Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

As he continued his path down the hall, Cael came across a door—a small, rather ordinary door, unlike the grand, ancient ones that adorned the rest of the castle. It looked plain, wooden, and unassuming. But the light crystal in his hand was pointing directly toward it, glowing steadily. That alone was enough to make Cael pause.

He stepped in front of it and, just to be safe, cast, "Revelio." No enchantments or traps were revealed, but caution had served him well so far. So, wand still raised, he opened the door and entered.

The room beyond was much larger than he had expected. As he stepped inside, dozens of other light crystals around the room illuminated, bathing everything in a gentle glow. It was beautiful—an office, or perhaps a private study. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and ancient scrolls. A large desk stood in the middle, its surface cluttered with various objects: relics, strange instruments, and intricate items inscribed with runes—some Cael recognized from his studies, and others completely unfamiliar.

He moved through the room slowly, eyes scanning over paintings, peculiar statues, and objects that looked almost treasure-like in their age and ornamentation. But he didn't touch any of them. Not yet. He knew better than to be reckless.

After a few minutes, he stood still and muttered aloud, "I thought there would be more tests in here. You know, places like this usually have more than one."

Suddenly, something behind him flickered—a crystal lit up on the far wall.

Cael spun around and pointed his wand instinctively.

It was highlighting a painting. The largest one he'd seen in the castle so far.

He stepped closer. The painting depicted a child—a small boy, perhaps five or six years old—with shock-white hair and striking purple eyes. Cael couldn't help but murmur, "Wow. Such a cute child. Who is this?"

As he stared intently, trying to find any identifying mark or hidden clue—after all, the crystal had pointed him here—he thought he saw the child's eyes move. At first, he dismissed it as a trick of the light. But then—

"Boo!"

The sound startled him so badly he nearly fell back. His heart leapt into his throat. He gasped, stumbling away from the painting, only for the child inside to burst into peals of laughter, tears running down his cheeks from how hard he was laughing.

Cael scowled. "You're a child! A painting! You shouldn't scare people like that—it's rude!"

Still giggling, the painting wiped its eyes. "It was worth it. Worth it after all these years."

Cael rolled his eyes, arms crossed. "Who are you anyway? You're the only painting in this whole castle that moves. I thought maybe magical portraits weren't invented yet in your time—what, sixteen hundred years ago?"

The boy tilted his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. "You're wrong. Magical paintings have existed far longer than you think. It's ancient magic to you—and to us, too."

Cael frowned. "Then stop calling me 'boy.' First off, you look younger than me. Second, I asked you a question. Who are you?"

The child straightened in the frame, then said clearly, "First of all, I am not a young boy. Second, I am the owner of this castle. Third… I built it. My name is Myrddin Wyllt."

Kale blinked, stunned. "You built this? Are you taking credit for your ancestors' work now? Come on. A kid your age—five, six—you can't even do magic, let alone build a whole castle out in the middle of nowhere."

The painting rolled his eyes now. "I was one hundred and eighty-three years old when I built this castle."

Cael stared, jaw slack. "Then why do you look like a child? Did you just paint yourself that way for fun?"

Myrddin's voice grew sharper. "Don't call me a child. I was older—but because of a magical experiment, I became like this. My body remained young, unaging. I couldn't grow older. I couldn't die."

"…So you were basically immortal," Cael muttered. "Then what happened? Why aren't you alive now?"

Myrddin hesitated, his expression briefly somber. "If you lived as long as I did, you'd learn that immortality is a curse. And I won't speak of my death to a stranger."

His gaze narrowed. "Tell me, boy. Do you belong to the family of Lionheart?"

Cael blinked again. "Lionheart? I… I don't think so. I've never even heard of that family name."

The boy's expression fell into a frown. "What year is it now?"

"1992. A few days from 1993," Kale replied.

Myrddin's eyes widened. "Then it has been… around 2,100 years."

That stunned Cael. The most ancient records his mother had uncovered dated these beings back 1,600 years. But this… This meant they predated even Christ's birth.

Myrddin leaned forward slightly in his frame. "You're sure there's no Lionheart family now?"

"I'm sure. That name sounds… too ancient. No one uses it anymore."

Sadness flickered across the boy's painted face. "That's unfortunate."

Cael asked gently, "Why were you looking for them?"

The painting replied, "The door key you carry—I gave it to the Lionheart family as a keepsake. A gift for safe-keeping. They were nobles, not wizards. But the head of their family was a friend of mine. I entrusted it to them, hoping one day someone would find their way back to me."

Cael's brow furrowed. "Well… the door key was last found 300 years ago. The Ministry of Magic had it under study, trying to understand it."

Myrddin snorted. "Ministry of Magic? So your people now have ministers, like kings and emperors did?"

That led into a long conversation. Cael explained everything—the magical government, the Muggle world, the founding of Hogwarts, its four founders, and how magic had evolved.

Myrddin listened closely. When it was done, he nodded with a thoughtful smile. "Quite clever, to build a school like that. In our time, we had no such thing. The Wizard Council ruled everything. Each master would take on apprentices—five to ten, usually—and teach them personally. When the apprentice became strong enough, they'd take on apprentices of their own. No structured school. Just tradition."

He paused, then added, "That Merlin you speak of—he likely found magic from my era. Ancient secrets. That's why he became famous. And your four founders… They might have ties to the council. Perhaps they were trained by our apprentices. The last I remember, a civil war had erupted within the Council. If it truly fell, then yes, that explains why your world no longer knows of us."

Cael sighed. "Seems like everything ends with a civil war wiping out knowledge."

"Indeed," Myrddin said quietly. "It is always our own kind that destroys us."

As Cael fidgeted with his wand, Myrddin noticed and suddenly burst into laughter again.

"You conjure magic with that little stick?" he teased, pointing at it. "That's what you all use now?"

Cael narrowed his eyes. "Well, at least it's not a five- or six-meter-long staff. This thing works just fine—and it's efficient."

Myrddin wiped his eyes again, still chuckling. "In my time, one of the council members tried introducing the wand. Said it was more compact, easier to control. But the council rejected it. Wands couldn't channel our spells properly—not the real ones. Our staves had cores of refined crystal, crafted to conduct and amplify our magic. Not these… toys."