The Wizengamot chamber had been silent for hours, yet Amelia Bones could still hear the echoes of indecision bouncing off the walls of her mind.
Another dead end.
She had hoped—foolishly, perhaps—that there would be clarity this time. A consensus. But the room had dissolved into the usual chorus of half-measures, hesitation, and politics. Even Dumbledore, usually the quiet weight that tilted the scales, had remained unusually silent. Watching with unreadable eyes.
So she left.
And now, she stood outside a quiet Ministry safehouse nestled deep in the countryside. A rolling stretch of hills, wild hedgerows, and enchantments strong enough to choke a Dementor.
Two Hit Wizards stood guard at the entrance. They straightened as Amelia approached.
"Director Bones," one greeted.
She inclined her head. "Gentlemen. I trust you were informed of my visit."
"Yes, ma'am."
The wards parted with a low, resonant hum.
The door creaked open to reveal a small, modest interior—clean, well-kept, but sparse. A temporary residence. No personal touches beyond the books.
And in the far corner, seated on the floor by the window with a book in his lap, sat Caelum Sanguine.
His posture was relaxed, but his eyes met hers immediately. Alert. Observing. Too sharp for a child that age. Too still.
He didn't stand.
"Caelum," she said calmly. "May I come in?"
He studied her for a moment, then gave a small nod.
She stepped inside. The door closed behind her, muffling the world.
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
"Would you like to go outside?" she asked at last.
A flicker of thought crossed his face—quick, measured.
Then he nodded again.
…
Together, they stepped out onto the stone path that led from the house to a gentle trail winding through the countryside. The air was cool, the skies touched by the orange and violet hues of the setting sun. Ward lines shimmered faintly at the edges of the field—protective, ever-watchful.
They walked in silence for a while.
Birdsong. Wind through grass. No footsteps but their own.
"They still couldn't decide," Caelum said eventually, his voice quiet.
Amelia glanced sideways at him. "No. They couldn't."
"I heard some of it."
Her brow lifted slightly. "You weren't meant to."
"I never am."
There was no pride in the statement. Just truth.
"They're afraid," he added. "Not because I'm dangerous now. But because I might be."
She didn't respond immediately.
"They see something they can't control," he went on. "And no one knows where I came from."
This time, she exhaled quietly.
"No," she said. "They don't.
…
They walked a little further before Amelia spoke again.
"Caelum… when you were found a year ago, I made the decision to place you in Greystone House."
Her voice remained steady, but softer now.
"At the time, I believed it was the safest option. The most responsible one."
A pause.
"I was wrong."
He didn't look at her.
"That's fine," he said. "You did your job."
The words landed harder than any accusation.
Amelia fell silent.
Her job.
For years, she had believed in structure. In law. In the idea that order—firm, unwavering—was the only way to protect people. But now she found herself questioning it—whether it had ever been enough. Whether any of this might have been prevented, if the Ministry… if she… had shown more care for those children.
…
They reached a curve in the path where a wooden bench sat overlooking a wide lavender field, glowing faintly in the dusk. Amelia sat, smoothing her robes.
Caelum stood, hands buried in his pockets, eyes on the horizon.
"What do you want, Caelum?" she asked.
He looked down at her, startled for just a second. No one had asked him that. Not really.
"To learn," he said finally. "To be more."
The wind shifted softly through the field.
"And to be left alone while I do it."
She smiled faintly.
"You don't want to be part of the world?"
He shrugged. "I never was."
Amelia studied him. Not just the words—but the restraint. The effort it took to say them without emotion.
Her mind, unbidden, flicked to her niece. Susan.
Left orphaned when Death Eaters came for the Bones family during the Wizarding War, which had ended only a few years ago.
They were targeted because of their name—because they stood for something. Nearly the entire family had been wiped out. Susan had lost her parents… but she had not been left alone.
She had Amelia.
Amelia's gaze shifted, almost unconsciously, toward the boy walking beside her
This boy… who did he have?
Left alone. Not just by chance. But by design.
…
She stood again, brushing imaginary dust from her cloak.
"Caelum."
He looked up at her.
"Would you like to stay with me?"
The silence that followed was heavier than any argument she'd heard in the Wizengamot. His eyes didn't light up. He didn't flinch. He only watched her—measured, dissecting. And in that gaze, she saw it, a flicker of wariness, as though he were waiting for the offer to become another kind of cage.
"Why?" he asked flatly.
"Because I believe you deserve the chance to choose who you become," she said, voice steady. "Not be shaped by fear. And because I'd rather offer you my roof than see the Ministry build you a cage."
He said nothing for a long time.
…
"Okay."
And that was that.
They stood together in the amber hue of early evening, the last rays of sunlight stretching across the hills like golden silk.
Amelia turned toward the horizon, arms loosely crossed, eyes squinting slightly.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said softly. "The sunset."
There was a beat of silence. Then Caelum, voice quiet but unmistakably dry, answered:
"I hate the sun."
Amelia blinked, caught off guard—until she saw the faintest tug of a smile forming on the boy's pale face. Not mocking, not bitter. Just… there.
It was the first real smile she'd seen from him.
Amelia let out a startled laugh—quiet but warm, and threaded with more relief than she'd care to admit.
"Well," she chuckled, shaking her head, "let's get inside then, Mister Sanguine. I also brought dinner."
Caelum nodded.
And for once, he didn't feel like he was being escorted somewhere under guard.
He simply walked beside her.