The room was cloaked in shadows, its cold stone walls flickering under the uncertain glow of candlelight. A girl stood in the center—Hermione Granger—her chestnut hair tied back, face set with resolve. Before her lay a parchment, spread on the floor, covered in an intricate summoning circle. The air held a strange stillness, heavy with ancient tension.
She took a deep breath. According to the dusty tome she'd uncovered in the Restricted Section, blood was needed to activate the spell.
Hands trembling, she nicked her finger with a silver blade, letting a few drops fall onto the center of the circle. The blood was quickly absorbed, and the lines began to glow faintly red. With a voice steadier than she felt, Hermione recited the Latin incantation.
Suddenly, the windows burst open with a thunderous gust. The candles extinguished in a hiss, shadows danced madly on the walls, and the summoning circle trembled. A blinding light exploded from the center.
When it faded, Cale Azazel blinked slowly, vision returning in pulses. He was no longer in the demon realm. Everything around him was massive—towering shelves, cold stone, high ceilings—and the smell was... oddly clean.
He looked down.
"What... what the hell?!" he growled, though his voice came out as a raspy yowl. "Why am I a cat?!"
His fur was red, his body small and feline, his tail flicking wildly.
He took a slow breath. No panic. Not yet.
Looking up, he locked eyes with the girl who had summoned him.
"Ahem! Could someone explain what exactly I'm doing here?" he asked with a dramatic cough.
Hermione jumped slightly.
"Well... I found this spell in a book and thought maybe you could help me with something important."
He narrowed his glowing eyes.
"And what 'important' matter justifies summoning a demon?"
"There have been attacks at Hogwarts. Students are getting hurt, and we don't know who's behind them."
Cale huffed, but before he could say more, his body seized. Agony bloomed at his neck as a burning sensation carved into his skin. He collapsed, growling through clenched fangs. When the pain eased, he forced himself upright.
"Let me guess. I've got some sort of magical mark now?"
Hermione nodded, clearly shaken. "It's a serpent eating its own tail."
"Wonderful," Cale muttered. "Congratulations. You've formed a pact with a noble demon. Don't get used to it."
Hermione blinked. "You mean... you're not angry?"
"I'll invoice you later," he said dryly. "Now, your name?"
"Hermione Granger."
His ears perked up. Ah. That name.
"So this really is the world of Harry Potter..." he muttered. Then, louder, "I am Cale Azazel, noble of the Nether Realms. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He offered a paw with exaggerated dignity.
Hermione shook it.
"I have three conditions," he said. "A place to sleep, food, and access to a bath."
Hermione looked relieved. "That's not too bad. I thought you'd want something... dark."
"I'm civilized," he sniffed. "Not some soul-guzzling ogre. You got lucky."
She carried him gently to her bed and laid him on a soft pillow. Moments later, both drifted into uneasy sleep.
Morning Mischief
The sun peeked through Hogwarts' enchanted windows as Hermione descended to the Great Hall, Cale curled in her arms.
"So... demons can look like animals?" she whispered.
"Not quite. My true form is humanoid—with cat ears. This? Temporary inconvenience."
A voice called from across the room.
"Hermione! Over here!" Ron waved excitedly.
Cale eyed the redhead and the boy beside him with thinly veiled amusement.
"So that's Ron... and Harry Potter. Fascinating."
"Hi, guys. Sleep okay?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah, thanks," Harry replied. "Who's your... cat?"
"Long story," Hermione said, evading.
They sat down to eat, and Cale meowed loudly.
Ron frowned. "Why's it looking at me like that?"
"I'll explain later," Hermione sighed. "Let's eat first."
Trouble in the Bathroom
Later, the trio gathered in the second-floor girls' bathroom. Ron looked miserable.
"Why here?"
"No one comes here. Myrtle scares them away."
Right on cue, Moaning Myrtle appeared.
"NO ONE wants to talk to me! Ugly, awful Myrtle!" she wailed before diving into a toilet with a splash.
"Yeah... she's sensitive," Hermione murmured.
Ron shook himself dry. "And the cat?"
"He's not just a cat. This is Cale Azazel. He's a demon noble I summoned to help with the attacks."
Ron gaped. "A demon?! Are you insane?!"
"If I break the contract, I suffer too," Cale said calmly. "And devouring souls is a chore."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Azazel? As in... Biblical?"
Cale laughed. "No relation. I'm fifteen."
"Cool..." Harry muttered.
Cale circled the cauldron. "My magic specializes in spirits. I'll help—quietly. Drawing attention is a waste of energy."
Hermione stirred her potion, the modified Polyjuice bubbling faintly.
"What's the plan?" Cale asked.
"We're using it to infiltrate and find out who's behind the attacks."
Ron grumbled. "What if it fails?"
"It won't—unless someone messes it up," Hermione replied, shooting him a look.
Cale flicked his tail. "Fine plan... but I doubt it's just some student playing villain. Whatever this is, it's older. Darker."
Harry leaned in. "What are you saying?"
"That this isn't a lone wizard. Something sealed. Fragmented. Hungry."
A tense silence followed.
Hermione finally nodded. "Then it's even more important that we stop it."
Cale snorted. "You're brave. A little naïve, but brave. I'll stick around. Not for free, of course—if you all die, I'm stuck here."
The Spirits Speak
That night, while the common room slept, Cale sat atop a cushion, eyes glowing faintly.
He summoned the shadows.
They appeared—flickering, whispering.
"I want information. No chaos, no threats. Just answers."
One took humanoid shape. "There is ancient magic here. Twisted ambition. Not alone... something other."
"Define 'other'."
"A power old and broken. Sealed but bleeding through. It wants release."
Cale's eyes narrowed. "Noted."
"Be careful, Azazel. This isn't a game for lesser demons."
"Thanks," he muttered as they vanished.
Moonlit Warnings
The halls of Hogwarts were still under the moonlight. Cale padded silently through stone corridors.
"This castle is... alive," he muttered.
Portraits watched him. Suits of armor twitched. The air pulsed with dormant magic.
He felt it—darkness in a distant tower. Familiar. Wrong.
He followed the sensation until—
"It's unusual to see a cat wandering at this hour," a voice called.
Cale froze.
He turned to see Albus Dumbledore, standing in his robes, eyes twinkling with calm intensity.
"Well, this is awkward," Cale said, sitting neatly.
Dumbledore approached. "And who might you be?"
"Cale Azazel. Demon noble. Currently cursed to look adorable. And you must be the grand chessmaster."
"I sense no malice... yet." Dumbledore's eyes hardened. "But I protect my students. Vigilantly."
Cale raised a paw. "Relax. I'm under contract. And I'm helping your golden trio."
"What do you want, then?"
"Still figuring that out. But I didn't come to destroy anything. Not yet."
Dumbledore studied him. "This school reveals truth in time. I hope yours is as harmless as you claim."
"Always honest," Cale purred.
"One last question—why here? Why now?"
Cale's gaze sharpened. "Old powers are stirring. I don't know why yet... but something is coming."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Then perhaps I, too, should investigate."
With that, the headmaster turned and vanished into the darkness.
Cale lingered a moment.
"Old fox," he muttered. "He knows more than he lets on."
Tail flicking, he padded back toward Gryffindor Tower, ears twitching at every whisper in the stone.