Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

The walls of Dumbledore's office were lined with countless shelves, strange trinkets, and the soft ticking of dozens of enchanted instruments. But tonight, even the gentle hum of magic couldn't mask the tension crackling through the room. A storm of worry had gathered, and its weight pressed on everyone present.

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his grand oak desk, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, his expression grave. Around him stood trusted friends and allies—faces worn by long years of fighting for the right cause.

Minerva McGonagall, sharp-eyed and stern, stood near the fireplace, her lips pressed in a tight line. Beside her sat Madam Amelia Bones, known for her fairness and strength, her monocle glinting under the warm candlelight.

Arthur Weasley, red-haired and always a touch nervous, glanced around, fidgeting with his sleeves. Close by, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, scarred and grizzled, leaned back in his chair, his magical eye whirring, scanning every corner of the office. Next to him, Kingsley Shacklebolt stood tall, his calm presence a steady anchor.

On the opposite side of the room, Augusta Longbottom, dressed in her usual proud attire, her hat pinned high, quietly listened, and James Potter paced by the window, arms crossed, frustration etched across his face.

"The attacks are growing bolder," James finally broke the silence. His voice was tight with controlled anger. "Muggle-borns being targeted, families threatened, and now whispers inside the Ministry itself. What's your plan, Dumbledore? Are we to believe Voldemort has returned? Is that what this is?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes, usually twinkling with quiet amusement, were tired tonight. He shook his head slowly. "I wish I had a clear answer, James," he admitted. "There's no sign of the Dark Lord himself, but the pattern… it's familiar. The fear, the hatred—it's crawling back into our world."

He sighed, adjusting his half-moon spectacles. " families, all with Muggle roots, attacked in the last two weeks alone. Unlawful raids. Children will be denied their place here at Hogwarts. It's happening faster than I imagined."

Arthur Weasley cleared his throat. "The Ministry is flooded with it," he added quietly. "My own department… some colleagues pretend not to notice, others…" His voice faltered. "Some quietly agree with what's happening."

Madam Bones nodded. "It's true. I've seen the reports. The laws aren't changing on paper, but they're bending them, twisting the rules to push their agenda."

Dumbledore's face darkened. "I tried to reason with Fudge," he confessed. "I spoke to him directly, warned him what these policies will bring. At first, he brushed it off, claimed there was no such plot. But when pressed, he admitted the truth. He believes the pure-blood families are simply… angry. That their frustrations will 'settle down' in a few weeks." He shook his head in disbelief. "He told me not to interfere. That I had my chance to be Minister, and I turned it down."

James scoffed. "And now Fudge is dancing to their tune."

"He's changed," Dumbledore agreed softly. "It seems he's found comfort in the company of those with dangerous ideals. His reliance on pure-blood influence has made him blind to the consequences."

McGonagall, her voice sharp as a blade, spoke up. "And so, what? We stand by while the Ministry poisons the next generation? The Wizengamot sits idle. They forget—they forget entirely that they are the future of Wizards in UK—if they silence the Muggle-borns now, half-bloods will be next."

"There's little time to waste," Madam Bones agreed, her face set. "The Daily Prophet has already chosen its side. Every headline fuels their fire, twisting fear into hatred."

"We should drag the Daily Prophet into the light," Moody growled, his magical eye spinning wildly. "Expose them for the cowards they are."

Dumbledore rose from his chair, his presence filling the room. "No Muggle-born child will be harmed within these walls," he declared firmly. "As long as I am Headmaster, Hogwarts will remain their sanctuary. No political games, no outside agendas."

There was a grim silence.

"But beyond these walls…" His voice faltered, just for a moment. "Beyond Hogwarts, the game has changed."

Kingsley's deep voice rumbled through the room. "They're sending young Aurors into missions they wouldn't dare give their pure-blood recruits. Dangerous missions. Muggle-borns barely out of school, sent to face dark wizards and cursed places."

Arthur lowered his head, guilt shadowing his face. "I've seen the lists. Injuries… deaths. Quiet reports, brushed aside."

Moody's jaw clenched. "The signs are there. Cursed wounds. Unforgivable spells. Black magic surfacing in corners we thought safe." 

Dumbledore turned to James. "I fear… the darkness we knew is creeping back. Whether The Dark Lord himself stands behind it, I cannot yet say. But his legacy—his influence—lingers."

James's eyes narrowed. "If he is back… we need to be ready."

Madam Bones added, "We need to rally those who still believe in justice. The tide is turning, and soon, the Ministry will fall deeper into their grasp."

Dumbledore's eyes swept the room—friends, fighters, protectors of the next generation. His voice softened, but the weight behind his words filled the space.

"We cannot let history repeat itself," he said. "For the sake of every child who walks these halls—for the sake of the world we promised to protect."

For a moment, only the crackle of the fire filled the office as Dumbledore's words settled over them.

James Potter broke the silence first. "We can't outfight them—not like before. If we go head-on, they'll twist it, say we're the aggressors." He paced, his brow furrowed. "But that doesn't mean we sit quietly."

Arthur Weasley nodded. "The pure-blood families… they're clever. They're not casting curses in the streets—they're using influence, money, tradition. Quiet words behind closed doors." His voice carried frustration, but also understanding. "We have to match them. Fight their fire with pressure—peacefully, but firmly."

Dumbledore's eyes brightened slightly, a glint of cautious hope. "Precisely. We gather allies. Not with wands drawn, but with voices, letters, connections. The pure-blood supremacists have taken their grievances into the Ministry, the Daily Prophet, the Wizengamot—so must we."

Kingsley leaned forward, his expression unreadable. "We still have people in the Ministry. Not everyone's been bought." He looked to Arthur. "You have contacts in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Madam Bones controls parts of Magical Law Enforcement. That's where we start."

Madam Bones nodded firmly. "We must remind them the Ministry serves all wizardkind, not just old families. I'll speak with those I trust—those who won't be intimidated."

Augusta Longbottom raised her chin. "And the public? The pure-bloods have the Daily Prophet twisting every headline, spreading lies. We'll need voices outside the Ministry." Her eyes sparkled with quiet defiance. "My social circles may be old-fashioned, but they listen to me. The Longbottom name still carries weight."

Moody snorted. "And what—tea parties and speeches are going to fix this?"

"They might," Dumbledore replied calmly. "Words have always held power, Alastor. More than hexes, when chosen carefully." He turned to the group. "We use their methods: quiet pressure, unwavering presence. Every time they push their agenda, we counter it."

James tilted his head thoughtfully. "Letters to the editor. Public statements. Get the Daily Prophet to publish truths—if they refuse, we find other ways. Pamphlets, gatherings… like how they did it during the last war, only without the violence."

Arthur added, "We also press the Wizengamot. They pretend to act in the name of stability, but if enough respected families and officials speak up, they'll have no choice but to listen."

Madam Bones's voice cut in, sharp and certain. "We can't afford to wait. Every day this continues, another Muggle-born suffers. I'll start preparing cases—document everything. False arrests. Targeted Ministry assignments. Injuries covered up. We bring the truth into the light."

Kingsley's eyes glinted with approval. "Expose them with facts. They want anger and division—we give them reason and proof."

Moody grunted. "It's not flashy, but it'll rattle them more than curses will."

Dumbledore offered a faint smile. "The best resistance rarely makes headlines. It works quietly—patiently—until the walls the oppressors built start to crumble."

James's hand closed into a fist. "And if they escalate? If they turn to open violence?"

Dumbledore's eyes darkened for a brief moment, but his voice remained steady. "Then we defend, but we do not strike first. Let history show who brought harm to whom."

Augusta Longbottom stood, adjusting her hat with a determined nod. "I'll speak to the families I trust. Not all pure-bloods are blinded by hate."

Arthur followed, his usual nerves replaced by resolve. "I'll start with my department. Quiet talks—careful ones."

Madam Bones's expression hardened. "I'll begin gathering records tonight. We'll have evidence ready."

Dumbledore looked around at each of them, pride and caution mixed in his gaze. "We may not hold every position of power," he said, voice calm but unwavering. "But as long as we stand together, they cannot silence truth."

The meeting ended with quiet determination, not roaring speeches or bold magic—but with a promise:

To fight with words, unity, and relentless, peaceful pressure.