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

Slipping destiny

The hall of the Wizengamot was alive with the hushed murmur of debate, its tall stone columns casting shadows across the high arched ceiling. The room, ancient and imposing, had seen countless proposals, discussions, and decisions made that shaped the wizarding world. Today, it was charged with an unusual sense of anticipation. The air was thick with a quiet energy, as if something monumental was about to unfold.

At the head of the long stone table sat Marvolo Slytherin. His presence was magnetic, his eyes glinting with the cool, calculating sharpness of a man who had seen much, and yet was always seeking more. He wore his dark robes with the quiet authority of a serpent—unassuming yet unmistakably commanding. His fingers drummed lightly on the surface of the table, his thoughts coiling and tightening like the flickers of a flame before a storm.

Sitting beside him, Sirius Black leaned forward, his expression set with determination. Their partnership, though unlikely by many, had grown into a quiet yet unbreakable bond. It had been Sirius who first supported the proposal, seeing in it the potential to shift the very foundations of magical education. Marvolo, too, had seen it, but for reasons far beyond Sirius’s. For him, this proposal was not just about change—it was about control, influence, and the shaping of a new world. A world where his ideals would no longer be the whispers of the few, but the doctrines of the many.

“Preschools—institutions to teach young children, not just the basics of magic, but the very essence of our world. They will learn the history, the culture, the values of our society from the moment they can grasp them,” Marvolo’s voice cut through the murmurs of the gathered wizards. His tone was smooth, but beneath it, there was an undeniable intensity. “I propose that children as young as five be immersed in the world they will eventually inhabit. The world of wizards. The world we have worked so hard to build.”

His words echoed in the high chamber, stirring up murmurs of disbelief, confusion, and curiosity. Some lords leaned forward, intrigued, while others recoiled, unwilling to consider such a shift. Marvolo’s eyes scanned the room, the sharpness of his gaze falling on each face in turn. He could feel the walls of resistance begin to rise, but he would break through them, as he always did. He had spent years preparing for this moment. Now, it was time to make them see reason.

“I will offer one of the Black family properties for the first of these preschools,” Sirius Black spoke up, his voice carrying across the room, strong and unyielding. It was an act of commitment, a help to Marvolo’s cause, but also a declaration that the old ways were shifting. His eyes met Marvolo’s, and there was a silent understanding between them. This was more than just a political move; this was a vision for a future, a secure future.

The air grew thicker as others began to offer their support. Lord Malfoy, ever the calculating businessman, stood next. “Three years’ worth of salaries for the teachers,” he said, his voice crisp and commanding. “A good investment for the future, I believe.” His tone was neutral, but the implications were clear: the Malfoys would not be left behind in this new world order.

Lady Longbottom rose, her posture regal and dignified, as always. “I shall provide the funds for quills, inks, parchment—everything needed to run the school for its first year.” Her contribution, like Malfoy’s, was not a mere show of wealth, but a signal that the old families were not resistant to this change—they were, in fact, embracing it.

The room seemed to shift as more voices rose in agreement, pledging various forms of support. The mood, once tense and skeptical, began to thaw as the scope of the proposal took shape. The idea of introducing young children to magic, to the intricacies of wizarding life at an early age, was gaining traction. It was bold, forward-thinking, and the world was ready for it.

But as the discussions continued, a strange, unsettling sensation began to creep into Marvolo’s chest. It was subtle at first—a slight tug, like the faintest pull on a thread. The words being spoken around him seemed distant, as if muffled by an invisible force. His focus, once sharp and unwavering, wavered, his attention drawn inexplicably to something just beyond his reach.