The first week after the courtyard incident passed without disruption. Whispers trailed in Caelum's wake, yes—but nothing he hadn't endured before. He walked through hallways like a ghost cloaked in silence, with only Evran and Bastian at his sides, pretending not to notice the curious eyes or half-heard murmurs.
By the second week, something shifted—the whispers grew louder, sharper, and now carried a trace of fear.
By Thursday, the entire school seemed to recoil at Caelum's presence. Conversations halted when he entered a room. Students clutched books tighter or conveniently remembered somewhere else they had to be. Even Evran's usual chatter dulled, and Bastian stopped meeting his gaze.
That afternoon, in Transfiguration with Hufflepuff, Caelum barely noticed the lesson. He was too aware of the glances flicked toward him. From behind, beside, even across the classroom. The tension was suffocating.
"Caelum!"
He turned. Cedric Diggory, standing by the desks, hesitated for a moment before speaking again.
"Did you... see this?" Cedric held out a crumpled parchment—a flyer.
On it was a crude recreation of a Ministry classification form. Under 'Name: Caelum Sanguine', bold letters read:
"Classified: Dark Magical Being – Probationary"
Beneath that, in ink-smudged scrawl:
Subject is an experimental custody case under the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Aggressive history. Vampiric traits. Raised in containment."
Cedric looked genuinely troubled. "This has been going around since this morning. Professor Sprout confiscated a stack of them, but it's all anyone's talking about."
Caelum said nothing.
He didn't need to. He already knew who was behind this.
Of course it was Silas.
For a moment, Caelum simply stood there, the parchment loose in his hand.
Dragging his name through the mud was expected. He had anticipated that much the moment Avery set his sights on him.
But this was different.
His eyes lingered on the wording—Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Custody case. Containment.
The phrasing wasn't random. It was deliberate, carefully constructed to do more than just paint him as something less than human. It tied him directly to the Ministry—its authority, its decisions… and the people behind them.
To Amelia.
The realization settled quietly, but heavily. This wasn't just about turning the school against him. It was meant to raise questions—about her judgment, her position, and why she had chosen to take him in at all.
Targeting him was one thing, but implicating Amelia—she who fought so hard for him, who gave him a home—was a different matter entirely.
….
Later that day, back in their shared classroom during a moment when Professor McGonagall had stepped out, the atmosphere grew taut again. And then, Silas spoke.
Loudly. Clearly.
"So," he drawled, leaning back in his seat, "the Ministry's pet experiment finally slipped its leash. Perhaps they should check if your precious guardian has some creature blood herself. Might explain her fondness for strays."
For a brief moment, the room seemed to still—then the temperature dropped before surging sharply in the next breath.
"Enough."
Caelum's voice cracked like a whip, and with it came a pulse of heat and pressure that rolled through the room like a contained explosion. Candle flames shuddered violently, and inkpots rattled against the desks as if struck by an unseen force.
Silas flinched.
But only for a moment.
Then the smile returned—slow, deliberate, and knowing.
"See?" he murmured, not looking at anyone in particular. "The beast always shows itself."
Caelum didn't speak. He didn't need to. The damage was done.
He could feel it—the unease in the room. Even from Evran. Even from Bastian.
That night, rather than going to the Great Hall, he found himself drawn to the Astronomy Tower. The cold wind tugged at his robes as he leaned against the stone railing, the night pressing in on all sides. Caelum exhaled slowly, watching the breath curl like smoke in the air. He knew he shouldn't have reacted. He shouldn't have let Silas Avery get under his skin.
Even with the vampiric traits that now ran through his veins—sharpened instincts, frayed edges of control—he had always been able to rein it in. He had mastered the art of silence, of walking through life unnoticed when he chose. But not today.
Not when they dragged Amelia into it.
His jaw clenched. Of all the things he could endure—whispers, hatred, isolation—it was the idea of her name being tainted that shook him. Amelia Bones, who had risked her career, her reputation, and perhaps her life to shield him. She had pulled him from the cold, from the nightmare of Greystone, and given him not just shelter, but dignity, and he owed her. Too much. More than he could ever say aloud.
For a moment longer he stood there, breathing the cold air.
Then he heard a voice, along with approaching footsteps.
"The Black Lake's better if you're trying to brood alone, you know. Prefects still patrol up here. Even if climbing this ladder's a bloody chore."
He didn't turn. He didn't need to.
It's Vesper Blackbourne.