Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

It had been two days since Dumbledore's removal, and Hogwarts had begun to change.

Not visibly — the portraits still whispered in their frames, the staircases still shifted with lazy defiance, and the Great Hall still served steaming platters of food — but something beneath the surface had shifted. A coldness. A fear that now had form and voice.

The Aurors, true to the Ministry's word, had arrived. Two dozen in total, stationed across corridors and common areas, prowling in deep green cloaks, wands ready. But their presence didn't bring calm. If anything, it made things worse.

Because the real threat wasn't the thing slithering through the walls — it was the students.

With Dumbledore gone, the line between house rivalry and outright war began to blur.

It started with whispers — Slytherins muttering as they passed in the hallways, shooting looks at any student with less-than-pure blood. Then came the taunts, and the sneers.

"We will take revenge , Mudblood."

"What's it like having a target on your back?"

And the Muggle blood students would reply 

"Reckon the Heir's doing us a favor."

By the third day, it exploded.

A Hufflepuff third-year, Mark Jenkins, was found near the Owlery — bound, silenced, and with a message scrawled across his forehead in Spell-Ink:

"Vengeance for the Four. The Heir sees all."

His robes were torn, and a bruise bloomed on his cheek. Madam Pomfrey had to restrain him from crying out when the ink wouldn't wash away — not at first. Professor Flitwick had to perform five counter-charms before it finally faded.

By the time word of it spread, the castle had turned into a powder keg.

Fights erupted across common rooms and corridors.

In the courtyard, a full-blown duel broke out between two fifth-years — one from Gryffindor and one from Slytherin — that ended with both in the Hospital Wing after casting Blasting Curses at each other.

In the dungeons, two Hufflepuff girls were found crying, cornered by three older Slytherins. Their schoolbags had been ripped apart, contents scattered into the slimy stones.

By the evening of the fourth day, even first-years were keeping their wands close and eyes sharper.

Inside the Transfiguration classroom, Professor McGonagall stood stiffly at her desk, her lips pressed into a line as she addressed the class.

"This violence must stop. You are not Aurors. You are not vigilantes. You are children. And I will not tolerate this school descending into chaos."

But she, like the rest of the staff, knew they were losing control.

In the staffroom, the professors gathered behind closed doors.

"The students are turning on each other," Professor Sprout said, her usual warmth replaced with weary concern. "My Hufflepuffs are afraid to go down the main stairs. They're being followed and cornered."

"Someone bound and cursed a child," Professor Flitwick snapped, voice trembling. "We are beyond bullying, beyond pranks — this is organized intimidation."

"I don't need to tell you which house most of this is coming from," muttered Professor Sinistra.

Snape leaned against the mantle, arms folded tightly. "Not every Slytherin is guilty. Don't make blanket assumptions."

"And not every Gryffindor is a saint either," said Madam Hooch. "There have been retaliations. I caught three of your boys, Minerva, charming Slytherin banners to erupt in dungbombs during breakfast."

McGonagall sighed. "The students are scared. And when they're scared… they look for enemies."

"Dumbledore wouldn't have let it get this far," Pomona whispered. "They listened to him."

No one argued with that.

At lunch in the Great Hall, Harry sat between Ron and Hermione as the tense silence grew louder than any chatter. Across the hall, the Slytherin table sat tall, quiet, and most of them sneered at Harry — like snakes coiled before a strike.

Hermione whispered, "It's not going to stop, not until Dumbledore comes back it's getting worse day by day ."

Ron muttered under his breath, "They're acting like the Heir's doing us a favor. Like this is a bloody war."

Harry stared down at his plate, untouched. His hand clenched under the table. He'd seen the look in that Hufflepuff boy's eyes — wide, terrified, marked.

And Harry couldn't forget the hissing voice that still echoed in his dreams.

Kill… or I will kill you.