Brotherhood & Schemes

The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the tall windows of the Hospital Wing, casting golden beams across Cael's bed. The faint scent of herbs and disinfectant still lingered in the air, though it was quickly overpowered by the mountain of gifts piling up around him — mostly sweets, chocolates, and candies of every shape and color.

With a tired but amused sigh, Cael shifted through the wrappers and brightly packaged treats. There's no way I'll eat all this, he thought. Might as well send them to the orphanage — the kids there could use some cheering up.

He was still sorting through the gifts when the heavy doors creaked open.

"Merlin's beard — you're alive!" Fred Weasley's familiar voice rang out with exaggerated relief as he and George strode in, both grinning ear to ear.

"Yeah, mate," George added, flopping into the chair beside Caelum's bed. "If anything happened to you, what would we do without your brain behind the best pranks Hogwarts has ever seen?"

Cael chuckled, but before he could reply, Lee Jordan pushed through the door, a broad grin lighting up his face. "Good to see you finally woke up! You had the whole Gryffindor Tower worried sick. How are you feeling?"

Cael smiled faintly. "Better than I did during the incident, that's for sure. Thanks, brothers."

George leaned forward, mischief twinkling in his eyes. "So… how was the cold, eh? Heard you were half-naked out there, sleeping like some mad Russian survivalist."

The memory sent a shiver through Cael's spine, but he kept his expression light. "It was bloody freezing," he admitted. "And let me tell you, when your wounds are frozen stiff, the slightest movement feels like your skin's being peeled off."

The boys went quiet, the weight of his words settling in.

"Sorry," Lee muttered, guilt flickering across his face.

"Yeah… sorry for not being there," Fred echoed, his usual bravado softening.

Cael waved a hand dismissively, a lopsided grin curling on his lips. "Come on, it's good you weren't there. If you lot had joined me, every time I laughed at time of incident , I'd probably be screaming in pain."

They all chuckled, easing the tension.

"So… is it who we think it is?" George asked, his tone dipping into something more serious.

Caels eyes narrowed slightly. "Yeah. Seems he didn't take the prank too well. Got humiliated, decided to get his revenge."

Lee frowned. "But… how'd he know it was us?"

Cael shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Doesn't matter now."

Fred leaned in, voice low and determined. "So… what's the plan?"

"Yeah," George echoed, cracking his knuckles. "We don't let one of our own get attacked without payback. Especially if it's a slimy Slytherin behind it."

Cael's gaze darkened, but his smile stayed sharp. "No plan yet. But as soon as I'm back on my feet… he'll regret ever thinking he could touch me."

George clapped a hand to his shoulder, grinning fiercely. "We're with you. Nobody messes with us without consequences."

"Whatever you need, mate," Lee added, nodding firmly.

Cael's eyes softened with gratitude. "Thanks… I'll be counting on you."

Before another word could be exchanged, the door burst open again. Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, and Angelina Johnson swept in, concern etched across their faces.

"There you are!" Alicia exclaimed. "You scared the life out of us!"

Katie hovered by his bed, eyes wide with worry. "Are you okay? We've been going mad waiting for news."

Angelina crossed her arms but her expression was tender. "You had the whole Quidditch team ready to storm the castle looking for you."

One by one, they crowded around, their questions blending together, their concern genuine.

Cael smiled, reassuring them softly, feeling the warmth of their presence ease the lingering cold in his bones.

⸻

Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's Office

The flickering fire cast long shadows across the circular office. Professor McGonagall sat stiffly in one of the high-backed chairs, her lips pressed into a thin line, while Albus Dumbledore sat opposite her, deep in thought, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. The room was heavy with silence.

"Do you believe him, Albus?" McGonagall's voice broke through the quiet. "The boy… do you think he truly doesn't remember? Or… is he scared to tell the truth?"

Dumbledore's gaze drifted toward the window, his eyes thoughtful. "I don't think his memories have been tampered with," he replied calmly. "When I examined him, there was no magical residue, no traces of memory alteration."

"But…?" McGonagall prompted.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled faintly, though his expression remained unreadable. "But… the boy is cautious. Sharp. It's possible he remembers more than he's letting on."

McGonagall stood, pacing toward the window. "We need to find the culprit, Albus. This incident threatens the students — and the school's reputation."

The door clicked softly behind her as she exited, leaving the office quiet once more.

The stillness was broken by a voice from one of the portraits — a wise-looking wizard with a narrow face and dark eyes, Phineas Nigellus Black, the most hated Headmaster .

"The boy knows," Phineas remarked, folding his arms within the frame. "He lied."

Dumbledore's eyes drifted toward the portrait, thoughtful. "Yes… I know he did. But I'm far more curious about why he lied."

He leaned back, stroking his beard. "His professors speak highly of him — intelligent, observant, quick-witted."

At that moment, his gaze shifted toward the Sorting Hat perched quietly on the shelf. "And you… what do you make of young Cael?"

The Sorting Hat chuckled softly, its folds rippling like fabric in a breeze. "Oh, he's one of the interesting ones," it drawled. "Cautious. Spirited. He carries traits from all four houses… loyalty, cleverness, ambition… but Gryffindor burns brightest in him. Adventurous soul, that one. Brave to the bone."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again, thoughtful as he listened.

"He has the purity of heart for white magic," the Hat added, its voice quieter now. "Unicorn like blood runs through his spirit, metaphorically speaking. But that makes him dangerous when crossed."

Dumbledore nodded faintly, his mind turning over possibilities. He's lying… because he's planning something.

A faint smile curled on Dumbledore's lips, tinged with curiosity. "Then we shall wait," he murmured softly, more to himself than anyone else. "The boy will lead us to the culprit… one way or another."

The fire crackled, casting shifting shadows across the ancient office as Dumbledore's gaze returned to the swirling night beyond the window, the game already in motion.