The rain was endless. It fell in sheets, hammering against stone and mud, soaking Cain to the bone. He stood in a place that was neither Hogwarts nor Limgrave, but something in between. The sky above was a swirling void, clouds churning like smoke, lightning flashing without thunder.
The ground beneath his feet was uneven, a mixture of cobbled stone and broken earth. Pools of water reflected faint glimmers of light, though no source could be seen. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of damp soil and iron, as though blood had been spilled here long ago.
Cain turned slowly, his breath fogging in the cold. Shadows stretched endlessly in every direction, shifting with the rain. He felt the weight of silence pressing against him, broken only by the steady rhythm of water striking stone.
Suddenly a figure darted through the storm, running across the broken ground. Their footsteps splashed, echoing unnaturally loud in the emptiness. Cain squinted, trying to make out their face, but the rain blurred everything into silhouettes. The figure was small yet agile.
"Cain!"
The voice cut through the storm like a blade filled with fear. He spun, searching, but the figure had already vanished into the shadows. Only the rain remained, relentless and cold.
His heart pounded. The voice had been familiar, but distorted. He couldn't place it, yet it stirred something deep inside him.
A faint glow pierced the darkness ahead.
Cain's breath caught.
A Site of Grace shimmered in the distance, its golden light bending through the storm like a beacon. The familiar radiance called to him, promising safety, rest, and return. The glow pulsed as though waiting for him.
He stepped forward.
The rain grew heavier, each drop striking like needles. His footsteps echoed unnaturally, louder than the storm itself. The ground shifted beneath him, stone cracking, mud swallowing his boots. He pressed on, eyes fixed on the light.
But the closer he came, the more distorted the Site of Grace became. Its golden glow flickered, twisting into shapes that weren't meant to exist. The circle of light warped, stretching into jagged lines, bending like broken glass.
Cain slowed, unease prickling at his skin. The beacon no longer felt safe. It felt wrong.
"Cain!"
The voice again—closer this time, louder, desperate. He turned sharply.
A shadow loomed behind him. Tall, indistinct, its edges blurred by the rain. It moved with unnatural grace, gliding rather than walking. Cain's hand instinctively reached for a weapon, but his belt was empty. No sword, no shield, no wand.
The shadow advanced. Then paused, its form rippling like smoke. Cain's pulse thundered in his ears. He stepped back, the mud sucking at his boots, the rain blinding his vision.
The Site of Grace flared suddenly, its light stretching across the ground. For a moment, Cain thought it would banish the shadow. But instead, the glow twisted, bending into a doorway of golden fire.
Through it, he saw fragments—images that he had never seen.
Cain staggered, his mind reeling. The worlds were colliding, bleeding into one another. Hogwarts and Limgrave, magic and madness, all tangled together.
The shadow loomed closer, its form stretching, twisting into something monstrous. Its face was hidden, but its voice was clear.
"Cain."
Not a shout this time. A whisper. Cold, intimate, filled with promise.
Cain's breath caught.
The shadow leaned closer, its form dissolving into rain. "You cannot escape."
The Site of Grace flared again, brighter than ever. Cain shielded his eyes, the golden light burning through the storm. The shadow dissolved completely, vanishing into the glow.
Cain staggered forward, drawn to the beacon. His hand reached out, trembling, desperate to touch the light.
But as his fingers brushed the edge, the Site of Grace shattered.
The glow exploded into fragments, shards of golden fire raining down around him. The storm swallowed everything, the ground collapsing beneath his feet. Cain fell, plunging into darkness.
He screamed—
And woke up.
Cain sat upright in his bed, chest heaving, sweat dampening his forehead. The dormitory was silent, the green curtains swaying faintly with the slow currents of the Black Lake outside. Around him, the other Slytherins slept soundly, their breathing steady and oblivious.
He pressed a hand to his face, forcing his breath to slow. "Just a dream," he whispered to himself. "Just a nightmare."
Sliding out of bed, Cain padded quietly to the washbasin. He splashed cold water onto his face, the chill grounding him back in reality. The storm, the voice, the Site of Grace—all gone.
He stared at his reflection in the dim light, eyes hollow, skin pale. For a moment, he thought he saw the shadow behind him, rippling faintly in the mirror. But when he blinked, it was gone.
Cain exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the basin.
When he returned to bed, the dormitory's silence wrapped around him once more. The muffled sound of water pressing against the walls lulled him back into sleep.
---
Cain woke with the taste of rain on his tongue and the echo of the nightmare still clinging to his throat. He hurried through the corridors, hair still damp from the cold shower, and reached the Great Hall later than usual.
A crowd had gathered at the Gryffindor table. Voices rose and fell in excited bursts, heads turned toward the center as though awaiting a spectacle.
Not spotting Draco among the Slytherins, Cain slid into the nearest empty seat beside Daphne Greengrass, who was speaking quietly with Tracey Davis and Sophie Roper. He wrapped his hands around a mug of tea and asked, "What's the crowd about?"
Daphne's eyes glittered with gossip. "Potter. He got a Nimbus Two Thousand." She said it as if the broom were a coronation.
Cain blinked, not fully grasping the weight of the news, and simply nodded.
Sophie leaned in, her voice low and eager. "And did you hear? Malfoy challenged Potter to a duel tonight."
The table around them hummed with renewed interest.
---
Cain arrived at the potions classroom. Draco already seated at the table and Snape working on a potion at front. He quickly sat down beside him, waiting for the class to start.
The dungeon was cool and damp, the air thick with the sharp scent of crushed herbs and simmering cauldrons. Snape stood at the front of the room, his dark eyes sweeping over the class with clear distaste.
"The Wiggenweld Potion," Snape began, his voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying to every corner of the room. "A simple restorative..."
Cain and Draco worked side by side, carefully measuring ingredients for the Wiggenweld Potion. Fangs were ground into fine dust, sprigs of dittany stirred into the brew, and the potion slowly shifted from murky brown to a pale green.
Snape prowled between the rows, his black robes trailing behind him like living shadows. His eyes flicked over their cauldron, lingering for a moment before moving on without comment. Cain kept his focus fixed on the potion, knowing better than to speak of anything unrelated while Snape was nearby.
When the lesson ended, the students filed out into the corridor, their footsteps echoing against the stone. Cain and Draco walked together toward History of Magic, the air feeling lighter now that Snape's presence was behind them.
Cain glanced sideways, keeping his tone casual.
"Did you really challenge Potter to a duel?"
Draco smirked, lifting his chin proudly.
"I did."
Cain raised an eyebrow.
"And how exactly are you planning to get out after curfew?"
Draco's smirk widened, his voice dripping with satisfaction.
"Who said anything about sneaking out after curfew?"
Cain slowed his steps as the realization settled in. Draco's cunning was sharper than his boasting suggested. For Potter, the night ahead might bring more trouble than he expected.