Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

An Hour Earlier…

Harry and Ron were making their way down the wide stone staircase, the faint scent of roasted pumpkin, spices, and honey lingering in the air. The entire castle had been transformed for Halloween—the floating jack-o'-lanterns flickered overhead, shadows of eerie creatures like werewolves and banshees danced along the walls, and the corridors were strung with ghostly decorations.

As they reached the landing that led down to the Great Hall, Harry spoke quietly, his voice thoughtful.

"We really should apologize to Hermione tonight," he said. "What we said earlier was out of line… She always helps us with homework—feels wrong to be ungrateful."

Ron made a face, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Tsk… alright, I'll apologize," he muttered, dragging his feet slightly. "But if she goes off nagging again, I'm not saying sorry a second time."

Harry smirked, but before he could say anything, Ron's stomach let out a loud growl.

"I've never been this hungry in my life," Ron grumbled, patting his belly. "Swear I could eat a Hippogriff."

Harry chuckled. "It's Halloween. There'll be enough food to drown us" He smirked. "Maybe Nearly Headless Nick will show off his party tricks again."

Ron's expression brightened. "Oh! I already grabbed a bunch of candies from the common room."

Harry blinked, surprised. "Wait—what? I didn't see any candies there."

Ron snorted with amusement. "Yeah, there was a box near the fireplace. Fred said every year, the school leave Honeydukes' sweets in all the common rooms."

Harry groaned. "You could've told me that sooner."

"Relax," Ron waved him off. "There'll be plenty left after the feast. We'll grab you some."

They rounded the corner, but their light mood instantly shattered. Standing right in their path was Draco Malfoy, flanked by his usual shadows—Crabbe and Goyle.

Malfoy's smirk curled as his cold grey eyes landed on them.

"Well, well, if it isn't Scarhead and his pet Weasel," Malfoy sneered, folding his arms. His voice echoed down the stone corridor. "Off to stuff your faces? Surprised the house-elves can cook enough for the likes of you."

"Shut it, Malfoy," Ron snapped, his ears reddening. "Or I'll shut it for you."

Malfoy stepped closer, smugness radiating off him. "Please, Weasley. You can barely afford proper robes, and you think you can take me on? You're pathetic."

Harry's jaw clenched. "I was planning to deal with you for trying to shove frog dung in my mouth at lunch," he shot back, eyes narrowing. "Lucky for me, you came straight to us."

Malfoy turned his gaze to Harry, his expression darkening.

"And you—Potter," Malfoy spat, his voice dripping with venom. "Strutting around like you're someone important. You're just Dumbledore's charity case. The only thing keeping you afloat is your fame."

Harry's fists curled at his sides, green eyes flashing with anger.

"Say that again," Harry challenged, stepping forward.

"I will," Malfoy sneered, shoving Harry's shoulder roughly. "You're nothing without your father. And your mother—she's de—"

Before he could finish, Harry shoved him hard, slamming Malfoy back into the wall. Crabbe and Goyle lunged, but Ron was already between them, fists clenched.

The corridor erupted into a scuffle of shoves, insults, and tangled limbs—until the ground beneath them rumbled ominously.

A foul stench filled the air.

Ron gagged, coughing. "Oi, Malfoy, did you crap your pants?"

Before Malfoy could retort, they heard it—a heavy, ragged breathing echoing from the shadows.

They turned toward the far end of the corridor.

Towering over them was a mountain troll, its mottled grey skin glistening under the flickering torchlight. Its massive club scraped along the floor, gouging chunks from the stone as it moved. Tiny, beady eyes locked onto the boys.

"Oh—bloody—hell," Ron croaked, frozen in place.

Crabbe and Goyle bolted down the corridor like frightened rabbits, leaving Malfoy still tangled under Harry.

Before they could react, the troll let out a roar so loud the windows trembled.

Instinct kicked in. The boys scattered, but the troll's club swung wide.

The heavy end slammed into Ron's side, hurling him into the wall with a sickening crack. He collapsed to the floor, groaning, his face drained of color.

"RON!" Harry yelled, trying to scramble toward him, but pain exploded through his leg as his foot twisted beneath him—the sharp snap of bone unmistakable.

Harry barely registered Malfoy scrambling back, slipping on the floor, before the troll's arm caught him across the ribs. Malfoy crashed beside Harry, gasping, clutching his side, his face contorted with pain.

The troll raised its club again, ready to finish them.

Suddenly, shouts echoed down the corridor. Sparks and spells sliced through the air.

Dumbledore appeared, his long robes billowing behind him, his eyes blazing beneath his half-moon spectacles. With a swift wave of his wand, a wave of silver-blue light burst forth, striking the troll mid-swing.

The troll froze, its limbs locking in place, the roar dying in its throat like a candle snuffed out.

The corridor fell eerily silent, save for the groans of the boys sprawled across the stone floor.

Behind Dumbledore, professors stormed onto the scene—McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick, wands drawn, eyes wide.

Dumbledore's sharp gaze swept over them—Harry's twisted foot, Ron's crumpled form, Malfoy curled in pain.

"Severus, check the boys. If their injuries are severe, they're to be sent to St. Mungo's," Dumbledore ordered quietly, his voice carrying an edge of worry beneath its usual calm.

McGonagall knelt beside Ron, her face pale. "Stay still, Mr. Weasley—Merlin, you took quite the blow—"

Snape moved to Harry, his expression unreadable as he examined the twisted foot. "Fractured," he muttered. "Don't move him."

He shifted to Malfoy, inspecting his ribs with quick, practiced hands.

Dumbledore straightened, his face grim but composed.

"Take them to Madam Pomfrey. Get them to the hospital wing immediately," Dumbledore commanded. "The rest of you—there are more trolls loose. One's been spotted near the girls' bathroom, the other outside the castle grounds."

The professors sprang into action as the towering troll remained frozen behind them, the night's Halloween feast forgotten as chaos unfolded across the castle.

Just as the professors were preparing to move the injured boys, Percy Weasley came rushing down the corridor, his expression tight with worry. He was clearly out of breath, his prefect badge glinting under the flickering torchlight.

"Professor McGonagall! I was just coming to tell you—Ron and Harry—they're not in the Gryffindor common room! They've gone missing—"

But before he could finish, Professor McGonagall turned sharply, eyes blazing behind her spectacles.

"Mr. Weasley, what are you doing here?" she snapped, her voice sharp with frustration. She was levitating Ron's limp body beside her, floating him gently down the corridor toward the hospital wing. "You're supposed to be supervising your house, not running around the castle!"

Percy's eyes widened in horror as he finally noticed Ron—unconscious, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, his robes torn and dirtied. Behind them, the enormous, frozen form of the mountain troll loomed in the corridor.

Percy's face went pale. "Professor—what—what's happened to my brother?" His voice cracked with panic.

Before McGonagall could respond, Snape shoved past him, levitating an injured Draco Malfoy behind him with practiced ease.

"Move aside, Weasley," Snape barked coldly. "This isn't the time for idle chatter."

Still stunned, Percy could only stare as they hurried past with the injured boys. His mind racing, he turned and sprinted back toward Gryffindor Tower, his heart pounding. Without wasting a second, he wanted to send a letter to his parents, informing them of the situation.

Meanwhile, McGonagall sent Ron to the hospital wing under Madam Pomfrey's care. Her sharp eyes turned to Snape as they exited the wing.

"Severus, I'll head back to Gryffindor Tower. Those students might try something foolish in the chaos."

Snape gave a curt nod. "Very well."

When McGonagall arrived at Gryffindor common room, she was just in time to hear Percy, pale-faced and frantic, telling the room full of wide-eyed students:

"Ron… I think Ron's dead—"

"Mr. Weasley!" McGonagall's voice cut through the room like a whip. The entire common room fell silent.

Percy spun around, his face flushing as McGonagall stormed toward him.

"I sent you here to supervise the students, not to spread ridiculous nonsense," she scolded, her eyes narrowing behind her square spectacles.

Before Percy could stammer a response, Fred and George pushed through the crowd, both looking pale and anxious.

"Professor—" George began, his voice tight.

"Is it true?" Fred finished, his usual joking tone completely gone. "Is Ron…?"

McGonagall's expression softened slightly, though her voice remained firm. "No, he is not dead. Your brother and Mr. Potter were injured during an encounter with the troll, but they are both receiving treatment from Madam Pomfrey."

Fred and George exhaled in unison, the tension in their shoulders easing slightly.

"Can we see him?" George asked immediately.

"No," McGonagall said sternly. "There's still danger outside. You're all to stay here until further notice."

Her eyes landed on Percy again, sharp as a blade.

"Supervise them properly, Mr. Weasley. One disaster tonight is more than enough."

Percy nodded meekly, still pale, his earlier panic replaced with silent guilt.

McGonagall turned on her heel, striding out of the common room. At the portrait hole, she addressed the Fat Lady firmly:

"Don't let anyone out."

"Of course, Professor," the Fat Lady replied, pursing her lips.

Inside the common room, Fred and George exchanged a look, both relieved yet visibly rattled. Their eyes settled on Percy, who stood frozen, his face drained of color, the weight of his mistake hanging heavy in the room.

"Nice one, Perce," George muttered under his breath, glaring at his brother.

Percy said nothing, still too stunned to speak.