A/N: I should have had the disclaimer in the first chapter too, but this is my first time actually posting a story so it slipped my mind. From here on out the author notes will be at the end of the chapter, responses to reviews will be by PM unless they are something i feel need to be clarified for other readers.

Disclaimer, I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters or the setting in which the story takes place. I do own Nacana and the other OCs.

Chapter 2

Discussions and Ruminations

Amelia found herself gazing up at the words etched, almost carved, into the wall, a flurry of emotions dancing within her chest like leaves caught in an unpredictable breeze. Trepidation stirred in her like a tempestuous sea, its waves of unease crashing against the shores of her memories. Memories of a time stained with the horrors of war, a time when her family and those who shared their ideals stood resolute against the oppressive tide of the pureblood agenda.

In the throes of the last war, her family and kindred spirits had stood as a barrier, not the primary targets, yet the brutal hand of conflict spared no one who dared defy the twisted ideology of the Death Eaters. The haunting echoes of those times reverberated still—the Mckinnon family's fate carved into her heart as a reminder of the unspeakable toll. Their legacy had been reduced to tragedy, a symphony of loss that lingered in the corners of her mind. The Bones family, once a steadfast fortress of unity, now only survived in fragments, leaving Amelia and her niece as the lone survivors. The Prewett name, once a symbol of strength, had been scattered to the winds of destiny, with only the indomitable Molly Weasley left to bear its legacy.

But the scars of the past were not isolated to those families alone. The canvas of history painted a bleak tableau—the Potters, the Longbottoms, and so many others, all victims of a perverted ideology that labeled them 'Blood Traitors'. The bitterness of their loss was a stark reminder that the venomous serpent of blood purity cared not for the distinctions within its own ranks.

And now, in a chilling twist of fate, a shadow once thought banished sought to rise anew. The revelation that someone, somewhere, harbored a sinister desire to perpetrate similar atrocities for the sake of blood purity reignited a dormant fire within Amelia. It was a call to action, a stark reminder that the past was a spectral guide, whispering warnings through the annals of time.

In a stark deviation from the past, it was not those with Muggle blood that found themselves in the crosshairs this time; it was individuals like Amelia, a revelation that added a bitter twist to the already complex narrative. The implications were not lost on her—history had an uncanny knack for morphing into an ironic mirror, reflecting the very prejudices it once sought to oppose. Those who once fought for equality and acceptance now faced the chilling prospect of being hunted themselves.

Amelia's understanding of the situation was deep-rooted, born from a sober assessment of the flawed justice system that had allowed supposed Imperius victims to evade consequences. In the secret corners of her mind, she had contemplated the notion of taking matters into her own hands. The desire for retribution, for a world where those responsible for heinous acts would be held accountable, was a temptation that nipped at her thoughts. Yet, the resolve to uphold the law remained steadfast. She knew, unequivocally, that becoming an outlaw herself would serve only to perpetuate the cycle of violence and chaos.

Her contemplation was interrupted by Dumbledore's gentle voice, breaking through the somber stillness like a beacon of reason. "Let's retire to my office, let your Aurors document the scene, Amelia," he suggested, his wisdom guiding the course of action. The scene before them was nothing short of grotesque, a grim testament to the horrors that prejudice and extremism could unleash. As Dumbledore left the room, the residue of sickness lingered, a visceral reminder of the atrocity that had taken place. His steps were deliberate, the weight of the robes he wore an embodiment of the darkness they were leaving. The knowledge that those robes would soon be consumed by flames, forever removed from any respectable use, was a small yet meaningful act of redemption in the face of heinous deeds.

Amelia's stomach churned, her gaze wrenching away from the gruesome tableau of decayed human remains and the sinister writing etched upon the wall. The scene was a haunting embodiment of malevolence, a stark reminder of the darkness that could fester within the human soul. The weight of protocol pressed upon her, the necessity of following the established procedures clear even in the midst of the macabre spectacle.

Her thoughts tugged in conflicting directions. Instinctively, Amelia clung to the urge to maintain secrecy, to shield the information about the cryptic writing on the wall from the wider world. Yet, Dumbledore's presence altered the equation. The seasoned wisdom he exuded cast a shadow of doubt upon her usual inclinations. Honesty became the cornerstone, even when facing the intricate web of potential alliances and uncertainties.

The decision weighed heavily on her. She grappled with the internal struggle, knowing that this was a turning point, an indication that their paths might be intertwined in ways she couldn't yet fully accept. And while Amelia harbored reservations about working alongside the enigmatic Dumbledore, she recognized the harsh reality—the future might necessitate an alliance, a fusion of their unique strengths to counter a menace that threatened to engulf their world.

She was taken out of her contemplations when Dumbledore pulled something out of his robes, a long rod emblazoned with the seal of Hogwarts, was presented to them—a portkey. Amelia's fingers closed around the rod, mirroring Alastor Moody's actions beside her. A small, dismissive thought flitted through her mind as she caught sight of Dawlish nearby, his constitution not as robust as it should be, evidenced by the man heaving into a bush almost out of sight. 'Rookies,' she mused, a mixture of exasperation and understanding tugging at her.

The familiar sensation gripped her, the sensation of a hook seizing her from behind her navel, indicating the portkey's activation. The world blurred and spun, a whirlwind of motion that momentarily disoriented her senses. The dizzying tumult settled abruptly, depositing her once more in the sanctum of Dumbledore's office. The orchestrated efficiency of the surroundings struck her—the tea service awaiting their return, the unexpected presence of small bottles containing calming draughts.

It was a testament to the mystical intuition of the elf responsible for the upkeep of Dumbledore's office. In the midst of the maelstrom they faced, small comforts emerged, a balm to their troubled souls. As they settled into the room, Amelia knew that despite her uncertainties, a connection had been forged—one that might hold the key to thwarting the looming threat. With the specter of impending darkness casting its long shadow, she braced herself for the uncertain future, her resolve strengthening, and the enigmatic partnership with Dumbledore becoming an inevitability she could no longer ignore.

A tinge of chagrin settled over Amelia as she measured out a modest dose of the calming potion, letting it soothe the frayed edges of her nerves without impeding her lucidity. The potion's warmth eased the residue of anxiety brought on by the disquieting scene they had just witnessed, as well as the abrupt elevation of her status within the ranks. Downing half the bottle was an admission of vulnerability, a quiet acceptance that even the strongest of leaders could benefit from a moment of respite.

As Amelia placed the now-empty teacup upon the table, a question slipped from her lips, a query that spoke volumes about the complexities of their situation. "What are the chances that whoever did this is a Muggleborn?" The query hung in the air, an echo of both suspicion and uncertainty. Amelia directed her gaze toward Dumbledore, a subtle evasion of the penetrating twinkle in his eyes. His enigmatic demeanor was both an asset and an obstacle—his robes concealing as much as they revealed, his presence shrouded in an aura of mystique that defied conventional understanding.

Dumbledore's response was a measured reflection of the complexities they faced. "Making decisions about the perpetrators' blood status based solely on their statement would be a grave mistake," he emphasized. "It's essential to remember that purebloods can harbor grievances similar to muggleborns or half-bloods, especially when considering recent events involving Death Eaters. Voldemort himself, a half-blood, promoted Pureblood Supremacy. This illustrates the disconnect between an ideology and the individuals who advocate it."

Amelia recognized the intricate nature of their adversary's motivation. She knew that justice required careful examination, a refusal to settle for superficial assumptions. While contemplating Dumbledore's words, she couldn't shake the fact that he seemed to know the true identity of the madman from the previous war. Although she had a burning desire to question him about this knowledge, she realized that it was a low-priority concern at the moment. In this delicate dance of solving the case, Dumbledore's insights would likely prove invaluable, a realization she couldn't help but acknowledge. Therefore, attacking the man at this stage would be ill-advised. Dumbledore sighed before taking a sip from his teacup, which surprisingly contained Mt. Dew instead of tea. He needed a pick-me-up.

Dumbledore's perspective offered a fresh angle, one that intrigued Amelia while she maintained her guarded stance. The meticulous layering of spells guided by the golden ratio hinted at a level of magic beyond the ordinary. As they discussed the magical intricacies, Dumbledore's wand flicked with a flourish. A shimmering illusion manifested on the wall, replicating the cryptic message that was etched into the scene they had just left behind.

"The ancient incantations and this peculiar spellwork could be key to understanding our adversary's motivations," Dumbledore began, his eyes focused on the illusion, which now displayed the intricate magical patterns. "However, it is this name, 'Inima Antica,' that strikes me as particularly intriguing."

Amelia couldn't help but gaze at the illusion of the writing, her curiosity growing as she considered the significance of this mysterious name. As she returned her attention to Dumbledore, he continued without waiting for her question.

"The translated meaning," he paused, letting the significance hang in the air, "is 'the Ancient Heart.' While it appears straightforward, it may carry deeper connotations. This choice of name suggests a level of gravitas, or perhaps, an underlying symbolic significance. But, of course, the question remains: in what context and what language is this name significant?"

His sigh, as he considered these matters, and the careful way he handled his cup conveyed an unspoken gravity, which Amelia regarded with a mix of curiosity and reservation. The possibilities of what this translation could mean seemed to dangle before them.

'The Ancient Heart,' inscribed in English on the wall, caught Amelia's attention. The name felt weighty, as if it held hidden significance, but she couldn't dismiss the possibility of deliberate cryptic theatrics. Dumbledore, ever the scholar, remembered an old tale about 'the Ancient Heart.' He sighed and regarded the illusion of the writing with an intensity that conveyed unspoken gravity, leaving Amelia both curious and cautious.

Dumbledore's reply was steeped in historical context, a deduction that made sense but still required careful consideration. "I believe it's plausible that the name 'Ancient Heart' has ties to Romania or its surrounding regions. It's worth noting that the English translation was provided, not the original Romanian. Furthermore, there's enough local folklore mentioning 'The Ancient Heart' that it's conceivable this individual grew up hearing such stories."

"In the folktales, 'The Ancient Heart' symbolized a spirit or force safeguarding the people, embodying their collective will to endure through generations," Dumbledore explained, his voice carrying profound reflection. "The name is evoked because it embodies the collective's enduring spirit, the unwavering determination that spans generations. In my view, this moniker asserts that our unknown figure is declaring themselves as the embodiment of the people's will, forging a path forward on their behalf."

As Dumbledore spoke, the room seemed to hang in a moment of suspended understanding. His words held a weight that resonated, even as the lines on his face deepened, revealing the heavy burden of age and interjected, grounded in her practical approach. "Albus, in my experience, and partially thanks to the training from this old grouch over here," she gestured toward Moody with a faint smile, "assuming the worst-case scenario and meticulously preparing for it is the most prudent course of action." Her gaze shifted back to Dumbledore as she articulated her perspective. "Given that, we can deduce that this wasn't executed by a lone individual. The complexity and premeditation suggest a meticulously orchestrated effort. There were no signs of a struggle, no evidence of spell damage—either the attack was swift enough to prevent any response, or there were enough individuals involved to ensure that resistance would be futile… or perhaps both."

Amelia's pragmatic analysis conveyed her thoughts on the notion of the "collective will of the people." Her training taught her to dissect every nuance, to explore every angle, and to be prepared for the unexpected. As the conversation continued, her eyes flitted between Dumbledore and Moody, a silent acknowledgment of the partnership they were reluctantly forging.

"I understand your perspective, Amelia, but allow me to propose an alternative viewpoint," Dumbledore interjected, his voice carrying the weight of his experience. "Consider the scene we just departed from—the intricacy of the magic employed, the multitude of concurrent enchantments skillfully woven together. Even in my prime, I would have found it challenging to orchestrate such an intricate display without assistance. Thus, I urge you to contemplate that the worst-case scenario could well be that this 'Ancient Heart' managed to execute this feat alone."

Dumbledore's words hung in the air, laden with a gravity that sent a shiver down the spines of the two Aurors. The implications surged through them. Dumbledore wasn't dismissing the possibility of a group's involvement, but he was painting a chilling picture—one where an individual on the opposing side exhibited power and skill surpassing even the legendary Headmaster's.

The possibility resonated deeply with Amelia and Moody, the realization of a single adversary wielding such immense power sending ripples of apprehension through their thoughts. The concept of facing an individual who could outmatch Dumbledore, a figure long regarded as a pinnacle of magical capability, was nothing short of unsettling.

Amelia exchanged a brief glance with Moody, a silent exchange that communicated their shared concern. The implications were clear—whether the foe acted alone or as part of a group, they were confronting a force to be reckoned with. It was a reality that underscored the importance of every step they took moving forward. The partnership with Dumbledore, even amid her skepticism, was now more crucial than ever as they prepared to navigate the treacherous terrain laid out before them.

As they circled around possibilities, the notion of a smokescreen garnered collective consideration. The potential was acknowledged, and they resolved to keep this avenue open, a testament to their thoroughness and awareness of the layers of deceit they might have to navigate.

Moody, ever the vigilant one, proposed a more proactive strategy. He suggested monitoring known extremist groups, including the remnants of the Ashwinders—an organization that shared views with the Death Eaters, albeit with a difference in tactics. The notion that some extremists might shun attacking Muggles and Muggleborns not out of principle but due to pragmatism highlighted in Amelia's mind how unnatural the Death Eater attacks and this Ancient Hearts attack were.

Dumbledore's familiarity with the Ashwinders was rooted in the past, a period when their first leader had met his end. He acknowledged Moody's proposal regarding monitoring these remnants, a nod of agreement that spoke to his recognition of the group's historical significance. The conversation flowed seamlessly as Moody expanded on his idea, suggesting the bolstering of security around high-profile Pureblood families and potential targets.

Moody's pragmatism shone through, even as he acknowledged the discomfort he felt about protecting individuals he considered "Death Eater Bastards." The tension between personal beliefs and the necessity of action was a grating concept, a couple years ago they were trying to arrest the people they were now trying to protect. The proposal wasn't without its internal struggles, but Moody recognized that it might be the most effective way to apprehend the enigmatic "Ancient Heart" before further lives were lost.

The delicate dance of alliances in pursuit of a common goal was a recurring theme, one that demanded concessions for the sake of a greater good. She mentioned their impending need to return to the Ministry, acknowledging the potential diplomatic cost of their brief detour to Dumbledore's office.

As Amelia walked out of Dumbledore's office, a palpable weight settled upon her shoulders. The gravity of her new responsibilities, coupled with the enormity of the task ahead, bore down upon her, a reminder that leadership came with its own trials. Less than four hours into her new role, the burden was already evident. The realization that they were confronting a formidable adversary that had demonstrated ruthless intent served to tighten the knot in her chest. The journey from the brink of defeat by Voldemort to this current challenge felt like a whirlwind, a disconcerting shift from one perilous precipice to another.

"Alastor," Amelia began, her voice steady despite the weight of her thoughts. "I need you to assemble a team, specifically consisting of Muggleborns and Half-bloods. Prepare them for a potential infiltration mission, should we find that this isn't the work of a lone individual."

Moody, with his ever-watchful eye, nodded in understanding. His gaze swept the surroundings as he mentally reviewed potential candidates for the mission ahead. "You can count on me, Amelia. I've got a few names in mind. We'll see this through."

As they walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, the main entrance beckoned in the distance. Moody turned to Amelia, his expression firm and unyielding. "And what about you, Amelia? Are you ready for what lies ahead?"

Amelia met his gaze with resolve, a glint of determination in her eyes. "I might be stepping into big shoes, but I won't shy away from the challenges, Alastor. You know me well enough to understand that. I'll do whatever it takes to safeguard our people."

Their conversation ended as they reached the threshold of the castle grounds. Moody would return to the Ministry, setting his plans into motion, and meticulously selecting potential candidates for the upcoming infiltration mission. Amelia's path led her toward the current Minister, a daunting meeting that promised to further complicate an already tumultuous day. Barty's sudden departure had thrust her into the heart of the storm, a storm she was determined to weather with resilience and unwavering commitment.

Back in his office, Dumbledore settled behind his desk, the events of the morning weighing heavily on his mind. A mere year had passed since the conclusion of the last war, yet tensions were already on the rise once more. The burden of the situation rested squarely on his shoulders, and as he considered the implications, he understood that their readiness might not match the challenges that lay ahead. The wounds of the past conflict still festered, and the scars it had left on both individuals and the wizarding community as a whole were far from healed.

As Dumbledore dwelled on the developing situation, he couldn't shake a growing sense of familiarity with the story of the "Ancient Heart." There was something about it that tugged at the edges of his memory, an odd feeling that he had encountered this name or a similar tale before. It was like trying to remember a dream upon waking — just out of reach but persistently nagging.

Amid his contemplations, a sudden glimmer of light caught Dumbledore's attention. An alchemical circle materialized over his desk, a temporary extra-dimensional space that he watched with a mix of fascination and caution. From its center emerged a letter, its slow descent onto his desk carrying an air of eeriness. The fact that such a message had bypassed Hogwarts' wards left Dumbledore deeply unsettled. His first thought was that his memories of the "Ancient Heart" were being rekindled for a reason.

With a steady hand, he drew his wand and subjected the letter to a thorough magical scan, an action born of both curiosity and vigilance. His inspection revealed an absence of magic on the envelope itself, a disconcerting discovery. It was as if the message had appeared out of thin air, leaving no trace of its magical origins.

Carefully, Dumbledore opened the envelope, revealing a letter written in handwriting that seemed strangely familiar. A sense of recognition tinged with uncertainty washed over him. If not for the unfamiliar language in which it was written, he felt he might have identified the author by their script alone. The realization that this letter came from the "Ancient Heart" was inescapable — the timing of its arrival and the method of its delivery were too coincidental to attribute to anyone else. The use of alchemy was deliberate, a calculated ploy to draw Dumbledore into the unfolding events.

Dumbledore considered the enigmatic message before him. The intricate nature of the situation was undeniable, and its connections to the past only deepened his curiosity. He had to know more, to decipher the hidden meaning behind this cryptic communication.

With a surge of energy that belied his age, Dumbledore rose from his seat, clutching the enigmatic letter in his hand. His determined steps led him away from his office, his destination clear: the library. He had a letter to decipher, a puzzle to unravel. The library's vast trove of knowledge held the key to unveiling the message's hidden meaning, a task that demanded his unwavering focus and alchemical expertise. As he traversed the familiar corridors of Hogwarts, Dumbledore's mind was consumed by the challenge before him, a dance of intellect and intuition that he was prepared to undertake with fervor.