Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

Snow drifted gently from the gray sky as the Hogwarts Express rolled into Hogsmeade Station. Flakes danced in the frigid air, settling softly on cloaks, caps, and the scarlet engine as students descended from the train. Laughter and chatter filled the air—those who had spent the Christmas holidays at home now returned with pink cheeks, heavy trunks, and stories to share. The long break had done many of them good.

Inside the castle, warmth and the scent of roasted meat beckoned. Students poured through the doors of the Great Hall, shedding scarves and gloves as they moved toward their house tables. The enchanted ceiling shimmered with the reflection of the snowy sky, giving the hall a soft winter glow.

Cael was already seated at the Gryffindor table, deep in conversation with Harry Potter.

"So, how were your holidays, Harry?" Cael asked, his voice light and curious. "Ron, Hermione, and I stayed here at Hogwarts, but you went home again."

Harry smiled faintly, brushing snow from his shoulders. "Yeah. I spent it like last year—with my dad and the rest of the family. It was good. Quiet. And thanks again for the gift, Cael. It was brilliant. Even my dad appreciated it."

Cael nodded, pleased. "No problem. It's a protective charm—something ordinary , but still useful."

Cael glanced around, as if checking the atmosphere of the hall. Then he lowered his voice slightly and said, "Harry, remember what I told you? About how everything would feel different after the break?" His eyes scanned the faces around them. "See? No one's staring. No whispers. I think it worked."

Harry, sitting beside him, gave a half-smile. "I still feel like they're watching…"

"They're not," Cael said gently. "You've got a clean slate. Second term, second chance."

Harry nodded, though his expression remained uncertain. "I hope so. I hate this fame thing. Everyone expects something from me—half the time I don't even know what that is."

Cael didn't respond with words, only a quiet smile. Then he looked around the table. Fred and George were tormenting a couple of younger students who had just returned—business as usual. Farther down, Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnet were deep in conversation, their voices animated with excitement—most likely about the upcoming Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, one that could decide the lead in the House Cup.

On the opposite side of the table, Hermione sat with her nose in a thick book as always, while Ron was in a lively discussion with Neville Longbottom.

Then, with a soft chiming of glasses, Dumbledore rose from his place at the staff table. The hall quieted.

"Welcome, everyone," he said warmly, eyes twinkling. "I trust you had a pleasant holiday—whether at home or here within our cozy walls. A few quick notices before we begin our feast. As you may have heard, several Aurors will remain on school grounds for a short while. This is a precaution from the Ministry and nothing more. They are here to ensure your safety, not to cause concern. As long as we give them no trouble, I'm certain they will return the favor."

He smiled, gave his customary single clap, and at once the golden plates filled with warm food. A ripple of excitement spread across the room as students tucked into roast turkey, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie.

Later that evening, after the feast and the long journey, most students retreated to their dormitories in search of sleep. Cael made his way up to Gryffindor Tower, his boots clicking softly on the stone steps. Inside the common room, the fire still burned warmly and laughter echoed faintly in the background.

In his dorm, Cael sat down heavily on his bed, lost in thought. Then, a wicked grin formed on his lips.

"Why not prank that fraud Lockhart?" he muttered.

He sprang up and found Fred, George, and Lee Jordan huddled near the fire, planning who knew what.

"I've got an idea," Cael said, eyes gleaming. "You up for a prank?"

Fred raised an eyebrow. "You had us at 'idea.' Who's the unlucky victim?"

"Professor Lockhart."

Lee let out a low whistle. "Bold choice."

Fred grinned. "He's been basking in the attention a bit too much lately. Especially from the girls."

George leaned forward. "So what's the plan?"

Cael lowered his voice. "We write a letter to the Daily Prophet. We pretend to be a woman—name her… Lavinia Lovelace."

Fred burst out laughing. "That sounds scandalous already."

"Exactly," Cael said, his grin widening. "She's pregnant. Lockhart seduced her and then abandoned her. Never wrote. Never sent a Knut to support her or the child. Just vanished after using her."

Lee practically howled with laughter. "That'll blow up in his face! Especially if we get it published!"

George nodded. "We can fake a photograph. A young woman holding a baby, and another of Lockhart smiling like an idiot. Combine them in a magical frame. That'll be enough to convince them."

Fred smirked. "The Daily Prophet never checks facts. If it bleeds, it leads."

Cael tapped his chin. "We send it to Rita Skeeter. She's the perfect choice—she hates Lockhart. She'll add her own twist and make the scandal even worse."

George squinted. "Are we pranking him… or ruining his career?"

Cael only smiled. "It's just a prank… until everyone reads the morning paper."

They all burst out laughing, already planning the details—the handwriting, the background story, the forged photograph, and the perfect time to send the owl.

Somewhere in the castle, Gilderoy Lockhart slept soundly in his quarters, unaware of the storm about to blow in from the press.