The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the high windows of the Gryffindor dormitory. It was Sunday—the last day of the weekend—and Cael Vale stirred only reluctantly from his deep sleep. The dorm was unusually quiet.
He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and noticed the beds around him were already empty—George, Fred, and Lee Jordan had long gone. He yawned, swung his legs off the bed, and padded across the cold stone floor toward the showers.
The sting of cold water jolted him awake. After dressing quickly, he made his way out, planning to catch breakfast in the Great Hall.
But the moment he stepped into the corridors, something felt…off.
Students passing by slowed their steps to glance at him—some subtle, others not. There were whispers, murmurs, darting eyes.
Cael furrowed his brows.
Is this about the Patronus? he wondered. He'd expected some chatter after casting it against the Dementors on the train, but not this—this was different.
As he entered the Great Hall, the reaction was immediate.
The buzzing conversations dulled, replaced by stunned silence and a sea of eyes fixed directly on him. Whispers rippled through the long tables like wind in dry grass. Even the Gryffindors turned in their seats, eyeing him with a mixture of curiosity, disbelief, and something else—uncertainty.
Cael froze for half a heartbeat, then forced himself forward and took a seat beside Lee and the twins.
They stared at him.
"What?" Cael asked, irritated.
Lee Jordan didn't answer at first. He simply took a folded Daily Prophet from a neighboring student's hand and laid it flat on the table.
Cael looked down—and the breath caught in his throat.
There, on the front page, was a moving photograph of him, snapped at a candid angle. The headline above read in bold, swirling ink:
"THE LAST BLACK: Is Cael Vale Heir to the Black's Legacy?"
His stomach dropped.
Hands trembling, Cael snatched the paper and began to read.
Cael Vale, once believed to be a Muggle-born orphan raised outside the magical world, has now been identified as a pure-blood wizard with a powerful lineage. Sources within Gringotts Bank confirm that Vale accessed Vault 1203, registered to Elara Black—the half sister of Sirius Black, now a known fugitive.
According to documents obtained by this publication, Elara Black vanished from the Ministry of Magic over a decade ago under mysterious circumstances. It is now believed she gave birth in secrecy to Cael Vale, who entered Hogwarts under a false assumption of heritage. Though raised outside the wizarding world, he has reportedly shown extreme academic success and magical aptitude, especially in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Questions arise regarding Vale's ties to Sirius Black. Was their connection more than familial? Did he aid in the attempted obstruction of the Ministry's search aboard the Hogwarts Express? Some Ministry officials suggest the possibility of collusion.
Cael stopped reading. His vision blurred slightly, the blood pounding in his ears.
"How…?" he whispered, jaw clenched. "How did they find out?"
Fred whistled low. "Mate… you didn't think this was worth mentioning?"
Cael looked up, his voice tight. "I didn't know until last year. And even then… I wasn't sure how much was true."
George shook his head. "Still, you could've told us."
"To what end?" Cael snapped, keeping his voice low. "With the Black family's reputation, do you think it would've helped? I'd be judged just by the name."
Lee Jordan leaned in. "Whatever the truth is, this… this is going to bring the Ministry down on you. They think you're protecting Sirius."
Cael didn't reply.
Instead, he stood, shoving the paper away, and stormed out of the Great Hall. He ignored the whispers trailing him like ghosts.
Out near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where the air was cool and the wind whispered through the trees, he stopped.
"Kreacher!" he called.
There was a pop, and the shriveled house-elf appeared, bowing low. "Young Master called?"
"Take me to Walburga. Now."
Kreacher grabbed his wrist—and they vanished.
⸻
He appeared in the dim drawing room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of the Blacks. The heavy curtains were drawn. Dust floated in the still air. Before him, the portrait of Walburga Black sneered from her enormous gilded frame, eyes flashing with bitter amusement.
"Well, well," she crooned. "Exposed at last. The lost lamb comes home."
Cael glared at her. "You think this is funny?"
"I think it's inevitable," she purred. "You thought you could hide forever? From your name? From your blood?"
"You told them, didn't you?" he growled.
"I did no such thing," she said sharply. "I am bound by blood and contract, as you well know."
"Then who? Who else knew?"
Walburga's painted expression twisted into something between scorn and delight. "The goblins, of course. Foolish boy. You think Galleons can't loosen goblin tongues?"
"But I bound them by oath—" he began.
"Ha!" she laughed, cold and high. "An oath is only as strong as the greed that binds it. And goblins are creatures of gold, not honor."
Cael's jaw tightened. He steadied his breathing, tapping into the calm of Occlumency.
He turned away from the portrait. "So… your son is on the run, and now you've exposed me."
"Sirius is no son of mine," she spat. "I disowned that disgrace the moment he turned his back on us. Let him rot."
Cael turned back to face her. "He's still your blood."
Her expression faltered.
"You're still his mother," he said evenly.
Walburga fell silent. Then, slowly, she smirked.
"And you are also my blood, whether you like it or not. The last of us."
Cael narrowed his eyes. "If I were truly yours, you would've named me the heir."
"You?" she scoffed. "Raised among Muggles? With their ideas of equality and tolerance? You were unfit."
"And what about my child?" Cael said quietly. "You going to brainwash him too? Raise him in this decaying house with your twisted ideals?"
Walburga's grin widened. "He'll learn. From me. From all of us. The portraits of our ancestors will teach him what it means to be a Black."
"Your ideology is dying," Cael said softly. "The age of blood supremacy is over. You're clinging to ruins."
Walburga sneered, "And you think you'll be the one to change it?"
"If not me," Cael said, stepping back, "someone will. That's the world you feared, isn't it? A world where blood doesn't define worth."
He turned away.
"Kreacher," he called. "Take me back."
The elf bowed silently, and they vanished.
⸻
He reappeared at the edge of the Hogwarts grounds, the wind snapping at his cloak.
But before he could even approach the castle steps, a sharp voice halted him.
"Mr. Vale."
Professor McGonagall stood before him, lips pressed thin.
"You're expected in Professor Dumbledore's office. Follow me."
Cael nodded grimly, brushing past the last few leaves of the Forbidden Forest. The weight of his legacy, now exposed, hung heavy on his shoulders as he followed her toward the towering spires of Hogwarts.