Back in his room, the shadows wrapped around Caelum like a second skin.
He sat on his bed, hands loosely clasped, golden eyes reflecting faint light from the enchanted wall-runes. His mind raced—not with fire, not with magic, but with something colder.
Purpose.
He'd spent half a year building control. Mastering shadow. Taming fire. Pretending to be harmless.
But what waited at the end of that game?
He remembered how Greystone House worked. No one talked about it openly, but the system was an open secret to those who listened carefully and watched closely.
There were only two outcomes.
Rehabilitation: You played by the rules. You suppressed your power. You behaved, responded, smiled when asked to. If you were lucky, they cleared your file and said you were "fit for reentry." Most ended up working minor Ministry positions, menial jobs. Clerks. Janitors. Never full Aurors. Never researchers. Never anything with a wand license.
and the other,
Transfer: If you failed to "adjust," they moved you to a facility for adults. A place even darker than Greystone. Some returned after a few months, eyes dulled. Most never came back. The word St. Kelvar's had surfaced once in the whispers. A place where the Ministry "processed the unfit."
And Hogwarts? That dream had a short expiry date.
If you missed your entry window—if you weren't admitted by third year—you didn't go. At best, they offered community magical courses. Unofficial. Shallow. Useless.
Play nice, stay low, and hope to get a job cleaning cauldrons.
Caelum exhaled slowly.
Not for me.
That evening, he waited.
The Circle met late. Not always in the same place, but the signs were there—coded phrases in conversation, the movement of certain books in the library, the quiet switch of who was on "cleaning duty" past curfew.
He followed one of them.
Talwyn.
Tall. Angular. Fire-scarred hands. The one who always smelled faintly of smoke and mint.
Caelum didn't use the Disillusionment charm this time. He let himself be seen—intentionally.
In the disused supply room, Talwyn turned at the soft knock.
His expression froze. "You."
Caelum stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. "We need to talk."
Talwyn's shoulders tensed. "You've been watching us."
"Yes."
"You planning to snitch?"
"No."
He paused.
"Unless your plan is stupid."
That made Talwyn blink.
"What do you want?"
Caelum didn't answer right away. He paced once, slow and measured, letting silence stretch before speaking again.
"I've watched Greystone for half a year now. I know how it ends for us. Best-case? Menial jobs. Scrubbed records, but no future. Worst-case? St. Kelvar's, or the gutter."
Talwyn crossed his arms. "You think we don't know that?"
"I think some of you still hope this place will save you."
"We're not dreamers," Talwyn said coldly. "We're preparing."
Caelum raised an eyebrow. "Preparing for what, exactly? Escape?"
Talwyn didn't flinch this time. "No. For independence."
"We don't want to break out and run. That's what all the others did. Fifty-six years of Greystone House and every so-called 'escape' ends the same — caught, brought back, or rotting in Knockturn Alley, half-insane. Because they had no plan. No allies. No network."
He paused.
"We're building one."
Caelum's eyes narrowed. "A Grey Circle?"
Talwyn didn't deny it.
"Fine," Caelum said. "You're building a future. But whose future? Yours? Julian's?"
Talwyn looked at him carefully. "Maybe yours too. If you stop hiding."
"I'm not hiding," Caelum said calmly. "I'm watching. And planning."
There was a long silence.
Then Caelum asked the question he'd really come to ask:
"Are you just trying to survive?"
"Or are you trying to change something?"
Talwyn didn't smile. But something in his eyes lit.
"We're not just trying to survive," he said. "We're going to make sure the next kids who come here—kids like us—don't have to crawl to earn scraps."
"We'll take care of our own."
Caelum nodded once.
That was what he needed to hear.
He turned to leave, then stopped by the door.
"When you're ready to do more than survive," he said quietly, "let me know."
Talwyn didn't answer. But as Caelum walked away, he could feel the shift. Recognition. Acceptance.
Not friendship.
An alliance.