Harry potter: Revenge from azkaban

"Cassian, you don't have anything to tie you to home, right? Why don't you stay at my house for a few days before school starts?"

Cassandra's voice was light, but there was a note of genuine warmth in her invitation.

Cassian Drayke glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "I'm leaving for Hogwarts in two days," he replied, his tone polite but distant. "I'd rather take that time to say goodbye to my old life."

He declined without hesitation. Most pure-blood families were like the Malfoys—elegant, aristocratic, and quietly disdainful of anyone outside their ancient circles. And Cassandra, with her poised demeanor and graceful charm, was clearly not from an ordinary wizarding family. She may have been different from Lucius in manner, but her upbringing would be cut from the same cloth.

Lucius, at least, knew better than to look down on him—especially after what happened in Knockturn Alley.

But her family? If her parents looked at him with contempt, he wouldn't be able to retaliate. Not without offending Cassandra, who had been nothing but respectful toward him.

In the wizarding world, a pure-blood witch bringing someone like him home was akin to bringing in a stray. It wouldn't end well.

"I see," Cassandra said softly. "Well then, once we're done buying robes, shall we meet at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters the morning of departure?"

Cassian nodded. "That works."

Afterward, the two returned to Diagon Alley via Apparition and finished gathering the rest of the supplies required for Hogwarts. Cassian paid little mind to the gold he spent—he had learned early on that information and power were always worth the price.

With everything in hand, Cassandra and Cassian agreed to meet again at King's Cross Station, and she departed with a gentle wave.

Cassian, however, didn't head home. Instead, he turned and disappeared down a darker path—toward Knockturn Alley.

The Ministry had confiscated the spellbooks he'd been studying before Azkaban, so if he wanted to continue his research, he needed new material. Once he arrived at Hogwarts, it would be far more difficult to acquire the kind of forbidden knowledge hidden in this shadowed street. That was yet another reason he had declined Cassandra's offer.

As he walked through the alley, he felt the weight of a dozen eyes on him. Some cautious, some greedy, some hungry. He considered buying a mask to conceal his face, but what was the point? A boy of his age wandering Knockturn Alley was rare enough. Mask or not, those who recognized him would recognize him.

He was Cassian Drayke.

Even cloaked in darkness, his reputation preceded him.

Eventually, he reached his destination—the largest and most infamous shop in Knockturn Alley: Borgin and Burkes.

It was a cavernous, grim store overflowing with cursed objects, hexed jewelry, and books bound in skin. The fact that it stood untouched for decades spoke volumes about its power—and its protections. In a place like Knockturn Alley, only those who could defend what they owned lasted long.

When he'd been under the thumb of the Death Eaters, Cassian had often been sent here on errands. Even after he killed his former masters, he hadn't stopped visiting. There were treasures in Borgin and Burkes no library could offer—if you were willing to pay the price.

Inside, a greasy-haired man was hunched behind the counter, fingers combing through his thinning hair in habitual strokes.

"Well, well," the man said, flashing a shrewd smile. "Look who's back."

It was Borgin, the store's proprietor. He had always treated Cassian like a valued client—one who brought him rare items salvaged from dead dark wizards, and who never asked questions he didn't want answered.

Borgin had been genuinely disappointed when Cassian was sent to Azkaban. A lucrative customer lost—until now.

"Yeah," Cassian said casually, scanning the shelves. "Got anything interesting lately?"

"I might," Borgin replied, straightening up. "But it's… dangerous."

Cassian raised a brow. "Do I strike you as someone afraid of danger?"

"Not particularly," Borgin admitted. "But I'd rather not lose one of my best customers."

Intrigued now, Cassian abandoned his browsing and drifted to the counter. With a flick of his wand, he summoned a cushion of air and settled cross-legged midair, hovering like a meditating monk.

"So what is it?" he asked.

"A book."

"What kind of book?"

Borgin's eyes gleamed. "A rare one. The Worst of Magic—written by Godelot himself. The same Godelot who once wielded the Elder Wand. This book was created using that wand as a conduit."

Cassian's expression shifted slightly. He had heard of Godelot. A dark and brilliant mind from centuries past, rumored to have gone mad under the weight of the Elder Wand's power.

"I've no idea what's written in it," Borgin continued, lowering his voice. "Over the years, the book has been cursed beyond recognition. Layered with protections and traps. It's been passed between dark wizards like a ticking time bomb. Of the last six men who tried to study it—five died."

Now he had Cassian's full attention.

"That does sound dangerous," Cassian said thoughtfully.

"Exactly," Borgin nodded. "That's why I hesitated. You've brought me business for years. I imagine you'll bring me a great deal more in the future. I'd rather not see you drop dead over some cursed manuscript."

"But you're still offering it to me," Cassian noted with a faint smile.

"Of course," Borgin said, shrugging. "I'm a businessman. But I'm not without conscience."

Cassian considered for a long moment. "I lived in fear every day under the Death Eaters. I've grown used to it. Death doesn't scare me anymore."

"But you've survived this long," Borgin said. "And you're immune to the Killing Curse, aren't you? That alone should make you feel invincible."

Cassian shook his head. "The Killing Curse isn't the only way to die. There are spells darker than that—curses that unravel your soul, not just your body. And I've only scratched the surface of what dark magic can do."

He leaned in. "If this book truly holds the secrets of Godelot—secrets born through the Elder Wand—then understanding it might be the key to unraveling the deepest, most ancient forms of magic. Risk or not, I have to read it."

There was a flicker of respect in Borgin's gaze now. "Then you understand the stakes."

Cassian nodded. "If the curse in that book can kill me, then the wizard who created it could have killed me too. Learning to dismantle it is the only way I'll ever stand a chance against enemies like that."

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Borgin turned and vanished behind the counter, returning a moment later with a box wrapped in thick, rune-covered chains.

He placed it carefully on the counter.

"Use gloves," he said. "And don't open it until you're somewhere you can handle whatever it throws at you."

Cassian reached out and took the box without hesitation, his expression calm.

He had earned the fear of Death Eaters, the wariness of Aurors, and the curiosity of powerful men like Lucius Malfoy. But none of it had come easy.

Everything he had achieved was paid for in blood, risk, and relentless ambition.

This book—cursed or not—was just another step.

Another edge to carve into the world.

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