Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

That night, as rain pattered gently against the window, Cael lay sprawled across the creaky bed, grinning up at the ceiling.

"So, System," he drawled, hands tucked behind his head. "What's the reward for this quest? You've been keeping me in suspense."

The familiar chime echoed in his mind, cool and detached.

"Congratulations on completing the quest."

"Rewards granted:"

"— Disillusionment Charm."

"— Confringo Charm."

Cael's grin widened, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"Sweet," he muttered, sitting up slightly. "Those are proper spells. The Disillusionment Charm alone? That'll come in handy when things get dicey." He stretched his arms over his head, the ache in his shoulders reminding him of how long the day had been.

But as the excitement settled, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Say, System… That quest was… unusual. Why exactly did you give it to me?"

Silence.

For the first time since the System's voice had entered his life, there was no quip, no explanation — just cold, empty quiet.

"Oi." Cael sat up fully now, frowning. "You there? Why so quiet?"

Nothing.

He pressed the question a few more times, but the System remained maddeningly silent, like a radio left on mute. Eventually, Cael exhaled sharply and let it go — for now — but the unusual behavior etched itself into the back of his mind like a red flag.

Noted.

The rain outside kept its rhythm, washing over London's weary streets. With that quiet lullaby, Cael eventually drifted into uneasy sleep.

⸻

The morning came pale and wet, sunlight slicing weakly through the grime-streaked windows of the Leaky Cauldron. Rain glazed the cobbled streets beyond, shimmering like liquid glass. The pub below had quieted — breakfast long over, only a few wizards lingering over tea and the Daily Prophet.

Cael stirred awake with a groan, his back stiff from the uneven mattress. His room was small — a battered wardrobe, rickety desk, and a bed just large enough for him to stretch out — but after the chaos of the past few days, it was more of a home than anywhere else.

Memories flooded back as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Cassandra. The teleportation mishap. The alleyway thugs . The bus ride. Her hand gripping his like it was the only solid thing in the world.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, a faint smirk curling his lips.

"Rich, pureblood heiress dropped straight into Muggle London," he muttered to himself. "Bloody miracle she didn't get herself kidnapped. Would've been rivers of blood in the London streets if she was ."

Before he could grab his boots, a knock sounded at the door — sharp, precise, carrying the weight of authority. Not Tom. Not housekeeping.

Years of survival instincts straightened his posture as he opened the door — and immediately recognized the pair standing before him.

Alaric Vole. Imposing, statuesque, his aristocratic features carved from granite and discipline. Midnight robes traced with silver, eyes sharp as winter steel. His presence filled the narrow hallway, quiet and utterly commanding.

Beside him, Selene Vole — regal, composed, the cool grace of old magic in every movement. But beneath the polished exterior, Cael caught the unmistakable fire of a mother — fierce, protective, unwavering. Her green eyes shimmered with quiet emotion, her golden hair pinned into a flawless twist. Her velvet cloak swept the floor like liquid shadow.

Cael blinked, masking his unease with a casual grin. His brain was already cataloguing exits.

"Uh… morning," he greeted, voice easy. "Guess Cassandra mentioned me."

Selene stepped forward, studying him with an expression that softened the edges of her grandeur.

"You're Cael," she said simply — not a question, but a certainty.

He rubbed the back of his neck, keeping his tone light. "She mention anything bad? I swear, I kept her alive. That counts for something."

Alaric's eyes flicked over him — the threadbare clothes, scuffed trainers, the guarded defiance beneath his smirk — and though his face barely shifted, Cael could feel the weight of silent evaluation.

Selene, however, smiled faintly.

"She told us everything," she assured, voice steady. "And nothing bad."

Cael arched a brow. "Everything? Thought she'd conveniently forget the part where she nearly got herself mugged, what with all that fancy family magic glowing off her."

A ghost of amusement touched Selene's lips, but when she spoke again, her voice held genuine warmth.

"We came to thank you. Properly."

Alaric nodded, his words low but carrying undeniable weight.

"You protected our daughter. You stayed by her when she was alone, frightened, and vulnerable. The Vole family does not forget loyalty… or bravery."

Selene reached into her cloak, producing a small, ornate box — polished mahogany, etched with silver vines, unmistakably old and expensive.

Cael eyed it warily, suspicion prickling beneath his calm exterior.

"Look, I didn't do it for rewards," he said, crossing his arms. "She's a classmate. She needed help. That's all."

Selene's expression softened, though the steel of pureblood tradition still gleamed beneath her words.

"We understand. But our gratitude isn't transactional — it's legacy."

Alaric's gaze remained unreadable, but his faint nod carried quiet approval.

"Besides," Selene added lightly, "she told us you spent your own coin to keep her safe."

Cael scowled, embarrassed. "Waste of a meal, that was. She disappeared before I even got back with the food."

For a moment, Alaric's stern facade cracked — a low, rare chuckle slipping through.

Selene handed him the box. Inside, nestled on velvet, was a gleaming silver coin — larger than a Galleon, marked with the Vole family crest: a twisted vine encircling a shield.

"A Blood-Token," she explained. "It grants safe passage through any Vole property. Present it to any member of our family, and you'll have our protection — our aid."

Cael hesitated, fingers brushing the cool metal. His instincts screamed caution, but he pocketed the token anyway. Pureblood favors were dangerous… but sometimes, dangerously useful.

"You don't owe me anything," he repeated softly.

Selene's eyes glinted knowingly.

"Consider it insurance. If trouble finds you… call on us."

There was a brief silence before Alaric spoke again, his voice quieter now.

"Where are your parents, boy?"

Cael's smile faltered — just for a second — replaced by a practiced flatness.

"Not around," he replied curtly. "Been fending for myself for a while."

Selene's expression flickered with something fierce — a mother's outrage hidden beneath her polished calm. Alaric's jaw tightened, but neither pressed.

Selene adjusted her cloak, her voice gentler.

"If you ever need work, schooling, protection — you'll come to us. The Voles stand by those who stand by us."

Cael tilted his head, masking unease with a grin.

"Appreciate it. But I can manage."

Selene's lips curved, her gaze sharpening with quiet approval.

"Stubborn. You'll fit right in."

Before she left, she reached out, gently squeezing his cheek — a rare, unguarded gesture for someone raised among ancestral expectations and marble halls.

"Thank you, Cael," she whispered, sincere.

The Voles turned and departed, their presence lingering like storm clouds breaking apart.

Cael shut the door behind them, flipping the coin between his fingers.

"Bloody weird day," he muttered.

He tossed the token onto the desk and reached for his boots.

"Though honestly, instead of this fancy crest, they could've handed me some Galleons. Would've been more useful, tsk these rich people will never consider the needs of us poor "

The System chimed in, its voice cool and clipped.

"That's the poverty mentality — blaming the rich for your misfortunes, ignoring the effort that how much it took them to build their wealth."

Cael rolled his eyes, tugging on his jacket.

"Save me the moral lecture, System. I've got work. And rent doesn't pay itself."

With that, he headed out — down the rickety stairs, through the lingering hum of morning magic, and into the rain-slicked streets of Diagon Alley

Toward the bookstore. Toward whatever came next.