Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

It was Friday morning, and Harry Potter awoke to find the timetable resting on his bedside table. His eyes drifted down the parchment, and his stomach sank. Potions. The word glared back at him, followed by the name of the professor — Severus Snape.

Harry frowned. His father's words echoed in his head. "Watch out for Snape, Harry. Never trust him. He may hide behind a Hogwarts robe now, but a snake doesn't change its skin so easily. He was a Death Eater once — don't forget that."

Ron Weasley yawned beside him, dragging himself out of bed.

"Potions today," Ron muttered, grabbing his cauldron and books. "You ready for Snape's dungeon?"

Harry nodded, though he didn't feel ready at all.

They made their way through the stone corridors, their footsteps echoing as they descended into the lower levels of the castle. The Potions classroom was dark and cold, tucked away like a forgotten crypt beneath the castle. The walls were lined with shelves filled with jars of floating creatures, herbs, and strange roots. It smelled faintly of damp stone and something bitter.

Hermione Granger was already seated at the front, parchment and quill neatly arranged, hand twitching as though itching to answer a question that hadn't even been asked yet.

Draco Malfoy lounged near the middle row, his pale face twisted into a sneer the moment Harry and Ron walked in. His grey eyes glinted with amusement.

"You look nervous, Potter," Malfoy called out softly, snickering under his breath.

Before Harry could speak, Ron stomped forward, glaring at him.

"You're all talk, Malfoy. You ran away like a coward yesterday. That's what you are—a filthy coward."

Malfoy's smirk faltered for a second, his face twisting in irritation.

"So, Potter sends his little sidekick to bark for him? You need him to fight your battles now?" Malfoy shot back.

Harry stepped between them, holding up a hand.

"Let it go, Ron," he said, his voice calm but sharp. "There's no point wasting words on people with no honor."

Malfoy's cheeks flushed red, his sneer faltering as other students nearby chuckled quietly.

Ron grinned as they took their seats, but Harry wasn't finished.

"You challenged me, Malfoy ," Harry said , low enough so only they could hear. "But you didn't show up. You've disgraced your family name."

Before Malfoy could answer, Hermione leaned in, whispering urgently,

"Don't provoke him. You'll only make things worse, like yesterday."

Ron rolled his eyes, ignoring her. Harry shrugged off her concern.

"It doesn't concern you," he muttered, staring ahead.

Hermione looked ready to argue when the classroom door creaked open, and Professor Snape swept in like a shadow, his black robes billowing behind him, gliding silently across the floor like a great, brooding bat.

Snape's dark eyes scanned the classroom, his expression unreadable, save for the faintest curl of his lip when he spotted Harry.

"Ah… our new celebrity," Snape drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Mr. Potter… Gryffindor's pride."

Harry met Snape's eyes, sensing the cold disdain behind them.

Without warning, Snape spoke again, his voice low and smooth like poisoned silk.

"Tell me, Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

The room fell silent. Harry stared back at him, saying nothing. His mind raced — he had no idea what the answer was.

Snape's thin smile deepened.

"We are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape continued. "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death… if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

His black eyes locked onto Harry once more.

"Let's try again, shall we? Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry's silence stretched on, his frustration building. He could feel Hermione practically bouncing beside him, hand shooting into the air, eager to answer — but Snape ignored her completely.

Snape's voice sharpened.

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane, Potter?"

Hermione's hand hovered higher, but Snape never even glanced her way. His attention stayed fixed on Harry, his expression cool, waiting for him to stumble.

Finally, Harry's temper snapped.

"I don't know," Harry answered firmly. "And even if I did, I wouldn't answer someone who treats me like a criminal being interrogated."

The class gasped. Snape's eyes narrowed in surprise, a flicker of shock crossing his face before his usual icy mask returned.

"For disrespecting a teacher," Snape hissed, "five points from Gryffindor."

Harry stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor.

"I won't accept that," Harry snapped. "Hermione's been trying to answer this whole time. Why ignore her?"

Snape's jaw tightened. His voice, dangerously calm, echoed through the room.

"Lower your hand, Miss Granger," he said coldly. "And as for you, Potter, sit down—now."

Harry shook his head, gathering his things.

"I'm done here."

Without waiting for permission, Harry stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him. The class was silent, eyes wide. Snape's hands shook slightly with fury — no one had ever walked out on him before.

Snape scribbled a quick note, snapping his fingers. A small house-elf appeared, and with a pop, vanished with the message destined for Professor McGonagall.

Meanwhile, Harry retreated to the Gryffindor common room, frustration boiling inside him. He paced by the fireplace, anger simmering in his chest.

Nearly two hours later, the portrait hole creaked open, and Professor McGonagall stepped in, her expression stern.

"Mr. Potter, come with me," she ordered crisply. "The Headmaster wishes to see you."

The walk to Dumbledore's office was quiet, the castle's halls empty as most students were still in lessons. The stone gargoyle guarding the office leapt aside, and the spiral staircase carried them upward.

Inside, Professor Dumbledore stood behind his grand desk, his blue eyes kind but sharp behind his half-moon spectacles.

"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore said softly. McGonagall nodded and left, shutting the door behind her.

Dumbledore gestured to a chair.

"Sit, Harry. Please."

Harry sat stiffly, his frustration still simmering.

"I've heard many things about your first weeks here, Harry," Dumbledore began gently. "You've made quite an impression."

"Then I suppose you heard what happened today in Potions?" Harry replied, his voice tense. "Headmaster—"

"Professor," Dumbledore corrected kindly, raising a hand. "Please, call me Professor, at least within these walls."

Harry exhaled sharply.

"Yes… Professor. I walked out of class."

"I know," Dumbledore said, his gaze steady. "You were provoked, perhaps unfairly. But walking out of class — refusing to participate — that is not how we solve our problems."

Harry's fists clenched.

"But he mocks me, disrespects me — Snape targets me."

Dumbledore's eyes softened, but his voice remained firm.

"Patience, Harry. It is not easy, but learning patience is part of growing up, part of becoming stronger. You have more eyes watching you than most students — fair or unfair, it is the truth."

Harry looked away, frustrated.

"I will write to your father about today," Dumbledore added quietly. "And I hope, sincerely, that this will be the last time you storm out of a lesson."

There was a pause, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts.

"Enjoy your time here, Harry," Dumbledore finished gently. "Make friends. Learn. And above all, stay true to yourself — but choose your battles wisely."

Harry nodded reluctantly, the anger still present, but dimmed by the quiet authority in Dumbledore's voice.

"Good day, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said kindly.

And with that, Harry left the office, uncertain and angry.

The afternoon sun was already dipping lower by the time Harry made his way back to Gryffindor Tower. His meeting with Dumbledore still played over in his mind, but it didn't ease the tight knot of frustration in his chest. The portraits along the staircases whispered as he passed, some of them shaking their heads disapprovingly, others smirking in amusement.

By the time he reached the common room, the buzz of chatter told him lessons were over. As he climbed through the portrait hole, the room fell unusually quiet.

Heads turned. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. It was as if someone had just announced the arrival of a dragon.

Ron was sitting near the fireplace, his expression stormy, while Hermione hovered nearby, arms crossed and her face creased with worry.

The moment Harry stepped inside, whispers broke out like wildfire:

"Did you hear? He just walked out—right in front of Snape!"

"I heard he told Snape off… called him out in front of everyone!"

"Potter's mad… brave, but mad."

Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas exchanged wide-eyed looks as Harry passed. Even the older students, sixth- and seventh-years lounging near the windows, paused to stare.

Ron shot to his feet, grinning ear to ear.

"Merlin's beard , mate—you actually did it," Ron exclaimed. "You walked out! I didn't think you'd do it, but you did!"

Hermione wasn't nearly as impressed.

"You could've gotten expelled," she snapped, her voice tight. "Do you know how serious that was? You can't just storm out of lessons, Harry!"

Harry dropped into an armchair, running a hand through his messy hair.

"He was targeting me," Harry muttered. "Mocking me in front of everyone. I'm not going to sit there and take it."

"But walking out—" Hermione began, but Ron cut across her.

"Oh, give it a rest, Hermione. He stood up for himself! Snape had it coming."

Across the room, more whispers spread like wildfire.

Lavender Brown leaned toward Parvati Patil, eyes wide.

"Harry Potter's already making trouble—and it's only been one week," she whispered.

"Trouble?" Neville Longbottom echoed nervously from his seat. "I hope they don't blame all of Gryffindor for this…"

From the far side of the room, a group of third-years were already retelling the story with exaggerated flair, turning Harry into some heroic figure standing against the dark, brooding Potions Master.

"—And then Potter just stands up, right? And says, 'I'm not answering your questions if you treat me like a criminal,' and boom—walks out like a legend!"

Percy Weasley stood halfway down the staircase, adjusting his prefect badge with an air of self-importance. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at Harry, his expression etched with disapproval.

"This isn't how you earn respect at Hogwarts, Potter," Percy said coldly. "What you did was out of line—and frankly, you've dragged Gryffindor's name through the mud. You need to learn some humility. The professors are in charge for a reason, and if there's a problem, maybe you ought to look at yourself first."

His gaze hardened as he straightened his shoulders.

"If you try anything like that in front of a prefect, I'll make sure you face consequences," Percy added stiffly. "We follow rules here."

He glanced around, expecting agreement or at least a few supportive nods—but the corridor remained quiet, students passing by barely sparing him a glance.

Undeterred, Percy smoothed down his robes, though the lack of attention clearly stung his pride.

Harry ignored him.

The portrait hole opened again, and Fred and George Weasley strolled in with Cael behind them , both grinning like they'd heard every word.

"Potter!" Fred cheered, clapping Harry on the back.

"You've got guts, mate," George added. "You're already giving Snape a headache. We couldn't be prouder."

Hermione huffed but said nothing more, retreating to the corner with her books.

Cael leaned in, lowering his voice.

"You've made enemies today, but trust me, you've also made friends. Everyone's talking about it and a lot of Students wanted it to do this themselves but most don't have the courage, you are a brave one ."

Harry nodded, unsure if that was good or bad.