Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

The compartment door slid open, and Cael stepped back inside, dust clinging stubbornly to his robes, a faint sting on his cheek from where glass had caught him.

Fred's eyebrows shot up in surprise. George let out a low whistle. Across from them, Lee Jordan nearly choked on a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

"Merlin's smelly socks," Fred grinned wide, leaning forward. "Did the train hit you, or did you hit the train?"

George tilted his head, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Don't tell me it was those girls who saw you in Madam Malkin's catalogue and decided to kidnap you?"

Cael rolled his eyes and sank into his seat, flexing his sore wrist. "Fischer Frey," he muttered. "You can imagine the rest."

Lee snorted, holding out a Chocolate Frog. "Mate, you've been back five minutes and already managed to cross paths with the most miserable snake in Slytherin?"

Cael's lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. "Technically, he picked the fight."

Fred clapped him on the shoulder. "So? Did you wipe the floor with his face, or what?"

"Or did he wipe the floor with your's? , McGonagall will Furious." George asked, handing over a pumpkin pasty.

Cael took it with a shrug. " it was undecided and His Royal Prefectness (Percy) said he's sending a letter to McGonagall about it."

That earned a groan from all three.

The train rolled on through the countryside, fields darkening as night crept in. Soon enough, the lamps along the station platform of Hogsmeade glowed into view, and they disembarked, walking towards the waiting carriages—those strange, horseless ones that seemed to glide by themselves.

The towering castle of Hogwarts rose in the distance, its windows glowing with warm golden light. The first-years were ushered through the grand oak doors into the Great Hall, the ceiling charmed to mirror the starlit sky outside. The long tables were packed with students, the air buzzing with chatter, clinking goblets, and floating candles casting a soft glow over the room.

Up at the staff table, Professor McGonagall sat in her usual seat, her expression sharp and unreadable, though Cael caught the slight narrowing of her eyes as she spotted him. She didn't approach—not yet—but Cael could practically feel the warning in her gaze. She'd deal with him after the feast.

He drifted toward the front of the hall, scanning the crowd until he spotted Hermione Granger muttering under her breath, pacing ever so slightly.

"You've got this, Hermione," she whispered to herself. "No need to panic, you've memorised everything already—don't overthink it—"

At the podium, Professor Dumbledore rose, lifting his arms, his presence commanding the entire hall to fall silent.

"Welcome!" His voice, warm and powerful, carried across the room. "To another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Whether you return to these ancient halls or stand within them for the first time, you are part of a tradition that has stood strong for over a thousand years."

His eyes swept across the rows of new students, pausing briefly on the first-years, many shifting nervously in place.

"Before we begin our feast, a few announcements—students are forbidden from entering the Forbidden Forest, and likewise, the corridor on the fourth floor is off-limits. Sensible precautions, of course," he added with a glint in his eye.

"And now, as tradition demands…" Dumbledore smiled playfully, "…a few words: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

A ripple of laughter ran through the hall.

"But most importantly," he continued, "tonight, our first-years will be Sorted into their Houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin. Your House will be your family within these walls. But remember, though we wear different colours, we are one Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall will now take it from here."

Professor McGonagall stepped forward, robes impeccably pressed, parchment roll in hand. Beside her, the ancient, patched Sorting Hat sat on its stool. The room held its breath as the hat sprang to life, its brim splitting into a wide mouth, bursting into song (omitted here for brevity).

When the last note faded, McGonagall's sharp voice filled the hall.

"The Sorting Hat will determine your House," she explained crisply. "It considers bravery, intelligence, loyalty, and ambition. Do not be afraid—it listens to your choices as well. When I call your name, come forward, sit on the stool, and I will place the Sorting Hat on your head."

The names began:

"Abbott, Hannah!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Bones, Susan!"

A red-haired girl hurried forward.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Boot, Terry!"

A pale, serious boy.

"RAVENCLAW!"

Student after student went forward, names called, Houses declared—the hall erupting in cheers or polite applause. Hermione Granger muttered encouragement to herself as she approached, practically reciting facts under her breath.

She barely touched the stool before the Sorting Hat shouted:

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The process continued—Crabbe, Goyle, Greengrass, and the rest—until finally:

"Malfoy, Draco!"

With platinum blond hair and arrogance in every step—

"SLYTHERIN!"

Soon, it was time for:

"Weasley, Ronald!"

The tall, freckled boy walked stiffly to the stool. The second the Sorting Hat called "GRYFFINDOR!" his twin brothers shot to their feet, clapping wildly.

"That's our brother!" Fred shouted. George whistled, earning a wave of laughter from the hall.

And then the room quieted.

Professor McGonagall lifted the next slip of parchment, voice firm but measured:

"Potter, Harry."

The name sent a ripple through the hall—not shock, but quiet curiosity. Every head turned to watch him step forward.

Tall for his age, broad-shouldered, moving with easy confidence. His dark hair was messy but deliberate, his green eyes sharp beneath the faint lightning scar on his forehead. He carried himself like he belonged—like he was aware of the eyes on him, and unbothered by them.

Whispers trailed after him as he sat on the stool, offering Professor McGonagall a knowing smirk, as if to say this should be fun.

The Sorting Hat settled onto his head.

"Well, well," the ancient voice spoke into Harry's ear. "You're not at all what I expected… Confident, aren't you? Hmm…"

From his seat, Cael observed, noting the differences. The Harry Potter from the books—the skinny, bespectacled boy with hidden scars—was gone. This Harry was something else entirely. The system's voice echoed in Cael's mind:

"Of course, he's the prince of wizarding Britain now. With a father and a stepmother, no Dursleys to drag him down, happiness rewrites history."

Cael nodded faintly to himself.

"Better be…" The Sorting Hat decided, loud enough for all to hear—

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers as Harry slipped off the stool, his easy smile never faltering.

With the final Sorting done, Dumbledore stood once more.

"Let the feast begin!"

In an instant, golden plates filled with roasted meats, puddings, pies, and magical treats of every kind. Chatter filled the room as students tucked into their meal.

Cael barely got two bites in before a shadow fell across him.

Professor McGonagall stood, her eyes sharp as ever.

"Mr. Vale, the Headmaster would like a word. You'll find his office. Password is 'Chocolate Puffballs.' Don't keep him waiting. Of course after you finished your meal . "

Cael sighed, and replied . "Of course, Professor."

The night, it seemed, wasn't done with him yet.