The corridors of Hogwarts, normally bustling with laughter and careless chatter, felt unusually silent as Caelum made his way toward Dumbledore's office. His footsteps echoed against the ancient stone, each step pulling him closer to something he couldn't quite see yet but could feel pressing at the edges of his awareness.
He arrived at the familiar gargoyle statue and muttered the password Dumbledore had sent with the letter. The statue shifted aside, revealing the spiraling staircase. As it carried him upwards, Caelum's mind spun through the fragments of possibilities.
What had moved? What had shifted? Dumbledore rarely used that tone, even in writing. The old man, despite the layers of eccentricity and kindness, was a strategist. He didn't rush, didn't panic.
Unless it was already too late.
The door to the office was already ajar when he reached the top.
"Come in, Caelum," Dumbledore's voice called, distant but steady.
Caelum pushed the door open and stepped inside. The headmaster stood by the large, arched window, his back to him, staring out over the distant mountains. Fawkes let out a soft trill from his perch, as if sensing the weight of the conversation about to unfold.
"What happened?" Caelum asked directly.
Dumbledore turned, his face unreadable, but the usual spark behind his half-moon glasses had dulled.
"They've begun moving openly. Faster than expected." Dumbledore gestured to the small table near the fireplace where two letters lay, both sealed with the insignia of the Ministry of Magic.
"The Ministry intercepted two magical correspondence lines," Dumbledore explained. "Hidden messages, cloaked beneath trade documents. The kind of encryption we haven't seen in years."
Caelum crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "And?"
Dumbledore sighed as he picked up one of the letters, passing it to him. "The targets aren't who we expected."
Caelum scanned the parchment quickly. Mentions of watchers stationed near Diagon Alley, trailing movements from the less prominent branches of the Black family. One particular name circled in red: Regulus Black.
"You were tracking them already," Caelum said, frowning. "What changed?"
"The correspondence reveals they've been moving artifacts." Dumbledore's fingers drummed lightly on the desk. "Objects tied to infernal rituals. Old magic. Very old."
The words settled like iron in Caelum's gut.
Demons.
His recent investigations had hinted at strange connections, but the puzzle had been incomplete. Now, the edges were beginning to sharpen.
"Why contact me now?" Caelum asked, leaning against the back of the chair. "You've handled situations like this before without me."
Dumbledore's gaze was calm, but firm. "Because you've been watching them directly. And because you've seen how far this might reach."
Caelum tapped the letter against his palm. "So what's the plan? More surveillance? Or do we start pulling threads?"
Dumbledore's silence was telling.
"You already know the answer," he said eventually. "They've accelerated. Which means we must, too."
Caelum exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting toward the window. The sky outside was painted in soft morning gold, an almost peaceful lie against the storm he could feel building beneath the surface.
"They've already slipped past the first layer," Dumbledore added. "My contacts say they've recovered one of the marked artifacts."
"And you want me to find the rest before they can."
"Yes."
It wasn't really a request.
It never was.
"And the Ministry?" Caelum asked.
Dumbledore's lips thinned. "They'll drag their feet. They always do. Too much politics, too many blind spots."
Caelum folded the letter and tucked it inside his coat. "Do I have full discretion?"
"Of course."
"And if I run into problems?"
"You won't," Dumbledore said softly, almost as if trying to convince himself. "But if you do… handle it quietly or if you think you can't handle it run we can't get caught after all their is so much we humans can do."
Typical.
"Where's the first lead?" Caelum asked, standing straight.
Dumbledore handed him a smaller parchment, this one marked with specific location details.
"An abandoned estate. Near Wiltshire. One of the Black family's lesser-used properties."
Caelum glanced at the map and nodded. "I'll leave tonight."
He turned to leave, but paused at the door.
"Headmaster."
Dumbledore looked up.
"Why me?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled faintly. "Because you never ask for more than you need, and you don't look for glory. You'll do what must be done, even if no one sees it."
There was something in his tone that suggested he knew more than he let on.
Caelum left without another word.
---
That evening, after dusk settled over Hogwarts, Caelum prepared for departure.
His travel pack was light—he carried only essentials. A defensive bracelet. Several vials of emergency potions. His enchanted dagger. A set of concealment robes.
Nothing flashy. Nothing that would stand out.
As he made his way through the less-traveled corridors, he crossed paths with a familiar figure.
Harry.
The boy looked up, caught Caelum's gaze, and raised an eyebrow. "Leaving?"
Caelum didn't lie. "Yes. I have work to do."
Harry's lips tugged upward in a small, knowing smile. "Ministry?"
"Something like that."
They walked a few steps together in silence before Harry asked, "You coming back soon?"
Caelum shrugged. "Depends on how stubborn the problems are."
Harry's eyes glimmered with something unspoken—an understanding between them that went deeper than words.
"Be careful," Harry said simply.
Caelum gave him a rare, genuine nod. "You too."
They parted ways at the stairwell, neither needing to explain what the other already knew.
As Caelum exited the castle grounds, he felt that familiar pulse in his chest—the call of something larger, the weight of responsibility pressing against his ribs. His synchronization was still climbing, his magic sharpening, but the road ahead was long.
The wind bit at his coat as he stepped into the night, heading toward the apparition point.
Somewhere out there, the threads were pulling tighter.
And Caelum intended to follow them to the end.
-----
The Wiltshire estate was exactly the kind of place that should have crumbled into ruin decades ago. Overgrown vines strangled its stone walls, and patches of wild grass clawed through the cobblestone paths. The Black family hadn't touched this place in years. At least, that's what the official records claimed.
Caelum stepped through the broken iron gates, his senses stretched thin, catching every flicker of movement, every subtle shift in the air. There was magic here, faint but persistent—a trace left behind by recent activity. Someone had been here, and not long ago.
He tightened his grip on his wand, the polished handle familiar in his palm, and slowly approached the estate.
The doors creaked open under the push of his boot. Dust spiraled in the dying sunlight that filtered through the cracked windows, but the interior wasn't as abandoned as he'd expected. Footprints. Recent ones. Not even hidden by spells.
'Sloppy,' he thought.
Caelum's eyes narrowed as he moved deeper, his steps soundless on the marble floor. He bypassed the grand hall, ignoring the ghost of former wealth and status the house tried to maintain, and instead followed the faint pulse of lingering magic down a spiraling staircase.
Basements in old wizard estates were never simply storage rooms. They held secrets, vaults, family magic—sometimes darker things.
His guess was right.
The basement opened into a stone chamber, the walls etched with old, fading runes. And in the center, the remnants of a recently performed ritual. Burnt candles, bloodstains, and faint scorch marks surrounded a shattered circle.
Caelum crouched beside it, brushing his fingers lightly over the edge of the runes. They were fresh, maybe a day old.
But something was off.
The sigils weren't complete. Whoever had performed this hadn't finished the full ritual. There were missing components.
'Did they rush it?' He frowned. 'Or were they interrupted?'
He scanned the room more carefully and spotted a discarded scrap of parchment wedged under one of the loose stones. Pulling it free, he read the half-burned note.
A summoning sequence. Infernal in origin. The kind of magic that wasn't just banned—it was supposed to be wiped out entirely.
"Bold," he muttered to himself.
His eyes drifted to a corner of the room where traces of Apparition magic still clung to the air.
Whoever was here had left in a hurry.
Caelum carefully folded the parchment and slipped it into his coat. He'd need to analyze it later. Right now, he needed more.
The estate wasn't the only lead.
He retraced his steps, slipping through the garden, following the magic trail that clung faintly to the air. It wasn't strong, but it was enough. Tracking it took hours, and the trail wasn't a straight path—it zigzagged through obscure corners of the countryside, dipping briefly into Muggle areas, as if whoever he was following wanted to throw off anyone tailing them.
But eventually, the trail ended at a small, nondescript house on the edge of a quiet village.
There were wards—complex ones, layered to avoid detection rather than to repel. Old magic, carefully hidden.
Caelum didn't try to break them. He simply observed.
From his concealed vantage point, he waited.
Hours passed. Two figures eventually emerged from the house, cloaked and cautious. He didn't need to hear their conversation to know they were carrying something. The magical residue was thick around them—whatever they'd transported was powerful.
He trailed them silently as they traveled by foot, then by enchanted carriage toward a more densely populated wizarding district.
They made a stop at an underground auction house, a place not listed on any legal registry. A place where dark objects changed hands in hushed exchanges.
Caelum didn't reveal himself. He slipped through the crowd effortlessly, ears sharp as he followed them to one of the back rooms.
The object they traded for was sealed in a thick black cloth. He didn't need to see it to know it was dangerous.
But the exchange wasn't clean.
A third party interrupted.
The buyers—two figures draped in different insignias—refused to pay the full sum, threatening to alert the Ministry's illicit goods division. Tensions flared. Wands were drawn.
Caelum acted.
Without revealing his presence, he cast a silent disarming charm from the shadows. The room burst into confusion as wands flew, spells misfired, and the auction guards stormed in to break it up.
In the chaos, Caelum slipped in, retrieved the black-wrapped object, and vanished before anyone registered what had happened.
By the time he reappeared in the woods several miles away, he was already undoing the layered seals on the package.
Inside was a fragment—a shattered piece of obsidian carved with a rune he recognized immediately.
Not a weapon.
A key.
His grip tightened.
The ritual in the estate wasn't just a summoning.
It was an attempt to open something.
Caelum glanced up at the night sky, his mind racing through possibilities. Someone was trying to bypass protections that hadn't been touched in centuries.
His next move was clear.
He'd need to return to Dumbledore and cross-reference the key's design with what little records remained on infernal gateways.
But more than that, he needed to understand why the Black family was moving now, after years of silence.
Something had changed.
Something was calling them forward.
As he folded the cloth around the obsidian and tucked it into his coat, Caelum felt the weight of the puzzle growing heavier.
---
Caelum didn't return to Hogwarts immediately. There were too many gaps, too many pieces still out of place. He spent another day carefully retracing the connections tied to the underground auction and the Black family's web of influence.
Not surprisingly, the people involved had scattered. The auction house had been wiped clean by the time the Ministry arrived—likely tipped off by someone inside. Whatever illegal trades had occurred that night vanished without a trace, save for the obsidian fragment now secured in his possession.
He wasn't arrogant enough to think he had seen everything. Something deeper was unfolding behind the scenes. The Black family wasn't the type to make clumsy moves. This operation wasn't improvised. It had been in motion for years—maybe decades—and what he uncovered was probably a fraction of their broader plan.
When Caelum finally made his way back to Hogwarts, the atmosphere felt almost painfully normal in contrast. Students were going about their daily routines, papers were due, and Quidditch tryouts buzzed in the background. But beneath the surface, things were shifting. He could feel it in the subtle tensions between professors, in the way security wards had been reinforced without announcement.
His return didn't go unnoticed. Several students greeted him as he passed through the halls, his assumed history as the well-respected Professor Veylan firmly woven into their memories thanks to the system's seamless identity insertion.
His steps eventually led him to the Headmaster's office, where Dumbledore was quietly reviewing documents. The older wizard's expression softened upon seeing him but never quite lost its underlying sharpness.
"You've been gone longer than expected," Dumbledore remarked, setting the papers aside.
"Things took a detour," Caelum replied plainly, taking a seat. "The trail didn't end where we thought it would."
Dumbledore folded his hands, waiting. He didn't press, but his silence was enough of a nudge.
Caelum reached into his coat and set the cloth-wrapped obsidian on the desk, carefully unwrapping it to reveal the fragment.
"This was part of what they were after. Not a summoning focus—not directly. It's a key."
Dumbledore's eyes briefly flickered, a hint of concern passing through his usually composed demeanor.
"A key," Dumbledore repeated quietly. "Do you know what it opens?"
"Not yet. But it's infernal in nature. The traces around it are similar to the residual magic left in that basement. I've cross-referenced some of the sigils—it's old magic. Not the kind typically seen in Europe. Someone imported this knowledge."
Dumbledore's fingers tapped lightly on the desk. "And the Black family's involvement?"
"They've been operating under the Ministry's radar, using minor figures to handle exchanges and rituals. It wasn't their top brass directly, but their fingerprints are all over the operation."
"Curious timing."
Caelum leaned back, arms crossed. "They're moving with a specific goal. I don't know what they're trying to open yet, but it's not something trivial. You don't activate long-dormant networks for small gains. And they've been careful. Layers of misdirection, using throwaway pawns to create distance."
Dumbledore's gaze lingered on the fragment. "The Ministry won't act on speculation. They'll need more."
"I expected as much. I'll keep pressing."
A brief silence settled between them. The flickering of the nearby candles provided the only sound in the room.
Dumbledore eventually asked, "Do you believe they've made contact with infernal entities?"
Caelum's lips thinned. "There's a possibility. The Black family's history is steeped in dark magic, but this feels different. The way they're operating now—it's precise, far-reaching. They aren't just dabbling for power or family pride. They're answering to something—or preparing for something."
Dumbledore's fingers stilled. He studied Caelum, the weight of old memories settling in his eyes.
"You've always been reliable in these matters," Dumbledore said, his tone quieter. "But be cautious. The Black family, despite their splintered lines, isn't known for mercy. And if they're dealing with forces from beyond, we may not fully grasp what's waiting on the other side."
Caelum didn't offer empty bravado. He understood the stakes well enough. He simply gave a nod and stood.
"There's more I need to uncover. I'll keep you updated."
As he turned to leave, Dumbledore's voice stopped him at the door.
"You've been a valuable friend, Veylan. That hasn't changed."
The sincerity caught him slightly off guard. But Caelum only nodded once, his back still to the Headmaster, before quietly stepping out.
He wasn't here to form attachments. He knew that. The system had carefully woven him into this world, giving him fabricated history, false friendships, memories that didn't belong to him. But even so, it was difficult to ignore the weight behind some words, even if they were spoken to a lie.
Caelum pushed those thoughts aside as he walked the familiar halls, his focus returning to his next steps.
There was still more to track. The Black family had left a few smaller threads dangling. Some minor associates, some suspected financial channels that might lead to other pieces of this puzzle.
If the Ministry wouldn't act on incomplete information, he would give them more.
His next target was a minor vault that the Black family had been discreetly moving funds through. It was carefully disguised under multiple shell accounts, but he had traced the lineage through enough intermediaries to know it wasn't coincidence.
He left Hogwarts again two days later, his trail leading him toward Knockturn Alley—one of the few places where magical money flowed as freely as secrets.
Before departing, he passed through the Defense Against the Dark Arts corridor, briefly crossing paths with Professor Lupin, who offered him a polite nod.
"Back on the move again?" Lupin asked, a slight, knowing smile on his face.
"Something like that," Caelum replied.
Lupin seemed to consider him for a moment but didn't pry. "Be careful out there."
"Always."
Caelum didn't linger. There was work to do.
---
The streets of Knockturn Alley were as he remembered them—coated in grime, shadows lurking in every crevice, and filled with the type of people who avoided sunlight like it carried the plague. If one wanted to lose themselves or conduct business too dangerous for Diagon Alley, this was the place to be.
Caelum moved with confidence. His system-woven identity as Professor Veylan had built him a reputation as someone not to be trifled with. A professor known for his depth in ancient magic, his prior expeditions, and his rumored combat ability. That reputation bought him a certain level of deference, even here.
His target today was a minor vault. Not one tied to the grand, ancestral Black family vaults in Gringotts—but one tucked within the less regulated circles of Knockturn's underground financiers. Places where names mattered less than gold.
After subtle inquiries and a few well-placed coins, he was directed to a dingy building masquerading as a pawn shop. Its shelves were cluttered with cursed trinkets, banned potion ingredients, and relics that reeked of long-dead owners. The shopkeeper, a haggard witch with a squinting eye, barely spared him a glance before gesturing him to the back.
It didn't surprise Caelum that the entrance to the vault was hidden behind a decoy storage room, masked by simple illusion spells. They weren't even layered well. Whoever used this vault likely assumed no one would dig this deep.
Stepping inside, he found a modestly sized chamber carved into the stone. It was neither grand nor particularly secure—just functional. But what caught his attention were the records.
Stacks of ledgers. Receipts. Shipment logs. All carefully stored and, interestingly, not warded against magical tampering.
Either they thought no one would find this place… or they weren't finished with it yet.
Caelum scanned through the documents quickly, committing the more sensitive details to memory. Some shipments tied directly to Black family shell companies, but what piqued his interest was a pattern of purchases: ritual components, rare magical metals, and several bulk orders of blood runes.
These weren't supplies for a petty summoning. The quantities suggested something on a scale far larger than individual gain. Either they were planning to open something—or sustain something that had already been partially opened.
Caelum's expression darkened as he flipped through another ledger.
One name kept recurring in the supplier list: a broker by the name of Marlowe Fitch.
Fitch was a known fixer, someone who arranged impossible deals and connected buyers to sellers who operated well outside the Ministry's reach. If anyone knew the details of these shipments, it would be him.
Securing what evidence he could, Caelum carefully exited the vault and sealed the illusions behind him. There was no need to burn the trail—yet. If they thought their secrecy intact, they'd continue moving, continue revealing themselves.
His next stop would be finding Fitch.
On his way back through the crooked streets, Caelum passed by familiar stalls where vendors hawked questionable wares. One offered a vial of blood she claimed belonged to a veela. Another whispered about a cursed compass that always pointed to where death awaited you. It was the kind of place where people looked at you like they were weighing the price of your kidneys.
He paused briefly when he heard a soft scuffle in a side alley—a young witch, probably no older than a third-year student, arguing with a much older man over payment for some illicit spellwork. It wasn't his concern, and yet…
His hand twitched before he forced it still. No. He wasn't here to save strangers in the gutter. He had a mission, and sentiment would only cloud his judgment.
Still, as he walked away, he couldn't quite shake the feeling.
By the time he returned to his rented quarters for the night—a quiet room above a decrepit apothecary—he had already begun drafting his next moves. Contacts needed to be reached. Inquiries placed subtly enough that they wouldn't spook the people he was hunting.
The following morning, he received an owl from Dumbledore. The letter was brief, the words carefully chosen.
> Continue your line of inquiry. I've pressed the Ministry to reallocate some eyes, but do not expect their help to arrive in time. Trust remains a fragile thing.
Be cautious, my friend.
- Albus.
Typical of the Headmaster—vague but laced with subtle urgency.
Caelum burned the letter after reading it.
Later that day, while quietly observing a contact who was known to frequent Fitch's circles, he encountered something that forced him to pause. The contact, a thin man with darting eyes, was meeting not just with low-level suppliers but with individuals draped in dark, formal robes—old family crests embroidered at their sleeves.
Black family crests.
But more than that—one of them wore a ring etched with symbols that Caelum recognized. Symbols not native to this magical world. Ancient runes of binding, sigils designed to seal infernal contracts.
His chest tightened briefly.
They were already deeper in this than he had assumed.
The thin man passed over a sealed package. The robed figure accepted it and whispered something Caelum couldn't quite catch.
When the group dispersed, Caelum made no move to follow them directly. They were too cautious to let themselves be tailed so easily.
Instead, he returned to his quarters and updated his notes. Threads were converging faster than expected. More names. More leads. But still, not enough to bring the entire web down.
Not yet.
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the fragmented map he had pieced together over the last several weeks. Names, connections, shipments, family ties. It was slowly forming a picture, one that suggested an operation far older and far more ambitious than he initially thought.
His mind briefly flicked back to the duel with the basilisk, to the fight alongside Harry Potter.
He hadn't seen Harry since returning to the field.
Perhaps it was time to check in.
But that would come later.
For now, the shadows in Knockturn Alley still had more to reveal.
-----------------------
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