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

Schemes, Scones, and Sibling Rivalires

Marvolo Slytherin stood in his dimly lit chamber, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that danced along the stone walls. He ran a hand through his dark hair, a habitual gesture of frustration as he stared at the clutter of scrolls and artifacts strewn across his desk. The air was thick with the aroma of potion ingredients—dried herbs mingling with the sharp scent of sulfur—reminding him of the complexities that had become increasingly entangled in his life.

Despite the chaos surrounding him, his thoughts kept circling back to one person: Cassopiea Victoria Potter. Her laughter echoed in his mind, a stark contrast to the dark intentions simmering in his heart. As he leaned back in his chair, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was teetering on a precarious edge. “What am I doing?” he muttered, the weight of his decisions pressing heavily on him.

The flickering candlelight suddenly revealed a movement, and a small silver owl flitted through the window, dropping a note onto his desk. Marvolo unfolded the parchment with a sigh, recognizing the elegant handwriting of one of his loyal followers.

Master, the preparations for the breakout are complete. The guards remain unaware of our intentions. We await your command.

A smirk tugged at the corners of Marvolo’s lips, but it was tinged with a bitter edge. The absurdity of their plan struck him: a daring escape from the most notorious prison in the wizarding world. “Azkaban, the fortress of despair,” he mused aloud, “and here I am, plotting a heist.” His chuckle held no mirth; it was more of a bitter acknowledgment of the situation he found himself in.

But as thoughts of Cassopiea flitted through his mind, he felt an unsettling mixture of guilt and determination. “I can’t let her get caught in this web,” he thought, shaking his head as if to clear the mental fog. “She’s not just a pawn in my game. She is my soul, mon âme."

His resolve was interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing outside his chamber. He straightened, preparing himself for the inevitable.

Meanwhile, in the grand Black Manor, Sirius Black paced the polished floors, the echoes of his footsteps a testament to the tension crackling in the air. Today, he would call forth a family meeting, one he hoped would quell the swirling storm of uncertainty surrounding Cassopiea’s safety.

“Gathering the family like it’s a bloody tea party,” he muttered, adjusting the collar of his crisp black robe. “Perhaps I should serve crumpets laced with Veritaserum.” A dark humor danced in his thoughts, but the weight of the impending confrontation loomed over him.

As he stepped into the ornate sitting room, flickering firelight illuminated the portraits of his ancestors, each one seemingly judging him with their piercing gazes. Narcissa Malfoy entered, her icy demeanor barely thawed by the warmth of the hearth.

“Sirius,” she greeted, her voice smooth yet edged with skepticism. “What’s the occasion? I assume it’s not merely to reminisce about your youth?”

“Ah, Narcissa, always a pleasure,” he replied, sarcasm lacing his tone. “I thought it would be lovely to discuss the state of the wizarding world over biscuits and tea. Perhaps share a few laughs about our relatives’ questionable choices?”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” she countered, crossing her arms. “What’s really going on?”

“Cassopiea’s disappearance has created a vacuum of uncertainty. Dumbledore is already scheming to bring her back, and I won’t allow that.”

“Dumbledore?” Narcissa scoffed, her skepticism palpable. “The old man has his hands in every pie. What makes you think he’ll listen to you?”

“Because I’m Lord Black now,” he declared, his voice firm. “And I’ll be damned if I let him control the situation.”