The rain had turned to mist by the time they reached the hill.
Greystone House stood in the fog like a forgotten fortress — iron-barred windows, soot-stained stone, and thick magical wards woven into the very air around it. The building wasn't large, but it was tall, with narrow towers and chimneys like watchful spires. It didn't look like a place meant for children. It looked like a place meant to hold things safely away from the world.
Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped out of the Ministry carriage and held the door open for the boy. "We're here."
The boy climbed down, wrapped in an oversized cloak. His eyes scanned the tall gate, the gray arch above the doors engraved with the runes of containment and concealment. He didn't speak.
They approached the gate slowly. The wards shimmered as they passed through — faint pulses of magic reacting to the hybrid signature the boy carried like a second heartbeat.
Kingsley stopped at the threshold. "This is Greystone," he said. "It's not Hogwarts. It's not a family. But it's safe. For now."
The boy's face remained unreadable.
Inside, a witch in navy-blue robes met them at the check-in vestibule. She had a clipboard, a wand holster, and a tired sort of efficiency in her eyes.
"Intake name?" she asked.
Kingsley handed her the parchment. "He's listed under a new identifier. Confirmed magical core and condition. Paperwork was cleared yesterday."
The witch skimmed it, frowned slightly at the name, but didn't question it. She handed the parchment back. "Room will be ready in ten. We'll issue his wand evaluation next quarter."
Kingsley crouched slightly to meet the boy's eyes. "They'll get you settled. I'll check in weekly. If you need anything… send word. Through the staff if you have to."
The boy gave a small nod.
Kingsley hesitated, then added quietly, "Are you sure about the name you gave us? It's what's on the registration form now."
The boy looked at him. Something flickered in his gaze — not fear, not confusion, but a kind of wary acceptance.
And with that look came memory.
Two Days Earlier — Ministry Holding Room, Level Nine
It was a small room with a single enchanted lantern and walls charmed to absorb sound. Kingsley sat across from the boy at a plain wooden table. No guards. No parchment. Just a cup of warm tea in front of the child and Kingsley's calm voice in the air between them.
"You've had a day to rest," he said. "I won't push. But I need to ask again. About what came before."
The boy shook his head slowly. "It's empty. Like I woke up in the middle of a sentence someone else was writing."
"No names? Places? Family?"
"None of it fits. It's like… like I know how the world works, but not who I was inside it."
Kingsley studied him carefully. "Sometimes people forget under trauma. Sometimes magic buries things too deep."
The boy looked up. "You don't believe I'm from here."
"No," Kingsley said honestly. "I don't."
Silence fell again.
"I don't think I am either," the boy whispered.
Kingsley nodded slowly. "Then we'll move forward with what we can. The Ministry needs to register you, monitor you. But they can't file you under 'unknown child.' You need a name."
The boy looked down at the table.
After a long pause, he said, "Can I choose it?"
Kingsley nodded. "It's yours to claim."
The child was quiet for nearly a full minute. Then:
"Caelum."
The name came out soft, almost uncertain—but as soon as he said it, his posture straightened, like the word had weight and purpose.
Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "Latin. 'Sky' or 'heaven.'"
The boy nodded faintly. "It felt… right."
Kingsley hesitated. "Do you want a surname too?"
The boy stared at nothing for a while.
Then he whispered, "Sanguine."
Kingsley didn't speak at first. He understood the implication. Sanguine — of blood. It was almost too on the nose. But it wasn't fear that shaped the name—it was truth.
"Caelum Sanguine," Kingsley repeated slowly. "Sky and blood."
The boy exhaled, as if something in him settled.
Back in the Present — Greystone Entry Hall
The boy — Caelum now — looked up at the stone walls of Greystone House.
His new name was stitched into the Ministry record. It was a small thing, but also everything. A declaration: I am not what you fear. I am what I decide to become.
The intake witch returned. "Room's ready. West Wing. We'll get him settled."
Kingsley nodded. "I'll return in a week."
Then, turning to him: "You did well, Caelum Sanguine."
The boy didn't speak, but this time… he smiled.