Ymir

Cornelius Fudge wiped the sweat from his brow as Dolores Umbridge entered his office, her ever-present saccharine smile firmly in place. The pink-clad bureaucrat folded her hands primly, exuding an air of feigned politeness.

"Minister," she began in a syrupy tone, "it seems our dear Dumbledore has become… quite the complication."

Fudge let out a weary grunt, slumping into his chair. "A complication? The man orchestrated Voldemort's downfall, and now the entire wizarding world practically worships him! If we don't act soon, my position, our authority, will be irreparably undermined."

Umbridge's beady eyes gleamed with opportunity. "Minister, what we require is not outright confrontation, but control."

Fudge raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Dumbledore's influence is rooted in Hogwarts. If we strategically insert our own people into key positions, particularly those with legislative authority, we can gradually cut his power."

Fudge frowned. "That is easier said than done. Dumbledore will not sit idly by and allow us to waltz in and take control."

"Of course not," Umbridge simpered. "Which is why we must provide the necessary justification. The recent battle with You-Know-Who has left the public anxious. If we portray Hogwarts as a place rife with unchecked recklessness, dangerous magic, and poor leadership, the Wizengamot will have no choice but to approve increased Ministry oversight."

Fudge leaned forward, intrigued. "And you have a strategy for this?"

"Indeed, Minister. Allow me to oversee this personally. We shall begin with minor reforms, an Educational Decree here, a policy adjustment there. Once we establish a foothold, we will incrementally expand our influence. In time, Hogwarts will function as an extension of the Ministry itself."

Fudge exhaled slowly, weighing her words. "You truly believe this will succeed?"

A cruel smile curled at Umbridge's lips. "Oh, I do not simply believe, Minister. I know."

What Fudge and Umbridge failed to anticipate was the groundwork Alex had already laid to ensure Hogwarts' autonomy. The foundations for a new era of self-sufficiency had been meticulously established.

Severus Snape had been provided with breakthrough alchemical formulas: a cure for lycanthropy and a vaccine against the werewolf virus, both of which would revolutionize the treatment of afflicted individuals in the wizarding world. Meanwhile, Professor Sprout's herbology gardens had been transformed into a self-sustaining magical ecosystem, capable of cultivating every known magical herb without reliance on external suppliers.

Additionally, Hogwarts had begun initiatives to achieve financial independence. Professor McGonagall was now overseeing the institution's economic affairs, ensuring fiscal self-sufficiency, while Professor Flitwick implemented stringent policies to foster discipline and harmony among students, eliminating social divides and bullying.

By the next academic term, Alex anticipated that Hogwarts would no longer require financial support from the Board of Governors. Slowly but surely, their power over the school would be rendered obsolete.

Furthermore, curriculum reforms were subtly shaping the students' perspectives, fostering an ideology of unity, ensuring that muggle-born and pureblood students viewed one another as equals. The ultimate goal was to dismantle the entrenched biases that had plagued wizarding society for generations.

Far from the political machinations of the Ministry, Alex and Arwen walked leisurely through an ancient forest. The crisp scent of pine lingered in the air, interrupted suddenly by the distant sounds of galloping hooves, frantic shouting, and the relentless barking of hounds.

Alex halted, his expression darkening. Arwen instinctively grasped his arm, sensing his heightened awareness. Moments later, an injured young girl burst through the underbrush, her frail form barely able to sustain her desperate flight. Behind her, mounted soldiers emerged, their bows drawn, their gazes fixed on their prey.

One soldier loosed an arrow, aiming to cripple her escape. Alex flicked his fingers, conjuring a translucent barrier that deflected the projectile with ease. The girl, trembling and exhausted, stumbled forward and collapsed at their feet.

For a brief moment, she looked up in stunned disbelief before attempting to rise, sheer terror urging her to continue running. Before she could take another step, Arwen knelt beside her, placing a gentle yet firm hand on her shoulder.

"You're safe now," Arwen whispered, her voice soft with compassion.

She pulled the girl into an embrace, channeling healing magic into her frail body. With practiced efficiency, she extracted the arrow embedded in the child's shoulder. The girl winced but uttered no sound, her will hardened by years of suffering.

Arwen cradled her closer, allowing the warmth of her magic to mend the wounds completely. As exhaustion took over, the child went limp in her arms, drifting into unconsciousness.

"She's so small… so malnourished," Arwen murmured, sorrow evident in her voice. "She must have endured unspeakable hardship."

The mounted soldiers had finally caught up, forming a tense semicircle around them. Weapons were raised, hostility thick in the air.

"Identify yourselves!" one soldier barked, his grip tightening on his sword.

Alex turned his gaze toward them, his expression unreadable. "It has been a long time since anyone dared to raise their voice at me."

Though his lips did not move, his voice resonated within the minds of the soldiers and their hounds, carrying an undeniable weight of authority. Without another word, he raised a hand. Instantly, the riders were yanked from their mounts, they screamed in terror as their bodies dissolved into the earth. The bindings on the horses and dogs unraveled, and the freed animals bolted in all directions, escaping into the depths of the forest.

Alex gently lifted the girl into his arms, his gaze examined her more closely. Her condition was worse than he had initially thought, severely malnourished, her body riddled with old scars.

Most disturbingly, her tongue had been cut out, a cruel testament to the suffering she had endured.

He leaned down, whispering into her ear. "Everything will be okay from now on, Ymir."

With that, he channeled a thread of origin energy into her fragile body, beginning the careful restoration process.