Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

The atmosphere at Hogwarts had shifted. Gone were the carefree evenings spent lounging by the fireplace in the common rooms or sneaking down to the Great Hall for extra treacle tarts. Instead, a tension blanketed the castle thick as fog — it was exam season.

The usually chaotic hallways were unnaturally orderly, filled with students muttering incantations under their breath, or poring over textbooks as they walked, noses buried so deep they nearly collided with suits of armor. Even the portraits looked more amused than usual, watching frazzled students stumble through last-minute revisions.

Charms students could be seen practicing wand movements in every corner, whispering "Wingardium Leviosa" and sending quills hovering uncertainly in the air. Others were bent over parchment, scribbling endless notes about Devil's Snare, Venomous Tentacula, and the peculiar mating habits of Puffapods for Professor Sprout's Herbology exam. Meanwhile, the most unfortunate among them were trying to memorize the dozens of complicated potion instructions for Professor Snape's infamous end-of-year assessment — a task as pleasant as scrubbing cauldrons with dragon bile.

In the Gryffindor common room, the mood was no better. The tables were piled high with books and parchment, and the sound of furious quills scratching paper was only interrupted by occasional groans of despair.

Hermione Granger sat by the window, surrounded by towers of textbooks like a queen on her scholarly throne. Her brow was furrowed in deep concentration as she flipped through "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi" for what might have been the hundredth time that day.

Across from her, Ron Weasley was practically on his knees, clasping his hands together in exaggerated desperation. "Hermione, please — there has to be a way to make this easier. My brain feels like it's about to explode."

Harry, seated beside him, nodded earnestly. His hair was even messier than usual, a sure sign of exam stress. "Yeah, Hermione, just give us some kind of… magical shortcut? A mnemonic? Cheat sheet? Anything?"

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't quite hide the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "It's called studying, Ronald. You might want to try it sometime."

On the other side of the Castle , Cael lounged on the grass near the Black lake , casually flipping through his Potions notes, though he seemed far less panicked than most. Next to him sat Cassandra Vole, equally composed, though there was a glint of mischief in her eyes as she snapped her book shut.

"So," she began, turning toward Cael with a teasing smile, "want to make this interesting?"

Cael quirked an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind, Princess?"

"A challenge," Cassandra declared proudly, brushing a strand of golden hair behind her ear. "Let's see who gets the highest marks this year. I've been working hard — I'm certain I'll take first place."

Cael chuckled under his breath, tapping his quill against his chin. "Ambitious as always. Alright, Princess, we'll play your little game. What's the prize?"

Her eyes sparkled. "Simple. The winner can ask the loser for… well, anything. A favor. Information. Whatever they want."

"Anything, hmm?" Cael smirked. "Careful, you'll regret that when I win."

"Oh please," Cassandra huffed, mock-offended. "If you think you can beat me, you're welcome to try."

They exchanged playful smirks before their conversation drifted to lighter topics.

"What about the holidays?" Cassandra asked, closing her book. "Any plans? Let me guess, you're going back to the bookstore to work… and taking those ridiculous catalogue photos for Madame Malakin again?"

Cael shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Maybe. I don't have much choice, do I? The orphanage closed last year, remember? So it's the Leaky Cauldron for me, unless I fancy sleeping in Knockturn Alley."

Cassandra frowned, her teasing mood fading. "You could always come to our place. Mum would be thrilled — she's been hinting about inviting you for weeks."

He shook his head gently. "No, thanks. I wouldn't want to disturb your family… besides, I've got other things to handle. Work. Saving up. You know how it is."

She sighed, but didn't press him. "It's good Diagon Alley's expanding into the Muggle world. Maybe one day you'll get that place of your own."

"That's the plan," Cael replied quietly, eyes drifting to the flickering to the lake . "A real home… that'd be something."

Cassandra changed the subject, her voice brighter again. "So you'll work there again during the holidays? I'll come visit you at the bookstore."

He smiled. "Deal. And what about you? Jetting off somewhere fancy?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Mum and Dad have business in France. They're working on a deal for rare plants — they'll probably drag me along for a couple of weeks."

"France, huh? Enjoy it. Paris used to be the most beautiful city in the world… not sure if that's still true, though. You'll have to tell me."

"I will," she promised, before her eyes narrowed mischievously. "Speaking of secrets… there's a rumor going around. The Ministry came, right? Something about a dragon? And if there was a dragon, I'd bet my wand you were involved."

Cael chuckled, not bothering to deny it. "Guilty. It was a Norwegian Ridgeback, black scales, feisty little thing. Hagrid was practically raising it in his hut — can you imagine if they had seen it ? On the day Lucius Malfoy and Minister Fudge showed up, I helped hide it. If they'd found it, Hagrid could've lost his job… or worse."

"Typical you," Cassandra remarked with a grin. "Always neck-deep in trouble."

"We managed, thanks to Lenny and a bit of improvisation," Cael continued. "Once the Ministry left, we sent the dragon off to Romania — Fred and George's brother, Charlie, works at a dragon sanctuary there."

"Good riddance," Cassandra laughed. "Hogwarts barely survives as it is without dragons flying around."

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the shadowy depths of the castle.

In the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, Professor Quirrell stood trembling, his hands twisting nervously at his sides. His pale face gleamed with sweat, and he kept glancing toward the darkened corners of the room — though the true threat was never far.

The sinister, rasping voice of Lord Voldemort echoed from beneath the folds of Quirrell's turban.

"Did you do as I instructed?" the Dark Lord hissed.

"Y-yes, M-Master," Quirrell stammered, wringing his hands. "I… I used the Imperius Curse, just like you said. One of the Ministry clerks… th-they'll send the letter to Dumbledore after exams. It will summon him to a meeting at the Ministry… b-but… Master, will he really go?"

Voldemort's voice was cold and amused. "Of course he will. Dumbledore loves his little causes — peace, justice, all that nonsense. My followers have stirred enough chaos these past months to warrant his attention. He'll scurry off to the Ministry like the fool he is."

"B-but… the fourth floor," Quirrell stuttered. "The Forbidden Corridor… after what happened… more teachers are patrolling. It's… it's impossible to get through…"

"Nothing is impossible, you fool," Voldemort snapped. "The stone will be mine. You will find a way — or you will suffer the consequences."

Quirrell gulped audibly, his legs shaking beneath him. "Y-yes, Master. I… I'll find a way…"

Voldemort's disembodied voice faded into a low, sinister chuckle, echoing in the dim office.

Back in the Gryffindor common room, the exam stress continued unabated. Hermione lectured Ron and Harry with the fervor of a general preparing for battle, while the twins whispered about the potential wrath of their mother, Molly Weasley.