GAMES OF FATES (H.P/T.M.R)

dreams

Lord Marvolo Slytherin, formerly known as Voldemort, lounged in the sumptuous study of Malfoy Manor, his thoughts swirling with the chaos of recent events. The room was dark, lit only by the flickering light of the fireplace, casting long shadows that danced across the ancient, dust-covered tomes lining the shelves. The dark lord's pallid fingers drummed rhythmically on the arm of his ornate chair as he brooded over the latest headlines in the,'Daily Prophet'. 

“SIRIUS BLACK IS INNOCENT?"

The words jumped out from the newspaper like a particularly unwelcome guest. As he read further, his gaze hardened. Sirius Black had somehow maneuvered through the labyrinth of magical bureaucracy with the grace of a seasoned dancer, claiming his titles and securing goblin sanctuary. Gringotts had even unveiled the Potter wills, which shockingly declared that Black had not been the Potters' secret keeper—Peter Pettigrew had been. 

 

Marvolo’s lips curled into a disdainful smirk. He had never held much regard for Pettigrew, considering him more of an inconvenient footnote in his grand plans. Now, the rat’s usefulness had officially expired. He mulled over the idea of sending a “little gift” to his precious Horcrux, Cassiopeia Potter. He summoned Pettigrew with a flick of his wand, the spell binding the traitor with a cruel efficiency. A note accompanied the hapless wizard, detailing his unfortunate journey to the Ministry of Magic, straight to the office of Amelia Bones. 

 

Marvolo rose from his chair, stretching his limbs with a series of audible cracks. He decided that today would be ideal for a bit of astral projection. After all, it had been far too long since he’d had the pleasure of intruding upon Potter’s peaceful moments. The thought of seeing her squirming once again brought a sinister satisfaction.

 
Meanwhile, Cassiopeia Potter’s life was a stark contrast to the turmoil of her nemesis. Her week had unfolded like a dream, a series of fortunate events falling into place with an almost comedic ease. At the tender age of fifteen and three months pregnant, she was handling her newfound responsibilities with a grace that would have made even the most seasoned adult envious. 

 

She had claimed her heirship rings with a sense of quiet triumph, her fingers now adorned with the gleaming symbols of her lineage. Sirius Black, her loyal guardian, had been freed from his unjust imprisonment, thanks to the extraordinary efforts of Andromeda Tonks née Black, his cousin and their formidable attorney. Together, they had reclaimed Black Manor from the clutches of the Order and turned it into a home once more. 

 

As Cassiopeia sifted through a pile of unopened letters from Ron and Hermione—who had conveniently ignored her throughout the summer—she couldn’t help but snort. The audacity of them! Ignored her they had, and now they had the gall to send letters. She had no intention of acknowledging their absence; her focus was on her future, her baby, and the renovations that would soon transform the manor into a cozy haven.

 

She smiled at the thought of the nursery, a room that would soon be filled with the laughter of her unborn child. She was now three months pregnant, and the changes in her body had begun to show. The way her once-slim figure had started to fill out was both thrilling and disconcerting. She found herself gazing at her reflection, marveling at the way her pregnancy seemed to add an unexpected elegance to her presence.

 

But as she tucked herself into the library that evening, seeking solace among the old volumes and dusty shelves, she fell asleep before she knew it a familiar chill ran down her spine. The sensation of astral projection was unmistakable. The air grew colder, and the room seemed to warp and twist. As if on cue, Lord Marvolo Slytherin’s astral form materialized, his cold gaze locking onto hers.