Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

After the strange encounter with the French Ministry officer at Le Lys de Lune, Cael left the pub, letting the door swing closed behind him with a soft clack. The night air of Place Cachée was warm and humming, lanterns casting golden glows across cobbled streets. But Cael was too tired to appreciate it. His mind buzzed with thoughts of Auror surveillance and wand restrictions. He needed sleep—rest, real rest—if he was going to continue the mission.

He found a small inn tucked into a narrow alley, its entrance hidden behind a crooked bookshelf facade. The keeper, an old witch with heavy glasses and a pleasant smile, gave him a key with no questions asked. He climbed to a modest room, changed quickly, and collapsed into the soft mattress.

That night, he slept deeply.

⸻

The morning sun over Paris spilled through the small window as Cael woke feeling somewhat restored. He changed into fresh robes, combed his hair with a muttered charm, and stepped out into the lively streets of Place Cachée.

The magical quarter had a unique flavor—elegant, colorful, effortlessly stylish. He wandered through shops that sold spell-infused colognes, self-tying neck scarves, levitating books, and enchanted silk robes that shimmered like water. He even stopped at a boutique where the wizarding mannequins bowed at him as he passed. There, he picked out a dark navy coat tailored in the French fashion—high-collared, silver-buttoned, and lined with dragon-scale threading. Expensive, yes, but it fit perfectly.

Satisfied, Cael made his way back through the hidden tunnel that led to the Muggle world. Once in the open streets of Paris, he found a local shopping district and—after years of avoiding Muggle malls—treated himself to new clothes. His old ones were small now, his height having shot up dramatically in the past year. After trying on jeans, boots, and a charcoal-grey hoodie, he felt comfortably modern—and unrecognizable.

With the rest of the day free, he boarded a metro train and made his way toward one of the most iconic landmarks in the world.

⸻

The Eiffel Tower rose before him like a titanic iron lattice, gleaming under the clear blue sky. Crowds thronged beneath it—tourists snapping photos, vendors selling souvenirs, couples laughing in a dozen languages. Children ran across the grass, and old men played chess near the benches.

Cael took a slow breath and smiled. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply be—a teenager in Paris, standing under one of the world's wonders.

He bought himself a croissant from a street vendor and a hot coffee, then sat on a bench in the nearby park. As he ate, he watched the scene unfold around him—the joy, the life, the noisy rhythm of the Muggle world. Yet, even amidst the ordinary, he noticed the subtle things.

Aurors. Disguised well, but not perfectly. Pacing in pairs, always scanning. Wand holsters barely concealed beneath their coats. Paris may have been the City of Love, but it was also a city with scars—scars that ran deep in the magical world.

He recalled the stories from his previous life —the fanfire spell, and how Grindelwald once unleashed it upon this very city in a wave of fiery terror. Even decades later, Parisian wizards still bore a particular hatred for the dark sorcerer. Should any known descendant of Grindelwald show their face here, they wouldn't live to tell the tale.

Cael sipped his coffee thoughtfully.

"So much beauty… and so much history buried underneath it."

⸻

Just then, an elderly couple approached and sat down quietly on the other side of the bench.

Cael noticed them only briefly—an older man in a tan overcoat, his eyes hidden behind thick spectacles, and his wife, a refined woman in a green shawl, gently sipping tea from a thermos. They spoke softly in French, occasionally glancing his way.

It unsettled him slightly. Their presence felt… deliberate.

Finishing his croissant, Cael rose to his feet and brushed the crumbs from his hands. He had a hotel to check into and a long journey to prepare for. Normandy wasn't close, and Château de Gisors awaited him.

As he walked away, behind him the couple remained seated.

The woman leaned toward her husband. "Why did you want to sit near that boy, Nico?"

The man's gaze lingered where Cael had been. "I sensed something ancient. Something I haven't felt in centuries. A magic I thought long gone."

"You could've spoken to him," she said gently. "He's just a child."

"I wanted to," Nico replied. "But… she stopped me."

His wife frowned. "She? Since when has she taken interest in children with ancient magic?"

"You know how powerful she is," he muttered. "If she's watching him, I won't interfere. Not unless she allows it."

There was silence.

Then the woman sighed and said, "Well, Dumbledore will be here tonight. Let's not waste time."

Nico nodded slowly. "Yes. I think it's finally time we vanish again. Our 665th year… perhaps it's time to let the world forget us."

"And where shall we go this time?" she asked. "The States? South Asia? Italy?"

"Not Central Asia," Nico said firmly. "Too unstable. Too many eyes. I invited Albus to speak. If he agrees, we might disappear into the English countryside one last time."

The old couple stood.

And as they walked away hand-in-hand, the city bustled around them—never suspecting that the quiet, kind couple feeding birds by the Eiffel Tower were none other than Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel.

⸻

That night, Cael packed his satchel and reviewed his notes.

The next step of his journey lay far from the sparkling streets of Paris. He was bound for Normandy—specifically, to a place whispered about in legends and mentioned only once by Myrddin himself:

Château de Gisors.

Tourists saw it as a picturesque medieval ruin.

Cael suspected it was much more.

According to Myrddin, a member of the ancient Council of Magic had once made their lair beneath those crumbling stones. If any clues remained—if the second council member could be found—it would be there.

With wand in coat and runes in hand, Cael took one final look at the glowing skyline of Paris from his hotel window.

Then he whispered:

"Time to see what secrets Normandy's been hiding."