Potters story

Harry's training

In the depths of the night, beneath the cloak of darkness, a clandestine gathering took place. Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, among others, stood in a dimly lit chamber, their faces obscured by shadows as they awaited the arrival of their leader.

With a sense of anticipation hanging heavy in the air, Voldemort appeared before his loyal followers, his presence commanding respect and instilling fear in equal measure. His crimson eyes gleamed with a cold, calculating intelligence as he addressed his assembled Death Eaters.

"My faithful followers," Voldemort began, his voice carrying a sense of authority that brooked no argument. "Tonight, we stand on the brink of a new era—one where the dark forces of evil will rise to challenge the tyranny of Albus Dumbledore and his misguided followers."

The Death Eaters listened intently as Voldemort outlined his plan to thwart Dumbledore's machinations, his words sparking a sense of determination and resolve among his followers. With meticulous precision, they worked into the early hours of the morning, crafting a plan that would shake the very foundations of Hogwarts and bring about the downfall of Dumbledore's regime.

Meanwhile, back at Hogwarts, Snape returned to Snape's quarters with news of the meeting, only to be met with a surprise of his own. McGonagall informed him of Harry's latest transgression—sulking in the wake of his detention with Filch.

With a heavy sigh, Snape made his way to Harry's room, his mind racing with thoughts of the upcoming meeting with Voldemort. But as he entered the room, he found Harry sitting sullenly on his bed, his face clouded with frustration and resentment.

"What is the meaning of this, Harry?" Snape demanded, his voice tinged with exasperation as he regarded his young charge. "Why are you sulking?"

Harry's response was a mumbled grumble, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor as he avoided Snape's penetrating gaze. "I got detention," he muttered petulantly, his tone laced with resentment.

Snape's brow furrowed with concern as he took in Harry's dejected demeanor. "Detention with Filch?" he inquired, his voice softening slightly as he sought to understand the source of Harry's discontent.

Harry nodded glumly, his frustration evident as he recounted the events that had led to his punishment. "It's not fair," he muttered bitterly, his voice tinged with resentment. "I didn't do anything wrong."

Snape sighed softly, his heart going out to the troubled young wizard before him. "I know it may seem unfair, Harry, but rules are rules," he said gently, his voice tinged with sympathy. "You must learn to accept the consequences of your actions and strive to do better in the future."

With a heavy heart, Snape offered Harry a reassuring pat on the shoulder, his mind already turning to the task that lay ahead—the meeting with Voldemort that would determine the fate of Hogwarts and all who called it home.

As the weekend dawned, Snape made sure that Harry was dressed in his finest attire, a set of borrowed dress clothes from Draco Malfoy. Harry had yet to confess to Snape the truth about his wardrobe, instead relying on transfigured temporary clothes each day to mask the reality of his situation.

With a final adjustment to Harry's collar, Snape surveyed his young charge with a critical eye, satisfied with the result. "You look presentable, Harry," he remarked, his tone clipped and businesslike.

Harry nodded, though inwardly he felt a pang of guilt for deceiving Snape about his clothing situation. He resolved to address the issue at a later time, when circumstances permitted.

Together, Snape and Harry made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast, the usual chatter of students and staff filling the air. As they ate, Snape engaged Harry in conversation, discussing topics ranging from potions to current events in the wizarding world.

Amidst the hustle and bustle of the Great Hall, Draco Malfoy approached them, his elegant demeanor a stark contrast to the casual attire of his classmates. "Uncle Sev," Draco greeted Snape with a warm smile, before turning his attention to Harry. "Hare."

Harry's heart fluttered at the endearing nickname, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Draco," he acknowledged in turn, his voice soft and affectionate.

Snape regarded Draco with a measured expression, his eyes betraying nothing as he addressed his godson. "Draco," he acknowledged in turn, his tone neutral and devoid of emotion. "Shall we proceed?"

With a nod of agreement, Draco fell into step beside Snape, the trio making their way to the fireplace in Snape's quarters. With a flick of Snape's wand, the Floo Network sprang to life, the flames roaring to life as they prepared to embark on their journey.

As they stepped into the swirling emerald flames, Harry couldn't shake the sense of apprehension that gripped him. He knew that the meeting with Voldemort would be a pivotal moment, one that would shape the course of their future in ways they could not yet foresee. And as they vanished from sight, Harry braced himself for the challenges that lay ahead, resolved to face whatever trials awaited them with courage and determination.