The torchlight flickered ominously along the ancient stone walls of Hogwarts as curfew approached. The pathway to the dungeons, strewn with shadowy alcoves, was enveloped in an eerie silence, with only the sound of footsteps echoing around.
Severus Snape, clad in his Hogwarts uniform and his black robes billowing behind him, strode purposefully towards the Slytherin Common Room. His mind churned with a tempest of emotions – anger, discontent, and even the bitter sense of betrayal. The memory of what happened in the library with Lily played on repeat in his mind, that hateful word ringing in his ears.
Mudblood.
He had not intended to say it, not to Lily. Never to Lily. At least that was what he had believed. However, in that emotionally charged moment when he was awash with rage and betrayal, it had slipped out, and the consequences were as he had expected.
As he recalled the look of sheer shock and hurt in her eyes when he pulled his wand on her, he felt uncomfortable, but it was quickly overshadowed by his own sense of indignation. How could she betray him like that!? She knew what it was like at his home, and yet she had disregarded it so easily!? After all these years of friendship?
The more he thought about it, the more his rage mounted, and the more he kept justifying to himself that he had indeed done the right thing when he told her as he saw it. She did not understand what was right or wrong, instead choosing to assert her moral superiority over delicate matters that she had no idea about – exactly like a Mudblood would do.
The fallout of the altercation the previous day had been severe, although still manageable. He had been docked a hundred points and assigned detentions with Filch who extracted immense pleasure in making students scrub dirt and grime with their bare hands. The pathetic squib sure loved to take out his vindictiveness on his betters, and it made Snape seethe.
A sneer emerged on his face as he walked down the stairs. His thoughts were still in turmoil as he rounded the corner when a voice cut through the stillness like a knife.
"Looking as pathetic as always, Snivellus."
Snape froze, his hand instinctively moving to his wand. His head snapped up and as he focused, he could make out the familiar form of James Potter standing in a shadowy alcove, his dark robes mingling easily with the pitch-blackness the surroundings offered him.
Hidden behind those round glasses were his hazel eyes blazing with barely contained fury. Snape was slightly surprised to see the noticeable lack of company. There was no Sirius Black with him who usually sported his pathetic smirk that never truly reached his eyes, and there was no Harry Peverell either – the new ringleader of Potter's ragtag group of bullies and assholes. Snape sneered as he thought about the pair.
"Potter," he spat, his hand already gripping his wand. "Come to gloat, have you? I'm surprised you waited this long."
James stepped off the wall and walked to the middle of the corridor, facing Snape. His lips curled in disgust as he stared him down. "Gloat? That's what you think this is about, Snivellus?"
"What else could it be?" Snape sneered. "Here to defend precious Lily's honor? With the way you keep wagging your tail behind her like a pathetic dog, it's obvious what you're here for."
"You don't deserve to even say her name!" James hissed.
Snape laughed bitterly, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Did she send you here to fight her battles? Or are you just hoping she'll finally give you the time of the day if you play the gallant hero?"
James ignored the pathetic attempt to rile him up even more. Glaring, he hissed, "How dare you call her that word? After everything she's done for you?"
Snape's face contorted into rage. "You know nothing about Lily and me, Potter! Nothing!"
"I know enough," James retorted. "I know how she's defended you over the years, even arguing for you with her closest friends. I know she saw good in you, or at least chose to remain blind to the pathetic cretin that everyone knows you are. And what did you do? You chose to throw it all away with one word."
"You have no clue what you're talking about," Snape growled low in his throat, earning another disgusted glare from James. He did not miss how the Slytherin's hand twitched on his wand and palmed his at once, ready to jump into action at a moment's notice.
"Oh, I know perfectly well. I've known what a cunt you are for a long time now, Snivellus. You are a pathetic thug with disgusting prejudices. You have finally shown her your true colors as well. Congrats. How does it feel to realize that Lily finally sees you for what you really are?
"Prejudice, huh?" Snape's voice rose, indignation flaring in his dark eyes. "You know nothing about me or my life! You"
"What I know is that you have chosen your path, Snape. And deep down, even you know that's not the path Lily would ever choose," James hissed.
For a moment, Snape stayed silent, glaring and breathing heavily. His grip was right on his wand and every cell in his body was urging him to curse this asshole in front of him who had come to gloat. His hatred bubbled under the surface and Snape hissed, "You think you've won, don't you, Potter? You must think this means Lily will now fall in your arms and you'll get what you've always wanted?"
James' jaw clenched, and an utterly disappointed look came over his face. "That's what you're fixated on right now? Merlin, you're even more pathetic than I thought. She just lost her best friend. I've seen how hurt she is. The last thing I'll want would be to take advantage of her emotions like that. I've much more morality than that."
Snape's face twisted with rage. He did not like the look Potter was giving him, not one bit, and he snarled, "You sanctimonious prick! You strut around this castle like you own it, bullying anyone who doesn't fit your perfect Gryffindor mold. And you dare to lecture me about what's right? You dare to preach about morals?"
"At least I don't hide behind blood supremacy and bigotry," James shot back. "At least I don't consider others beneath me. At least I don't betray my friends."
"Friends?" Snape laughed coldly, a hollow, bitter sound. "Is that what you call them? Your little gang of thugs and abominations? That pathetic werewolf's days are done already. Good riddance."
James' eyes blazed and his grip tightened further on his wand. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage building inside him. "Listen carefully, because I'm only going to say this once. Stay far away from Lily. If you so much as look at her wrong, you'll regret it."
Snape's eyes flashed dangerously. "Is that a threat, Potter?"
"It's a promise."
The tension in the corridor was palpable as both wizards stood glaring at each other. As one, their wands snapped up, pointed forward.
Snape's lips curled, his wand flicking sharply as he hissed, "Incarcerous!"
Thick ropes erupted from the tip of Snape's wand, speeding toward James, intent on whipping and binding him.
James moved just as quickly, his movements fluid and sure as he flicked his wand almost lazily. Instead of merely dodging, he transfigured the ropes mid-flight, turning them into thin strings of smoke that dissipated harmlessly in the air. Snape's eyes widened slightly at the silent casting on display.
"Ropes? Really, Snivellus? I was hoping for something a little more impressive," James mocked, his voice carrying an infuriating nonchalance as he maintained perfect focus on his opponent.
Snape's face contorted in frustrated rage. Without wasting another second, he snarled, "Expulso!" A tightly controlled blast shot from his wand, aimed right at James's side.
James deftly sidestepped the jet of force, years of Quidditch practices and his recent workouts aiding his movements. The spell missed him, striking the wall with a low thud and leaving a faint scorch mark. His eyes flashed as he flicked his wrist again, silently causing the floor beneath Snape to ripple, its texture subtly shifting.
Snape didn't notice until his footing wavered, the ground beneath his boots shaking as the bricks and stones started to shift. His concentration broke for a split second, but in that moment, James took full advantage.
A leg-locker zipped through the air, catching Snape unprepared. His legs snapped together, sending him off balance. Snape's wand shot out desperately, barely managing to cast a non-verbal counter-curse to free his legs.
"You can't win this, Snivellus," James sneered, but there was a steely edge to his voice now as if his patience was wearing thin.
Snape's eyes blazed with hatred. He had had enough. His grip on his wand tightened, and with a furious motion, he slashed his wand through the air.
"Sectumsempra!"
The curse tore through the air, a razor-sharp incantation aimed straight at James's chest. However, just like before, James's instincts were lightning-fast. He twisted his body out of the way just in time, feeling the cold rush of the crimson spell as it sliced through the air where he had been standing. The curse struck the stone wall behind him, leaving jagged, deep gashes etched into the rock. James's shocked eyes flickered to the scars on the wall, taking in the level of destruction that spell had wrought upon concrete. Had it hit him, he would've probably been sliced through.
His eyes hardened as he realized just how dark Snape's intentions had become. "Sectumsempra? That was the incantation, right? I've never heard that one before. You must've read a lot if you came across a spell like that," James's voice was quieter now, dangerously calm, and Snape sneered.
"A creation of mine, for assholes just like you, Potter," Snape snarled, having nullified the shaking of the floor under his feet.
"You really are pathetic," James said almost dispassionately as he gazed at the irate and panting wizard in front of him. Before Snape could cast another spell, James' wand snapped again, the movement fast and deliberate.
Instead of attacking head-on, James manipulated the stone floor beneath Snape once again. The ground softened just under his feet, subtly pulling at Snape's legs and preventing him from moving freely, like a quicksand trap with a hint of magical restraint.
Snape struggled, realizing too late that his legs were caught in the slowly hardening stone. He slashed his wand, but the spell barely fizzled out before James advanced, closing the gap between them.
With a smooth flick of his wand, James disarmed Snape, catching the other wizard's wand deftly in his left hand. Snape's eyes widened, the shock and fury battling for dominance on his face.
James didn't let the moment stretch. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.
"I'm warning you. Stay away from Lily."
With a cold look of disgust, James tossed Snape's wand to the floor at his feet. He glanced over at the gashes on the wall once again, his heart racing slightly as he realized he could've been seriously injured. His lips pursed, and turning on his heel, he strode away without another word.
Snape remained where he was, breathing heavily, his legs still half-trapped in the stone where his wand lay. Grunting, he squatted and somehow managed to grab hold of his wand and quickly reversed the transfiguration, stepping out and fixing the floor. His eyes darted in either direction before he smoothed his robes down and strode away toward the Slytherin Common Room.
In another shadowy alcove on the first floor, a certain redhead stood frozen as she leaned against the window ledge, her heart pounding in her chest. Her mind raced with a whirl of emotions as she deliberated on the entire encounter that she had witnessed.
Snape had tried, genuinely tried, to fatally harm James. She would've never thought him capable of using such a curse against another, and it terrified her to realize how wrong she had been about him. She had come to know the pathetic views he held about those considered lesser in pureblood circles, but now, she also knew he was capable of violence as well, and for what? Because his pride got a little hurt? Would he have used that spell on her yesterday if Marlene had not intervened? She truly could not deny the possibility.
She would have understood if he had used such a spell where it was warranted, but James never even tried to hurt him. He had only been trying to keep him at bay. To fatally attack someone in such a situation stood a testament to how far he had fallen.
She realized she should have expected Snape to have this side to him. She had overlooked a lot when it came to her former friend, perhaps even the darkness that lurked beneath the surface.
However, it was James who had shocked her the most. He had defended her, warning Snape to stay away from her, and although a part of her wanted to be indignant at his presumption that he could speak for her, she could not help but feel grateful for his actions as well. Conflicted feelings rose within her as the two sides argued with her, the former still holding strong opinions on James Potter while the newer voice recognized there was more to him than what she'd been believing for all these years.
Her mind drifted to the magical duel if one could even call it that. He had been quick on his feet and magically much more capable than she had thought he would be. The restraint he had shown in the face of Snape's viciousness throughout the altercation, verbal and otherwise, was unlike the boy she had always dismissed as arrogant and reckless.
Try as she might, she could not help but recall James's confession in their common room. He had told her that he loved her. She still remembered the hurt in his eyes when he'd said he wondered how he ever fell for her, shocked by her continued defense of Snape. They hadn't spoken since then until earlier today, and now... he had defended her, purely out of the care she knew he had for her. He knew that only Snape would ever know he was doing it. There was no desire for praise or recognition in what he had done today, and that spoke volumes of his maturity that she did not know he possessed.
Or perhaps it had always been there and she had obstinately refused to see it?
As Lily closed her eyes and leaned back against the pillar she had been hiding behind near the shadowy alcove, she found herself questioning everything. The boy she had always dismissed as an arrogant toerag had shown depths she never expected, and the friend she had defended for years had revealed his true colors – a darkness that could no longer be ignored. What did it truly say about her emotional intelligence? She felt as if she could not perceive people beyond surface appearances, understand their motivations, or make insightful judgments.
Taking a deep breath, Lily began walking toward the staircase. Curfew was imminent, and her mind was embroiled in turmoil. She could feel a headache developing, and as she gently massaged her temple, she couldn't shake the feeling that the ground beneath her feet had shifted forever.
-Break-
The grand hall of Malfoy Manor was thick with tension. Once a symbol of pureblood wealth and power, the hall now felt more like a tomb, its opulence overshadowed by the misfortune that had befallen the family. The faces of the men standing looked as if they were ghosts in a haunting painting as flickering torches cast restless shadows across the hall.
Abraxas Malfoy stood at the head of the gathering, his silver hair gleaming in the dim light. Once a prideful man with an air of aristocratic disdain around him, he looked like a shadow of his former self. The death of his heir had struck him hard, and the political troubles that came with it added to his struggles.
His usual demeanor had been one of conflict and helplessness lately, but now, it seemed to have been replaced by something darker – a rage simmering just beneath the surface. The recent loss of his son, Lucius, had left him feeling raw, and the presence of these… wretches… in his ancestral house was an insult he found himself struggling to endure.
To his right, Nott shifted uneasily, his rheumy eyes flicking between their associates and the newcomers. Beside him stood Avery, the only hothead left in their midst after Corvus' death, who had his knuckles clenched over his wand so tightly they had gone white. The memory of their former associate made Abraxas' jaw tighten. It had been quick, brutal, and gory. They had all been forced to sit and watch as the Dark Lord's serpent devoured the corpse within minutes.
Abraxas did not know where his lord had procured that serpent from, but from one glance, he could tell that it was no ordinary creature. There was something off about it.
His thoughts were cut off when he heard the approaching footsteps and he took a deep breath, casting his gaze straight ahead at the door that opened with a creak.
No one could miss the thick air of barely concealed hostility permeating the two groups that entered the hall. They were a ragtag group – some bore fresh battle scars, while others had a nervous energy about them, and it was quite apparent that they were not used to gatherings of this nature.
Their very presence seemed to offend the sensibilities of the pureblood elite that comprised of Abraxas and his remaining allies.
He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "So," he drawled, and the contempt dripping from his voice was hard to miss. "These are the… additions our lord has seen fit to bring into the fold." His cold gaze swept over the newcomers, his lips curling into a sneer as he took in their ragged robes and battle-worn faces. Clearly, even the gleaming silver robes that the members of Silver Fang wore did not pass the scrutiny of his prejudicial lens.
"Street trash and half-breeds, the lot of them," Nott muttered just loud enough to be heard. "What could our lord be thinking?"
A burly wizard, adorning the silver robes that were tattered in places, stepped forward, his face flushing with barely contained fury.
"Watch your tongue, you snobby bastard," he growled, his hand twitching toward his wand. "While you've been hiding in your gilded cages, we are the ones who've been fighting the battles you started on the streets. Our blood and sweat has done more for the cause than your gold and power ever could. Pathetic swines. You dare call us trash when you lost your heirs and still had no balls to pick up your wands and do something about it. It's clear who the trash truly is."
"You dare!" Avery snarled. "You know nothing of our cause, you filthy mongrel! You have no fucking clue what we've done! A few street brawls with those fucking mutts and their cocksuckers and you think you're our equals!?"
A witch stepped forward, garbed in robes that were even more tattered. Her hair was wild and there were injuries on her face. Yet, it did not deter her. Her eyes blazed, her voice sharp as she grinned ferally. "Equals? We surpassed you the moment we took up the fight while you cowered behind your fancy wards and family names. You bastards disgust me! Hell, we can even respect these Fangs. At least they had the balls to fight for what they believe in. What did you do?"
"The future belongs to those willing to fight, not cowards clinging to their family names!"
"Louder!"
MacNair, who had been standing at the far end and watching the altercation, gritted his teeth in rage alongside the rest. He darted forward, his large frame seeming to fill the space between the two groups as he snarled, "Big words from such small dogs. Why don't you bastards put your words where your mouth is?
The air crackled with tension as wizards and witches from all sides brandished their wands, their eyes full of rage and hatred for one another. Tensions were about to explode.
Abraxas, who had been standing in the middle, with his face set in stone but his eyes blazing, took a deep breath to calm himself, forcing his rage down. He raised his hand sharply, his voice slicing through the growing chaos. "Enough! We are not common thugs. Whatever… feelings we might have about the situation, our Lord's orders are clear. We will not disgrace ourselves with petty squabbles."
His words did little to ease the tension in the room. Both his associates and the newcomers bristled, their prejudices, superiority complexes, and deeply ingrained ideologies creating a divide that was not easy to cross. Even among the newcomers, he could see people eyeing those from the opposite faction, ready to curse one another at a moment's notice.
Avery could not resist a sneer as he glared at the large group. "Yes, let's play nice with the riffraff. I'm sure they will fit perfectly well with us. Perhaps we wouldn't need to teach them how to tell a fork and a spoon apart, or how to hold a glass," he hissed, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Better a man who knows how to fight for the cause he believes in than a peacock who knows only how to strut around. When was the last time you got blood on your hands, prick? And I don't mean a papercut while reading an agreement."
"No wonder your spawn bit the dust if they came from the loins of cowards like you!" A voice shouted, prompting both factions to let out cries of approval.
The words had the expected effect. All the Inner Circle members' faces turned a dangerous shade of purple as they raised their wands.
"You motherfucking sons of whores!" Avery snarled. "I'll show you"
Suddenly, a loud crack of apparition echoed around them, cutting him off and silencing the dimly lit hall. A deathly chill swept through the air as Lord Voldemort materialized before them, his tall and pale form seeming to absorb the very light around him. His thin, elongated fingers twitched at his sides, and his crimson eyes glowed like embers in the dark. His presence was suffocating, as if the room itself bowed in submission.
There was a collective intake of breath as the Death Eaters sank to their knees, their heads bowed low and their faces a mixture of subservience and terror. However, the newcomers stood awkwardly, exchanging uncertain glances with their allies and former enemies, unsure of how they were supposed to conduct themselves. Slowly, one by one, they too began to fall to their knees, their heads bowing low and they kept their eyes trained on the dark floor.
Voldemort's mouth curled into a cruel smile as he surveyed the gathering, his hand shaking subtly as he stroked Nagini whose forked tongue slithered out in anticipation.
"My loyal servants," Voldemort began, his voice barely above a whisper. Yet, it carried throughout the hall, authoritative and striking fear into the hearts of all those in attendance. "I see you have met our new… allies."
The word "allies" was said with a hint of mockery. His red eyes shifted toward the newcomers – men and women who could not have looked more different from his Inner Circle members if they tried. As if feeling his gaze on them, they shifted uneasily.
The Death Eaters bowed even lower, as if reminded of what he had done to Corvus Lestrange when he had dared to disrespect him. None dared to raise their heads.
Voldemort, seemingly uninterested in their subservience, glided forward like a wraith, ignoring the old guard entirely. His attention was fixed on the newcomers, several of whom were sneaking glances up at him. All it did was add to his amusement.
He reached the burly wizard who stood at the front alongside the woman in tattered robes and rested his hand almost affectionately on his broad shoulder. The man, Aldric, was as hardened as any, having been abandoned long ago by those who should've raised him. The reason – they had been transformed into werewolves, and they had abandoned him so that they did not inadvertently curse him as well. It had made him as ruthless as he possibly could be in his mission to hunt down werewolves. Even a man as hardened as he flinched at the Dark Lord's touch.
"What is your name?" Voldemort spoke softly, almost a gentle caress, and yet, Aldric shivered.
He cleared his throat and keeping his eyes firmly at the floor, spoke, "Aldric, my lord."
"Aldric," Voldemort said softly, his voice a serpentine hiss. "I am pleased to see you take the initiative and fill the vacuum left behind by Octavius Selwyn."
The words seemingly warped Aldric's mind, and he was not sure if he was truly being praised or threatened. Selwyn had been brutally killed by the very same man not even a day ago, and here he was, filling his spot. However, he found himself bowing his head in acknowledgment, muttering a tight-lipped, "Thank you, my Lord."
Voldemort hummed low in his throat and moved on, not waiting for further response, stepping in front of the woman to his left.
"And who are you?" He asked gently, placing a hand on her shoulder like he had done with Aldric. The woman, Sarina, shuddered under the touch she felt on her bare skin. It felt comforting and oppressive in equal measure, and as much as she could feel the assurance radiating from the man, the coldness was as overpowering. She had been working hard for years to ask for fair treatment of werewolves, having seen how her entire family had been persecuted just because some rogues had turned them. Her life had been spent in poverty, her people forced to scrape for the barest of necessities, and her journey had brought her little more than pain. Yet, nothing had prepared her for the attention of the man whose gaze she could feel boring into her.
She swallowed a lump in her throat, her fist tightening on her robes as she said softly, "I am Sarina, my lord."
"Sarina," Voldemort repeated. "A lovely name, and an oddly fitting one as well. I see you have also taken up the seat vacated by the woman who was foolish enough to disrespect me. Very good. I have high hopes for you as well."
Sarina breathed out raggedly, the meaning dawning on her with crystal clarity. She was in the Dark Lord's favor, and she knew what it entailed.
She felt him turn around and walk away. Try as she might, she could not help but exchange a wary glance with Aldric, both feeling the disturbed eyes of their comrades on them, and the weight of their enmity seemed to momentarily be lifted in the face of the gravity of the situation.
Voldemort's eyes hardened as he walked over to the center of the room where he could see everyone. His cloak billowed behind him as he strode past the Death Eaters who shivered when they felt his eyes fall on them.
"I sense conflict brewing in my ranks. Discontent, even. Some seem to harbor dissent over my decisions," he said, his voice dripping with disdain as he eyed the pureblood lords. Each one of them shivered under his withering gaze. "My faithful Death Eaters… I believe I did not make myself clear before. Your feelings on these matters are of no consequence. The winds of change are upon us." His eyes glinted dangerously as the temperature around the room dropped. "You will adapt, or you will find you no longer have a place in the new world."
A visible shudder passed through the Death Eaters as the meaning of those words dawned on them. Wide-eyed, they exchanged shocked looks with each other, their heads still bowed as they remained on their knees.
Abraxas Malfoy, as shocked as the rest of his associates, watched them all staring at him with pleading eyes. Those cowards were begging him to say something… to the Dark Lord!
He chanced a glance up at the Dark Lord, only to find his crimson eyes already on him. He shivered as he spoke, "Speak, Abraxas."
Abraxas gulped as he raised his head, but he remained on his knees. Fear was coursing through him, and he did not believe he could manage to stand proudly on his own two feet.
" My Lord," he began, struggling to keep his voice steady. "We live only to serve your vision. But surely… after the tragedy in Hogsmeade… after we all lost our beloved children… surely"
"Silence!" Voldemort's voice cut through the air like a whip. Abraxas visibly recoiled, his pace face draining of what little color remained. "The deaths of your heirs indeed set us back, forcing me to evaluate our approach going forward. But do not speak of tragedies as though you understand what it truly means."
Abraxas stared back with wide eyes, full of fear.
"Beloved children?" Voldemort mocked. "They were assets, Abraxas. Tools to carry your family name. Nothing else." His face took on a disgusted edge as he continued, "Love? An emotion so worthless and fickle. We both know it does not exist in our world. Not truly."
The words hung in the air, and they all felt as if they were commandments given by a higher being himself.
"But where one door closes, another opens. This incident has also opened the path to a greater truth," Voldemort continued, his voice softening into something more contemplative. It felt as if he had come to this realization not too long ago himself. "I no longer need to rely on your outdated bloodlines." His gaze swept across the room, taking in the stunned expressions of his Inner Circle members. "Power," he said, his voice growing in strength. "True power does not come from ancient names or purity of blood. It comes from those who are willing to seize it – those with ambition, with vision, and with abilities and courage."
A tense silence fell over the room as the Death Eaters, still on their knees, gazed up at the Dark Lord with their mouths agape and their hearts racing a million miles a minute. Fear crept into their hearts as the realization dawned on them.
They had always believed the Dark Lord would bring about their salvation, that their bloodlines, their lineage, made them indispensable to the Dark Lord, and that he was the champion they had been waiting for.
However, now, they realized how wrong they had been. They were now faced with the bitter truth, one that shook the very foundations of their lives – they were replaceable, and it seemed the replacement had already begun.
From his spot at the center of the room, Voldemort surveyed his shocked servants and a cruel smile curled his lips. The wheels of change were already set in motion.
TBC.
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