The morning light filtered through soft lace curtains, casting golden lines across the polished floor of the study. Caelum sat cross-legged on the carpet, a thin tome spread across his knees, lips moving silently as he recited spell structures.
A knock at the door broke the quiet.
Bridget, Bones Residence house maid poked her head in. "Caelum? You've got a visitor. An Auror."
Caelum blinked, stood, and padded out to the front sitting room.
There, leaning casually by the fireplace, was Kingsley Shacklebolt—still tall and imposing in his crisp dark robes, though now without the hard edge of his usual field presence. Today, his smile was easier, his stance more relaxed.
"Caelum," Kingsley said with a slow nod, "you look taller already."
"You say that every time," Caelum replied, folding his arms with a faint smile.
Kingsley stepped forward and offered a slim, dark package. Wrapped in navy-blue cloth, tied with a golden Ministry seal.
"Congratulations. It's official now, eh? Director Bones is your guardian."
Caelum took the package gently, eyes flicking up.
"You came all this way to say that?"
Kingsley gave a low chuckle. "Partly."
"And the rest?"
"Curiosity," Kingsley admitted, gesturing to the bundle. "Go on, open it."
Caelum peeled the cloth back. Inside, nestled in layers of silk, was a broken black featureless glass mask—the one worn by the Rosier agent he'd fought and killed during the Grey House escape.
It was cracked down one side, edges scorched black. A jagged line split the left cheek. But the eyes—the narrow, soulless slits—still stared forward with cold indifference.
Caelum stared at it for a long time.
"I remember you asked for it," Kingsley said, watching him carefully. "Didn't say why. Figured you might now."
Caelum didn't answer immediately. He ran a thumb over the crack in the mask.
"Because I wanted to remember," he said eventually. "Not him. Not the fight. Just... what I became when I had to win."
Kingsley studied him in silence for a beat.
"You think that's what defines you?"
"No," Caelum replied. "But it's part of me now."
Kingsley nodded slowly.
"You're not the first to carry weight like that," he said. "You just happen to be young, gifted, and... complicated."
A pause.
"But you're not alone anymore." Patting his shoulder
Caelum looked up, quietly surprised.
Kingsley reached into his coat and pulled out a folded parchment.
"I thought you'd ask eventually," he said, handing it over. "It's where the others are. The Circle."
Caelum's fingers tightened slightly as he unfolded the page. Each name had a location or contact—Talwyn, Mara, Julian's sister. All accounted for, all placed under watch or care, but safe.
Kingsley watched his expression shift from calculation to quiet relief.
"They'll want to hear from you," he added. "And you from them, I'd imagine."
Caelum nodded once. "Thank you."
Kingsley turned to leave but paused at the threshold.
"Keep your fire tempered, Caelum," he said without turning. "Don't let it decide who you are."
"I'll try," Caelum replied softly.
The door clicked shut behind him.
…
The afternoon passed in quiet ease.
Susan's laughter drifted faintly from upstairs, bright and unguarded. Somewhere down the hall, Bridget hummed as she went about her work.
Caelum remained in the study.
The mask rested on the desk beside him. The parchment lay open, read and reread until every name had settled into memory.
When the clock neared six, the front door opened with a rush of cool air and the sound of familiar footsteps.
"I'm home," Amelia called.
She stepped into the study moments later, removing her gloves, monocle lifting slightly as her gaze fell on the desk.
"You got your souvenir, I see."
"Kingsley brought it."
She raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. Instead, she set a small leather-bound ledger onto the desk—another case concluded—followed by a paper bag.
"And I brought pumpkin tarts," she added. "Try not to get crumbs on that."
Caelum's lips curved faintly. "Noted."
Amelia stepped back, hands settling on her hips, her expression shifting—lighter now, almost anticipatory.
"Now," she said, tone shifting to something a little more excited, "we have plans tomorrow."
"Plans?"
"We're going to Diagon Alley."
Caelum blinked.
"Why?"
She smiled.
"Because tomorrow's Saturday, and I'm not going to let you keep using a training wand or those Ministry relics they've lent you. I've already taken care of the paperwork."
She paused briefly before continuing, her tone softening just a fraction.
"There's no point in waiting for you to turn eleven when you're already capable of casting far beyond that. It's better—safer—for you to have a wand of your own, so you can learn to control your magic properly."
Caelum stared at her for a moment, expression unreadable. Then—
"My wand..."
He repeated it slowly, as though testing the idea aloud for the first time. It didn't feel like a weapon. It felt like a piece of something he'd been missing.
"Okay."
Amelia nodded.
"Good. Get some rest. Tomorrow, we meet Mr. Ollivander."