The morning broke dull and metallic, a thin light glinting off the enchanted ceiling as if the storm above the castle had never quite left. The Great Hall was filled with the soft clatter of cutlery and the rustle of parchment—muted, uncertain.
At the Slytherin table, Alden sat with his usual quiet composure, porridge untouched, the Daily Prophet folded neatly beside his plate. Across from him, Theo was dismantling a piece of toast as though it had personally wronged him, while Daphne and Tracey whispered in low tones about upcoming assignments.
The owls came in a sudden gust of wings. Dozens swept down, scattering feathers and cold drops of rain over the breakfast tables. A particularly large barn owl landed before Alden, shaking itself with indignant authority before dropping its parcel onto his plate. The front page unfurled as it slid open—bold letters sprawling across the headline like a pronouncement carved in stone.
MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORMDOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST-EVER HIGH INQUISITOR
For a moment, the table simply stared. Then Theo exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Well," he said, "they've finally stopped pretending."
Daphne leaned closer, eyes scanning the moving photograph of Umbridge, smiling and blinking with syrupy self-satisfaction beneath the headline.
"High Inquisitor?" she repeated. "What in Merlin's name does that even mean?"
Pansy plucked the newspaper from Alden's hand before he could answer, flattening it across the table. Her eyes darted over the text.
"Listen to this," she read aloud, voice dripping with disbelief. In a surprise move last night, the Ministry of Magic passed new legislation giving itself an unprecedented level of control at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…'"
A collective groan rippled down the table. Daphne's fork hit her plate with a sharp clink.
"'The Minister has been growing uneasy about goings-on at Hogwarts for some time,'" Pansy continued, squinting at the small print. "'He is now responding to concerns voiced by anxious parents, who feel the school may be moving in a direction they do not approve.'"
Theo gave a derisive laugh. "Meaning: Dumbledore thinks for himself, and that's unacceptable."
Tracey leaned over. "Does it say anything about the Lineage Authority?"
Alden, who had been silent all the while, reached across and turned the page. His pale fingers paused on the smaller column below the main article.
"Here," he murmured. "Bottom right."
The new headline gleamed dully under the floating candles:
MINISTRY EXPANDS LINEAGE INTEGRITY AUTHORITY — INITIAL EVALUATIONS TO BEGIN AT HOGWARTS
Theo swore under his breath. Daphne's expression darkened.
"Evaluations?" she repeated. "They make it sound like a school survey."
Pansy looked from Alden to the paper and back again. "They mean you, don't they?"
Alden's mouth twitched, not quite a smile.
"It's rare they bother to hide it."
He began reading silently, eyes darting over the paragraphs as the other students murmured around him. The article was dressed in bureaucratic politeness—phrases like 'heritage verification', 'preventive oversight', 'ensuring moral and magical alignment'—but it had the same hollow tone as an accusation that didn't need proving.
"They're sending inspectors," Theo muttered, reading over his shoulder. "Probably here by the end of the week."
Across the hall, laughter erupted at the Gryffindor table; someone mimicked Umbridge's voice in a falsetto drawl. But the sound died as the doors at the far end opened with a solemn creak.
Every head turned.
Dolores Umbridge entered, flanked by two cloaked Ministry officials. Her pink cardigan seemed almost to glow in the torchlight, an island of artificial cheer against the grey stone. She carried a stack of scrolls clutched primly to her chest.
"Oh, wonderful," Theo murmured. "She's upgraded from teacher to overlord."
Daphne's eyes narrowed. "That's not all she's upgraded."
They watched as she minced toward the staff table, nodding graciously to a few students who stiffened at her gaze. Dumbledore rose slightly to greet her, but she waved a dismissive hand, turning instead to Professor McGonagall with a smile that could have curdled milk.
The hum of conversation died completely when Umbridge tapped her wand against her goblet. A soft ping! echoed through the Hall, crisp and intrusive.
"Good morning, students," she trilled, her voice carrying unnaturally well. "I'm delighted to inform you that the Ministry—your Ministry—has seen fit to strengthen the standards of education here at Hogwarts. As of this morning, I have been appointed High Inquisitor."
The announcement rippled through the room like a physical shock. Somewhere among the Ravenclaws, someone dropped a cup.
"My duties," Umbridge continued, "will include ensuring that all instruction meets proper Ministry standards of safety and moral integrity. I will also be assisting in a new initiative—the Lineage Integrity Authority's academic evaluations."
A murmur swelled, half-curious, half-afraid. Alden didn't move. His fingers rested lightly against the edge of the Prophet, tapping once in thought.
"We are, after all," Umbridge said sweetly, "one big family. And it is only natural that families take an interest in one another's… bloodlines."
Her eyes flicked, deliberately, to the Slytherin table. For an instant, her gaze locked with Alden's. The smile did not falter, but the temperature seemed to drop.
Daphne's jaw set. Theo's spoon clattered into his bowl.
"She's daring you to react," Theo whispered.
"Then she'll be disappointed," Alden said softly, tone perfectly even.
From the staff table, Dumbledore's voice broke the hush.
"Thank you, Professor Umbridge. I trust your duties will not interfere with your teaching of Defence Against the Dark Arts?"
"Oh, not at all, Headmaster," she replied, beaming. "After all, my first inspection will begin this afternoon."
A few teachers exchanged looks. Snape's expression was unreadable, though his black eyes flicked once to Alden and back.
Umbridge gave a delicate cough, as if embarrassed by the attention, and took her seat beside Dumbledore, arranging her pink quill and clipboard with meticulous care.
At the Slytherin table, the silence broke at last.
"She's drunk on it," Pansy muttered. "Power suits her too well.""Power," Theo said dryly, "isn't the problem. It's the excuse she's found to use it."
Alden rose quietly, folding the Prophet under his arm. The headline stared up at him once more—Umbridge's smiling face frozen mid-blink.
"What are you going to do?" Daphne asked softly.
"The same as always," he said. "Listen. Watch. Wait."
And as he walked past the long rows of whispering students, the sound of rustling paper followed him like the flutter of wings—dozens of photographs of Umbridge, blinking in perfect unison, as the Ministry's shadow settled fully over the castle.
Alden had almost reached the great oak doors when the air shifted. The kind of silence that falls before a storm rolled through the Great Hall — the chatter cut mid-sentence, spoons stilled, every head turning in unison.
The doors swung open of their own accord.
Three figures entered in a triangle formation, their cloaks the color of gunmetal, wet with rain. Each bore a silver insignia on the breast — an intricate knot of serpentine lines encircling a wand and flame. The Lineage Integrity Authority.
Their boots struck the stone with rhythmic precision, too deliberate to be anything but performance.
Alden stopped where he stood, only a few paces from the threshold. He turned slightly, eyes narrowing as they advanced up the central aisle. Conversations died to a hush. Even the enchanted ceiling seemed to dim, as though the storm clouds above had lowered to watch.
Dolores Umbridge rose from her seat with an audible clap of her hands, her face glowing as if she had been waiting for this precise moment.
"Ah! Perfect timing!" she trilled, stepping forward, pink robes fluttering like a startled bird. "Students, staff—how fortunate that you are all here to witness this most important morning! I am delighted to introduce representatives from the Ministry's Lineage Integrity Authority."
The trio halted before the staff table.
The man at the front inclined his head slightly — tall, angular, hair silvering at the temples, and a face carved into permanent disdain. His voice, when he spoke, carried with the authority of habit, not volume.
"Director Cassian Selwyn," he said crisply. "Head of the Authority's Internal Division."
He gestured to his right — a woman with eyes like polished steel and a mouth that looked carved rather than shaped.
"Inquisitor Vane."
Then to his left, a younger man — narrow-shouldered, his expression unreadable, his badge gleaming a fraction brighter than the others'.
"Acolyte Thorne."
Umbridge folded her hands and beamed.
"They are here, at the Minister's personal request, to conduct evaluations—a simple process, really! Just a measure to ensure Hogwarts remains a safe and properly guided institution for our dear students."
She cast her eyes across the tables, savoring every nervous shift in posture, every swallowed whisper.
Selwyn stepped forward, his cloak whispering over the stone.
"We are not here to punish," he began, his tone devoid of warmth, "but to protect. Our world is changing — and with it, the lines between loyalty and danger grow… blurred."
His gaze slid over the crowd like a cold tide, pausing only when it found Alden. The faintest curve touched his mouth — not quite a smile, but the suggestion of one.
"The Ministry's duty," Selwyn continued, "is to ensure that those lines are never crossed inside these walls. That Hogwarts remains a haven of purity — both of knowledge and of blood."
A faint murmur rippled through the students, sharp and uneasy.
Alden did not move. His eyes, grey-green and steady, met Selwyn's across the hall. Neither looked away.
"To that end," Selwyn went on, still holding Alden's gaze, "our team will be conducting a series of standard verifications — wand registrations, lineage confirmations, magical competency assessments — to ensure that no… concerning elements have taken root where young minds are meant to be cultivated."
Theo muttered something vicious under his breath. Daphne's hand found Alden's sleeve in quiet warning, but he remained still — unreadable, carved from restraint.
"Our first demonstration," Selwyn said, voice crisp as snapped parchment, "will take place shortly. Attendance is mandatory for all students."
He turned slightly toward Umbridge. "Transparency is essential."
"Indeed," Umbridge said sweetly, stepping forward with a smile that barely masked her triumph. "An educational opportunity for everyone to understand how the Ministry safeguards their future."
A murmur of protest rose from the Hufflepuff table — quickly smothered when Vane's hawk-like eyes swept across the room.
Then Dumbledore stood.
The noise died instantly.
"Director Selwyn," he said quietly, "I trust these proceedings will be conducted with the dignity and consent owed to any member of this school."
Selwyn inclined his head — a gesture that managed to be both courteous and insolent.
"Consent," he said, "is a luxury reserved for matters of preference, Headmaster. This is a matter of public safety."
The tension in the room was palpable — every flickering candle seemed to lean toward them, listening.
"You will find," Dumbledore said softly, "that Hogwarts is not accustomed to the Ministry redefining such words."
"And yet," Selwyn replied, with a faint smile, "here we stand."
A silence followed that seemed to stretch forever.
Then Umbridge, with a little clap of her hands, broke it like a brittle charm.
"Splendid! Thank you, Director. How very eloquently put."
She turned to the hall again.
"Students, your cooperation is expected and appreciated. The evaluations will begin shortly after lunch. Prefects, please see that your Houses are informed and orderly."
As she spoke, Selwyn's eyes lingered on Alden once more.
"We appreciate punctuality," he said, the words landing with surgical precision. "Isn't that right, Mr. Dreyse?"
The sound of Alden's name, spoken so deliberately, seemed to echo off the stone.
The whisper spread like fire: They know him. They came for him.
Alden's reply was quiet but carried clear enough for the front tables to hear.
"Then you won't be disappointed."
Selwyn's smile deepened — cold, measured, certain.
And as the three officials turned and strode from the hall, the murmurs followed like a wave. Some curious. Some frightened. And others, quietly thrilled — as though the Ministry had just brought them their first true spectacle of the year.
Dumbledore remained standing long after the doors closed behind the Authority. At the staff table, Snape's eyes were fixed on Alden — sharp, wary, unreadable.
And Alden, finally turning away, felt every gaze burning between his shoulder blades as he walked out into the corridor — the heavy doors shutting behind him with a sound that was far too much like a lock sliding into place.
By midafternoon, the castle felt different. The very air had thickened — tense, watchful, like it had learned to hold its breath. Word had spread faster than wildfire through dry grass: the L.I.A. would be conducting a "demonstration" in the Great Hall.
Students filled the aisles long before the bells rang. Benches scraped, whispers hissed, and even the portraits leaned from their frames to stare. Professors took their places at the high table, their faces guarded — McGonagall's mouth pressed thin, Flitwick's small hands clenched white against the edge of his desk, Sprout's brow furrowed deep in distrust. Snape alone appeared relaxed, though the faint twitch in his jaw betrayed otherwise.
At the far end of the hall, a low wooden platform had been conjured — polished and official-looking, as if the Ministry had carried it straight from one of its own courtrooms. Three chairs stood upon it, each gleaming like obsidian. Behind them, a crimson banner embroidered with the Lineage Integrity sigil hung from the rafters, catching the flicker of candlelight.
A hush rippled through the crowd as Umbridge tottered onto the platform, her smile wider than ever. She carried a thick pink binder pressed against her chest, a gold ribbon marking the page near the top.
"Students!" she began, her voice sugary and shrill, cutting through the quiet. "What a wonderful turnout! It warms my heart to see how enthusiastic you all are about learning how our Ministry works to keep you—safe!"
Her eyes swept the crowd, lingering briefly on the Slytherin table. Alden sat there between Daphne and Theo, unreadable. He didn't move when her gaze landed on him.
"Today's demonstration," Umbridge continued, "will show you how the Lineage Integrity Authority ensures fairness, accountability, and stability within our noble magical community."
A few students clapped uncertainly. Most simply stared.
At her side, the three Ministry agents took their places on the platform — Director Selwyn, tall and silver-haired; Inquisitor Vane, lean and sharp-eyed; and Acolyte Thorne, the youngest, his parchment already in hand. Their cloaks hung perfectly straight, not a wrinkle among them.
Selwyn spoke first, voice precise and cold.
"Our purpose is simple: to verify that those who wield power in our world do so in alignment with the Ministry's standards of conduct and heritage."
"In other words," Umbridge interrupted, "to make sure no one is using magic irresponsibly, or—Merlin forbid—immorally."
There was a faint rustle among the students. A second later, Umbridge clasped her hands.
"Now, to make this process clear and educational, we will be conducting a sample evaluation with one of our own students."
She turned, smiling far too sweetly.
"Mr. Alden Dreyse, if you'd be so kind as to join us?"
The words seemed to echo through the hall.
Theo's fork froze halfway to his mouth. Daphne stiffened beside him. Across the room, students leaned forward eagerly — some whispering gleefully, others pale with curiosity.
Alden stood slowly, the motion deliberate, controlled. He didn't look at Umbridge. His gaze was already fixed on the trio waiting above the hall.
As he walked down the aisle, a wave of whispers followed:
"They're going to test him first—of course they are.""Finally.""Bet he'll hex them.""Bet he'll lose his wand."
Daphne reached out briefly as he passed, brushing his sleeve. "Don't rise to it," she whispered.
He didn't answer.
He ascended the platform steps under a thousand eyes. The banner above swayed slightly in the draft, its embroidery catching flashes of red and silver — serpentine, gleaming, oppressive.
Umbridge gestured to the chair in the center.
"If you'll take a seat, dear."
Alden's mouth quirked faintly. "Of course."
He sat. The wooden chair creaked softly but held firm.
Umbridge set her binder upon the table and began flipping through the pages with deliberate care.
"Before we begin," she said, "the Ministry has kindly asked that I provide the Lineage Authority with all relevant documentation regarding the… subject's history."
The word subject drew murmurs.
She cleared her throat primly and began to read.
"Alden Dreyse, fifth year, House of Slytherin. Bloodline: confirmed descendant of Gellert Grindelwald through the maternal line. Prior disciplinary record includes—ah, yes—a verbal threat made toward a Ministry-appointed professor…"
Several students snickered. Umbridge's smile didn't falter.
"—as well as repeated use of advanced-level magic during classroom demonstrations. Multiple students and staff have expressed concerns that his… comfort with darker branches of spellwork might pose unnecessary influence over peers."
McGonagall's lips pressed tighter. Snape's fingers drummed slowly against his chair arm, his eyes like knives trained on Umbridge.
"These reports," she continued brightly, "suggest an impressionable young man in need of firm guidance from the Ministry's capable hands."
A low, humorless laugh escaped Alden before he could stop it.
"Capable hands," he repeated softly, voice carrying through the hall. "Interesting choice of words."
Umbridge froze, binder halfway closed. "I beg your pardon?"
He lifted his head then, meeting her eyes squarely.
"If we could speed this farce along," he said, tone measured, "I'd appreciate it. Anyone with half a brain can see the L.I.A. wasn't created to ensure 'fairness' or 'heritage.' It was created to point the public's attention anywhere but where it belongs."
Gasps erupted instantly.
Selwyn's eyes narrowed. "You will not—"
But Alden's voice cut through, calm and unwavering.
"You'll forgive me, Director, but if this is about ensuring peace, why form an entirely new department to interrogate schoolchildren?"
Vane's expression turned flinty. "Watch your tone, boy."
"Oh, I'm only curious," Alden said lightly. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like the Ministry is so afraid of Voldemort's return that it had to invent a different villain."
A ripple of horror swept through the students. Several flinched at the name. Theo muttered a curse under his breath. Daphne buried her face in her hand.
Selwyn's jaw tightened. "Do not speak falsehoods—"
"Falsehoods?" Alden tilted his head. "Tell me, then. What exactly are you investigating? Family records? Rumors? Convenient scapegoats?"
The words struck like stones on glass.
"Because if that's all," Alden went on, voice dropping lower, "then the Ministry is even more lacking than I thought."
For a heartbeat, the Great Hall was utterly still.
At the staff table, McGonagall's quill snapped clean in half. Flitwick's tiny gasp was swallowed by the collective intake of breath. Snape — expression schooled to icy disinterest — lifted a hand to his chin, concealing what looked suspiciously like a smirk.
Umbridge had gone crimson. Her voice, when it came, was sharp and shaking.
"That will do, Mr. Dreyse! Such slanderous language will not—"
"Slander?" Alden interrupted softly. "Surely you'd know better than anyone that truth only sounds slanderous when it's inconvenient."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Selwyn's wand twitched at his side. Vane whispered something clipped and cold to Thorne, who began scribbling furiously on his parchment.
Theo whispered hoarsely from the crowd, "He's going to get himself sent to Azkaban."
Daphne didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on Alden — on the slight tremor of magic around his fingers, the sharp glint in his half-smile.
Umbridge slammed her binder shut.
"Enough! This—this demonstration will proceed as planned. The Ministry will not be mocked by a—"
She caught Dumbledore's gaze. The Headmaster hadn't moved, but his eyes — cold, bright, ancient — rested on her like a weight.
"You may continue, Professor," he said softly, "if you think it wise."
For once, Umbridge faltered.
Selwyn stepped forward smoothly, recovering the moment.
"We'll continue," he said, tone clipped. "The subject is merely… nervous. It's natural."
Alden looked up at him, expression unreadable.
"Oh, I assure you," he said quietly, "nervous isn't the word."
The faintest smile tugged at Selwyn's mouth — something between amusement and threat.
"Then by all means," he murmured, "let's begin."
The hall erupted in whispers as the first set of silver shackles floated into view, glinting in the candlelight.
And as they descended toward Alden's wrists, the room seemed to hold its breath again — the sound of metal and magic blending into something far colder.
The demonstration had begun.