I am sorry. I cannot apologize enough for the huge delay. I had a writer's block and whatever I wrote, just couldn't satisfy me. On top of that I had a new idea which basically derailed the entire chapter. This chapter is way bigger than my usual update as a token of my apology. I hope that I can maintain better schedule from this point on.

Chapter 12

The Malfoy Manor fundraiser was a study in opulence, an event where the wealthy elite of the wizarding world gathered, bathed in the enchanting glow of floating candles. James Potter, a fish out of water amidst this aristocratic sea, sought refuge at the bar.

As he sauntered up, determined to savor a drink, he attempted to fake an air of maturity when faced with the bartender's skeptical eyes. "Are you old enough to be drinking, son?"

James, ever the audacious one, hesitated just for a moment. Gathering himself, he mustered a confident smile. "Of course, I am."

But before he could even take a sip of his rebellious concoction, a voice as chilling as an icy wind swept through the room and sent shivers down his spine.

"Are you truly, Mr. Potter?"

He turned, finding Narcissa Malfoy, the very embodiment of aristocratic poise, casting upon him a look that blended mockery and condescension. James was no stranger to the likes of the Malfoys, and he knew better than to underestimate them.

"What's it to you?" he retorted, a façade of bravado to mask his unease.

Narcissa glided closer, her tone silky, but there was a venom beneath. "I'm simply curious," she purred, her fingers nearly brushing his shoulder. "Watching boys pretending to be men can be rather entertaining."

James felt the irritation welling within him. He was accustomed to mockery, but there was something about Narcissa that grated on his nerves. He reached for his glass, taking a long swig to regain his composure.

But Narcissa was not one to relent. Her words grew sharper, as cold and cutting as her icy gaze. "You and your friends, the Marauders, indulging in your little games. It's all rather reminiscent of Death Eater tactics, don't you think?"

James, now lost in confusion, began to feel his bravado falter. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Narcissa leaned in closer, her eyes glinting with deadly intent. "Don't you?" she said in a voice as cold as steel. "You, Mr. Potter, are no different from the likes of Mulciber. You're a spoiled brat who believes himself superior, preying on those weaker than you. Bullying them for your own amusement."

James fought to keep his composure. "You don't know anything about me," he retorted, his voice tainted with uncertainty.

But Narcissa was relentless, her judgment incisive and unforgiving. "I know more than you think, James. The numbers game you played with Severus, the torment – it's a tactic employed by those who think they're above the rest, who derive pleasure from breaking their victims."

James opened his mouth to respond, to defend himself, but Narcissa's sharp critique left him struggling to find words. A stark realization began to dawn upon him.

Narcissa, however, wasn't finished. "Severus may be a Slytherin, but he doesn't deserve your cruelty."

As the argument reached its peak, James, pushed to the brink, said something he never thought he'd admit out loud. "The only person who was ever fooled by Snape was Lily, and she's finally seeing the light. She's realized the kind of person he is – a Death Eater."

Narcissa's lips curved into a cold smile, her amusement palpable. "Lily? A foolish, common girl who would do anything for acceptance, to maintain a façade of justice? Please, Mr. Potter."

James's face twisted with anger. "That's not true!"

Narcissa, however, dismissed James's fervor with a haughty laugh. "She's just another stuck-up, rule-following girl, not worth your time. I'm glad her fake friendship with Snape is over."

The mere mention of Lily's name struck a chord within James, igniting a fierce defense. "Lily is kind, and she believes in standing up for what's right!"

Narcissa, however, remained unmoved. "And what makes her so special? Her common blood? Her Muggle heritage? You think that's worth defending?"

James's response was swift and heated. "Lily's worth defending because of who she is, not because of where she comes from!"

Narcissa raised an eyebrow, her eyes still glittering with icy amusement. "Lily is just a muggleborn who is seduced by the pureblood lifestyle. It's just a phase. Someone like Lily isn't worth it."

James's anger flared, and he responded in a low voice, "Lily knows who her true friends are."

Narcissa's lips curled into a smirk, her icy demeanor unyielding. "We'll see about that, won't we?"

"And what would you know about Lily, huh?"

Narcissa looks James in the eye and she says "Someone who treats their supposed best friend like trash is simply not worth fighting for."

The argument neared its breaking point as James, overwhelmed by his own conflicting emotions and the seething anger that had been building, uttered words he'd never meant to say. "People like Snape shouldn't be alive."

Narcissa's expression turned deadly serious, her voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. "You should be careful of the words you choose, James."

A quick, sharp motion followed as James reached for his wand. But before he could draw it, Lucius Malfoy, a silent and imposing figure, appeared beside them.

Lucius's hand landed on Narcissa's shoulder, and he murmured in her ear, his voice calm and authoritative. "Father is expecting us."

Narcissa complied, her demeanor returning to its composed aristocracy. She nodded, and they both turned away from James, who stood there, disarmed and defeated.

As Lucius and Narcissa walked away, disappearing into the gathering crowd, Narcissa glanced back at James. Her voice held a chilling promise, one that left James with a sense of foreboding. "Remember my words, James. If anything happens to Severus, you'll have more than your own conscience to answer to."

Alone at the bar, James was consumed by the weight of the truths he'd been forced to confront. His world, once so clear-cut, had become a murky labyrinth of self-doubt, guilt, and anger. As he contemplated the far-reaching implications of the hostility he had harbored toward Severus Snape, he knew that something inside him had changed, and it was up to him to determine the path forward.

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*Snape POV flashback*

Severus Snape strode through the dimly lit streets of Diagon Alley, his long, greasy hair hanging like curtains on either side of his sallow face. The weight of sleepless nights and the echoes of the argument with Lily still clung to him like a shroud. He had hoped for reconciliation, but their clash had driven a wedge between them instead.

In this gloomy corner of London, amidst clandestine shops and shady dealings, Snape had a meeting with a woman who often required his services. Nadia, a mysterious figure who specialized in the sale of illegal potions, was a demanding employer. As he approached her establishment, his thoughts were a tangled mess, a far cry from the meticulous order he maintained in his work.

Nadia, with her dark eyes and an aura of intrigue, awaited him in the dimly lit backroom of her apothecary. The room was filled with the musty scent of herbs and arcane ingredients. A single lantern cast eerie shadows across her face as she looked up from her desk when Snape entered.

"Severus, you look worse for wear," she observed, her voice a low, melodic purr.

Snape, in no mood for pleasantries, grunted in response. He took a seat opposite her, his dark eyes narrowing. "I've had a wretched night."

Nadia studied him, her gaze penetrating. "Trouble at home, Severus? Or is it something else that has your temper fraying at the edges?"

Snape shifted in his seat, torn between wanting to pour his heart out and maintaining his usual air of stoicism. But the events of the night before, his argument with Lily, loomed large in his mind.

"We had another disagreement," he admitted finally, his tone heavy with frustration. "Just when I thought we were mending our friendship, it all unraveled."

Nadia's eyes softened ever so slightly, a rare glimpse of empathy in her otherwise enigmatic persona. "Friendships are tricky, Severus. They can be as volatile as the potions we brew. Sometimes, they explode in our faces."

With a weary sigh, Snape pushed the thoughts of Lily aside. He was here to discuss business, not his personal life. "What is it that you require of me, Nadia? I'm not in the mood for games."

Nadia leaned back in her chair, a thin smile playing on her lips. She reached for a parchment on her desk and slid it toward him. "I need you to make four batches of Veritaserum."

Snape's eyebrow quirked in surprise. Veritaserum was a highly regulated potion, and brewing even one batch required precise ingredients and meticulous care. Four batches were an exceptionally demanding request, and he didn't hesitate to voice his displeasure. "Four? That's an exorbitant amount, even for you. Why the need for such a surplus of Veritaserum?"

Nadia shrugged casually, her dark eyes betraying nothing. "The client remains unknown. All I received was an anonymous letter, along with a generous sum of money. They seem to have a particular interest in truth extraction."

Snape's expression grew even more skeptical. He had dealt with his fair share of unsavory characters in the past, but an anonymous client with an insatiable need for Veritaserum raised red flags. "This is highly irregular, Nadia. It could attract unwanted attention."

Nadia met his concern with an enigmatic smile. "I believe the client knows what they're doing. They offered a substantial sum for your expertise, Severus."

The promise of gold often outweighed caution in the world they inhabited, and Snape reluctantly nodded his consent. "Very well. I'll brew the Veritaserum. But I want more information about this client, Nadia. This is too risky to be blind."

Nadia chuckled softly, her laughter a seductive purr. "Curiosity, Severus, has a way of leading cats to their demise."

Snape, however, wasn't one to be dissuaded by riddles. "I'll take my chances."

Nadia leaned in closer, her dark eyes locking onto his with an intensity that sent shivers down his spine. "I'm sure you will."

With that, the matter was settled. Snape's commitment to the task weighed on him as he left the backroom of Nadia's apothecary. In the dimly lit streets of Diagon Alley, he couldn't help but wonder about the unknown client, the brewing process that lay ahead, and the harsh realities of the choices he was forced to make in his clandestine world.

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As Lily prepared for her return to Hogwarts, her mind was a tumultuous sea of thoughts and reflections. The events of the past few days weighed heavily on her, particularly the conversation she'd had with Frank and Alice regarding Dark magic. Now, as she strolled through Diagon Alley with the couple at her side, she couldn't help but revisit that discussion, viewing it through a new lens.

They had agreed to meet an hour later in front of Ollivander's wand shop. Frank and Alice had graciously offered to wait while Lily purchased her cauldron and potion ingredients. But as she wandered the bustling streets of the wizarding shopping district, her thoughts danced between past encounters, her recent argument with Severus, and the words that Frank had spoken.

She recalled the first time she met Severus Snape, back when she was just a child. Her memories, hazy with time, resurfaced. She had been sitting on the swings in a Muggle park, her fiery hair glowing in the sun. A boy with greasy black hair and dark eyes, Severus, had appeared before her. They had talked, sharing stories and secrets like two curious children, completely unaware of the magical world that awaited them.

But her reminiscence shifted to the argument with Severus that had marked their first day on the Hogwarts Express, beginning their journey to the enchanted castle. Lily had always prided herself on her sense of justice and equality, and she hadn't hesitated to confront Severus about his interest in Dark magic. It was a conversation that had never been resolved, lingering between them as an unhealed wound.

She had accused him of meddling with forces he couldn't understand, of succumbing to the allure of the Dark Arts. Her words, laced with frustration and concern, had driven a wedge between them that only seemed to grow wider with time. Lily had been firm in her beliefs, seeing Dark magic as a malevolent and corrupting influence that no one should delve into.

As she looked back on that moment from the perspective of a more mature and understanding individual, Lily couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. Had she been too quick to judge Severus and his interests? Was she unfair to assume the worst of him? The memory of their shared childhood secrets weighed on her, urging her to consider giving him another chance.

The conversation with Frank and Alice added another layer to her thoughts. Frank's arguments for understanding Dark magic were compelling. Lily had always believed in the importance of knowledge and tolerance, but had she allowed her preconceptions to blind her? Was there more to Dark magic than met the eye?

Lost in her thoughts, Lily had wandered into Flourish and Blotts without even realizing it. She scoured the shelves for the book Frank had mentioned, "The Brilliance of Dark Magic and its Roots." After a few minutes of searching, it became clear that the book was nowhere to be found.

With a sense of defeat, Lily approached the store owner, a middle-aged wizard with a pair of round spectacles perched on his nose. "Excuse me, sir," she began politely, "I'm looking for a specific book, 'The Brilliance of Dark Magic and its Roots,' but I can't seem to find it."

The store owner peered at her curiously, his eyes flickering with intrigue. "Ah, 'The Brilliance of Dark Magic and its Roots,' you say? Not a common choice, I must admit." His tone was laced with subtle judgment.

Lily, feeling a bit self-conscious, nodded. "Yes, I need it for a school project."

A bemused smile played on the store owner's lips, and he chuckled lightly. "Hogwarts, allowing young witches and wizards to explore the depths of Dark magic, are they? Interesting."

Lily bit her lower lip, anxiety creeping in as the man continued to mock her school's curriculum. She couldn't help but feel embarrassed. "Well, it's not that I'm interested in Dark magic, but... it's for educational purposes."

His laughter didn't wane. "Education, indeed. Very well, if you're set on it, I may have a copy in the back. But I must say, it's not the usual request from a Hogwarts student."

With a final, condescending chuckle, the store owner disappeared into the depths of his shop. Lily fidgeted with the strap of her bag, feeling as though her choice was being judged by a stranger. She realized that she didn't know enough about Dark magic to defend or explain her interest.

When the store owner returned, he held a dusty, leather-bound tome in his hands. It looked ancient, its pages yellowed with age and its cover embossed with cryptic symbols. He handed it to Lily with a curious expression.

"Young lady," he said, still bemused, "take it, free of charge. I suspect you might need it more than you know. Hogwarts should tread carefully when it comes to the allure of Dark magic."

Lily accepted the book, her fingers trembling slightly. "Thank you," she mumbled, not quite sure how to react to the man's condescension.

With the book clutched tightly in her arms, she exited the store, the bell above the door chiming softly. She had her answers, but they weren't quite what she had expected.

Meeting Frank and Alice by Ollivander's as planned, she was still deep in thought, her mind a whirlwind of doubt and reconsideration. The argument with Severus, her childhood memories, Frank's words, and the mysterious bookstore encounter all coalesced into a maelstrom of contemplation.

As her friends greeted her, she was almost startled out of her reverie. Frank looked at her with concern. "Lily, everything okay? You seem lost in thought."

Lily hesitated before replying, "I'm not sure, Frank. I think I've been too quick to judge Severus and his interests. Maybe there's more to it than I realized."

Alice nodded in agreement. "We can't always jump to conclusions, especially when it comes to people we've known for so long."

Lily nodded, grateful for her friends' understanding. With the mysterious book cradled in her arms, she couldn't help but wonder what it might reveal about the enigmatic world of Dark magic, and what it might mean for her relationship with Severus.

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Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stood on the grand front porch of Malfoy Manor, their elegant attire befitting the opulent event they were hosting that evening. The manor's gardens were adorned with the soft glow of fairy lights, and within, their guests mingled in a display of wealth and power. The Malfoy Fundraiser was a notable occasion, and it had attracted the elite of the wizarding world.

As they surveyed the scene, a sense of both duty and pride washed over them. Hosting such events was not merely about socializing but also ensuring that the Malfoy name remained synonymous with power and influence.

Their tranquil reverie was interrupted by the arrival of an unexpected guest. A tall, dark figure stepped onto the porch, his demeanor commanding. Lucius and Narcissa, seasoned in navigating the intricacies of social events, immediately recognized him as someone important. However, the name "Tom Riddle" held little significance for them.

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy," the visitor greeted them with a polite nod, his crimson gaze assessing their reactions.

Lucius, ever the embodiment of poise, returned the greeting. "Good evening. How may we assist you?"

Narcissa, equally composed, offered a polite nod of her own. Yet, curiosity and suspicion intermingled in her gaze as she observed the enigmatic guest.

The man seemed to anticipate their confusion, and his lips curled into a faint smile. "I imagine you have not heard my name in these circles."

Lucius chose his words with care. "Indeed, your name is unfamiliar to us."

The man's smile remained polite, and his tone was gracious. "My name is Tom Riddle, though some may know me as Lord Voldemort."

The revelation hung in the air, laden with an unspoken weight. The name Voldemort was notorious, a symbol of fear and darkness, and it struck a chord of realization with the Malfoys.

Their silence was undeniable, and Riddle understood the gravity of the situation. "I assure you, this meeting is shrouded in the utmost secrecy."

Lucius finally spoke, maintaining his composure. "How may we be of assistance to you, Lord Voldemort?"

Riddle's crimson gaze shifted between them, his voice charged with significance. "I come with a matter of great importance, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. I am sure you are aware of the rumors surrounding my reputation."

Narcissa's shiver was a shared sentiment, and the rumors of Voldemort's return were a subject that cast a dark shadow over the wizarding world.

Lucius, choosing his words carefully, voiced their reservations. "We understand the significance of your reputation and ambition, Lord Voldemort, but how can we be of assistance?"

Riddle regarded them, his gaze revealing nothing. "I have a request, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. A request that may seem unusual, but it is of great significance."

Narcissa, feeling torn, asked, "What is it you ask of us?"

Riddle's smile was polite but held an undercurrent of something more profound. "I would like to name your child."

The proposal was both surprising and unsettling. The unborn child within Narcissa was a symbol of their family's future, and the idea of it being drawn into a dangerous world was deeply troubling. But more than that they just engaged. A child is still a long way to go. Lucius is confused where Narcissa suddenly is uncomfortable. Narcissa has missed two periods so she was thinking that she might have a child. She is still not sure and she hasn't said anything to Lucius or anyone. The fact that Lord Voldemort is able to pinpoint this information, something even Narcissa herself isn't sure of frightens her.

Lucius hesitated before inquiring, "May I ask why you wish to name our child?"

Riddle's satisfaction seemed to grow with their curiosity. "This child, you see, holds great potential. A potential that can serve my cause, and reshape the future. By naming this child, I can guide them down a path that aligns with my goals."

Narcissa, torn between her maternal instincts and the overwhelming presence of Voldemort, spoke with a trembling voice. "But what if we wish to name our child according to our own traditions?"

Lucius nodded in agreement. "It is customary for the parents to name their child."

Riddle considered their objections before nodding in agreement. "Very well, you may discuss this with your father, but I urge you to impress upon him the importance of this decision. The child is to be named 'Mortis,' and the significance of that name cannot be underestimated."

Lucius and Narcissa nodded, their resolve to protect their child firm. However, they couldn't bring themselves to explicitly refuse Voldemort's request, knowing the potential consequences.

With a polite farewell, Riddle entered the grand manor, leaving Lucius and Narcissa on the front porch, their hearts heavy with the knowledge of the impending choices they would have to make.

As they watched the imposing figure disappear into their family's ancestral home, Narcissa clutched Lucius's hand, her voice trembling. "What have we gotten ourselves into, Lucius?"

Lucius tightened his grip on her hand, his expression determined. "We will find a way to protect our child when we have a child, Narcissa. Still its very weird that he is bringing up the idea of a child when we just got engaged"

Narcissa looks ahead with a heavy heart sensing a great storm is about to hit them that will change their future.

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The grandeur of the Malfoy Manor's ballroom was a sight to behold, with chandeliers casting a soft golden glow and a palpable aura of opulence and elegance. The room was alive with the hushed conversations of the elite, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the soft notes of classical music played by a string quartet.

James Potter, however, was far from entranced by the luxurious surroundings. He had been seething since his encounter with Narcissa, the disdain in her voice and her unfounded criticisms still echoing in his mind. Her assessment of Lily had been cruel, and it had sent him spiraling into a maelstrom of anger.

Narcissa's words hung heavily over his head, a dark cloud that threatened to eclipse the once-promising evening. He couldn't shake the image of her mocking him, her haughty demeanor, and her final chilling warning. If anything happened to Severus, he'd have more than his own conscience to answer to. The implications of her threat clawed at him, and he couldn't silence the turmoil within.

During this internal tempest, James found himself at a table with his father, Fleamont, and two esteemed guests, Nicolas Flamel and Abaraxas Malfoy. Flamel, the famous alchemist, was known for discovering the Elixir of Life, while Abaraxas, Lucius Malfoy's father, was a prominent and influential figure in the wizarding world.

Abaraxas had been regaling the table with tales of Severus Snape's prodigious talent in the field of potion-making. His praise was nothing short of effusive, and the respect he held for Snape was evident in his words. He spoke of Snape's ability to grasp complex potion recipes, his unparalleled understanding of rare ingredients, and his uncanny talent for creating powerful elixirs.

"And let me tell you, Fleamont," Abaraxas continued, his voice carrying across the table, "I've never seen such dedication and precision in a young wizard. His potential is truly remarkable. I wouldn't be surprised if he makes groundbreaking discoveries in alchemy one day."

James tried to suppress the rising resentment that churned within him. He did not want to hear praise for Severus Snape after the venomous confrontation with Narcissa. Still, he had to maintain appearances, especially in the company of such esteemed guests.

But, unable to contain himself, James interjected, "Snape? He's just a Slytherin, not anyone that special."

Abaraxas Malfoy turned his attention to James with a knowing look. There was a depth of understanding in his gaze, as if he saw beyond the surface of James's words. "You may underestimate him, Mr. Potter. Hatred can cloud one's judgment, and sometimes we fail to recognize undeniable talent."

Flamel, who had been mostly silent, nodded in agreement. "The world of potions is a delicate and intricate one. The ability to master it at a young age is a testament to one's intelligence and diligence."

James's frustration grew, but he couldn't articulate his feelings. The events of the evening had made his thoughts jumble, and now, facing Flamel and Abaraxas's admiration for Snape, he felt overwhelmed. His father, Fleamont, glanced at him with curiosity but refrained from interfering.

Abaraxas Malfoy's voice was calm but carried a weight of authority. "Severus Snape is on the path to becoming a remarkable potions master. His work should not be underestimated, no matter what houses we hail from."

The table fell into a contemplative silence, leaving James with inner turmoil. His thoughts strayed to Lily and how things had changed since Severus had left Hogwarts. Lily was no longer the radiant ray of sunshine she used to be. Her smile, her infectious laughter, and her beauty had dimmed. She had become distant, occasionally attending classes without makeup, which James, with his own ideals of femininity, deemed uncharacteristic for a girl as delicate and feminine as Lily.

James couldn't shake the feeling that Severus Snape was the cause of these changes, the source of their rift. Severus's departure from Hogwarts had disrupted their friendship, and it had led to Lily's gradual withdrawal. A burning resentment stirred within him, not just for Snape but for the circumstances that had caused this change in the girl he cared for deeply.

As James grappled with his thoughts, Abaraxas Malfoy's praise of Snape continued. He detailed an incident in which Severus had brewed a potion so complex that it had left even the higher ups in his company in awe. Abaraxas's admiration for the young Slytherin was evident, and the others at the table listened with rapt attention.

"He's a remarkable talent, indeed," Flamel said, finally breaking his silence. "To grasp the intricacies of potions at such a young age is a rare gift. The wizarding world may owe much to Severus Snape in the future."

James couldn't help himself; his frustration bubbled over. "You all speak as if Snape is some kind of hero. He's just a Slytherin with a talent for potions, nothing more."

Abaraxas regarded James with a measured gaze, the corners of his lips curling into a hollow smile. "Are you so distracted by your hatred that you cannot recognize his undeniable talent?"

James felt himself flustered, a flush of irritation rising to his cheeks. He hadn't expected this level of defense for Severus Snape. His father, Fleamont, watched him closely, concern etched across his face. The weight of the evening's events bore down on James, and he had the unsettling sense that he was losing control of the situation.

Abaraxas's voice was calm but filled with underlying wisdom. "Mr. Potter, it is not always easy to separate personal feelings from one's perception of others. But it is a skill worth developing, for it allows us to see the world more clearly."

The words struck James, but he was too stubborn to admit it. He stared down at his untouched glass of wine, his thoughts a tumultuous mess of anger and confusion. The image of Lily, the girl who had once meant the world to him, flickered in his mind.

Flamel, sensing the tension, attempted to shift the conversation. "It's not often we have the privilege of attending such an event at Malfoy Manor. The Malfoys are known for their grand gatherings."

Abaraxas nodded, and the conversation flowed into more neutral territory, focusing on the extravagance of the event. James's mind gradually settled as they discussed the opulent surroundings and the notable figures in attendance. He couldn't deny the undercurrent of tension between himself and the Malfoys, but he had regained some semblance of composure.

His father, Fleamont, leaned closer to him and spoke in a low voice. "James, I sense there's something troubling you. What happened between you and Narcissa earlier?"

James hesitated for a moment before deciding to confide in his father. "Narcissa was incredibly rude, Dad. She criticized Lily and… and Severus, and it just set me off. It's like she thinks Lily is beneath her or something."

Fleamont's expression was one of understanding. "Narcissa can be quite haughty, James. But remember,

people like that thrive on getting a reaction. Don't let her words affect you so deeply."

James nodded, grateful for his father's advice. He wished he could follow it more easily, but the evening had shaken him profoundly.

James's father, now fully aware of the dangerous cocktail of emotions bubbling inside his son, decided it was time to intervene before the situation escalated further. With a discreet nod to their hosts, he gently guided James away from the conversation and into a more secluded corner of the opulent Malfoy Manor.

Once they were alone, away from prying ears, James's father took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto his son's. "James," he said calmly but firmly, "I understand that this situation is frustrating for you. But you must remember where we are and act accordingly. I won't tolerate an outburst in front of our hosts."

James's temper flared, and he couldn't contain his frustration any longer. "Dad, you don't understand. Snape is a future Death Eater, just like the Malfoy family. I can't stand seeing him being praised."

His father's expression turned even more serious as he responded, "James, it's not your place to judge others. We are guests here, and you represent the Potter family. You should uphold yourself with respect and grace, even in the face of people you may not agree with."

The words stung, but they were a bitter pill of truth that James had to swallow. He knew that his father was right, but the anger and resentment were still boiling within him. This was more than just a social gathering for James; it was a battleground where his insecurities and rivalries ran deep.

Now, in an even fouler mood, James followed his father back to the main group. Flammel and Abaraxas continued their discussion of Severus Snape, a topic that grated on James's nerves. He had hoped to change the subject or find an opportunity to make a hasty exit, but neither option seemed feasible.

As James reluctantly rejoined the conversation, he noticed another guest, Damocles Belby, had joined Flammel and Abaraxas. Belby, who was known for his affinity for the Dark Arts and his association with the questionable Pureblood societies, seemed equally invested in discussing Severus Snape.

Caught between the pressure of their ongoing conversation and the embarrassment of the outburst he'd already displayed, James was forced to listen to them without offering any further complaints. It was a bitter experience, one that intensified his growing frustration.

Flammel, unaware of the tension simmering within James, continued to express his admiration for Severus Snape's talents in potions. "I've heard that he's created several unique concoctions that have garnered significant attention in the Potions community."

Abaraxas nodded in agreement. "Yes, Severus has always been ahead of his peers. His ability to brew complex potions with ease is truly remarkable. And the precision with which he carries out his experiments – it's a testament to his prodigious skills."

James's father, who had been closely observing the conversation, could sense the mounting tension. He didn't want the situation to escalate any further, particularly with the Malfoys and their guests. His face bore a mix of frustration and disappointment as he excused himself once more, this time with his son in tow.

James's father did not mince words as they moved to a quieter corner of the room. "James, I thought we had discussed this before we came here. Your behavior is unacceptable. It's not just a matter of respecting Severus Snape; it's about respecting the Malfoys and their guests."

James, feeling overwhelmed and trapped, couldn't help but voice his concerns. "But Dad, Snape is a future Death Eater, just like the Malfoy family. Why should we sing his praises?"

His father's stern expression did not waver. "I don't care about Snape's future associations. We are guests here, and you will uphold yourself with respect. Your outburst reflects poorly on our family, James."

Frustration welled up inside James as he bit back further arguments. He knew that his father would not budge on this matter, and he had already pushed the boundaries of acceptable behavior.

With a sense of bitter defeat, James nodded in reluctant agreement. He had crossed a line, and the weight of his actions was settling heavily upon him.

Returning to Flammel and Abaraxas, James couldn't shake the feeling of being surrounded by enemies. He was now forced to listen to the continued praise and discussion of Severus Snape, a topic that felt like a personal affront.

With each word of admiration heaped upon Snape, James's frustration grew. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing ground, not just in the company of the Malfoys but also in his fight for Lily's affection. Snape, with his undeniable talent and growing reputation, was a constant presence in his life, and it was beginning to feel like a shadow he couldn't escape.

As James listened to the guests sing Snape's praises, he couldn't help but feel that Severus Snape was stealing the spotlight not just in the conversation but in his world. The bitterness grew, and he knew that the battle for Lily's attention was slipping through his fingers.

As the evening wore on, the grand gathering at the Malfoy Manor seemed to grow livelier. The chatter and laughter of the guests filled the opulent halls, a stark contrast to the seething tension within James Potter. Every praise heaped upon Severus Snape was like a sharp needle pricking at his already frayed patience. His mind was consumed by thoughts of Lily, and he couldn't help but feel that Snape was at the center of his woes.

Suddenly, in the midst of his simmering anger, James's eyes were drawn to a sight that ignited a mischievous grin on his face. Severus Snape, wearing the robes of a waiter and carrying a tray laden with drinks, moved gracefully through the crowd. He was helping the waitstaff serve the guests, displaying an unexpected side of himself.

Seeing Snape in this humbler role, with his head slightly bowed and his dark hair hanging like curtains around his face, James couldn't resist the temptation that flared within him. It was a rare moment when he believed he had the upper hand, a chance to momentarily humiliate his adversary.

James knew that this could be the perfect opportunity to put Snape in his place, even if only for a brief moment. His eyes darted around the room, assessing his surroundings and checking to see if anyone, particularly Abaraxas, had taken notice of his wicked grin or his actions.

His wand concealed beneath his robes, James carefully and slowly reached for it, ensuring that no one would catch on to his intentions. A sense of anticipation bubbled within him. The cruel satisfaction of the impending act danced in his eyes.

Abaraxas Malfoy continued his animated conversation, oblivious to the dark plot forming nearby. James's father, on the other hand, began to grow suspicious of his son's behavior. He couldn't help but notice James looking around, sensing that something was amiss.

Before James's father could intervene or offer any form of restraint, James, unable to contain his malevolence any longer, cast a spell aimed at Severus Snape. The incantation was silent, and the spell struck its target with swift precision.

The unexpected magic sent a jolt through Severus Snape's body. He stumbled, his balance faltering, and then, in a scene that James hadn't foreseen, the tray of drinks he was carrying went crashing to the floor.

Amid the shattering of glass and the clatter of fallen goblets, there was a sudden, collective gasp from the guests. But it wasn't just the drinks that had tumbled. A searing hot soup, part of the spilled concoction, had spilled onto Severus Snape's exposed hands. He cried out in pain, his voice cutting through the commotion.

Abraxas Malfoy, like a protective guardian, was among the first to rush to Snape's aid. Lucius Malfoy, his keen eyes noting the unfolding scene, was right beside him. The commotion was instantaneous, and it felt as if the entire gathering had stopped to witness the drama.

Snape, clutching his burning hands in agony, writhed on the floor as the pain surged through him. The guests, now silent, watched with a mix of curiosity and concern, many still unaware of what had caused the accident.

James's father, his face a picture of dismay and frustration, hurried to the scene, realizing that his son was at the heart of the incident. James himself stood there, momentarily stunned by the unintended severity of the situation. His prank had gone horribly awry.

Abaraxas Malfoy, while worried for Snape, also had a discerning look in his eyes. He surveyed the situation, seemingly piecing together the events. Although he hadn't seen James cast the spell, his keen intuition suggested that the young Potter might have played a role.

With an air of authority, Abaraxas called out, "Clear the way! Let Severus have some air!"

As the crowd began to disperse, Severus Snape, his face contorted in pain, was assisted by Abraxas and Lucius. They supported him, leading him away from the spill and towards the exit.

Severus's hoarse voice trembled as he said, "Please, it burns..."

James, while realizing that he hadn't intended to cause such a severe injury, was still caught in the whirlwind of the moment. His father, angered and embarrassed by the situation his son had instigated, approached him with a stern expression.

"James," his father said, his voice low but filled with stern authority, "I cannot believe your actions. This is unacceptable behavior, especially in someone of your standing."

James was at a loss for words, still processing the magnitude of the harm that had been inflicted. He hadn't foreseen this outcome, and the guilt was beginning to gnaw at him.

His father continued, "This reflects poorly on our family and puts us in a precarious situation with the Malfoys. I thought I had raised you better than this."

The regret was etched on James's face, his initial thrill turning to bitter remorse. The events of this evening had spiraled far out of control, and his pride had been replaced with a heavy sense of guilt.

Amid the growing tension, the guests began to murmur, casting disapproving glances in James's direction. It was a stark reminder of the grave misjudgment he had made, a prank that had gone too far.

Abaraxas Malfoy returned to the main hall, having ensured Severus Snape's well-being. His gaze, however, was no longer one of amusement or warmth. It bore a disapproving severity as he approached James and his father.

With measured restraint, Abaraxas addressed them, his tone a blend of disappointment and reprimand. "Mr. Potter, I believe it's time for you to leave."

James's father, though reluctant, understood the seriousness of the situation. He bowed his head and replied, "I apologize for my son's actions, Mr. Malfoy. We will take our leave."

Abaraxas nodded, his expression unforgiving. "See that you do."

As the Malfoy guests watched the Potters make their exit, the atmosphere was thick with tension and lingering disapproval. James had marred the grand event with his thoughtless act, and the consequences of his recklessness hung heavily over him.

Outside the opulent halls of the Malfoy Manor, the carriage awaited them. James's father led his son away from the gathering, his stern silence conveying more than words ever could. It was a long, quiet ride back to their home, the weight of the evening's events heavy on both their shoulders.

For James, the experience was a harsh lesson in the consequences of his actions and the importance of self-control. The party at the Malfoy Manor had become an unforgettable ordeal, one that would forever linger in his memory as a reminder of the dangers of his own pride and anger.

As the grandiose gates of the Malfoy Manor closed behind them, the atmosphere within the carriage was suffocatingly heavy. James's father, an imposing figure in his own right, sat in stony silence. His brows were knitted together, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes radiated a mixture of disappointment and anger that needed no words to convey their depth.

James, who had been a spirited and defiant young man, was now reduced to a mere shadow of himself. His shoulders slumped, his pride wounded, and the gravity of his actions weighing heavily upon him. He had expected a stern lecture from his father, but the ensuing silence was far more punishing.

It was a long and uncomfortable ride back to their home. Each passing mile felt like an eternity, and the relentless ticking of the carriage's wheels mirrored the ticking of the clock within James's mind, counting down to an inevitable confrontation.

Upon arriving at their grand family estate, the carriage pulled to a halt. James's father wasted no time in alighting from the vehicle, his face a mask of displeasure. James followed suit, the guilt in his heart making every step toward their home seem heavier than the last.

As they ascended the steps to the imposing front doors, James attempted to speak, his voice feeble and trembling. "Father, I—"

But his words were cut short, as his father silenced him with a withering glare, a warning not to continue. He proceeded into the manor without waiting for his son, leaving James to follow in his wake.

Once inside, James found his mother awaiting their return in the grand foyer. She was a striking woman, her elegance evident in every aspect, from her poised demeanor to her tasteful attire. Her emerald eyes, however, held a mixture of concern and disappointment as they rested upon her son.

"James, what happened?" she inquired, her voice softer than her husband's but no less inquisitive.

Before James could respond, his father interjected with a stern and measured tone. "It is a matter we shall discuss, but not here. It involves James's conduct at the Malfoy Manor."

The ominous tone of his father's words sent a shiver down James's spine. He had expected repercussions for his thoughtless act, but the gravity of the situation seemed to grow with each passing moment.

James's father turned to their personal guard, a loyal and unyielding figure who had accompanied them from the Malfoy Manor. "You," he instructed, "escort James to Hogwarts immediately."

The personal guard, an expressionless man who had served the Potter family for years, acknowledged the order with a curt nod. Without a word, he stepped forward and indicated for James to follow him.

James tried to protest weakly, an instinctive reaction to the urgency of his departure. "But, Father, I—"

Before he could finish his sentence, James's father silenced him with a look that brooked no argument. His voice was cold and unforgiving. "You have already tested my patience enough for one evening, James. You shall not put one foot outside the line."

With that, James knew that any further protests would be futile. The guard led him away from the family home and into the waiting carriage. As he stepped into the enclosed space, James couldn't help but feel a sense of helplessness wash over him.

The journey to Hogwarts was a solitary one, the only sounds in the carriage the rumble of wheels against the road and the persistent ticking of the clock that marked time in his mind. James's thoughts were a whirlwind of self-reproach, his actions at the Malfoy Manor haunting him like a specter.

Arriving at the imposing gates of Hogwarts, the carriage came to a halt, and the personal guard escorted James onto the school grounds. The night was cool and dark, the castle looming before them like a guardian of old secrets. The imposing stone walls seemed to hold judgment over him.

As he was led through the castle's halls, James couldn't help but wonder about the impending meeting with the school's staff. The professors at Hogwarts were esteemed and respected, but they were also strict disciplinarians. James knew he would have to answer for his actions before a council of formidable educators.

Finally, they reached the office of the headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore. The room was grand and filled with books, a testament to the knowledge and wisdom of its occupant. Professor Dumbledore, a man with a long white beard and kindly eyes, rose from his desk as James entered.

"Mr. Potter," he began in a measured tone, "I understand that there have been some... incidents this evening."

James, feeling a heavy lump in his throat, nodded. He knew he couldn't evade the consequences of his actions. "Yes, Professor."

The headmaster's gaze was piercing, yet it held an air of understanding. "I would like you to recount what transpired at the Malfoy Manor, Mr. Potter. Tell me your version of events."

As James began to recount the evening's occurrences, he couldn't help but feel the weight of his actions bearing down on him. He described the party, the praise heaped upon Severus Snape, and the overwhelming anger and frustration that had coursed through him.

His voice quivered as he described his decision to use magic to trip Severus, the unintended consequence that had caused the hot soup to scald his hands, and the subsequent commotion.

The headmaster listened attentively, his eyes never leaving James's face. Once James had finished his account, Professor Dumbledore spoke, his voice gentle but filled with gravity. "It is clear, Mr. Potter, that your actions at the Malfoy Manor were reckless and unbecoming of a student of Hogwarts."

James bowed his head, his guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders. He had known that there would be consequences, but hearing the headmaster's words made the reality of the situation all the more palpable.

The headmaster continued, "I have already received a letter from Mr. Malfoy, detailing the extent of the incident. Your father and I have also had a discussion regarding your actions