Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

The next morning, Cael walked into the Great Hall, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The air was thick with hushed whispers and wide-eyed glances. As he approached the Gryffindor table, it was immediately clear something had happened.

Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were already seated, huddled close together, their breakfast barely touched.

Cael slid onto the bench beside them. "What's going on?" he asked. "I heard rumors—was there another attack?"

Lee nodded grimly. "Yeah. Happened last night. Another student got Petrified."

Cael's brow furrowed. "Who?"

"This time it was a Ravenclaw," Lee said, lowering his voice. "Pure-blood. Word is, he snuck out after curfew—wanted to meet up with a Hufflepuff girl he fancied. Never made it."

Fred let out a short laugh. "Someone's out there Petrifying pure-bloods now. I swear, it's like someone's got a hit list."

George chuckled too. "Imagine that. A serial Petrifier with a grudge against fancy bloodlines."

"Come on," Cael said seriously, glancing between them. "You two are pure-bloods yourselves. What if you were next?"

Fred waved it off with a grin. "If we get turned to stone, at least we'll make magnificent statues."

"Maybe they'll put us in the Entrance Hall," George added, "right next to the suit of armor that farts when you walk past."

Cael gave them a flat look. "Not funny. You're joking about people nearly dying."

He sighed, and his gaze drifted across the hall. On the far side, Colin Creevey was bouncing excitedly, fiddling with his camera as usual, snapping candid shots of students at breakfast. Cael frowned.

It should've been him, he thought. He was there. Right at the Quidditch match, practically begging to get close to Harry. But instead, it was a Ravenclaw that got Petrified.

He stared down at the table, thoughts racing. Whoever has Tom Riddle's diary… they must be targeting these students. But why go after the pure-bloods? If Riddle hated Muggle-borns, why is the curse turning against his own ideology? That diary—

A sudden chill passed through him.

Is it possible… it's not Tom controlling it anymore? Or maybe someone else is using his magic. But who would do this? A half-blood? A Muggle-born?

He scanned the hall, his eyes flicking over students at every table. Everyone looked normal—too normal. They were gossiping, laughing, frightened… but none of them looked like a dark wizard.

He caught snippets of conversation from nearby.

"…they say it's a warning, like, a punishment—"

"—some powerful wizard sick of pure-bloods acting like they own the place—"

"—serves them right, maybe now they'll shut up about bloodlines—"

Cael's frown deepened. Something was off. This didn't feel like the usual chaos. This was calculated.

A moment later, Hermione slid into the seat beside him, her face pale and drawn. She looked exhausted, like she hadn't slept.

"Hermione?" Cael asked, turning to her. "You all right? You look worried."

"I just came from the hospital wing," she said quietly. "I talked to Harry."

Cael sat straighter. "What did he say?"

"He overheard Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore talking last night," she whispered. "They said if this keeps happening, the school might be shut down. The pure-blood families… they're putting pressure on the governors. They think their children are being targeted."

Cael looked around the hall again. The fear was real now. You could see it in the way some students leaned closer, whispered nervously, avoided eye contact with others.

"This won't happen," Cael said firmly. "Hogwarts can't be closed. Not over this. Dumbledore won't allow it."

Hermione didn't look convinced. "I hope so. But I also asked Professor Binns yesterday about the Chamber of Secrets."

"And?"

"He said that the Chamber was built by Salazar Slytherin himself. He wanted to purge the school of all Muggle-born students. That's why the chamber exists—to release a monster to kill them."

Cael's brow creased.

Hermione continued, "Professor Binns said there was an incident years ago—when the Chamber was supposedly opened before. A student was killed. And the school was nearly closed then too. The Ministry had to get involved."

"I read about that too," she added quickly. "In the library. Some scholars wrote that Slytherin believed Muggle-borns were unworthy of magic. That's why he left the school. He built the chamber for when his heir would return and finish what he started."

Cael leaned back, thoughtful. "Don't believe everything those scholars say. Some of them just want to pin their own blood prejudice on historical figures. Think about it—if Slytherin was that much of a fanatic, he wouldn't have helped create the magical Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance. That book registers every magical child in the British Isles, Muggle-born or not. He wouldn't have helped create that system if he only wanted pure-bloods."

Hermione blinked. "That's a good point…"

"And look," Cael said, gesturing around the hall. "The ones being attacked now—they're pure-bloods. If the monster is supposed to target Muggle-borns, why is it going after the ones Slytherin supposedly wanted to protect?"

Hermione fell silent, biting her lip.

"Dumbledore will handle it," Cael said quietly. "We just have to keep our heads down and figure this out before it gets worse."

Just then, the Great Hall's heavy oak doors swung open.

In strutted Gilderoy Lockhart in his usual fashion—robes a brilliant turquoise, hair gleaming with far too much product, and that infuriatingly dazzling smile spread across his face.

He marched toward the staff table, but halfway there, he detoured to the podium in the center of the hall.

"Good morning, dear students!" he said, his voice booming far too loudly for comfort.

A few groans rippled through the tables.

"I know, I know, you're all afraid. But fear not! For I, Gilderoy Lockhart, am here!"

He flashed his signature smile, white teeth gleaming.

"I have taken it upon myself to personally investigate the mysterious attacks on our students," he announced, striking a dramatic pose.

Several students exchanged eye-rolls.

"As some of you might suspect…" Lockhart said, his eyes slyly drifting toward the Gryffindor table, scanning for a familiar head of messy black hair. "…the culprit may even be among us."

But Harry wasn't there.

Lockhart looked mildly disappointed but recovered instantly. "No matter! I've also convinced Professor Dumbledore to allow me to start a Dueling Club! Yes, my dear students! From this weekend forward, I shall teach you the noble art of magical self-defense—drawn, of course, from my extensive personal experience defeating dark creatures across the globe!"

Lee Jordan muttered, "Probably taught banshees how to run away from him."

Lockhart continued, "I highly recommend that you all review my entire collected works before class. That way, you'll be adequately prepared to witness my brilliance firsthand!"

He gave a final bow and sauntered toward the staff table, robes billowing behind him like a caped hero from a bad wizarding comic.

Cael shook his head.

"Great," he muttered. "Now we've got him teaching us how to duel. What could possibly go wrong?"