Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

Hogwarts had never felt colder—not because of the weather, but because of the way the castle looked at Harry Potter.

He could feel it in the corridors. In the stares. In the way conversations dropped the moment he stepped into a room.

It started the morning after Marcus Flint was found petrified on the third floor. Whispers had already begun, but it was the Daily Prophet headline that sealed it:

"Another Pureblood Down—Who Will Fall Next?"

And just below, a chilling quote from an unnamed Slytherin student:

"He said it himself. I heard him. 'Maybe the next one will be you.' And now Flint's the next one."

That was all it took.

⸻

In the Great Hall, students gathered in tense, segregated clusters. The moment Harry entered with Ron and Neville, the air around them shifted like a gust of icy wind.

A group of Slytherins, led by Millicent Bulstrode and Theodore Nott, sneered as he walked past.

"Well, if it isn't the Heir of Slytherin himself," Millicent drawled. "Planning your next victim, Potter? Or are you waiting for a better crowd this time?"

"Watch out, Theo," another whispered dramatically. "He might not like your tone. Might end up stiff as Flint."

The Slytherins laughed. Cold, rehearsed, cruel.

Ron took a step forward, fists clenched, but Harry stopped him with a quiet hand.

"Don't," Harry muttered. "They're not worth it."

But it wasn't just Slytherins.

In Charms, when Harry sat at an empty desk, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil quickly stood up and found another spot, avoiding eye contact.

In Herbology, two Hufflepuff girls left their pots behind when Harry took the spot next to them, whispering behind gloved hands.

Even Dean Thomas, usually friendly, looked unsure when Harry greeted him, offering only a nod before drifting away.

Only Ron, Neville, and occasionally Hermione stayed near him.

A few Muggle-born students offered him fleeting glances of gratitude in the corridors.

"Thanks for standing up for us," a second-year girl whispered as Harry passed by the courtyard. "They say you're taking revenge on them for what they say about us. Even if it's not true… thank you."

He didn't answer. He didn't know how to.

That afternoon in the library, Harry sat alone at a far table, flipping through Hogwarts: A History, though the words blurred on the page. Across the room, two Ravenclaws whispered behind their books.

"I heard he talks to snakes. You know who else did that? Slytherin ."

"I bet he's angry Flint insulted him at the duel."

"Wasn't it just after he said Flint would be next? And then boom—he is next."

Harry slammed the book shut and stood up.

Everyone around the room froze.

"I've had enough of this," he said, voice shaking—but not with fear. With anger.

He walked toward their table, not rushing, but with quiet conviction.

"You think I'm choosing victims? Picking off purebloods for fun? You think I'd walk through this school hurting people just because they insult me?"

Neither of the Ravenclaws answered.

Harry looked around, his voice rising just enough to carry.

"I saved Justin Finch-Fletchley from being bitten by that snake. But none of you remember that. You only remember what I might have said, or what I could have meant. You're all too scared to even ask me what really happened."

A tense silence followed.

"If I wanted to hurt anyone," Harry said quietly, eyes locking with the boy who had spoken, "you'd know. But I don't. Because I'm not like him."

He turned and walked away. Not triumphant. Not angry anymore. Just tired.

That night in the Gryffindor common room, everyone was quiet .

Ron nudged him gently.

"You alright, mate?"

Harry didn't answer at first. He stared into the fire, letting the crackling fill the silence. Finally, he said:

"Feels like no one sees me anymore. Just… something they're afraid of."

Neville, from the armchair, spoke up softly. "We see you, Harry. Ron and I. And Hermione. And Twins too, even if they doesn't say much. We know you."

Harry managed a small smile. "Thanks."