MTLNOVEL Chapter 175: Little Progress
The moment Professor Lockhart finally dismissed them, Cael was the first on his feet.
"Freedom," he muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
"Where are you off to?" Katie Bell asked, still clutching her quiz with dreamy reverence. "I'm staying behind. He might sign our parchments!"
Cassandra snorted softly from beside him. "He might sign your forehead if you ask nicely."
Cael chuckled. "Thanks for the show, Cassandra. Lovely seeing you again. Do let me know if you get tired of pretending to adore narcissists."
"You first," she replied dryly, before heading off to join her Slytherin classmates.
Cael gave a lazy wave and turned on his heel. He wasn't headed for a Quidditch pitch or a common room lounge. No, he had more pressing matters to attend to—matters that involved secrets buried deep and runic mysteries older than Hogwarts itself.
⸻
The Hogwarts Library was silent and sprawling as ever, the air steeped in the scent of parchment and aged bindings. Cael made his way toward the back shelves where magical theory and advanced runes were housed, his fingers trailing along the spines of worn volumes.
He pulled out a heavy tome: Runic Structure and Symbolic Transference. Useless.
Another: Modern Magical Glyphs and Their Applications. Also useless.
He sank into a wooden chair by a dusty table, a small stack of books forming beside him as he read for nearly an hour. The realization sank in slowly but firmly—every book focused on modern rune systems. The theories were derivative, cleaned, sterilized. Organized like textbooks.
But the relic—the Door Key—was anything but modern.
He pulled the object from his enchanted pouch and unwrapped it carefully beneath the table. The metal was cool and ancient, covered in glowing runes. 153 in total. Only 22 had been deciphered—thanks to his mother and her fellow Unspeakables, years before the Ministry buried their work.
The rest?
They were a language no one spoke anymore.
"Too modern," he muttered under his breath, thumbing through Advanced Runes for Arithmantic Wards. "None of these even match the curvature or the embedding style."
He looked up slowly—eyes drifting across the library, to where a velvet rope marked the entrance to the Restricted Section.
Behind that rope were books older than most vaults at Gringotts. Tomes dating back to the Founders. Maybe even notes from Rowena Ravenclaw herself.
Cael's gaze narrowed.
He'd need to go in there. He'd need to search what the school kept hidden.
Maybe even sneak into the Ravenclaw common room, where—according to a whisper he'd overheard in his first year—some of Rowena's original texts and books were still kept under enchantment.
But for now, the bell had rung, and dinner was about to begin. He repacked the books he'd borrowed, slipped the Door Key back into the pouch, and made his way down to the Great Hall.
⸻
The Gryffindor table was alive with conversation by the time Cael arrived. He slid into a seat beside Hermione, who was stabbing at her mashed potatoes like they had personally offended her.
"Well, someone's in a mood," Cael said lightly.
Hermione didn't look up. "Don't talk to me."
"That bad?"
"She's upset Lockhart failed spectacularly," said Ron from across the table, his mouth full. "He released a cage full of Cornish Pixies, shouted 'just like in my book!' and then… did nothing. They picked Neville up by the ears and flung his wand into a suit of armor."
Hermione's cheeks flushed. "It was a test, Ronald. He wanted to see how capable we were under pressure."
Harry leaned in. "He ran screaming and locked himself in the supply cupboard."
Hermione opened her mouth, shut it, then glared at her plate.
Cael nudged her arm. "It's alright to idolize someone and be disappointed. You don't have to defend him like he's your long-lost godfather."
Hermione huffed. "I just… maybe he's not great with Pixies. But that doesn't mean—"
"You don't have to decide now," Cael said calmly. "Give it time. Watch what he does, not what he says."
She narrowed her eyes at him—but didn't leave. Instead, she stabbed her potatoes again and quietly resumed eating.
Progress.
⸻
Later that night, with the halls dark and quiet, Cael waited until the common room emptied. He stood near the fireplace, pretending to flip through a book until only a few upper-years lingered in corners, too distracted to care.
He whispered, "Disillusio," and felt the shimmer of the charm ripple down his body. His skin faded into the background, vanishing like glass. Carefully, he tiptoed toward the Fat Lady's portrait.
"Password?" she demanded, brow raised.
"Stardust," he whispered.
She sniffed. "Sneaking out at this hour? Naughty Gryffindor."
The portrait swung open, and Cael slipped through silently.
⸻
The castle was a labyrinth of moonlit corridors. Cael clutched the Marauder's Map in one hand, scanning for patrols. The glowing ink showed no teachers nearby—though two seventh-years from different houses were clearly making out behind a tapestry on the fourth floor.
He blinked. "Slytherin and Hufflepuff? Now that's rare."
Keeping low, Cael made his way to the library, avoiding floating lanterns and Filch's prowling cat. At the heavy oak doors, he tapped his wand gently.
"Alohomora."
The lock clicked open.
Inside, the air was thick with stillness. Cael crept through rows of bookshelves until he reached the velvet rope. With one careful motion, he stepped over it and lit his wand.
"Lumos."
Rows of sinister-looking tomes stared back at him, their titles etched in languages long forgotten. He scanned the shelves until one caught his eye:
Runes Beyond Time: The Forgotten Scripts.
Then another:
Wards of the Old World: Pre-Arcane Runes from the First Age.
And a third:
The Thirteen Forbidden Glyphs and Why They Were Buried.
Bingo.
He tucked all three into his satchel. Oddly enough, no enchantments had flared. No screaming books or defensive curses. Either the library was under-maintained, or the books hadn't been touched in years.
Satisfied, Cael turned to leave.
⸻
He was halfway back to the Gryffindor Tower when voices echoed ahead. He froze, ducking behind a statue.
"Please, Penelope. Just think about it—" Percy Weasley's voice, breathy and desperate.
"I have, Percy," Penelope Clearwater snapped. "And I said no. Again."
"I'm pureblood. You're Muggle-born. With me, you'd have connections. The Ministry would—"
"I'm not interested in being your ticket to the Ministry!" she shot back, voice rising. "Have you forgotten that ridiculous love letter last year? In front of everyone? Professors? My friends?"
"It wasn't me , I told you many times ," Percy mumbled.
"It was humiliating," she hissed. "And this—this is harassment. If you don't stop stalking me , I'll report you to Professor McGonagall."
Silence. Then the sound of Percy muttering something under his breath and stomping off toward the Gryffindor corridor.
Cael waited until the coast was clear before continuing. As he reached the Fat Lady's portrait, she blinked at the empty air in front of her.
"You again," she said. "I may not see you, but I know when someone's up to no good. Password?"
"Stardust."
The door swung open.
"Definitely naughty," she muttered, amused.
Cael stepped through and let the Disillusionment Charm fade.
The common room was quiet now, the fire low. As he headed toward the boys' dormitory with a stack of dangerous books and a mind buzzing with ancient glyphs, one thought echoed clear:
He was getting closer to uncovering what his mother couldn't .
But unlocking the Door Key would require more than runes it might need a good pinch of luck . The real issue will be after the activation of the door key .