"Are you ready?" Amelia Bones asked, her tone grave yet measured as they stood outside the Ministry's designated Portkey checkpoint.
Caelum nodded once. "Yes."
Their journey to Azkaban was conducted under tight security. The first leg brought them to a secure Auror station on the coast of Scotland. From there, under a sky thick with mist, a thestral-drawn carriage awaited them—charms woven thickly into its frame, capable of deflecting both minor curses and prying eyes. They had to take the carriage, since Azkaban was surrounded by anti-Apparition wards for security reasons.
Caelum said little on the ride. His mind reeled not only with what he might learn, but also with what he should do after.
He sighed. It was useless to think about it now. He didn't even know what kind of information Adrian Rosier had—if he was even willing to tell him at all.
The silhouette of Azkaban rose like a jagged wound from the sea, its dark stone walls slick with rain and seawater. Waves crashed violently against the cliffs far below, the cries of distant prisoners echoing faintly through the roaring winds.
And even before the thestrals touched down near the north landing platform, he could feel it.
The Dementors.
They didn't need to be seen to be felt—their presence leeched the warmth from the air, dampened every bright thought and memory. The closer they came, the more Caelum felt that unbearable cold gnawing at his soul.
"Here," Amelia murmured, handing him a piece of chocolate. "Just in case."
Caelum took it with a stiff nod. "Thanks."
…
The pair were escorted inside. Wands were not allowed in Azkaban, Dementor's wishes, given the nature of the criminals kept there. Visitors had to place their wands on a Wand Weigher before handing them over to the security desk.
They bypassed the main cell blocks and began ascending a narrow spiral stair.
Along the way, Caelum caught sight of a separate section branching off from the lower levels—its corridors reinforced with thicker iron doors, layered in heavier wards, and guarded more tightly than the rest.
Death Eaters.
Even without being told, he knew.
The air there felt colder, heavier, as though the darkness itself pressed tighter against the walls.
They did not stop.
Instead, they continued upward to the tower where Adrian Rosier had been moved to a magically enforced isolation ward for the purpose of this visit—kept under observation, and restrained by enchantments that supposedly prevented wandless magic or speech-triggered incantations.
…
Adrian sat at a cold iron table, thinner than Caelum remembered, his frame gaunt beneath prison-worn robes that hung loosely from his shoulders. His hair had grown long and unkempt, strands falling in uneven tangles around a face that had lost much of its former vitality.
And yet, he sat perfectly still. Composed. Watching.
When they entered, his head lifted slowly.
And he grinned.
…
"Well," he rasped, voice still edged with mockery, "if it isn't the Ministry's most promising hound and her little half-breed pet."
"Watch it, Rosier," Amelia warned, her tone cold.
"I'm not here to trade insults," Caelum said flatly, taking a seat across from him. "I want answers."
"Oh?" Adrian let out a quiet, eerie laugh that echoed off the stone walls. "And you think I'll give them to you?"
His grin widened, brittle and unhinged.
"I've kept my silence for five years, boy. They've used Veritaserum, tried Legilimency—methods far subtler than your baby-faced questions." He leaned back slightly, eyes gleaming. "What makes you think you'll succeed where the Ministry's best have failed?"
Caelum didn't answer right away
Instead, his gaze dropped to Adrian's left arm—scarred, burned from the confrontation years ago.
"That arm…" Caelum said. "Still can't move it, can you?"
Adrian's grin twisted. "You like what your fire did to me? It's dead flesh now. Can't feel a thing. Dangling, useless. I'm half a man now… and I owe it all to you."
"I know this is about my blood," Caelum said sharply. "It always has been. You came after me because of it. I'm not like other vampires. Or wizards."
His gaze locked onto Adrian's.
"You know why."
…
The temperature in the room seemed to drop further.
Adrian tilted his head slowly.
"You're clever," he murmured. "Smarter than you look. Or perhaps… the bloodline is finally asserting itself."
Amelia's gaze narrowed. "Bloodline?"
Adrian's eyes flicked toward her, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.
"Oh, come now, Madam Bones," he said lightly. "Surely you've pieced together that much. He's not your average bloodsucker, is he?"
Then he threw his head back and laughed.
A long, unhinged peal of madness echoed off the stone walls—wild, ragged, and far too loud for the small room. It went on and on, the sound fraying at the edges, until it dissolved into breathless, broken chuckles.
Still laughing under his breath, Adrian leaned forward and began to speak.
"Well… since it's come to this, I suppose I can give the boy a little gift," Adrian said, his voice low. "I have nothing left to lose, anyway."
He leaned forward, his ruined arm twitching faintly as his demeanor shifted, fading into something colder.
"You want to know what you are, boy?" he hissed, his eyes gleaming.
"Varnak's Seed. That's what they call you. A relic. A curse. A child carrying the remnants of a bloodline that should have been erased long ago."
Amelia stepped forward, seizing the opening. "Varnak… is that the name of the bloodline?"
Adrian let out a brittle, mocking laugh. He opened his mouth to answer—
And then he froze.
The sound died in his throat.
His eyes glazed over, the madness draining from them in an instant.
Slowly, Adrian lowered his gaze.
A crimson glow erupted beneath his skin, pulsing through the fabric of his prison robes. Strange sigils surfaced across his chest.
Adrian looked up, locking eyes with Caelum.
"It's too late," he whispered.
"They already know."
"No—!" Amelia shouted. "Get back!"