Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

The Room of Requirement responded as always to Cael's silent wish. As he paced three times past the familiar stretch of wall on the seventh floor, thinking only of a place to study ancient runes in peace, the stone rippled and morphed into a tall wooden door. He slipped inside.

The room had transformed into a grand, candlelit study. Tall bookshelves circled the perimeter, a wide oak desk waited at the center, and parchment, quills, and ink were all laid out neatly. A faint magical hum filled the space, like the echoes of forgotten spells lingering in the air.

Cael stepped in, letting the door vanish behind him.

On the desk were the books Professor Babbling had given him—rare, thick volumes with cracked spines and rune-laden pages. He dropped his satchel next to them and began unloading the three forbidden books he had "borrowed" from the Restricted Section days earlier, placing them gently beside the legal ones. A dangerous pairing, no doubt.

Hours melted into days.

Cael spent nearly every evening here, hidden away while the rest of the castle buzzed with school life. Meals were brief. Conversations with friends, shorter still. He was absorbed—chasing meaning through ancient loops and jagged etchings, deciphering centuries-old texts, cross-referencing structure, patterns, phonetics. His perfect memory did the rest, absorbing everything with unnatural ease.

By the end of the week, he could recall thousands of runes and their meanings with crystalline clarity.

But none of them—none—matched the unreadable symbols carved into the Door Key.

He rubbed his temple one evening, eyes aching from candlelight, and stared again at the page where he had redrawn three unidentified runes from the relic. The shape was similar to Atlantean constructs but curved in ways no book described. A design lost to time.

Even Babbling's curated references had failed him. These runes didn't belong to any known language: not Norse, not Sumerian, not even Old Egyptian.

He slammed the book shut.

"Worthless," he muttered.

The room darkened slightly, mirroring his mood.

He stood, stretched, and paced. If the Room of Requirement couldn't conjure the knowledge, and the Restricted Section offered only dead ends… then he needed a new lead.

Ravenclaw.

The thought struck like a dart. If anyone hoarded rare magical theory or obscure runic treatises, it was Ravenclaw House itself. He'd overheard years ago that the founders' original tomes—some written by Rowena Ravenclaw herself—had never left the tower.

He needed to break in inside.

He needed a plan.

⸻

That night, Cael stood before the Gryffindor fireplace, staring at the flames, then glanced around to be sure no one was watching. A shimmer of magic swept over him as he whispered the spellless command and allowed his body to shrink, fur rippling over skin.

Within seconds, a sleek black cat with striking blue eyes stood where the boy had been.

His Animagus form was small, quick, and elegant. And best of all—silent.

Cael padded through the portrait hole, the Fat Lady muttering, "Naughty thing, out again, aren't you?" before she closed without another word. He padded down the corridor, paws gliding soundlessly over the stones. It was well past curfew, but he'd studied every patrol route on the Marauder's Map.

He only had one target tonight: Penelope Clearwater, Ravenclaw Prefect.

He found her near the Astronomy Tower, alone and humming softly as she scribbled on her clipboard. Her prefect rounds were predictable.

Cael trailed her like a shadow for half an hour, keeping just enough distance to avoid suspicion. She paused only once—spotting him by a pillar.

"Oh," she breathed, crouching. "Aren't you lovely!"

She held out a hand. He hesitated—then let her scoop him up.

"You're alone here, where is your owner?," she murmured, hugging him to her chest as she walked. "Where did you come from? Not a Hogwarts cat, are you? Too clean. Too cute to be a stray cat ."

Cael let out a faint meow, curling into her arms and enduring the indignity. This is for the runes. This is for the relic. Endure the snuggles.

She scratched behind his ears as she wandered back toward the Ravenclaw dormitories. "You remind me of something," she mused aloud. "An omen, maybe. Or a guardian."

He nearly snorted. Try runaway Animagus researcher with a government secret hidden in his sock drawer.

At last, she stopped before a tall spiral staircase. A bronze eagle knocker gleamed in the moonlight.

"What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, but never in a thousand years?" the eagle voice asked.

"The letter M," Penelope replied without hesitation.

The door swung open.

Cael tried to look nonchalant in her arms as they entered the famed Ravenclaw common room.

It was everything the rumors promised: circular, wide, and airy, with a domed ceiling enchanted to show the stars overhead. Blue and bronze banners hung from the rafters, and countless bookshelves lined the walls, stacked with works far older than those in the main library.

Penelope sighed. "Honestly, you're adorable. Don't suppose you want to stay? No? Well, come along then."

She sat on a high-backed chair and placed him in her lap, stroking his fur absentmindedly. He sat stiffly, tail flicking. Her fingers were warm, but he didn't purr—he had limits.

"You're not a spy, are you?" she teased.

Cael blinked slowly. Only on Tuesdays.

As she leaned back and closed her eyes, Cael slowly turned his feline gaze to the rest of the common room, mind whirring. He had found the entrance, the guardian riddle, and access to the rarest archive in Hogwarts.

Now all he needed was time.

Time—and a way to read Rowena Ravenclaw's secrets before anyone found out the sleek little cat wasn't just someone's pet.