The morning paper arrived like a thunderclap.
Dumbledore knew before he even saw it.
The whispers in the hall, the flutter of students huddled over their breakfast, the quick, nervous glances cast toward the staff table — all of it reached him before the headlines did.
He unfolded the Daily Prophet with fingers that did not tremble — not yet — though the silence around him grew thick as fog.
"THE FALL OF A WHITE LORD: DUMBLEDORE'S DARK PAST EXPOSED!" screamed the headline, Rita Skeeter's name glinting in ornate emerald ink below.
The article that followed was venom dressed as velvet.
Every line perfectly calculated.
Every insinuation deliberate.
It spoke of Dumbledore's friendship — no, alliance — with Gellert Grindelwald.
Of their shared vision for "the greater good."
It hinted that the line between dream and tyranny had blurred too easily in those days.
But this was ancient history, sure it would damage the old mans reputation a little but not enough to shake his solid foundations built after decades of hard work.
~
A week passed and the magical world began to forget about the article for the most part.
Then came the next revelation.
"TOM RIDDLE — DUMBLEDORE'S SHADOW"
A story spun with surgical precision, connecting mentor and monster, teacher and terror.
Skeeter painted him as the unwitting father of Voldemort's rise — the man who'd seen the darkness growing and done nothing until it consumed them all.
A connection Dumbledore hoped never to come to light as Tom Riddle and Voldemort were two seperate people in his mind, like Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader, however the public on the other hand, they wouldnt so easily make that distinction, not with other classmates of riddle coming forward and giving statements that the boy was just as dark and manipulative back then, allowed to fester and grow into the monster they'd all come to know one day.
This news especially released so closely after the previous weeks spawned a media frenzy, many questioning if Dumbledore really was a White Lord, or just a crafty dark lord ruling from behind the scenes raising up one dark lord after another with each passing generation.
~
And finally, the dagger's twist arrive at the end of January:
"CHILDREN UNDER SPELL — HOGWARTS' SECRET CURSE!"
The article detailed "first-hand accounts" of students being led by unseen magic through the castle's corridors, drawn toward a forbidden mirror.
The Mirror of Erised.
A cursed relic, Skeeter claimed, one that had driven dozens — hundreds — to madness or death across centuries of its existence.
And there, in vivid, enchanted film, was the photograph: Harry Potter, sitting cross-legged before the mirror, eyes glassy, smile faint and mentally broken.
The Great Hall erupted in whispers.
Across the table, Minerva McGonagall looked stricken, her teacup frozen mid-air.
Flitwick dropped his fork with a clatter.
Severus Snape's expression was unreadable, but his fingers twitched slightly against his sleeve — the only sign that even he was rattled.
Dumbledore folded the paper carefully and set it aside.
"Minerva," he said softly.
"Albus," she whispered, voice trembling, "please tell me this isn't true."
He met her gaze — old steel meeting quiet fire. "Which part?"
Her lips thinned. "Any of it."
A pause.
Then, gently, "Some truths," Dumbledore said, "are only dangerous because they are true."
The staff exchanged uneasy looks.
Around them, the students buzzed like wasps stirred from the hive.
By the time breakfast ended, the rumours had spread through the castle like wildfire.
By lunch, the Ministry had owled.
By dinner, the Board of Governors had called for an official inquiry.
And by nightfall, Dumbledore sat alone in his office, the paper spread before him like a curse he'd summoned himself.
The portraits whispered overhead, their painted faces grim.
"Rita Skeeter," muttered Phineas Nigellus from his frame, sneering. "Vile little opportunist. She's bitten at your ankles before, Albus, but never this deep. You must strike back."
"Strike back?" Dumbledore's voice was quiet. "No. That is what she wants. It would lend her story weight."
"You cannot simply do nothing!"
"Can I not?" Dumbledore murmured, staring into the fire.
Because he knew this attack was not random.
The timing was too precise.
The knowledge too deep.
Skeeter might have written the words — but someone else had fed her the story.
Someone who understood exactly where to aim.
And in the flickering shadows cast by the fire, a single name whispered through his thoughts.
Cassius Snape.
He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly.
A brilliant child.
Dangerous, in the way only those who understood power could be.
The only question remaining was how had he learned everything he had?
Was it possible the boy had a connection to Grindelwald, or his family?
Had he somehow gotten to aberforth?
The old man was forced into deep though for quiet a while while losing sleep as he fought off the advances of the people trying their hardest to use this smear campaign to unseat him from his high seat of uncontested power.
~
But just when he was starting to get things under control once more, another paper dropped on the table stunning him.
"HERO OR HYPOCRITE? THE TRUE FACE OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE."
It recounted the duel with Grindelwald, not as a triumph, but as the tragic conclusion of a pact between would-be tyrants.
Dumbledore's hand froze on the page when he reached the passage about Ariana — his sister.
The words felt like glass being ground into old wounds.
By the third day after it's release, seeing no move from Dumbledore, the Ministry moved instead.
An official statement, cool and polite, commended Dumbledore's "long service" while noting that "recent revelations have raised questions about his suitability for certain advisory roles."
The chessboard was shifting — and not in his favor.
That evening, McGonagall stormed into his office, cheeks flushed with fury.
"Albus, this must stop! They're questioning Hogwarts now — not just you! Students are frightened, parents are owling in droves! They say the school's unsafe!"
He sighed. "In some ways, they're not wrong."
"Don't," she snapped. "Not now. You had a plan, yes it was a terrible plan i wont deny but even still it was for the good of the world wasn't it, but now, your past being presented one account after another, how long until you can't even sit in that chair."
Minerva was prepared to one day suceed Dumbledore taking over as the headmaster of Hogwarts, but even still she didnt want to see her old friend chased out in disgrace due to mere gossip.
Sure he'd done questionable things in the past, but who hadnt really.
Sure Tom could have been handled better during his youth, but whose to say he wouldnt always have turned out just the way he did?
In the end her Anger faltered and she had to retreat letting Albus stew in the mess he'd found himself, never the wiser to the real puppeteer behind the scene pulling the strings.