It had been a full month since Corvus departed for Durmstrang. While the young heir immersed himself in new insights and climbed steadily toward mastery level classes across multiple disciplines, Arcturus Black had been hard at work in Britain. The patriarch, long thought to be fading into obscurity, began to show himself more frequently at the gatherings of Traditionalist and Neutral families. His presence, once dismissed as relic of a bygone era, now blazed with fresh intensity. At every meeting, he spoke proudly of his heir's accomplishments, his voice carrying the gravitas of age and authority. He painted vivid pictures of a prodigy whose ambition and brilliance might one day secure him a place in history as the youngest student ever admitted into Durmstrang's mastery programs. The Black name, once spoken in hushed tones as a house in decline, now rippled through parlors and council chambers as a banner of revival. Where once there had been whispers of ruin, there were now murmurs of strength.
The response was far from admiration on all parts of the Wizarding Britain. While many families, Traditionalist and Neutral alike nodded in cautious approval, others muttered about arrogance, and still others seethed in private. Chief among the latter was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Each report that reached him, whether through official channels or through the delicate webs of spies he maintained among both Dark and Neutral circles, only fueled his frustration. From Durmstrang's iron clad secrecy, enough details leaked to confirm that Corvus had passed examinations in many subjects, advancing himself through the seventh year curriculum. Dumbledore had worked tirelessly to smother such news before it spread, but Arcturus's proud proclamations ensured the story raced like wildfire across Britain. What Arcturus celebrated as triumph, Dumbledore read as the birth of a rival with the potential to shatter his careful designs.
The tension could not remain hidden. Inevitably, the scent of conflict reached the press. Rita Skeeter, bug eyed and ever hungry for scandal, caught wind of the growing animosity between the venerable Lord Black and the Chief Warlock. For her, it was an irresistible lure. She sharpened her quills and summoned her nerve, petitioning for an interview with both the Head of House and his heir. For Rita, there was no sweeter prey than two titans poised for confrontation, and the thought of being the first to pry into their rivalry sent a thrill through her veins. The scent of blood in the water was too rich to ignore, and she circled with predatory zeal.
Meanwhile, in the quieter corridors of political intrigue, Dumbledore's allies stirred. Elphias Doge, ever eager to serve, approached with a legislative scheme for the Wizengamot. His idea was deceptively simple yet laced with dangerous precision: to propose a law mandating that the heirs of the Sacred Twenty Eight be raised and educated within Britain, to ensure they grew steeped in "proper British customs" rather than contaminated by foreign influences. To Dumbledore, the plan was a masterstroke. The xenophobic instincts of the Traditionalists and the pride of the Neutral families could be played against them, co opted to serve his agenda. Even those inclined to resist might find themselves swept along by appeals to heritage and national duty.
Albus's smile, thin and controlled, betrayed none of the urgency beneath. He encouraged Doge to draft the motion, cloak it in patriotic fervor, and present it as a defense of wizarding tradition. At the same time, he urged Tiberius Ogden to move quietly among the Wizengamot's members, seeding whispers, planting doubts, and preparing the soil for the bill to grow. Slowly but methodically, the Chief Warlock built his case. Each step brought him closer to what he desired most: a leash upon Corvus Black, a cage for the heir of a house that had once been his an obstacle. Step by step, the board was being reset, and Albus Dumbledore intended to be the only one who held the winning hand.
--
The monthly session of the Wizengamot was about to start. The old stone chamber, with its high ceiling and rows of carved benches, filled with the sound of rustling robes and quiet talks as the heads of families took their seats. The Traditionalists sat together on the right, most of them stern and proud. Across from them sat the Progressives, their voices louder. In the middle were the Neutrals, who often decided which side won a vote. They rarely cared about ideals, but instead voted for whatever brought them more profit or power. Many saw the Wizengamot less as a place of noble rule and more as a schoolyard fight between spoiled children, each trying to get their way. Democracy, after all, was just the rule of the majority, whether magical or not.
When everyone had settled, Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore stood. He raised his symbolic staff and tapped it once on the floor. The sound echoed like a judge's gavel, and the chamber went quiet. "The eight hundred and fortieth session of the Wizengamot," he said in his deep, calm voice, "is now in order. May wisdom guide us, and may our votes reflect the greater good." Those who knew him well, however, heard the sharpness hidden beneath the gentle tone. Adjusting his half moon glasses after pretending to read the planned schedule of the session, he announced, "Lord Elphias Doge, the floor is yours."
Elphias Doge rose nervously, clutching a parchment. At first his voice shook, but soon it grew louder. "Honored members, I bring before you a serious matter. Our noble families, the Sacred Twenty Eight, must have their heirs raised and taught here in Britain. Sending them abroad, to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons or any other foreign institute weakens their loyalty and fills their minds with outlandish ways. I propose a law requiring these heirs to study within the borders of our beloved realm, where they will not only learn magic, but also the traditions as well."
The chamber filled with whispers. Progressives clapped politely, their eyes flicking toward the Neutrals. Several Traditionalists groaned. Lord Avery stood, tapping his cane against the floor. "We will not be told where to send our children, Doge. Some of us still care about excellence more than comfort. Hogwarts has become a place of mediocrity under its headmaster. Your proposal is about control, not tradition."
Lord Travers stood as well, nodding. "Durmstrang and Beauxbatons let the strong rise. Hogwarts rewards weakness. Its headmaster favors the Muggle born, the unskilled, and the lazy. You would have us chain our heirs to this failure and call it heritage."
Then Arcturus Black rose. The room went silent. Even those who opposed him leaned forward to hear. His voice, though aged, was sharp and commanding. "I have walked the halls of Hogwarts. My heir now walks the halls of Durmstrang. I tell you this, Hogwarts no longer shapes greatness. It excuses weakness, lowers the bar, and calls it fairness. But I call it the death of talent. At Hogwarts, the gifted are chained so the slow can keep up. At Durmstrang, the strong are tested, sharpened, and made into steel."
The chamber stirred with mixed reactions. Arcturus continued, his eyes bright with fire. "Hogwarts was once a great school, yes. But look at it now. A ghost teaches History of Magic, passing down nothing but his own incompetence. A drunkard teaches Divination, when she is sober enough to stand. Electives are shallow copies of the real thing found abroad. Only a few professors still show skill. Charms, Herbology, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Runes and Potions. Yet each is overburdened, teaching all seven years alone. Tell me, how can they give true mastery under such conditions? No, my friends, this is not tradition. This, as my beloved heir once said is engineered inefficieny. And once again, Doge speaks not for himself, but for the wizard who hides behind him. Keep your nose out of matters that do not belong to you, Albus."
Gasps filled the hall. Still, Arcturus pressed on. "Hogwarts graduates leave unready for the world. Abroad, they must spend two more years proving themselves capable before they can work. Is this what we want for our heirs? To be laughed at? To be pitied?"
The Neutrals shifted in their seats. Some whispered uneasily. Others nodded, unwillingly agreeing with him. Traditionalists began to clap, and a few Neutrals joined them. For once, the applause was not polite, it was sharp, filled with conviction.
Dumbledore sat high in his chair, his hands folded calmly. Outwardly, he was serene. But behind his glasses, his eyes burned. Doge, red faced and nervous, tried to continue, but the chamber's mood had already shifted. The room was divided: those who wished to bind their heirs to Hogwarts, and those who wanted freedom to seek true excellence elsewhere.
The debate grew heated, louder and more passionate than it had been in years. And for the first time since Albus took the reins of this chamber, the Wizengamot did not bend to Dumbledore's will, but to the defiance of Arcturus Black.
--
Rita Skeeter was having a field day after the tense meeting of the Wizengamot. Her Quick Quotes Quill danced across the parchment like a dagger in the hands of an assassin, spilling ink as sharp as venom. The Daily Prophet had given her free rein to craft the front page headline, and Rita seized the chance with glee. When the first owls dropped the copy of the newspaper across breakfast tables, shock, outrage, and giddy amusement rippled through wizarding Britain.
Hogwarts: Bastion of Mediocrity?
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
The grand old castle of Hogwarts, once hailed as the jewel of British wizardry, has lost its shine. Recent debates in the Wizengamot have raised the question: is Hogwarts truly preparing our children for greatness, or has it become little more than a nursery for untalented?
Comparisons with other institutions paint a grim picture. Beauxbatons produces charmers and innovators, their graduates sought after across Europe for their refinement and magical creativity. Durmstrang forges warriors and scholars alike, their mastery programs feared and respected as the most rigorous in the world. Hogwarts? Hogwarts offers a ghost to drone through History of Magic, a Divination mistress whose sherry glass is steadier than her Sight, and a curriculum so hollow that its graduates require two additional years of instruction abroad before they can compete with their peers.
This humble reporter cannot help but wonder: has Hogwarts lowered its standards to favor equality over excellence? And if so, what price will Britain pay for this soft indulgence?
"The truth hurts, dear readers. While Headmaster Dumbledore preaches of 'greater good,' the only thing growing greater seems to be Hogwarts' reputation for coddling. Failure is being exported in bulk, and Britain's standing abroad suffers for it. Fine citizens of our beloved nation should think twice before chaining their heirs to this sinking ship. For in the halls of Durmstrang, talent is sharpened. In Beauxbatons, brilliance is polished. In Hogwarts, promise is dulled, and ambition buried beneath comfort."
The reactions were immediate and fierce. Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, lips pressed thin as he folded the paper with deliberate calm. His familiar Fawkes was not deeming his anger worthy of it's glance. His fingers lingered on the parchment as if he could will it to crumble. Outwardly, he maintained his mask of serenity, but behind his spectacles his eyes burned. Rita's words had pierced his carefully woven image of benevolent authority. He knew better than most how quickly public opinion could shift and how difficult it was to rein it back once the press had sunk its teeth.
At Grimmauld Place, Arcturus Black barked a triumphant laugh, slamming the paper onto the table so hard the goblets rattled. "Finally, some truth in ink!" he roared, silver eyes gleaming with mirth. To him, Skeeter's column was a public vindication of everything he had thundered in the Wizengamot. He took particular joy in imagining Dumbledore's tight lipped fury as his prized school was paraded as a national embarrassment.
Across Britain, wizarding families devoured the article. Lord Avery shared the Prophet with a smirk at his breakfast table, muttering that Hogwarts had long needed such a reckoning. The Notts and Traverses nodded grimly. Whispers among common people was rising that perhaps the old ways had proven right all along. The Greengrasses expressed quiet interest, neutral, but now wary of Hogwarts' sinking reputation. Even Amelia Bones, cautious in her words not to favor any side, allowed herself to murmur approval behind closed doors. Among the Neutrals, whispers spread like fire. Perhaps Hogwarts was not the unshakable pillar it once claimed to be, and perhaps their gold would be better invested in foreign tutelage for their children.
The Progressives, however, rallied defensively. Letters poured into the Prophet denouncing Skeeter's "slander" and praising Dumbledore's vision. At Hogwarts itself, students whispered uneasily in corridors, some swelling with pride in defense of their school, others wondering if the accusations rang true. The faculty, too, could not escape the storm. Minerva McGonagall's lips were pressed tighter than ever, her sharp eyes flashing whenever she caught students passing Skeeter's article between them. Professor Snape sneered openly, declaring to his Slytherins that Skeeter's words were 'at last, something accurate in the waste paper called Daily Prophet,' though whether his venom was aimed at the Prophet or at Dumbledore was left unsaid. Professor Flitwick defended his colleagues in staff meetings, insisting that Hogwarts still produced capable wizards and witches, though even he admitted privately that the burden of teaching seven years alone was crippling. Pomona Sprout grumbled bitterly in the greenhouses, furious at Skeeter's attacks but unable to deny the truth of overwork. And Trelawney, ever dramatic, announced in the Great Hall that she had Seen this very slander in a dream, though the smell of sherry on her breath made the claim ring hollow. The ghost Professor Binns remained unbothered, droning on Goblin Wars as though the outside world did not exist, which for him it did not.. An irony not lost on the students who had read Skeeter's critique.
The debate that had begun in the chamber now blazed across every drawing room, shop, tavern, and classroom. Hogwarts' reputation, once untouchable, had been dragged through the mud. Whether the school could emerge unscathed or whether the words of Rita Skeeter would leave a permanent stain remained to be seen.