Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

It was early the next morning when a flurry of commotion stirred through the quiet corridors of Hogwarts.

Outside the castle gates, a caravan of Ministry carriages had appeared, led by none other than the Minister of Magic himself—Cornelius Fudge—flanked by a dozen stern-faced Aurors in deep blue robes, their wands holstered but ready.

Students peered from windows and stairwells, murmuring in growing unease as the Aurors fanned out across the grounds.

"Merlin's beard ," whispered George Weasley from the Gryffindor common room window. "We're being invaded."

"About time they sent someone," muttered Seamus. "But do they really think Harry did it?"

Down below, Minister Fudge stood at the entrance to the castle, red-faced and sweating beneath his bowler hat.

"Spread out!" he barked at the Aurors. "I want full coverage—every floor, every corridor! No corner unchecked, no ghost unspoken to. If there's something hiding here, we'll find it!"

The lead Auror saluted sharply. "Yes, Minister."

Students stared wide-eyed as the Aurors began sweeping the castle. Some younger ones shrank away from the grim expressions and glinting wands, while others whispered eagerly, theorizing who would be arrested next.

Fudge, meanwhile, marched purposefully to the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office.

"I need to speak with Dumbledore," he grumbled. "Now."

As if recognizing the Minister's authority—or perhaps simply growing tired of the shouting—the statue slid aside, revealing the spiral staircase beneath.

Fudge ascended in a flurry of robes and irritation.

Inside the Headmaster's Office

Albus Dumbledore sat serenely behind his desk, his long fingers folded over each other, a silver teapot steaming gently beside a plate of lemon drops.

"Ah, Cornelius," he said with the trace of a smile. "Do come in. Tea?"

Fudge ignored the offer and slammed the door behind him.

"Don't start with your calm act, Albus," he snapped, his voice tight with strain. "I'm under more pressure than you can imagine! Every day I get howlers from furious parents—especially from the pureblood families—demanding I take action. Lucius Malfoy sent three just this morning!"

"I imagine his concern for his son is… considerable," Dumbledore replied evenly. "Though I suspect some of it is political."

Fudge paced in front of the desk, waving a folder. "Political or not, the Wizengamot issued a petition! They wanted the school closed entirely. I refused, of course—I told them Hogwarts has never closed in modern history, and I meant it. But something had to be done. So I brought Aurors. Temporary protection."

"And we are grateful," Dumbledore said. "Their presence will bring comfort to many students, and perhaps encourage whoever is behind this to act more cautiously."

Fudge sat down heavily across from him, wiping his brow. "But I can't spare them forever. Merlin's beard, Albus, there's chaos outside Hogwarts as well—werewolf sightings, illegal portkeys, vanishing cauldrons in Diagon Alley… We're stretched thin!"

He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Some of the parents… and a few inside the Ministry… think Potter may be involved."

Dumbledore's eyes sharpened.

"Harry is a boy of twelve ," he said slowly, "who has already faced more darkness than most wizards thrice his age. He is not responsible."

Fudge hesitated. "But all three victims so far—Malfoy, Flint, and Victor—are pure-bloods. What if this is targeted, Albus? The symbolism… the whispers…"

Dumbledore's voice cooled. "Then we must find who is truly responsible. Not scapegoat a child because he speaks a language few understand."

Fudge threw up his hands. "Fine, fine, I'm not saying arrest him. But if we could question him—"

"No," Dumbledore cut in firmly. "Harry is not to be interrogated like a criminal. He is a student at this school, and under my protection."

"Merlin," Fudge muttered, rubbing his temples. "Why is it always Hogwarts? In the last two years I've come here more often than I've visited my own home. First the Philosopher's Stone. Now this. What's next—Grindelwald's ghost?"

Dumbledore smiled thinly. "If he returns, Cornelius, I assure you I'll handle it."

Fudge shivered despite himself. "Don't joke, Albus. And for Merlin's sake, don't mention you-know-who again. You said his name last time—nearly gave me a heart attack."

"You mean Voldemort," Dumbledore said quietly.

Fudge recoiled. "Don't say it! I hope that this incidents stops soon or we might have to close the school."

"Even during his first rise, when Death Eaters stormed this school and students died on the train because of the Attack of the death eaters," Dumbledore continued, "Hogwarts remained open. We taught through war, through fear. We shall not shut our doors now—not for shadows and whispers."

Fudge swallowed, looking pale. "Well… I hope you're right. For all our sakes."

He stood abruptly. "Fine. Two senior Aurors will stay through the holidays. Patrols day and night. But if there's another attack—just one more—we may have no choice. Hogwarts will be shut down."

"And I will oppose it, as I always have," Dumbledore said softly. "Thank you for your efforts, Cornelius."

Fudge gave a half-hearted nod. "Let's hope we don't regret it."

From that day on, Hogwarts changed.

Aurors roamed the corridors at all hours, their boots thudding ominously along stone floors. They questioned portraits. They interrogated Peeves. They even asked Nearly Headless Nick if he'd seen anything suspicious. (Nick had indignantly replied that the only suspicious thing was their taste in boots.)

To the students, it was both reassuring and oppressive.

Fred Weasley complained loudly that Aurors had ruined his secret broom cupboard rendezvous spot.

"Honestly," he muttered to George, "they're worse than Filch."

"I liked it better when Filch was running around after us ," George replied. "Now 20 worse then Filch running after us ."

Students became more cautious. Curfews were enforced. The staircases were quieter. Even Peeves kept a lower profile.

But fear still lingered—especially among the pureblood families. And as Christmas approached, more and more parents wrote to request their children be sent home early.