The morning sun filtered through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, casting warm rays over the four House tables. Students chatted merrily over plates stacked with toast, eggs, and pumpkin juice. Some discussed upcoming classes and professors, while others leaned in close to whisper gossip or exchange theories about the strange quirks of Hogwarts life. It was noisy, cheerful, and buzzing with the energy of a new term.
Cael Vale stepped into the hall, tugging at the sleeves of his uniform. He wasn't quite used to the early hours yet, but the smell of fresh bread and sizzling bacon helped. As he made his way toward the Gryffindor table, his gaze flicked to the entrance—and then paused.
Cassandra Vole.
She was walking in just ahead of him, her golden-blonde hair catching the morning light as if it had been charmed to do so. Cool as ever, her green eyes scanned the hall like a lioness surveying her domain before slipping toward the Slytherin table.
Cael quickened his pace, catching up beside her.
"Good morning, Miss Vole," he said with a slight grin. "How's life treating you in Slytherin?"
Cassandra stopped just briefly enough to glance sideways at him, one eyebrow arched in wry amusement. "Since when did you get so confident?" she said, tone dry. "When we first met, you looked like a lost puppy. What happened? Or was that just an act to charm girls? Don't tell me you greet every girl like that."
Cael's lips twitched. "Well, to be fair, we were strangers back then. And you were a bit—how should I put it—bossy. What did you expect me to do? Faint?"
"Hmph." With a quiet scoff and a flick of her hair, her expression unreadable.
She didn't dignify that with a response. With a huff and a sharp turn, she walked off to the Slytherin table, her robes swishing behind her.
At same time
someone else had been watching too.
At the far end of the Slytherin table, a tall boy with dark, slicked-back hair narrowed his eyes at the exchange., a Fifth -year with a sharp tongue and a sharper temper. He'd been watching Cassandra ever since the train ride, where he'd invited her to sit with him—and been promptly brushed off like a fly.
He hadn't forgotten that.
And now this… first-year nobody was casually chatting with her? Smiling, even?
He leaned toward a small, pale boy sitting beside him. "Oi, you. Who's that black-haired twit talking to Vole?"
The first-year blinked, then peeked toward Cael. "Oh, him? That's Cael… Woli? Or Vale, I think. Gryffindor. Talks a lot. Kind of annoying, if you ask me. And, uh… he's a Muggle-born."
Dorian's expression darkened. "A Mudblood?" His voice was ice. "Interesting. Didn't know filth like him got so familiar with girls like her."
His jaw clenched as a slow, unpleasant smile spread across his face. He was already thinking.
⸻
Meanwhile, Cael had just settled in at the Gryffindor table when the voice in his head chimed in.
System: "Wow. Rejected in broad daylight. Brutal. Also, she just accused you of being a simp. Hahahaha."
Cael sighed inwardly, stabbing a piece of sausage with his fork. "First of all, I didn't propose to her or anything. Second, we shared a train ride. It felt normal to say good morning."
System: "Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that, Casanova. You made it all the way to a sarcastic eyebrow raise. That's real progress."
He rolled his eyes. "I'm not trying to impress her. I'm just… not the type to pretend someone doesn't exist after sharing a four-hour ride."
System: "Aw, how noble. Want me to write her a poem next time?"
He ignored it and finished his breakfast in peace—or what passed for peace with the System around.
⸻
Later that morning, Cael made his way up to the third floor for their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class. The corridor outside the classroom was quieter than usual, an odd hush falling over the students waiting outside the door. When it finally creaked open, they filed in slowly, glancing around at the dimly lit room and the blackboard with a single word written in chalk:
"Intent."
Cael took a seat near the middle. The room filled gradually with students from both Gryffindor and Slytherin, including Cassandra, who walked past without a glance.
Then the professor entered.
A tall man in dark, well-fitted robes walked silently to the front of the class. His thin frame moved with the caution of someone who had spent years surviving danger. A long, pale scar ran diagonally across his jaw. His eyes were like sharpened steel—cold, experienced, and unblinking.
He didn't smile.
"Good morning," he said flatly. "I am Professor Markus Line. Retired Auror. Now your Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor. Let me make something clear—"
His voice carried the edge of command, refined by battlefields rather than classrooms.
"I do not repeat myself. I do not coddle. If you have a question, ask a senior student. Or visit the library. If you're expecting games or wand-waving theatrics, transfer classes."
A murmur rippled through the students.
Cael raised an eyebrow.
System: "Oh boy. Another charming DADA teacher. Is it just me, or are all of them either cursed, possessed, or one bad day away from going full dark wizard?"
Cael replied inwardly, "The way he talks… he sounds like he's already seen the inside of Azkaban. Hopefully, he doesn't teach like it."
System: "I give it two weeks before he either disappears or tries to murder someone."
Professor Line turned to the board and tapped the word Intent with his wand.
"Darkness in magic," he said, "is not limited to curses. Not to jinxes. Not even to unforgivables. It begins with purpose. It grows with desire. And it blooms through consequence."
He turned, sweeping his gaze across the room.
"Dark creatures operate the same way. They have intent. They have patterns. Your job—if you want to survive—is to learn those patterns."
With a flick of his wand, a small water tank rose from the side cabinet and floated to the front. Inside swam a small, pale-green creature with sharp fingers and needle-like teeth.
"A Grindylow. Common in dark lakes. Fast. Cowardly alone, lethal in packs."
Gasps echoed across the room as students leaned forward to peer into the tank.
Cael studied it with interest, memorizing its movements.
Professor Line continued, "By the end of this term, you'll know how to face one. But that knowledge starts with reading."
He turned to the class, tone final.
"Your assignment: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, chapters three to five. Take notes. Not for a quiz. For survival."
He paused, scanning the room.
"Because next time, your memory might be the difference between walking away… or being dragged under."
"It'll be what you remember… when your life depends on it."
A tense silence settled in the room.
As they filed out, the air felt heavier somehow. Students exchanged uneasy glances—impressed, but uncertain.
Cael exhaled as he left, whispering to himself, "Well. That wasn't ominous at all."
⸻
As the students filed out, whispers followed them.
"Blimey," a Gryffindor muttered. "Did he just threaten us with death?"
"I kind of liked it," a Slytherin girl admitted, grinning. "At least he's not boring."
Cael walked alongside Katie Bell as they left, still processing the lesson.
System: "That guy's intensity is off the charts. Ten points to Dramatic Entrance."
"Welcome to Hogwarts," the System said cheerfully. "Where your teachers come with trauma and your homework comes with warnings of death."
"I don't mind it," Cael replied. "At least he knows what he's doing. Just… better keep both eyes open."
The professor's final words echoed in his mind like a warning bell.
It's not about spells. It's about survival.
And suddenly, Defence Against the Dark Arts didn't seem quite so academic anymore.
⸻