In a dimly lit, secret chamber deep within the heart of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore sat at the head of a long, ancient table. His usual warmth was replaced with a cool, calculating look as he addressed those seated around him. Next to him, Professor McGonagall sat quietly, her sharp eyes taking in everything. Across the table sat Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, who had been boasting proudly about their grandson, Harry. Lily and James Potter, although smiling, had a strange tension behind their eyes.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. “As you know, Hogwarts will soon be sending out invitations for early magical education. These invitations are meant for children as young as nine, giving them a head start before officially entering Hogwarts at eleven.”
James leaned forward, his brow raised with interest. “How many invitations are you sending out this year?”
“More than one hundred,” Dumbledore replied smoothly, his long fingers tapping lightly on the table. “These children need to learn basic magic to be prepared for when they enter Hogwarts.”
Fleamont Potter, his chest puffed with pride, leaned back in his chair. “Well, it doesn’t matter how many kids you’re sending invitations to. In five years, our Harry will enter Hogwarts and take the Potter name to greater heights. Our grandson will take all the glory.” He chuckled egotistically, glancing at his wife, Euphemia, who nodded in agreement.
“Yes,” Euphemia added, her voice filled with pride. “Harry will make us all proud. The Potter legacy will rise even higher.”
Dumbledore gave a sly smile, nodding. “Indeed, young Harry has a bright future ahead. He will be the pride of Hogwarts and, no doubt, a leader in the magical world.”
Lily and James smiled at this, basking in the praise. Dumbledore had manipulated them well over the years, building their egos and making them believe their son would be the savior of the wizarding world. Their hearts swelled with pride, but deep inside, something flickered—a darkness neither could shake.
McGonagall, ever the pragmatist, was flipping through the stack of letters for the upcoming invitations. She paused, her sharp eyes noticing one letter marked for Italy. “Italy?” she said, a hint of surprise in her voice. “We don’t often get students from Italy at Hogwarts. Many families there can’t afford it.”
Dumbledore waved a hand dismissively. “This one is for the son of the Italian Minister, Sabastian. His boy, Siddarth, is nine now. I’m sending them an invitation as a gesture of goodwill. Though I’ve heard the child’s magic is rather unremarkable, having the Minister on our side would be a significant advantage.”
Fleamont chuckled, sharing a knowing look with Euphemia. “More politics, eh? Well, as long as they don’t think their boy can outshine our Harry.”
Dumbledore smirked. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. This is purely strategic. We need their wealth and influence. Hogwarts must maintain strong alliances across the wizarding world.”
As Dumbledore spoke, James and Lily exchanged an uneasy glance. The mention of Italy had caused their smiles to falter. Their faces went pale, and a shadow crossed their expressions. Italy held secrets—dark, buried secrets that they had never told a soul, not even their closest friends Lupin or Sirius. Only they knew what they had done in Italy, and it was a past they desperately wished to keep hidden. They forced themselves to smile again, nodding at Dumbledore's words, but the anxiety in their eyes betrayed them.
McGonagall, unaware of the Potters' inner turmoil, looked at the letter again, something pulling her towards it. “I’ll deliver this letter to Sabastian myself,” she said suddenly, the words surprising even her.
