It began with a whisper.
Caelum wasn't even trying to eavesdrop—not that night. He'd just finished his blood elixir and wandered the North Wing under the cover of his disillusionment charm, taking advantage of the late hour and the thin shadows between the flickering wall sconces.
Then he heard it.
A soft sound—not the footsteps of patrolling staff. Not the ward pulses. Not the usual whimpering from restless residents.
This was a voice. A hushed one. Then another. Three total. Low, sharp, urgent.
He froze by the hallway arch.
"We're not waiting another month."
"We need more time. If they suspect—"
"Then we stop hiding and force their hand."
Three silhouettes, just beyond the wall. They vanished behind a half-sealed maintenance corridor that Caelum knew was marked off-limits months ago. No wards, no magical locks, just a rusted handle and an old "Closed for Renovation" sign that no one bothered to enchant.
Caelum followed.
The passage was narrow and cold. Dust clung to the air like breath in winter. His bare feet made no sound on the stone, his body weightless in shadow.
Ahead, the voices stopped.
Then came light—low, flickering torchlight—and something more: wards. Fresh ones. Someone had placed magical security here, thin but precise. Enough to warn of outsiders, not enough to stop them.
He hesitated.
Then crossed through.
They were in what must have once been an old records room: circular, domed, and lined with warped shelving. Faded House banners hung tattered along the walls—remnants of Greystone's forgotten past.
Three children stood in the center.
He recognized them all.
Talwyn, the lanky boy from the East Wing, thirteen, with skin too pale even for Greystone and a tattoo of a rune burned into his neck. Rumored to have fire magic he couldn't control.
Mara, the wiry girl who spoke to no one and never ate full meals. They said she could pull emotions out of people if they stared too long into her eyes.
And Julian, the sharp-eyed, smirking third-year who once broke a staff member's wand in half with nothing but a word and a scream. They kept him warded every night.
Julian was speaking. "—we don't need to beg for scraps anymore. You've all felt it. They're afraid of us. Not just because we're dangerous. Because we don't fit their boxes."
Talwyn crossed his arms. "And what? We overthrow Greystone? What does that get us? Sent to Azkaban early?"
Mara said nothing.
Julian's eyes flashed. "No. We don't revolt. We prepare. When the time comes—when one of us walks free—we make sure they remember the rest."
A long pause.
Then Mara spoke, her voice hollow. "We're not soldiers, Julian."
Julian turned.
"No. But we're not children either."
Caelum watched, breath low, invisible by the door.
They're organizing.
He hadn't expected that. He'd spent months thinking he was alone in his awareness, his ambition. But here was a circle—a small one, quiet, hidden—but one with teeth.
Not monsters. Not freaks. Just… broken pieces trying to rearrange themselves before the world crushed them completely.
I could step forward now, Caelum thought. Reveal myself. Show them I'm one of them.
But something stopped him.
Julian, again: "We need to find the others. Not all of them are stable, but some… some are ready. The Ministry isn't watching the shadows."
He grinned.
"But we are."
Caelum stayed until the meeting broke, then slipped out silently and back to his room.
...
He didn't sleep that night.
They called themselves The Grey Circle—he was sure of it. Not officially, not yet. But in spirit. United not by blood or friendship, but by the simple, terrible truth:
The world had written them off.
And now they were writing themselves back in