As the grand doors of the Ministry of Magic began to close behind them, Dumbledore gently placed a hand on Caelum's shoulder. "If I may, Caelum," he said softly, "I'd like a word—privately, if you're able."
Caelum glanced toward Amelia, who gave him a brief nod. "Go ahead. I'll wait by the Floo."
Caelum followed Dumbledore down a quieter corridor, away from the echoing marble of the atrium. They walked in silence until they reached a small lounge, unused at this hour, the windows veiled in golden afternoon light.
Dumbledore gestured to the chair across from him. Caelum sat.
"How are you feeling?" Dumbledore began.
Caelum answered honestly, "Tired. But better than I thought I'd be, considering."
Dumbledore offered a gentle smile, then let the silence linger for a beat before continuing. "There are… implications, Caelum. Of what happened that night."
Caelum nodded. "I figured."
"Though the records of the incident have been sealed and classified by the Ministry, there are those—particularly among the old families—who will know, or suspect. The Rosiers were not an obscure house. Their fall, and your part in it, will have consequences."
Caelum's gaze lowered, calm but resigned. "I'm ready for it."
Dumbledore observed him for a moment, eyes twinkling less with amusement now, and more with tempered respect. "The next term at Hogwarts will not be easy. There will be whispers. Some will fear you. Others may try to use you."
"I'll manage."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, then said, "You may not remember everything that happened in the ritual chamber—"
But Caelum cut in. "I do."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
"I wasn't in control, not really. But I was still there. Like watching from inside my own body. I saw what Aurelian did. I saw the fire. I felt the deaths."
He drew a slow breath. "I haven't mentioned this to anyone yet, but before the battle—right when the ritual was about to end—Aurelian Varnak appeared inside my mind. He said he was a remnant of the late patriarch's consciousness. He told me about the Varnak Seed, about the Grand Ritual… and that he could help me escape. But to do that, he needed to borrow my body."
A faint shadow crossed his expression. "Given the alternative, I agreed."
He paused, breathing steady. "I know I killed them.
Dumbledore was silent for a moment, then said, "You have a strong heart, Caelum. I only hope you won't let this become a burden. Remember—you had no other choice, given the circumstances."
Caelum looked up, his expression steady.
"Yes, but It was my choice," he said quietly. "I knew the cost. I let him in. I gave him my body—because it was the only way to survive."
He paused, then added, "I don't regret it. But I won't run from it either."
Dumbledore regarded him for a long moment, then nodded with solemn respect.
Dumbledore's expression softened. "There is… another matter we must discuss, but I believe it can wait until you return to Hogwarts."
"Alright."
The conversation had reached its quiet end. Dumbledore stood. "Thank you, Caelum."
He led him back to the atrium, where Amelia waited with her arms folded, visibly relieved when she saw the boy return unharmed. Together, they stepped through the Floo and vanished in green fire.
…
Two Weeks Later – Amelia Bones' Residence
The dawn was pale, barely cresting the edge of the countryside. In the garden behind the Bones estate, Caelum sat cross-legged at his usual spot beneath the old ash tree, his breath measured and calm.
His eyes were closed, his body still, but the air around him shimmered faintly—subtle ripples in the atmosphere, like heat off stone.
Since escaping the ritual… since the possession… something had changed.
His magic didn't feel the same. It came in waves, not gentle ones, but rhythmic, powerful pulses—like a sleeping storm that had finally opened its eyes.
And the fire.
Luxardent.
He had always sensed it was alive in some way. But now it… reached for him. he could feel it now, it spoke, not in words, but in warmth and instinct. It was no longer just a tool. It was a part of him. Or perhaps… it always had been.
He flexed his fingers slightly, glancing down at the faint silver-pink scar etched along the back of his hand—the mark Healer Mirren had left during his recovery. It had faded to little more than a ghost.
Tomorrow, it would vanish entirely.
And with it, the final restriction.
Tomorrow, he could use magic again.