Quote from Naaga on August 29, 2024, 2:16 pm

### **Scene: Spinner’s End, 1980**

The small, dingy sitting room at Spinner's End was filled with the acrid scent of damp wood and old parchment. The fireplace crackled, but its warmth did nothing to dispel the tension hanging thick in the air. Charity Burbage stood in the middle of the room, her hands resting protectively on her swollen belly, her eyes fixed on Severus Snape. Her cheeks were flushed, her breaths coming out in short, sharp bursts as if she had been running. Severus, on the other hand, stood with his back turned to her, his black eyes focused on the flickering flames in the hearth, his face set in a rigid mask.

"You need to say something, Severus," Charity finally broke the silence, her voice trembling. "You can’t just stand there and pretend like none of this is real. Like… like *we* aren’t real."

Severus's shoulders tensed, but he remained silent, his gaze unwavering, staring deep into the fire as though it held the answers he sought. Charity took a step closer, her hand reaching out toward him.

"Severus, look at me," she pleaded, her voice softer now, tinged with desperation. "Please, say something. You can't just—"

He cut her off sharply, spinning around to face her, his face contorted with a mixture of anger and frustration. "What do you want me to say, Charity?" he snapped, his voice low but laced with an edge that sent a chill through the room. "That I'm happy about this? That I'm ready to play house and be a father?"

Charity flinched, hurt flashing across her face. "I want you to be honest with me," she shot back, her tone hardening. "I want you to tell me what you truly feel, not this cold, distant façade you put on."

Severus's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "You want honesty?" he said, his voice rising. "Fine, then. Whatever happened between us was a mistake. A momentary lapse in judgment. I don’t want this… I don’t want *you* or the child you carry."

Charity's face drained of color as if his words had struck her like a physical blow. "A mistake?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "How can you say that? We… we loved each other, Severus."

Severus laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that held no humor. "Love?" he repeated, mocking the word. "You think that was love, Charity? You were nothing more than… a distraction. A way to forget, for a moment, the reality of my life."

Tears welled up in Charity’s eyes, her hands trembling as she pressed them against her stomach. "And what about this child, Severus?" she demanded, anger and sorrow mixing in her voice. "Our child. You can't just turn your back on him… on *us*."

Severus’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing. "I never asked for this," he hissed. "I never wanted a child, Charity. I never wanted *any* of this."

Charity took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, her heart pounding in her chest. "And what about the child, Severus?" she repeated, her voice more forceful this time. "He didn't ask for this either, but he's here. He's growing inside me, and he’s as much a part of you as he is of me."

Severus's eyes flashed with something like fear, a flicker of emotion that he quickly masked. "I don’t care," he spat. "I won’t be tied down to a life I never chose. I have… obligations, things far more important than this… this complication."

Charity’s hands fell to her sides, her expression shifting from hurt to something more resolute. "So that's it?" she asked, her voice thick with emotion. "You’re just going to walk away? Pretend like none of this happened, like you don’t have a child who will need you?"

Severus turned his head away, his face tightening. "I have no choice," he muttered. "There are… other things, other people who need me more."

"Other people?" Charity’s voice cracked. "You mean *her*, don’t you? Lily Evans."

At the mention of Lily’s name, Severus’s expression hardened even further. "You know nothing of it," he said through gritted teeth. "Lily is none of your concern."

Charity’s eyes blazed with anger. "None of my concern?" she cried. "You think I don’t know? You think I don’t see the way you still pine for her, even after all this time? Even when you were with me, it was always about *her*, wasn’t it?"

Severus’s eyes met hers, cold and unyielding. "I love her," he admitted, his voice steady, unwavering. "I have always loved her. And nothing will change that, not you, not this child."

Tears streamed down Charity’s face now, her body shaking with the force of her emotions. "So, you’re saying… what we had, it meant nothing?"

Severus’s gaze softened, just for a moment, but his words remained harsh. "It was a mistake," he repeated, softer this time but no less firm. "A mistake that should never have happened."

Charity's voice broke with anguish. "How can you be so heartless?"

Severus looked away, his face a mask of pain and regret, his voice barely a whisper. "Because I have no choice."

There was a heavy silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. Charity stared at him, her tears glistening in the dim light. "I won't force you to stay," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "But know this, Severus… this child will know who his father is. And I will love him enough for the both of us."

Severus closed his eyes, his face twisted in a mix of sorrow and resolve. "Do what you must," he murmured. "But I cannot… I will not be a part of this."

Charity took a step back, her face set in a look of quiet determination. "Then go," she said softly. "Go and chase your ghosts, Severus. But know that one day, you will regret this."

Without another word, Severus turned and walked toward the door, his steps heavy, each one pulling him further away from the woman he had hurt and the child he refused to acknowledge. He hesitated for a moment at the threshold, his hand on the doorframe, but he did not look back.

And then, without another glance, he stepped out into the night, leaving Charity alone in the dim light of the dying fire, tears streaming down her face as she cradled the life growing inside her—the life that Severus Snape had chosen to abandon.

Quote from Naaga on August 31, 2024, 2:54 am

### **Draven's POV - Meeting Lord Voldemort, 1997**

I stood in the cold, dimly lit room, my heart pounding so loudly that I feared it would betray my fear. The air was thick with a cloying darkness that seemed to seep into my very bones. The Death Eaters were lined up in a half-circle, their faces hidden by hoods and shadows, their presence oppressive and suffocating. At the center of it all, on a high-backed chair that looked more like a throne than anything else, sat the Dark Lord.

Lord Voldemort.

His crimson eyes gleamed in the low light, and his lipless mouth twisted into something that might have been a smile—or a sneer. I stood beside my father, Severus Snape, who, for the first time in my life, seemed almost as tense as I was. I could feel it radiating off him, a silent, simmering energy that thrummed through the air.

I tried to focus on my breathing, to keep it steady. But it was hard. Hard when those piercing red eyes locked onto me.

"Severus," Voldemort's voice hissed, soft yet somehow echoing around the room. "You’ve been keeping secrets."

I felt my father stiffen beside me. "My Lord," he said with a calmness that almost sounded natural, "I have always served you faithfully, without question."

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking from my father to me. "And yet, you hide your son… this boy, Draven," he said, his voice dripping with disdain as he spoke my name. "A curious name for the son of a loyal Death Eater. A name hidden behind falsehoods. A Muggleborn mother, no less."

The words struck like a blow. I could feel my hands clenching into fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. My mother… my mother was worth more than all the pure-bloods in this room. The thought of Voldemort sneering at her memory ignited a flare of rage inside me, a fire burning hot against the fear chilling my veins.

"My Lord," Snape began, his voice steady, controlled, "it was a necessary deception. To protect him."

"Protect him?" Voldemort’s voice was cold, almost amused. "Why not raise him among our own, among pure-bloods? Why let him live like a rat, hidden away with filth and half-bloods?"

The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension mounting with every second. I dared not look at my father, but I could feel the weight of his words like a tangible thing.

"Draven is… unique," my father continued, choosing his words carefully. "Had he been raised in the Wizarding world, it would have drawn unwanted attention. The Ministry… Dumbledore… they would have known. They would have intervened."

I felt Voldemort’s eyes bore into me, searching, dissecting. His snake-like face twisted into a contemplative expression. "And yet," he said slowly, "you let him be raised by a Muggleborn. Why not a pure-blood guardian, someone who could have molded him properly?"

I felt the heat of my anger flare up again, mingling with the fear I could barely keep at bay. Molded properly. As if I were some lump of clay to be shaped by their twisted ideals. I bit down on my tongue, forcing myself to stay silent, to keep my expression as unreadable as possible.

"My Lord," Snape replied, and there was a firmness in his tone now, "his mother, despite her blood, was intelligent and capable. She was able to raise him in a way that kept him from suspicion. A pure-blood family would have drawn attention. It would have been too dangerous."

"Too dangerous…" Voldemort echoed, his voice trailing off. His eyes were still on me, studying me as if I were a particularly interesting potion ingredient. "And you, boy," he suddenly addressed me, making my heart skip a beat. "Do you understand what your father did for you? Hiding you away, like some shameful secret?"

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry as sand. I wanted to tell him to go to hell, to wipe that mocking look off his face. But I could feel my father’s silent warning beside me—a reminder of where we were, of who we were facing.

"Yes… My Lord," I forced out, my voice low and steady, though it felt like every word was being dragged out of me.

Voldemort’s lips twisted into that unsettling smile again. "You see, Severus," he said softly, his tone almost conversational, "I wonder… if your actions were truly for my benefit, or for your own."

"My loyalty has always been to you, My Lord," my father replied swiftly. "Everything I have done, I have done in your service."

The words were quick, but I could hear the underlying tension, the carefully constructed walls in his tone. There was fear there, yes—fear for both of us.

Voldemort stared at him for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then he turned back to me. "Draven Snape," he said, and hearing my real name on his tongue sent a shiver down my spine, "your father claims he has raised you well. That you are strong… useful. Is this true?"

My mind was racing, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I felt a mixture of fear, defiance, and something else—something that felt like raw, unbridled rage. My father had put his life on the line to protect me. And this… monster was toying with him, with me, as if we were nothing but pawns.

"Yes, My Lord," I replied, keeping my voice steady. "I… I am strong."

Voldemort leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "And are you loyal, boy? Are you loyal to your father? To me?"

The words felt like ice water down my spine. I could sense what he was asking—what he wanted. I could feel the room holding its breath, waiting for my answer. And in that moment, I felt the weight of my father’s gaze on me, a silent message, a desperate plea.

I knew what I had to say. "Yes, My Lord," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, but firm. "I am loyal."

Voldemort’s eyes bore into me for what felt like an eternity, and then, slowly, he leaned back, his smile widening.

"Good," he said softly. "Very good. We shall see… just how loyal you truly are."

The room seemed to exhale all at once, the tension breaking, but only slightly. I could feel my father’s relief beside me, but it was tempered with the same fear I felt. Because I knew, as did he, that this was far from over.

And as I stood there, under the gaze of the Dark Lord, I made a silent vow: I would never forget this moment. The fear. The rage. The helplessness. And one day, somehow, I would make him pay for it.

Quote from Naaga on August 31, 2024, 2:55 am

### **Severus Snape's POV - After Meeting the Dark Lord**

I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, though I kept my expression as calm and composed as possible. Years of practice had taught me to wear my mask well, to never let my true thoughts slip past the surface. But tonight, in the presence of the Dark Lord, I could feel that mask cracking.

Draven stood beside me, shoulders tense, his face set in a careful mask of defiance and fear. The boy did well to hide it, but I knew him too well. I could see the storm raging behind his eyes, a mixture of fear and anger that threatened to boil over at any moment. I silently prayed he would hold it together, just long enough to get him out of here.

The Dark Lord's gaze lingered on Draven, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he studied him like a predator assessing its prey. My breath hitched in my throat as I waited for his next words, knowing that this entire encounter was a test—of my loyalty, of my son’s resilience, of the twisted threads of fate that had brought us here.

When Voldemort spoke, his voice was soft, almost contemplative. "I wonder, Severus… if you truly understand the consequences of deception."

I kept my posture steady, my tone even. "My Lord, I have only ever acted with your best interests in mind."

A low, cruel chuckle slipped from his lips. "So you say." His gaze flicked back to Draven. "Your son has a temper, I see it in his eyes. Perhaps… you have coddled him too much, hidden him away from our world for too long."

I could feel the muscles in my jaw tightening, but I forced myself to stay calm. "He is young, My Lord," I replied, my voice steady. "He still has much to learn. But he has potential—great potential."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Potential that you have kept hidden… even from me. Why?"

I took a slow, measured breath. This was the crux of it, the moment that could decide both of our fates. "Because he was not ready," I said carefully. "Because his power needed to be honed, to be shaped into something useful. Revealing him too soon would have jeopardized everything. The boy needed time."

There was a long, agonizing silence as Voldemort considered my words, his gaze cold and calculating. I could feel the weight of the Death Eaters’ eyes on us, watching, waiting for any sign of weakness. I needed to get Draven out of here—now—before things escalated further.

"Draven," I said, turning to him. "Leave us."

His eyes darted to me, a flash of panic and confusion crossing his face. "Father—"

"Now," I snapped, my voice sharper than intended. I couldn’t afford for him to see the fear behind my words, the desperation clawing at my insides. "Go."

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze flicking from me to the Dark Lord and back again. But then, slowly, he nodded, and with a final, lingering look, he turned and left the room. I watched him go, my heart tightening with every step he took away from me. A part of me wanted to call him back, to shield him from what was to come. But I knew that keeping him here would only make things worse.

As the heavy door closed behind him, the tension in the room seemed to thicken, the air growing colder, more oppressive. I turned back to face Voldemort, my mask firmly in place, though I could feel the crack deepening beneath the surface.

"Your son," Voldemort began slowly, "has the same foolish pride as his mother. Perhaps… too much of her blood runs in his veins."

I felt a jolt of anger flare up inside me, but I forced it down. "He will learn, My Lord," I said, keeping my voice calm. "With time, he will see the truth."

"Will he?" Voldemort’s voice was soft, almost mocking. "Or will he become another… liability, like his mother?"

I knew better than to take the bait, but the words cut deep. Charity’s memory was a wound that had never healed, and he knew it. "He will not fail you," I replied. "I have made sure of that."

Voldemort's eyes seemed to pierce through me, his lipless mouth curling into a cruel smile. "And yet," he said, leaning forward ever so slightly, "you chose to let him live in ignorance, to keep him from our ways. Do you fear what he might become, Severus? Or is it that you fear what he might think of you?"

I felt my stomach twist. "I fear nothing, My Lord," I said. "I only wish for him to be an asset to you, as I have always been."

"An asset," Voldemort repeated, almost thoughtfully. "Tell me, Severus, how many assets have betrayed me over the years? How many have turned their backs when faced with their own desires and weaknesses?"

I swallowed, my mouth dry. "I would never—"

"But you have," Voldemort cut in, his voice suddenly sharp. "You have betrayed me by hiding him, by not trusting me with the truth. And for that… there must be consequences."

A cold dread settled in my chest, but I stood my ground. "I accept any punishment you deem fit, My Lord," I said, bowing my head. "But know that my loyalty has never wavered. I have done all of this to serve you better."

"Have you?" he whispered. "Or have you simply sought to serve yourself?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could speak, Voldemort raised a pale, skeletal hand. "Enough. I have heard enough of your excuses, Severus."

I felt my heart rate quicken, a creeping sense of dread filling my veins. "My Lord—"

"Silence," he hissed, and the room seemed to grow colder, the shadows deepening. "You think yourself clever, Severus, always playing both sides. But I have grown tired of your games."

I felt the weight of his words like a physical blow. I knew this was a critical moment—perhaps the most dangerous I had ever faced. "I have only ever served you, My Lord," I said quietly, trying to keep the fear from my voice. "My actions were meant to protect—"

"Crucio."

The word sliced through the air like a knife, and in an instant, every nerve in my body erupted in agony. I fell to my knees, my vision blurring with pain as the curse ripped through me, tearing at every muscle, every bone. I bit down on my lip, refusing to cry out, to give him the satisfaction.

"Did you think," Voldemort’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, "that you could deceive me, Severus? Did you truly believe that you could keep secrets from the Dark Lord?"

The pain intensified, blinding, searing. I could feel my body convulsing, the edges of my consciousness fraying. But I held on. I had to. For Draven. For everything I had done to protect him.

"You will learn," Voldemort continued, his tone almost contemplative, "that loyalty is not a choice. It is a demand. And those who do not meet that demand…"

The curse lifted, and I collapsed onto the cold stone floor, gasping for breath, my body trembling with the aftershocks of pain. I could taste blood in my mouth, and I realized I had bitten clean through my lip.

"Do not test me again, Severus," Voldemort said softly, his voice like ice. "You are useful to me, yes… but you are not irreplaceable."

I forced myself to look up, to meet those terrible red eyes. "I understand… My Lord," I rasped, my voice raw and broken. "I will not fail you again."

Voldemort stared at me for a long moment, and then, slowly, he nodded. "See that you do not."

I bowed my head, my body screaming in protest, my mind reeling with the weight of what had just transpired. I had known this would be dangerous, that bringing Draven here would put us both at risk. But it was necessary. If I were to keep him safe, if I were to guide him through the darkness that lay ahead… this was the price I had to pay.

And as I knelt there, my body broken, my mind battered, I made a silent vow: I would protect him. No matter the cost.

Quote from Naaga on August 31, 2024, 11:09 pm

### **Albus Dumbledore’s Portrait POV – A Conversation with Severus Snape, 1997**

The atmosphere in the Headmaster’s office was tense, thick with an almost palpable anxiety that had settled like dust over everything since my passing. Severus Snape, now the Headmaster, sat behind the large oak desk, his posture rigid, his expression a cold mask of control. The room seemed darker than it once had, the fire in the hearth casting long, flickering shadows that danced across the stone walls and mingled with the ever-present whispers of the portraits that adorned the room.

My own portrait hung in its usual place. I watched him with the same calm expression I had often worn in life. Severus’s eyes met mine, and I could see the turmoil behind his calm exterior—the weight of the responsibilities and the dangers he faced daily.

“Severus,” I began softly, breaking the heavy silence that had filled the room. “There is much we must discuss, my friend.”

Severus’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable. “I suppose you have words of wisdom to offer?” he asked, his tone edged with bitterness. “Perhaps about the situation we’re facing within these walls?”

“Indeed,” I replied, nodding slowly. “The Death Eaters’ presence here… it weighs heavily on everyone. The students… how are they faring under such duress?”

For a moment, Severus’s eyes flickered with an emotion that quickly disappeared—a brief flash of concern, perhaps. “They are frightened, as expected,” he said in a low voice. “Some have taken to defiance in subtle ways. Others… they are simply trying to survive.”

I nodded, my expression turning grave. “It is as I feared. Amycus and Alecto are not ones to temper their sadistic tendencies. They thrive on fear and pain.”

Severus’s lips tightened into a thin line. “I do what I can to limit the damage they cause without drawing suspicion,” he said, his voice carrying a note of frustration. “But my power to intervene is limited, Albus. The Carrows grow bolder by the day, and every attempt to maintain control comes at a risk.”

“I understand, Severus,” I replied gently. “Your position is a perilous one, caught between maintaining the facade of loyalty to Voldemort and protecting those under your care. It is a burden not many could bear.”

He looked at me, his gaze piercing. "And what of Potter?" he asked abruptly, shifting the conversation. "You never fully explained to me why you've left him in the dark—what is he doing now? What is his plan?"

I offered him a small, cryptic smile. “Harry is doing precisely what he needs to be doing. I have faith that he will find his way, in his own time.”

Severus’s expression hardened. “Vague as always, Albus. You leave him wandering without a clue, and the Dark Lord grows stronger every day.”

“Harry is not as aimless as you might think,” I said, keeping my tone light but firm. “He has a purpose, a direction—one that may yet surprise you.”

Severus scoffed quietly, his frustration evident. “He’d better, for all our sakes. The Dark Lord is becoming increasingly paranoid. He questions my loyalty more frequently. And he suspects there is more to Potter’s actions than meets the eye.”

“I would expect nothing less of Voldemort,” I said with a nod. “His fear of the unknown is one of his greatest weaknesses, Severus. And he fears Harry, more than he will ever admit.”

Severus’s expression was grim, his brows furrowed in thought. “Fear alone will not save us. The castle is crawling with Death Eaters, and every day I must navigate their suspicions and accusations. It becomes… difficult to maintain the trust of both sides.”

“Yes,” I agreed softly. “But you have done remarkably well, Severus. Your skill in deception has kept you alive and useful to both the Order and Voldemort. Yet, you must be vigilant. There are always eyes watching, waiting for a misstep.”

Severus’s gaze shifted away, staring into the fire, his face a mask of hardened resolve. “And what of Draven?” he asked, his voice dropping to a more personal, almost vulnerable tone. “You spoke of this prophecy… ‘The Promised Prince.’ Is it him? Do you truly believe he is the one?”

I took a moment to consider my words, sensing the deep, conflicted emotions within him. “It is very possible, Severus. Draven has within him the potential for both great good and great darkness. His choices, like Harry’s, will shape the future.”

Severus’s expression darkened, a flash of concern crossing his features. "And if he chooses the wrong path? If he aligns with the darkness instead of the light?"

“The prophecy is not a certainty—it is a guide,” I explained gently. “Much depends on the decisions he makes in the coming days. You have kept him from falling too far, Severus. His heart still carries hope.”

He nodded slowly, though his eyes remained clouded with worry. “And if he fails, what then? Voldemort grows more suspicious of him as well. He has already questioned why I kept Draven hidden, why I allowed him to live under another name, away from his blood.”

“Voldemort’s suspicions are unavoidable,” I said with a sigh. “But you have managed to deflect his attention admirably thus far. Your relationship with Draven, however… it may come under further scrutiny. You must tread carefully.”

Severus stared into the fire, his expression turning grim. “The students are in danger, Albus. We all are. The Death Eaters’ hold on this place tightens with each passing day.”

I nodded, understanding his concern. “The children must be protected, Severus. Their courage and resistance give hope to the world outside these walls. And when the time comes, they will need a leader to guide them—a leader who understands the value of sacrifice, even when the path is fraught with peril.”

A heavy silence fell over the room as Severus considered my words. The weight of the coming days pressed down upon him, the uncertainty of what lay ahead casting a shadow over everything.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low but steady. “Very well, old man. I will continue to play my part. But know this—I do it not for you, or even for Potter. I do it for the only thing that matters—the chance to end this war, once and for all.”

I offered him a small smile, my painted eyes filled with understanding. “And that, Severus, is why I have always trusted you. You have the strength to see this through, no matter the cost.”

He said nothing in response, merely staring into the flames with a gaze that spoke of both resignation and a fierce determination. The endgame was approaching, and he knew as well as I did that every choice from here on would shape the fate of us all.

Quote from Naaga on September 1, 2024, 10:21 am

Draven Snape’s POV - Confrontation with Lunatic Cultists

The Australian Outback sprawled endlessly around me, an unforgiving sea of red earth and jagged rock formations beneath a sky of burning stars. I could feel the dark magic in the air, the way it prickled at my skin, seeping through the earth and creeping into my bones. Somewhere ahead, hidden in this desolate landscape, were the cultists of Lunatic. I’d been tracking them for weeks, following a trail of blood and whispers that had led me here. Now, it was time to end this.

I moved quietly, each step measured and deliberate, my wand gripped tightly in my hand. The moon hung high above, casting a cold, pale light over the terrain. In the distance, a flickering glow caught my eye—a campfire, and around it, shadows moved. I crept closer, using the sparse brush and boulders as cover, my heart thundering with a mixture of anticipation and rage.

These were the ones who had slaughtered entire villages, who had stolen innocents for their vile rituals. I’d heard the stories, seen the aftermath. The mutilated bodies, the mindless husks left in their wake. I had no pity for these monsters, no mercy to give.

As I neared the camp, I could see them more clearly—five of them, draped in dark, tattered robes that billowed in the wind. Their faces were covered by crude masks, carved into twisted, mocking smiles. In the center of their circle, bound and gagged, were three hostages—a woman and two children, eyes wide with terror.

I felt a cold fury settle in my chest. This was going to end now.

I raised my wand, taking a deep breath to steady myself, and then I struck.

"Stupefy!" I hissed, aiming at the nearest cultist.

The spell shot out like a bolt of red lightning, slamming into the cultist’s chest and sending him sprawling back into the dirt. The others reacted immediately, spinning toward me, their wands snapping up. I was already moving, ducking behind a boulder as curses flew past, exploding into the rock with bursts of heat and light.

"Spread out!" one of them shouted, his voice muffled behind his mask. "Don’t let him escape!"

Escape? Not a chance. I wasn’t here to run.

I lunged out from cover, firing off a barrage of spells. "Confringo! Reducto!"

The ground erupted in flames and shards of rock, forcing the cultists to scatter. I caught one of them in the chest with a Blasting Curse, sending him crashing back into the campfire. His robes caught fire, and he screamed, thrashing wildly as the flames consumed him.

Two down.

Another cultist charged at me from the side, his wand slashing through the air. "Avada Kedavra!"

I twisted, narrowly avoiding the jet of green light that sailed past me, striking a rock and blowing it to pieces. I didn’t give him a chance to try again. I thrust my wand forward. "Sectumsempra!"

The invisible blades tore through him, and he screamed as blood sprayed across the sand, his body collapsing in a gory heap. Three down.

The last two cultists were smarter. They didn’t rush me. Instead, they began to circle, their eyes burning with malevolent glee behind their masks.

"Who are you?" one of them snarled, his voice like gravel. "Who dares to defy the Lunatic?"

I could see the madness in their eyes, the darkness that had consumed them. I met their gaze with cold determination. "I’m your reckoning," I said, my voice steady. "And I’ve had enough of your kind."

They laughed—a high, unhinged cackle that echoed through the night. "You think you’re the first to try and stop us?" the second one sneered. "You’ll die like all the rest."

"Maybe," I replied. "But not tonight."

They moved in tandem, striking from opposite sides. One of them sent a stream of black fire roaring toward me, while the other conjured a swarm of venomous, shadowy serpents. I dodged the fire, feeling its heat scorch the air, and raised a Protego shield against the snakes, watching as they hissed and recoiled.

But I didn’t stay defensive for long. I had to end this fast.

"Fiendfyre!" I bellowed, sweeping my wand in a wide arc.

A monstrous, roaring fire erupted from my wand, taking the form of a giant, serpentine dragon. It surged forward, devouring the black flames and incinerating the snakes in a burst of heat and light. The cultists screamed, their bravado shattered as they scrambled to conjure barriers and counter-spells. But it was too late.

The fire-dragon crashed down upon them, and their screams were cut short, drowned out by the roar of the inferno. When the flames finally died down, there was nothing left but scorched earth and ash.

I stood there, breathing heavily, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. The smell of charred flesh hung in the air, acrid and vile. I forced myself to push past it, to focus on what mattered—the hostages.

I rushed over to them, my heart still pounding. The woman’s eyes were wide, her face streaked with tears. The children clung to her, their small bodies trembling with fear.

"It’s alright," I said, dropping to my knees to untie them. "You’re safe now."

The woman nodded, her voice breaking. "Thank you… thank you so much."

I nodded, quickly checking them for injuries. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, though her hands were still shaking. "No, we’re… we’re okay."

I helped them to their feet, glancing around the darkened camp. I knew there could be more cultists out there, lurking in the shadows. "We need to move. I have a safe place nearby where you can rest until morning."

They nodded, still dazed but understanding the urgency. As I led them away from the camp, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the darkness around me—the knowledge that this was only one battle, in a war that would never truly end.

But for tonight, at least, I had made a difference. And that was enough. For now.

Quote from Naaga on September 1, 2024, 10:22 am

### **Draven Snape’s POV – Gathering Information**

The woman and the children followed closely behind me as we moved away from the scorched remains of the camp. The adrenaline was still coursing through my veins, but I forced myself to calm down. My heart was pounding, but I had to focus. There were things I needed to know—answers that could make this night more than just another firefight in the endless war against darkness.

We reached a small clearing under a canopy of twisted gum trees, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers against the night sky. I turned to face the woman and the children, my wand still in my hand, but lowered. They were still trembling, and I couldn’t blame them. No one should ever have to see what they’d just witnessed.

I crouched down, trying to make myself look less threatening. "Are you all right?" I asked, my voice softer than before. "I know it’s been a terrible night, but I need you to focus for a moment."

The woman nodded, swallowing hard as she tried to steady her breath. Her eyes darted around, still wide with fear, but she was starting to regain some composure. "Yes… yes, I think we’re okay. Just… scared."

The children were still holding onto her, their small hands gripping her clothing like a lifeline. I knelt down to their level, trying to offer a reassuring smile. "It’s going to be okay," I said. "I promise. I’m here to help."

They didn’t speak, but their eyes softened just a bit. It was enough.

I turned my attention back to the woman. "What’s your name?"

"Claire," she replied, her voice shaky. "Claire Bennett."

"Alright, Claire," I said, my tone more businesslike now. "I need to ask you some questions. I know it’s difficult, but anything you can tell me might help prevent this from happening again. Can you do that?"

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "I’ll try."

"Good." I glanced around to make sure we were still alone, then looked back at her. "Do you know why they took you? Was it random, or did they say anything about why you were targeted?"

Claire shook her head, her eyes welling with tears again. "I… I don’t know. They just came out of nowhere. One moment we were camping… the next, they were there. They didn’t say much, just… kept talking about some ‘sacrifice’ and ‘offering to the Dark One’."

I frowned. "The Dark One? Did they mention anyone by name? A leader, perhaps?"

She thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. "There was one… they called him ‘The Prophet.’ They seemed to fear him, even as they worshipped him."

I felt a chill run down my spine. ‘The Prophet’ was a name I’d heard whispered before, a fanatic who led one of the more extreme branches of the Lunatic cult. If he was involved, this was bigger than just a random attack. "Do you know where they might be based? A hideout, a temple, anything?"

She shook her head, looking frustrated. "No, I’m sorry… they kept us blindfolded most of the time. But I heard them talking about moving north, toward the mountains. Something about a ‘holy place’ where they could ‘converge with the night’."

I filed that away, thinking quickly. "And their activities? What did you see them doing? Anything that could help me understand their plans?"

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "They… they were practicing some kind of dark rituals. Blood magic, I think. They kept talking about a ritual that would ‘open the gate to the void.’ They wanted… they wanted to bring something through. Something terrible."

I nodded, my expression grim. "That lines up with what I’ve heard. They’re trying to breach the barrier between worlds, to bring forth something ancient and dangerous."

One of the children, a young boy with wide, frightened eyes, tugged at Claire’s sleeve. "Mum… are they going to come back?"

I shook my head, meeting the boy’s gaze. "Not if I can help it. You’re safe now, but I need you all to stay quiet and stay with me. We’ll get you to safety soon."

Claire looked at me, a mix of fear and hope in her eyes. "What are you going to do?"

I glanced around the darkened landscape, my mind already racing ahead. "I’m going to find this ‘holy place’ and end this before it gets worse. But first, I need to get you somewhere safe."

I started leading them back toward the hidden path that would take us to my makeshift safe house. The children were still scared, but they followed without protest. Claire, though shaken, was holding it together. I could see the strength in her eyes—a survivor’s strength.

As we walked, I kept my senses on high alert, listening for any sound, any sign of danger. "Claire," I said quietly, "if you remember anything else—anything at all—about their plans or locations, you need to tell me. Even the smallest detail could make a difference."

She nodded. "I’ll try… but thank you. For saving us."

I gave her a small nod, my face hardening again. "Don’t thank me yet. There’s still a lot of work to be done."

We walked on in silence, the weight of what lay ahead settling over us like a dark shroud. The cultists of Lunatic were more than just a menace—they were a disease that needed to be eradicated. And I would be the one to do it, no matter what it took.

Quote from Naaga on September 3, 2024, 11:49 pm

### **Albus Dumbledore’s POV – July 1981**

The summer of 1981 was anything but serene. The shadows of war stretched long over the wizarding world, darker than ever before. Every morning, I awoke to news of more attacks, more disappearances, and more grief. In these troubled times, peace was a distant dream.

The Order of the Phoenix was being pushed to its limits. We were fewer in number than Voldemort's followers, but we were stronger in spirit. Yet, I could not deny the tension that weighed on us all. The trust we once had in one another was now tainted by suspicion, as whispers of a spy among us grew louder with every passing day.

I sat alone in my office at Hogwarts, the only place where I could still find some semblance of quiet amidst the chaos. Fawkes, my faithful companion, let out a soft, mournful trill that resonated with my own thoughts. My eyes drifted to the window, where the sun hung low in the sky, casting a bloody hue over the grounds below.

James and Lily Potter. Frank and Alice Longbottom. My mind often returned to these young families, so full of promise and potential, now caught in the crosshairs of fate. The prophecy had named their children, and both Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom were marked as the possible vanquishers of the Dark Lord. Yet, Voldemort’s awareness of the prophecy had only made their lives more precarious. They were in hiding now, using every bit of magic and cunning to stay ahead of his grasp.

I could not help but wonder—had we done enough to protect them? The Fidelius Charm was powerful, but the safety it provided relied heavily on trust. Trust in a world where trust had become a dangerous luxury. The tension in the Order was palpable; even those closest to me seemed to be caught in the web of doubt.

A spy… There was a traitor among us, leaking information to Voldemort, and every day the list of suspects seemed to grow shorter. My eyes fell on the name that had lingered in my mind more than any other: Severus Snape.

Severus. A Death Eater turned spy, or so he claimed. I had taken him in when he came to me, desperate and broken, pleading for the life of Lily Potter. I saw in him a complexity—a man torn between two worlds, a man with a heart that was buried under layers of bitterness and regret. I chose to believe in his change of heart, to believe that his love for Lily had driven him to betray Voldemort. But belief and certainty are not the same.

As I pondered his loyalty, I knew the stakes were higher than ever. If Severus was truly still in Voldemort's service, if he were the spy, then he held the fates of countless lives in his hands. It would mean everything we had fought for was in jeopardy.

There was little comfort in the silence of my thoughts. The room felt heavier as the shadows of doubt closed in. I needed clarity. I needed… a sign.

A thought struck me then—a flicker of intuition, one that led me to my feet. Without another moment’s hesitation, I left my office, moving swiftly through the winding corridors of Hogwarts, my mind set on a singular destination.

Sybil Trelawney had recently applied for a teaching position, and though her skills as a Divination professor left much to be desired, there was something about her—a spark of unpredictability that intrigued me. I had sensed a latent power within her, something hidden beneath the surface.

As I reached the small, dimly lit room where she was staying, I knocked gently. The door creaked open, revealing Sybil sitting amidst a clutter of crystal balls and tarot cards. She looked up at me, her eyes wide behind her thick glasses.

“Professor Dumbledore,” she greeted, her voice airy and distant. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“Sybil,” I began, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me. “I find myself in need of insight… perhaps a glimpse into the future.”

Her expression softened, and she gestured for me to sit. “The future is a murky thing, Headmaster, full of twists and turns. But I shall do my best to peer into it for you.”

She took a deep breath, her hands hovering over a crystal ball, her eyes closing as if seeking something beyond the veil. I watched her carefully, my own breath held in anticipation.

For a long moment, there was nothing—just the soft flicker of candlelight and the distant howl of the wind. But then, suddenly, her body stiffened, and a deep, otherworldly voice emanated from her lips—a voice not her own.

“The Promised Prince… shall rise from the ashes of despair. Born under a cursed star, he will walk a path of light and darkness. His blood, a mingling of the old and the new, shall be the key. The child born of sorrow will hold the fate of the wizarding world in his hands. He will be the beacon and the shadow, the savior and the destroyer… And when the time comes, he will choose.”

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as the words echoed in the small room. Sybil's eyes were wide, her gaze unfocused, lost in whatever realm had granted her this vision.

The Promised Prince… Another prophecy, another child marked by fate. Could this be connected to the prophecy about Harry and Neville? Was there another force at play, one that could change the course of the war?

Sybil’s eyes fluttered, and she slumped back in her chair, dazed and confused. “W-what happened?” she asked weakly, blinking up at me.

I leaned forward, my face calm despite the storm raging inside me. “Thank you, Sybil,” I said softly. “You have given me much to think about.”

I left her room with my mind racing, my thoughts now divided between the prophecy I had just heard and the perilous present. The Promised Prince… Who was this child? Could it be Harry? Or Neville? Or someone else entirely? A new piece had been added to the game, and I had to be prepared for the consequences.

The war with Voldemort had entered a new phase, and the uncertainty was more profound than ever. But in that uncertainty, there was also hope—a hope that, perhaps, the tides could yet turn. And so, I resolved to move forward with both caution and faith, trusting that, in time, the answers would reveal themselves.

The war was far from over, but I would not falter. Not now, not ever.

Quote from Naaga on September 3, 2024, 11:50 pm

### **Severus Snape’s POV – The Birth of His Son**

The room was dimly lit, the sterile scent of potions and antiseptics heavy in the air. I stood there, pressed against the cold stone wall of St. Mungo's, the sound of rain drumming against the windows like an ominous rhythm. Charity's cries had finally ceased, replaced by the hushed voices of the healers as they moved around her.

The child had been born.

*My child.*

I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. This wasn’t supposed to happen. A single night of foolishness, of weakness, and now this—a child I had neither planned for nor wanted. I’d already told her months ago that what had happened between us was a mistake. I loved another, and this child… this child was a consequence of a moment I wished I could erase.

The healer, a stern woman with a face lined by years of labor, stepped out of the room. She glanced at me with something between sympathy and unease. “Professor Snape,” she said softly, “you may come in now.”

I nodded stiffly, moving past her into the room. It was filled with the scent of sweat and blood, and the dim light did little to dispel the oppressive atmosphere. Charity lay on the bed, her face pale and drawn, her hair plastered to her forehead. Her eyes were half-open, and when she saw me, a tired but determined smile spread across her lips.

"Severus," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "He's here... our son."

*Our son.* The words sounded alien. Wrong. This wasn’t what I wanted. Yet, here I was, bound by blood to a child I never intended to father. I looked away from her, my gaze landing on the small bundle in the healer's arms. A shrill cry pierced the silence—a newborn’s first breath of life.

The healer moved closer and gently handed the child to Charity. She cradled him against her chest, and in that moment, I saw a light in her eyes I hadn’t seen before—a fierce, maternal glow.

I took a few steps closer, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind a tumultuous sea of conflicting emotions. I didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to look at him, but as I drew near, I couldn’t help myself. He was small, fragile, with a tuft of dark hair and a scrunched-up face. His tiny fists were curled tightly, his eyes closed as he wailed.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Charity said softly, her gaze not leaving the child.

I swallowed, my throat dry. "He… looks healthy," I replied, my voice flat and devoid of warmth. It was all I could muster.

She didn’t seem to mind. She nodded, still gazing at the child. “I’ve been thinking about his name,” she continued. “I want to call him Draven.”

*Draven.* The name seemed strange to me. “And why that name?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended. I didn’t even know why I cared. Perhaps it was a desperate attempt to exert some control over a situation that had spiraled beyond my grasp.

“Because it means ‘hunter’ in some old dialect,” she explained, her voice still soft but firm. “I want him to grow up strong, Severus… strong enough to face whatever comes his way.”

I studied her face, the determination etched there. Charity had always been stronger than I gave her credit for. But even so, I could not rid myself of the cold, hollow feeling inside.

"And for a middle name?" I asked, keeping my voice steady. I wasn’t sure why I was asking, or why it mattered to me. Perhaps it was the last remnant of some deep-rooted sense of responsibility. Perhaps it was just guilt.

She looked up at me, her eyes softening. "I was thinking… Severus. After you."

I felt a shock of something—surprise, disbelief. “Severus?” I repeated, the name heavy on my tongue. A twisted sort of honor, to give him my name when I could not give him anything else.

“Yes,” she said, a small, hopeful smile on her lips. “Draven Severus. It feels… right.”

I stared down at the child—*Draven Severus*—and, for a fleeting moment, allowed myself to truly see him. His cries had quieted, and his eyes, a dark, stormy grey, were now half-open, peering at the world as if he were already searching for something. There was an innocence there, untouched by the darkness of the world he had been born into. And it struck me, in that moment, that he was innocent in all of this.

Whatever my regrets, whatever my anger, he had done nothing to deserve them. He was merely a child—my child. My blood. A burden I hadn’t asked for, but one I would have to carry all the same.

“He has your eyes,” Charity whispered, her own eyes filled with a fragile hope. “I think he’s going to be brilliant, Severus.”

I stayed silent, hiding my emotions behind the mask I had perfected over the years. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he would grow to be brilliant. Perhaps he would be strong. But I could not allow myself to hope. Not now, not ever.

"Charity," I began, my voice low and deliberate, "you know I cannot… he cannot carry my surname."

She didn’t react at first, but then she nodded slowly, understanding the meaning behind my words. "I know," she said quietly, sadness touching her voice. "I know you can’t be what he needs. But… maybe one day, you'll see him for who he is. And maybe… maybe you’ll love him."

Love. A concept that had become foreign, twisted, and bitter in my mind. I had loved before, and it had brought nothing but pain. Could I ever love this child? Could I see beyond my own mistakes to see him for who he was? I didn’t know.

"I will make sure he is provided for," I said, my voice firm, my gaze fixed on the child. "That much, I can promise."

She nodded, and in that moment, an unspoken understanding passed between us—a silent acknowledgment of all the things that could never be. I turned away, feeling the weight of my decision bearing down on me like a dark, oppressive cloud. There was no place for me here, not yet. Perhaps not ever.

As I left the room, the sound of Draven’s small, fragile breaths followed me, mingling with the rain outside. I didn’t look back, but I knew this moment would remain with me, a ghost in the shadows of my mind.

Draven Severus. The child of my greatest mistake. And perhaps… my only hope for a redemption I could barely imagine.

Quote from Naaga on September 6, 2024, 5:54 am

### **Draven's POV – Meeting Father for the First Time**

I held Mum’s hand real tight as we walked down the street. The buildings were all old and crooked, with roofs that looked like hats about to fall off. The sky was full of gray clouds, and the wind was cold, making me shiver even though Mum wrapped my scarf around me so many times. Everything here felt different from home. Strange.

Mum said today we were going to meet someone important. My dad. I hadn’t met him before, but Mum said he was special. She told me I should be on my best behavior. I didn’t know what he’d be like, and that made my tummy feel all twisty, like when you’re scared and excited at the same time.

“Are we there yet, Mum?” I asked, looking up at her. She looked nervous too.

“Almost, sweetheart,” she said, her voice soft. She pointed to a small, dark house at the end of the street. “That’s where he lives.”

I nodded but didn’t say anything. I held onto Mum’s hand even tighter as we walked up to the door. It was small and crooked, just like the rest of the street, and the windows were covered in dust. Mum squeezed my hand gently, giving me a small smile. I could tell she was worried too. She knocked on the door, not too loud but not too quiet either. I held my breath and waited.

After a bit, the door opened with a creak, and a tall man stood there. He was all dressed in black, with long, dark hair and a face that looked like he didn’t smile much. His eyes were like little black marbles, all dark and shiny. He looked down at me and Mum, and for a second, I wasn’t sure if he liked us being there.

“Severus,” Mum said in a quiet voice. “This is Draven.”

The man—my dad, I guessed—looked down at me. His eyes were sharp and serious, like he was trying to figure something out. I felt my heart thumping hard. I didn’t know what to say or do. I wanted him to like me, but I wasn’t sure he would.

“Hello,” I said, almost a whisper. My voice sounded tiny, even to me.

“Hello,” he said back, but it wasn’t very warm. Not mean, but not like Mum’s hello either.

Mum nudged me a bit, and I took a step closer. “I’m Draven,” I said again, a bit louder.

“Yes,” he said, nodding a little. “I know who you are.”

He looked at Mum, and they stared at each other for a moment, like they were talking with their eyes. I didn’t understand what they were saying. Then Mum knelt down and kissed my forehead.

“Be good, love,” she whispered. “I’ll be back in a few days, alright?”

I nodded, but I felt a bit scared. What if he didn’t like me? What if I did something wrong?

Mum stood up and looked at him—at Dad, I guess. “Take care of him, Severus.”

“I will,” he said, but his voice didn’t sound happy or anything.

Mum gave me one last smile and walked away. I watched her until she turned the corner and disappeared. I suddenly felt very small and alone. I looked back at the man—my dad.

“Come inside,” he said, moving aside so I could step in. His voice wasn’t mean, but it didn’t feel welcoming either.

I stepped inside the house, and it was dark and smelled a bit like old books and something else—something that tickled my nose. The walls were full of shelves with all sorts of weird things—glass bottles, strange plants, and lots and lots of books. There was a small fireplace, but the fire was almost gone, so it was still cold.

“Are you cold?” he asked, looking at me. His voice sounded a bit funny, like he wasn’t used to asking that.

“A little,” I said, rubbing my arms.

He waved a stick—a wand, I remembered Mum calling it—and suddenly the fire in the fireplace got really big and bright. I gasped. I’d seen Mum do some magic, but this was different. It felt powerful.

“Sit,” he said, pointing to a chair near the fire. I climbed up and sat down, my feet swinging off the edge. He sat across from me, still looking at me with those dark eyes that made me feel like he could see right through me.

I fidgeted a bit. “Mum says you’re really good at magic,” I said, trying to make him like me.

He raised an eyebrow, and for a second, I thought I said something bad. But then he nodded, just a little. “I suppose you could say that.”

“Can you show me something?” I asked, my eyes wide with curiosity.

He looked at me for a long time, like he was deciding something. Then, with a small wave of his wand, a little silver bird appeared and started flying around the room. I watched it, my mouth open in surprise. It was so pretty, with wings that shimmered like stars. It landed on the back of my chair, and I reached out to touch it, but it disappeared into a puff of silver smoke.

“That was amazing!” I said, looking up at him. My heart was beating fast with excitement.

He didn’t smile, but his eyes seemed a bit softer. “There are far more complex spells than that,” he said. His voice wasn’t as cold now.

“Will you teach me?” I asked, leaning forward, my eyes big. “I wanna learn magic like you!”

He looked at me, really looked at me, and I felt like he was seeing me properly for the first time. His eyes were still dark, but there was something else there now—something I couldn’t quite understand. “Perhaps,” he said slowly. “If you are willing to listen and learn.”

“I will!” I promised, nodding my head fast. “I’ll be really good!”

He gave a small nod, and for a moment, I thought I saw something like a tiny smile on his lips. “Very well,” he said. “We shall see.”

I didn’t know much about him yet, but I started to feel a little bit better. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe this could work out. And maybe, just maybe, my dad might like me after all.