NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 160: Home
The sun dipped low over the rolling hills of Ottery St Catchpole as Cael stood before the forgotten cottage—his mother's sanctuary. The small house was tucked between two hedgerows, hidden from plain sight, its modest stone walls weathered by time yet still intact.
The structure stood quietly, preserved like a memory. Despite the creeping vines and light coating of dust on the windows, the house itself looked untouched. The roof, sturdy. The walls, whole. It was as if the world had simply… forgotten this place.
Fitting, Cael thought as he approached, the old iron key warm in his palm.
He slipped the key into the lock. With a faint click, the door creaked open, revealing the house's still interior. Dust drifted lazily through the air, but everything else—the furniture, the books, even the faint scent of old parchment and herbs—remained frozen in time.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
Cael stepped inside, his boots making soft prints in the thin layer of dust. The sitting room greeted him first: two well-kept armchairs, a worn sofa, shelves lined with books, and a small table adorned with knickknacks. The hearth was cold, but the faintest trace of protective wards still lingered along the walls.
He ran his fingers along the furniture as he passed. Everything was preserved, undisturbed. It felt… eerie. Like the house was waiting for someone to return.
Moving deeper, Cael's eyes landed on a small side table near the mantle. Several photographs stood there, their frames dusty, the glass fogged slightly with time.
He picked one up and wiped the surface clean.
The image flickered to life.
A young woman—no older than sixteen or seventeen—stood at the center of the photo. Her long, raven-black hair framed sharp features, and her piercing ice-blue eyes shone with quiet defiance. The resemblance was undeniable—his eyes, his expression. His mother.
She smiled faintly, arm draped casually around a tall, lean boy with striking grey eyes—his unruly dark hair unmistakable.
That's… Sirius Black, Cael realized immediately, recognizing the infamous face from the old Newspapers .
Next to them stood a smaller, younger boy, dark-haired, with the same Black family features. Regulus, Cael guessed.
The three of them together—laughing, alive—felt surreal. His mother, vibrant and free, before the shadows of war and betrayal consumed the family.
A lump tightened in Cael's throat as he set the frame down gently. His gaze swept the room again. He needed answers. There had to be more.
He made his way to the kitchen. It was small, practical—neatly arranged cupboards, polished counters, though all covered by a thin layer of dust.
But something caught his eye.
A faint, almost imperceptible outline beneath the kitchen rug.
Cael knelt, brushing the rug aside to reveal a concealed trapdoor, edges lined with protective runes. It blended perfectly with the floorboards, but now that he was looking, he could feel the faint hum of hidden magic.
Without hesitation, he pried the hatch open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.
Before stepping down, Cael hesitated.
"System," he whispered in his mind, "if I use magic here… will the Ministry know?"
The system's voice responded smoothly:
"Negative, host. This entire village is saturated with magical residences. Ministry Trace detection is ineffective here. You may use magic freely."
A faint smirk tugged at Cael's lips.
Drawing his wand, he whispered, "Lumos."
The tip of his wand ignited with pale light, illuminating the staircase. The air below smelled of parchment, ink, and faint traces of old spells.
He descended carefully, boots tapping against stone steps, the walls narrowing as he went deeper.
The hidden chamber opened into a large underground study—secret, secluded, untouched for years.
Shelves lined the walls, crammed with books and scrolls. Every surface was covered in parchment, notes scribbled in tight handwriting, magical diagrams pinned to the walls. It was clear—this was more than a study.
It was a research lab. His mother's lab.
She worked here… alone, Cael realized, eyes scanning the meticulous, chaotic brilliance around him.
In the corner, atop a small, locked chest, sat a delicate wooden box, simple yet radiating faint protective wards.
Cael approached, tapping the latch gently. The lock clicked open at his touch—likely responding to his bloodline—and inside, nestled carefully, was a black leather journal.
Worn, frayed at the edges, but intact.
He lifted the journal, thumbing through its first few pages. His mother's elegant, precise handwriting filled the parchment. Notes, research, spells—some written in standard script, others in complex runes he couldn't immediately decipher.
The journal's cover bore no title, only her initials pressed into the leather: E.B. — Elara Black.
Cael's pulse quickened. His fingers curled tighter around the journal.
This was it.
Answers. Truth. Secrets buried by time and family shame.
And perhaps… the first steps toward the knowledge about her.
He cast one last glance around the underground study—the heart of his mother's hidden world—and then ascended the stairs, journal secured beneath his cloak.