The remainder of the summer passed in a blur of mundane routines. Any attempt at trying to channel the power of stars through a wand gave no results as only a Glintstone Catalyst could do it. Cain spent hours in Diagon Alley, not in the bustling shops, but in the shaded corners of Knockturn Alley, watching. He observed the way the "dark" wizards were moved by their desperation, their petty hungers. It was all so small compared to the madness of the Flame of Frenzy or the cold indifference of the Dark Moon.
When September first arrived, the scarlet steam engine of the Hogwarts Express felt like a vessel carrying him back into a gilded cage.
"Cain! Over here!"
He turned to see Draco Malfoy waving him over to a compartment near the front of the train. Draco looked taller, his hair slicked back with even more precisely than the previous year, flanked by the ever-present figures of Crabbe and Goyle.
Cain slipped into the compartment, sliding his trunk over the seat compartment effortlessly that made Goyle blink.
"You look... different, Riven," Draco said, squinting at him as the train began to chug out of King's Cross. "More focused. Did you spend the summer training? My father said some of the older families hire tutors to train their children."
"Just reading, Draco," Cain said. "And walking. London is a large place if you know where to look."
"Hmph. Well, you missed the excitement at Flourish and Blotts," Draco sneered, launching into a long-winded retelling of his father's confrontation with Arthur Weasley.
Cain nodded at the appropriate intervals, but his gaze was fixed on the window. He watched the London suburbs give way to the English countryside, the green hills rolling past like the meadows of Altus, though far less gold.
As the sun began to set, casting long, bruised shadows across the cabin, the compartment door slid open. It was Hermione Granger, already dressed in her school robes, looking frazzled.
"Have either of you seen Harry or Ron?" she asked, her voice high with anxiety. "They weren't on the train when it left, and I've searched every carriage."
"Maybe the Golden Boy finally realized he's beneath us and stayed home," Draco drawled, causing Crabbe and Goyle to snigger.
Cain looked at Hermione. He remembered the plot now dobby, blocked entrance and the flying car. Which turned out to be a mistake, a reckless, loud, and quintessentially "human" mistake. "I haven't seen them," Cain said simply.
"If they've missed the train, they'll be expelled!" Hermione fretted, then hurried off to continue her frantic search.
"Expelled. One can only hope," Draco muttered, leaning back. "So, Riven, what are your goals for this year? Potion Championship? Or are you finally going to try out for the Quidditch team? We need a new Seeker, and you have the reflexes for it."
Cain looked at his reflection in the glass, his eyes dark and ancient in the face of a twelve-year-old. "I'm just looking for a quiet year, Draco. I want to see what the library has on... ancient magic." 'and Gods.'
"Boring," Draco sighed.
But Cain wasn't looking for history. He was looking for a hint. If this world had its own "Erdtree"—a central pillar of power like Hogwarts—then it had roots. And roots were where the rot always started.
As the train crossed a high stone bridge, a flash of blue caught Cain's eye in the darkening sky. A car, battered and smoking, was soaring erratically toward the school. He watched it for a moment, a faint, ghost-like smile touching his lips.
Children playing with toys, he thought. They have no idea how lucky they are that their sky is empty of anything but clouds.
---
As the first-years filed inside the Great Hall, Cain kept his head low, his eyes scanning the perimeter by habit—checking for exits, measuring the distance to the staff table, and noting the sheer density of potential witnesses.
The sorting proceeded as he remembered, a rhythmic cycle of anxiety followed by relief. When Gilderoy Lockhart was introduced as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, a ripple of excitement—and a fair amount of swooning from the older girls—swept through the hall.
Cain looked at the man. Lockhart was radiant, his teeth gleaming in the candlelight as he waved with practiced humility. In his past life, watching a movie through a screen, Cain had found the man pathetic—a fraud and a coward who stole the legacies of better men.
But as Cain sat at the Slytherin table, the weight of his own history pressed against him. He thought of the thousands he had slain in the Lands Between—warriors, beasts, and even those who simply stood in his way. He thought of Snape, whose eyes were like tunnels into a dark past, and Dumbledore, who moved people like pieces on a board for a "Greater Good" that often required blood.
Lockhart is a liar, Cain thought, his expression unreadable as he watched the man wink at a group of Hufflepuffs. He takes credit for deeds he didn't do. He erases memories to protect his brand.
He glanced at his own hands, small and unscarred in this life, but he could still feel the phantom weight of the Blood.
But compared to us, Cain mused, Lockhart is almost innocent. He is a man who wants to be loved. We are men who have forgotten what love feels like in the pursuit of power, or penance, or survival. In comparison we are sinners while Lockhart is a saint.
A small, bitter smile touched Cain's lips. In a room full of veterans, spies, and a god-slayer, Gilderoy Lockhart was perhaps the most honest person in the room—because his greed was the only thing about him that wasn't a performance.
"He's a bit much, isn't he?" Draco whispered, leaning toward Cain, his nose wrinkled in mild distaste for Lockhart's over-the-top theatrics.
"He's harmless, Draco," Cain replied, his voice a low murmur that didn't reach beyond their immediate circle. "And in this castle, that makes him a rarity. Let him have his applause. It's a cheap price for peace."
Draco blinked, unsettled by the gravity in Cain's tone. He turned back to the feast, but Cain remained focused on the staff table. Would he ever reveal where he came from, or the blood that stained his soul, but he found a strange comfort in Lockhart's presence. The man was a reminder of a world where "evil" was just a big ego and a few Memory Charms.