Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

Inside the Headmaster's Office – Hogwarts Castle

The soft ticking of the ancient clock filled the silence as Dumbledore sat behind his grand oak desk, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. Across from him, Professor McGonagall paced near the fireplace, her lips pressed into a thin, worried line. Beside her, Snape stood, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp with frustration.

McGonagall's voice broke the quiet. "It's getting out of hand, Albus," she said firmly. "It's the first week of term, and already we've had multiple incidents. First-years hexed, frightened… and now this—three Slytherins found beaten and bound in the Great Hall."

Dumbledore let out a slow breath. His blue eyes, normally so calm, clouded with concern. "Here at Hogwarts, no student will be harmed. No one will be judged for their blood—pure or otherwise," he said gently but with quiet authority. "We cannot allow the whispers of blood supremacy—or Muggle supremacy—to poison these walls."

McGonagall stopped pacing, her gaze heavy with worry. "But the tension outside, Albus… it hasn't gone away. The war's over, yes, but the hatred… it lingers. Families still cling to their old ways, and now it's bleeding into the school. It's only the first week, and already tempers are flaring."

Dumbledore nodded, his expression somber. "I anticipated unrest, Minerva… but not on this scale. I thought there might be pranks—misguided, foolish, but harmless. I underestimated how quickly it would escalate."

Snape spoke then, his voice low, almost bitter. "The parents of the three Slytherin boys have already sent letters."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do they say?"

"Threats, mostly," Snape replied coolly. "They claim Hogwarts isn't safe for their children. They're considering pulling them out—sending them to Durmstrang instead."

Dumbledore's expression didn't change, but a shadow passed through his eyes.

"And the boys themselves?" Dumbledore asked. "What have they told you?"

Snape's jaw tightened. "Nothing. They claim they don't know who attacked them. I searched their memories—whatever happened last night… it's gone. Their minds have been tampered with, wiped clean of the event."

McGonagall shook her head in disbelief. "It's worse than I thought. We'll see more of this, Albus. I can't patrol every corridor. You know as well as I do—the Slytherins provoke the Muggle-borns wherever they can. The insults, the threats—it's constant. Perhaps," her eyes flicked toward Snape, "Professor Snape should remind his students of the rules."

Snape's mouth curled into a cold smile. "And perhaps, Professor McGonagall, your Gryffindors should stop acting like heroes in some grand rebellion. Their silly pranks may not be so silly when my students end up in the hospital wing."

"Your students," McGonagall snapped, "are backed by families with power and influence. That doesn't give them the right to terrorize others."

Before the tension could deepen, the door creaked open and Filch stepped in, wringing his hands.

"Headmaster… Minister Fudge is here to see you."

Dumbledore's brow lifted slightly. "Send him in."

Filch nodded and shuffled away. Moments later, Cornelius Fudge entered the office, his face red and sweaty, his bowler hat clutched in his trembling hands. He looked flustered, overwhelmed—as though the weight of the wizarding world sat on his shoulders.

"Albus," McGonagall greeted coolly as she moved to the door.

"Minister," she added politely as she passed him.

Fudge offered a strained smile. "Professor McGonagall… always a pleasure."

Snape slipped out silently behind her, his black robes trailing like shadows.

Dumbledore gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit, Cornelius. You look troubled."

Fudge collapsed into the chair, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. "Troubled doesn't begin to describe it, Albus. What's happening at Hogwarts? It's barely been a week, and already I'm flooded with letters—angry letters, threats, accusations. Three Slytherin boys, pure-bloods, no less, found beaten—humiliated—in the Great Hall. Parents are furious. The press is circling like vultures."

Dumbledore's expression remained calm. "It was… unfortunate, I agree. But I believe it was a foolish prank—nothing more."

Fudge's face flushed deeper. "A prank? You call that a prank? They were bloodied, bound, and branded with that message—'Guilty'—as if they were criminals. This is an attack, Albus, plain and simple. And the pure-blood families—they won't tolerate it. They're already claiming this is discrimination, persecution against them."

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled faintly, though his face stayed serious.

"Cornelius," he said softly, "Hogwarts is not a stage for political games. I will not turn innocent students into scapegoats to ease the fears of pure-blood families."

Fudge's frustration simmered. "At least give me two names. That's all I'm asking. Two students we can… expel quietly. Show them action is being taken. It'll calm everyone down—no Azkaban, no trials. Just send them home, and this all goes away."

Dumbledore rose to his feet, his voice cool but firm. "I will not sacrifice my students for your convenience, Cornelius. I will not punish the innocent to protect the powerful."

For a moment, neither man spoke.

Fudge stood slowly, adjusting his robes. His voice, though quieter, carried a sharp edge.

"I hope this is the last incident, Albus. I'm under pressure—from the public, from the Ministry, from the families. If you can't control this… I'll be forced to act."

Dumbledore's gaze never wavered. "Good day, Minister."

Fudge gave a stiff nod and left the office, his footsteps fading down the spiral staircase.

The room fell into silence, save for the crackle of the fire. From the wall of portraits, an old Headmaster stirred, his painted face stern.

"You knew this would happen, didn't you, Albus?" the portrait said. "You saw it all—you could've stopped it."

Dumbledore sighed, turning toward the painting.

"I saw Harry," he admitted. "For the plans ahead to unfold… he needed to be there, to see, to wonder."

Another portrait chimed in, its painted eyes narrowing. "The missing Fat Lady—was that part of your plan too? To guide them toward the forbidden corridor?"

Dumbledore's lips curled in a faint smile. "I didn't set the pieces, but I… nudged them. Sometimes, opportunity presents itself."

Elsewhere – The Court of Serpents

Deep beneath the castle, in the shadows of an ancient cellar, five hooded figures sat around a stone table. Their faces hidden, their voices low and filled with venom.

"The plan was to get Potter punished," one figure hissed. "But those older students interfered."

"It doesn't matter," another replied. "Even if Potter knows, he's powerless."

A third voice spoke, colder than the others. "We lie low for now—but the mudbloods will not have peace here. Especially not Potter."

The others nodded in silence, the promise of more chaos hanging heavy in the air.