.

The girl stared at him, visibly stunned.

"D-Dead? Really?"

"I've had ties to the Death Eaters, so it's a safe assumption."

"You—" She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "You should come home with me. My name is Cassandra Rosier. My father works at the Ministry of Magic. He can have the Aurors hunt down that Death Eater and throw him into Azkaban. I'll help you!"

Before Cassian could reply, Cassandra grabbed his wrist firmly, clearly intending to take him with her.

"That won't be necessary," Cassian said, gently but firmly slipping out of her grip. "The Death Eater who took me is already dead."

"Another one?" she said, eyes wide with disbelief.

Cassian gave a small nod. "I killed him years ago. I've been free since."

He found himself liking the girl. Her confidence hadn't faltered, even at the mention of Death Eaters. That kind of bravery was rare. Back in Knockturn Alley, no one had ever offered to help him. Fear ruled the streets there. But here was a girl—well-bred, no doubt—who had tried to shield him on impulse.

"You've lived on your own all this time?" she asked softly.

"It's not that hard," Cassian replied.

Cassandra's eyes filled with a strange blend of admiration and sympathy. Looking at the dark-haired, silver-eyed boy with a tragic past, something stirred inside her—a protective instinct.

"What are you doing in Diagon Alley, then?" she asked.

"Buying my school supplies. I got my Hogwarts letter." He pulled the letter from his pocket and handed it to her.

"You're going to Hogwarts this year?" she asked in surprise.

He nodded.

"But… you don't look eleven."

"I'm not. I'm nine."

"Nine? How's that possible? Hogwarts doesn't accept students under eleven!"

"I guess they made an exception," Cassian said with a faint smile. "I've got the letter, so here I am."

"Well then," Cassandra said decisively, "let's go buy your things together. I need to do my shopping, too."

Cassian didn't object. He'd never gone shopping with someone else before, and having a beautiful girl like Cassandra for company wasn't the worst experience. In fact, it was… nice. New.

"Let's get your wand first," Cassandra said. "I've already bought mine. If you don't have money, I'll pay for it."

"I actually do have a wand," Cassian replied, pulling it from his sleeve.

"You've been to Ollivander's already?"

"No. This wand belonged to the Death Eater I killed. I've used it ever since."

Cassandra gasped. "That's not how it works! Wands are supposed to choose their wizard. Using one that isn't suited to you can backfire—badly. Come on, we're going to Ollivander's."

Before Cassian could argue, she took his hand and led him through the street.

Cassian tucked the wand back into his sleeve, amused. Honestly, he could perform magic without one. He understood the principles behind spellcasting better than most adult wizards. But he didn't mind humoring her. Having a wand specifically attuned to him might offer improvements, and the science of wandlore was something he'd never deeply studied.

The bell above the shop door jingled as Cassandra pushed it open. Ollivander's was narrow and dusty, with stacks of wand boxes piled up to the ceiling.

An old man with wild white hair was perched on a ladder, sorting through boxes. At the sound of the bell, he turned.

"Ah, Miss Cassandra. Back again?" he said, smiling. "I believe your wand's already chosen you."

Cassandra pointed to Cassian. "He needs a wand."

Ollivander turned his gaze to Cassian and narrowed his eyes. "He doesn't look eleven."

"He has an acceptance letter," Cassandra said. "Show him, Cassian."

Cassian handed over the envelope.

Ollivander took it, his eyes scanning the parchment. A furrow formed on his brow as he looked up again, scrutinizing Cassian carefully.

There was something odd about the boy. Not just the eyes—those striking, unnatural silver eyes—but something in his magical aura. Ollivander's senses tingled.

This boy… it's not that no wand will accept him. It's that every wand might.

An impossibility. Wands were selective. Magical cores resonated with the core of the wizard. But this boy… he felt like he understood magic at its root. As if the wand didn't matter at all.

But Ollivander pushed the thought away. He'd seen many strange things in his long career.

"Well then," he said finally. "Let's begin. Try this one: elm wood, unicorn hair core."

Cassian reached for the wand, but a cold, sneering voice interrupted them.

"Well, well, Cassandra. Slumming it with a filthy mudblood? Father will be so disappointed."

Cassian turned.

Standing in the doorway was a pale, pointy-faced boy with slicked-back blond hair and a curled lip—Draco Malfoy.

Cassandra's emerald eyes narrowed. "Draco, are you teaching me what to do now?"

She drew her wand with practiced grace, stepping protectively in front of Cassian.

Draco smirked. "I'm just surprised. A Rosier hanging around with someone like him. Don't tell me you actually think he's going to Hogwarts."

"He is going to Hogwarts," Cassandra said coldly. "And if you have a problem with that, take it up with Dumbledore."

Draco looked between her and Cassian, his eyes lingering on the younger boy.

Silver eyes. A dark presence.

Something about Cassian made Draco's skin crawl.

"He doesn't belong there," Draco muttered.

Cassian stepped forward, expression unreadable. "Neither do you."

Draco flinched, as though the words struck deeper than expected.

Before he could fire back, Ollivander cleared his throat. "Children, please. This is a wand shop, not a dueling arena."

Cassian turned his gaze back to the wand in front of him. He picked it up—and the wand immediately glowed with faint golden light, humming softly in his hand.

Ollivander blinked. "Well. That's rather decisive."

Cassandra beamed, victorious. "Told you."

Draco scowled and stormed out, muttering something under his breath.

Cassian turned the wand in his fingers, testing the weight.

It felt… natural.

But deep inside, he wondered: was this wand truly

his?

Or had he already outgrown the need for one?

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