The next two days passed beneath a veil of whispers.
Wherever Cael went—through stone corridors, past whispering portraits, into the echoing Great Hall or down the aisles of classrooms—he felt eyes trailing him. Conversations hushed when he passed. Some stared openly, others spoke behind their hands. The name Black carried weight, and now, so did he.
In Potions, Professor Snape was merciless. He sneered at Cael's every move, prowled behind his cauldron like a predator waiting to pounce, and deducted points with thinly veiled malice. It was no secret that Snape despised Sirius Black, and now that Cael bore that tainted bloodline, he had inherited the professor's disdain by default.
But Cael endured it in silence. He stirred his potions, dodged hexed parchment, ignored whispers, and walked like a man unaffected—until, after a long and muddy Herbology class, he found himself crossing the courtyard and came face-to-face with Cassandra Vole.
She stood just before the steps, arms folded and gaze sharp.
"Hello, Cassandra," Cael greeted casually, brushing soil from his sleeves. "Long time no see."
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't walk away.
"You didn't answer my letters," she said plainly.
He blinked. "Letters?"
"I invited you to my estate. Twice. No response."
"Ah." Cael rubbed the back of his neck. "That's on me. I wasn't at Hogwarts. I was in France over the break. Just got back before term."
"You could've sent a reply after you returned," she said curtly.
He gave a half-smile. "Oopsie. Slipped my mind."
Cassandra rolled her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders eased slightly. They began walking together, side by side, toward the castle.
"So," she said after a moment, glancing at him sidelong, "I didn't know you were pure-blooded. And a Black, no less."
"Well, technically, yes," Cael said. "My mother was a Black. That makes me… something of a Black."
Cassandra nodded. "The Daily Prophet says you're the last male descendant. If the Ministry catches Sirius Black, he's getting the Dementor's Kiss. Then it's just you."
"Maybe," Cael said quietly. "But I already made an agreement with the House of Black. Last year."
Her brow arched. "What kind of agreement?"
"A binding contract," Cael replied. "In exchange for access to my mother's estate and the family archives—things rightfully mine—I agreed to marry a pure-blood witch. My first-born son will inherit the Black name and title."
Cassandra stopped walking. "So you did accept it."
He shrugged. "There weren't many options. I was alone, with nothing. This was the only way to reclaim what belonged to my mother. It's not an Unbreakable Vow, but the contract is bound by ancient magic tied to the Black name. If I breach it, I'll lose my magic."
Cassandra's expression shifted—almost imperceptibly.
"Well," she said, "that's good."
Cael turned toward her. "Why's that good?"
She smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Oh, nothing. Just… surprising. I wouldn't have taken you for someone willing to be bound by bloodline contracts."
He looked at her. "I was a nameless orphan, Cassandra. Penniless. This was survival. The vaults, the history, the truth about my mother… they were all locked behind that contract."
They resumed walking. The air was brisk, leaves rustling around their feet.
"And your father?" she asked. "Is that why Walburga didn't name you heir? Was he a Muggle?"
Cael shook his head. "No idea who he is . Only that he worked with my mother in the Department of Mysteries. That's all I've ever found out. But no, it wasn't my blood that disqualified me—it was the fact I grew up in the Muggle world. Walburga couldn't stand that."
"Well," Cassandra murmured, "it doesn't matter now. The other pure-blood families are talking. They think you're the last Black. Some of them… don't like that."
"They don't know about the contract," Cael said. "They just think I'm an unexpected heir who might reclaim what they've been quietly benefiting from for years. The leeching off Black family assets—it'll stop. Or at least, slow down now that someone's watching."
She paused again, voice lowering. "It also makes you a target."
He met her eyes. "I know."
The sun had dipped lower behind the towers of the castle. The world was cast in gold.
Then, as if changing the subject casually, Cael asked, "What about Potter's sister? How's she doing in Slytherin?"
Cassandra gave a slight smile. "Her cousins are with her. And she doesn't need protecting—she's a Potter. Sharp as a blade and just as quick."
Cael laughed. "Of course. They're Potters, after all. Got iron in their spine."
"Well, someone's trying to get close to her," Cassandra added dryly. "Draco Malfoy's been circling like a vulture."
"Oh, that?" Cael smirked. "That's just him trying to annoy Harry. It's all about spite. He knows Harry will get angry when he gets close to her, and so he plays the serpent."
"It's childish," Cassandra said.
Cael nodded. "It is. But imagine growing up in a family that antagonizes the Boy Who Lived. Your parents tell you to befriend him for the benefit of the family . Then, when you try, he rejects you outright. Especially when his best mate is a Weasley, and your father's been feuding with that family for decades. Malfoy's been angry ever since."
They turned toward the side gardens. Twilight was spreading its quiet, silvery fingers.
"Is it true," Cassandra asked, "that Cornelius Fudge came to interrogate you?"
Cael sighed. "Yes. Showed up in Dumbledore's office with two Aurors as they were ready for a fight if they were asked to , I later realized. They wanted to drag me to the Ministry for questioning. Tried to tie me to Sirius's escape."
"And Dumbledore?"
"Refused. Said I was a student, and underage at that. He wouldn't allow it."
"You stopped the Aurors from searching the train, didn't you?" she asked, her voice more serious now.
"I did," Cael said simply. "They wanted to send Dementors through the Hogwarts Express—on students. I stepped in. That ruffled a few feathers."
Cassandra looked at him quietly for a moment. "You keep making enemies in powerful places."
He shrugged. "It's becoming a habit."