Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

The hall remained heavy with silence, the kind that settles when too many powerful names speak in veiled threats and careful refusals.

Lucius Malfoy's fingers tapped once against his cane, the faintest metallic click of the serpent's head filling the space.

"So… neutrality," he repeated softly, eyes narrowing ever so slightly on Lord Vole and Lord Greengrass. "An interesting stance… to stand idle while your world crumbles."

Lord Vole only smiled—polite, polished, unreadable.

"Idle? No, Mr. Malfoy. Cautious. There's a difference." His tone was light, but it carried the smooth menace of a man accustomed to wielding influence like a blade. "You may call for purges and decrees, but I prefer investments that don't collapse under international sanctions."

Across the hall, Lord Greengrass adjusted his cuffs with deliberate ease.

"Besides," he added coolly, "some of us prefer our families alive and our trade routes open."

A few murmurs rippled along the edges of the assembly. Not open dissent—but hesitation. Doubt. The first hairline cracks.

Malfoy's jaw tensed, but before he could speak again, a deep, older voice broke through the tension.

Lord Selwyn, his face weathered with age but his eyes sharp as ever, leaned forward in his chair.

"You young men bicker over trade and reputation… but the facts remain. Six families attacked. Six reminders that the world we built… is bleeding."

The room stilled at his words.

Selwyn's voice was rough with time, but carried the undeniable authority of legacy.

"Years ago, we ruled with strength. Now, our halls fill with whispers, and our children… murdered in their homes." His eyes swept the gathering, lingering on each family crest etched into rings and robes. "The Mudblood population grows because we allow it. And the Ministry coddles them. Dumbledore shields them."

He straightened, his expression carved from stone.

"You speak of neutrality as if this is a matter of preference. It is survival."

A low murmur of agreement rippled through the pure-blood ranks.

Madam Travers, still seated beside her silent husband, gave an approving nod.

"Lord Selwyn speaks the truth," she declared, voice carrying. "Neutrality is a coward's refuge. If we hesitate, we risk extinction."

Lord Greengrass's eyes sharpened, but before he could reply, Malfoy seized the moment, stepping back into the center of the hall.

"Precisely," Malfoy pressed. "There is no true neutrality here—only delayed consequences." His gaze swept across the gathering. "We've already lost a decade to hesitation. The Dark Lord's absence created… vulnerability." The words hung heavily—an admission most wouldn't utter aloud.

"Now," Malfoy continued, "we begin reclaiming that lost ground. We control the commerce. We manipulate the Ministry. We shape the next generation."

Lord Avery's voice cut through the crowd.

"And if the Ministry resists?"

Malfoy's smile was cold, sharp.

"Then we remind them who owns the gold beneath Diagon Alley. Who funds their campaigns. Who provides the seats at the Wizengamot."

Murmurs turned to quiet approval—soft, insidious, like coals glowing beneath ash.

But not all voices aligned.

From near the back, Lord Burke spoke—thin, pale, his sharp features illuminated by candlelight.

"And if this escalates? If blood spills again, it won't be contained to our side." His eyes narrowed. "We could ignite a war we can't control. The last time nearly destroyed us all."

Malfoy's expression flickered, his patience thinning.

"You fear risk? Understandable. But stagnation… is death."

A tense silence followed, broken only by the faint crackle of enchanted torches along the walls.

Lord Vole rose, smoothing his deep green robes, every movement measured.

"Let me offer some clarity," he said calmly. "I've seen power shift across continents. I've seen how quickly fortunes fall when politics outpace reason." His eyes met Malfoy's, unflinching.

"Purge the Muggle-borns, rattle your sabers… but when the Confederation freezes your assets, when trade dries up, and when our allies abroad turn their backs—don't expect neutrality to shield you. It simply means I'll survive, and you won't."

The statement settled over the room like ice.

For a brief second, even Malfoy said nothing. But his eyes glittered dangerously.

"Noted," he replied softly, his smile blade-thin. "Your neutrality buys you time, Lord Vole. But not immunity."

Without waiting for response, Malfoy turned to the gathered families.

"For those with vision—our plans begin now. Quietly. Strategically. Those unwilling to act… remain in the shadows."

With that, the meeting splintered.

Clusters of pure-blood elites drifted into corners—some conspiring, some calculating, others hesitating. The hall buzzed with low voices, veiled promises, and hidden threats.

Lord Greengrass exchanged a glance with Vole, both understanding more than they let on.

Madam Travers whispered to her husband, eyes sharp and watchful.

And in the farthest corner, Lord Selwyn's cane tapped once against the marble floor—a reminder that history was moving, whether they wished it or not.

Outside, the storm rolled over the manor's spires.

Inside, another storm had already begun.