Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

It was already late afternoon when Cael stirred awake in his small Parisian hotel room. The beams of golden sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting slanted rays across the wooden floor. His body was sore from days of travel, walking , and magical concealment. He sighed deeply and sat up on the edge of the bed, scrubbing his face with both hands.

After a long, hot shower that washed away the exhaustion clinging to his skin, Cael wrapped himself in a towel and stood at the mirror, eyes fixed on his reflection. So much had changed in so little time. His journey through the ancient sanctuary, his meeting with Rose, the spells he now carried inside him—it all felt like a dream. But the weight of magic still pulsed quietly in his veins.

As he dressed and sat by the small writing desk, That was when it struck him.

Hermione.

She was in France as well—he had overheard it back at Hogwarts. She had mentioned something about summer with her parents, a trip abroad, perhaps Paris or Lyon. It had slipped from his mind, but now it returned with clarity.

He didn't know exactly where she was staying, but he knew one place where messages could still travel with old magic.

He quickly left his room and made his way through the bustling streets of Place Cachée, the hidden wizarding district nestled between illusion-wrapped alleyways in central Paris. He remembered it from his arrival, and now it called to him again like a secret known only to the few.

Inside a quaint post-owlery tucked between a floating bookstore and a potion café, he rented a snowy brown owl and scribbled a quick letter in his best handwriting:

Hermione,

I heard you're here in France. I'm in Paris for a few days. If you have time, I'd really like to see you. Just write back with a time and place, and I'll be there.

Hope you're well.

– Cael

He tied the note carefully to the owl's leg, gave it a gentle pat, and watched as the bird took flight into the glowing Parisian sky.

With that done, he returned to the familiar pub he had first entered when he arrived—Le Lys de Lune. He ordered a hearty meal, settling into a quiet booth near the corner window. As the day slowly waned, he waited, eyes flicking up every time a shadow passed the glass, hoping for a reply.

⸻

Meanwhile, across the city, Hermione Granger had just returned to her hotel, bags swinging from her arms and cheeks slightly flushed. Her mother had spent the entire afternoon shopping through Rue Sorbonne, while her father trailed behind them with the defeated look of a man who had long since stopped trying to resist.

"Honestly, Mum," Hermione muttered as they entered the hotel lobby, "you bought half of Paris."

"I needed that velvet cloak," her mother replied. "It was on sale, Hermione."

Her father groaned dramatically behind them. "If I ever see another blouse, it'll be too soon."

After a warm laugh between them, Hermione retreated to her room and tossed herself on the bed, stretching with a yawn. Books were already piled on the desk by the balcony, where a breeze drifted in through the open doors.

She sat at the table and picked up her second-year textbooks—she was determined to make up for the months she had lost during the school year because of possession . As she turned the page in Intermediate Transfiguration, a whoosh of air startled her.

The door to her small balcony remained open, letting in the golden glow of the setting sun. That was when she heard it—a flutter of wings and the soft thump of talons landing on the railing.

An owl glided in silently through the balcony door and landed on the railing with elegance.

Hermione blinked in surprise. "What in the world…?"

Her heart skipped.

That can't be… owls can't travel that far from England… not usually…

She stood up and cautiously approached. The owl extended its leg, and she untied the parchment with practiced ease. When she saw the name Cael at the bottom, her face lit up.

A moment later, she was sprinting down the hallway.

She knocked on the door to her parents' room. "Mum? Dad?"

Her mother opened the door with a teasing smile. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Mum, Cael's in Paris—he wrote to me," Hermione said, breathless. "He asked if we could meet while we're both here. I wanted to let you know."

Her mother raised a curious brow. "Cael? What's he doing in France?"

"I… don't know exactly," Hermione admitted. "He didn't say. Just that he's here."

Her mother's smile turned sly. "Since when do you have a boyfriend, Hermione?"

Hermione's cheeks turned crimson. "Mum! He's not my boyfriend!"

Just then, her father emerged from the bathroom in a towel. "Who has a boyfriend?"

"No one!" Hermione groaned. "Mum's just—being ridiculous."

"I'm just saying," her mother teased. "All I hear lately is Cael this, Cael that. I'm starting to suspect—"

"I am not dating him!" Hermione all but shouted. "He's just a friend. A good friend."

Her father looked relieved. "Well, as long as he's not one of those weird older French boys…"

Hermione crossed her arms. "He's British. And my age."

Her mother exchanged a look with her husband, amused. "Well, if you want to go, you can. But what about the opera tomorrow? You were going to come with us."

"I remember," Hermione said gently. "But you two should go without me. You always say you used to go to the opera together when you were in university—it can be your night."

Her father smiled warmly. "You're never a disruption to us, Hermione. You know that."

"I know," she said, smiling. "But still… you should enjoy it."

Her mother folded her arms with mock drama. "Fine. Go see your mysterious not-boyfriend."

"Mum!" Hermione cried again, laughing.

"You can go," her mother said at last. "But you're to be back before dark. Agreed?"

"Agreed!" Hermione spun on her heels and dashed back to her room.

Her father watched her go, then muttered, "What's gotten into her? She's acting like she just got invited to Hogwarts again."

His wife rolled her eyes and said, "Let her be. It's the magic of teenage years. She's growing up."

Inside her room, Hermione sat at her desk again, heart pounding a little too fast. She pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and wrote her reply carefully.

Cael,

Got your letter—yes, I'd love to meet! I'm staying near the Seine. I'll be free tomorrow morning . Meet me by the fountain near Notre-Dame at 10?

Looking forward to it.

– Hermione

She looked up at the owl, who was still watching her as if judging her lack of treats.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she said, digging into her drawer. "Here, have some crackers. I'll owe you proper owl treats later."

The owl gave a short hoot of approval, snatched the letter, and soared off into the evening sky.

Hermione, now alone, turned to her new wardrobe. Her hands hovered over the fresh dresses and robes they had bought that morning. A smile crept across her lips.

She would find something nice for tomorrow.

Something… not too formal.

But not too casual either.